Confessions of a Radical Centrist

Why must I have an opinion?

Political stands are glandular, and my glands have deteriorated.
I once propounded the truth, but it stood in the way of the facts.
I wrote reams of polemics, convinced of their rightness—
But then I made the mistake of seeing things from all sides.
This was objectivity—glorious, liberating, multi-faceted reality.
Then I realized that I could never again be right without also being

Pity God for such a perspective—it must drive Him crazy.
Well, I asked for it too—and I got it—and I don’t get it.
My adrenalin doesn’t convince me any more of any one thing.
I may understand an issue,
But I will defend to the death my right not to feel any one way about it.
I wave the proud banner of Indecision,
With none to fight me but true believers on both sides.
I sit firmly on the fence, with its spikes tearing up my ass.
I think, therefore I am, I think.

But I don’t think—I open my brain and let the sunshine seep in—
And manage to piss off everyone with an axe to grind.
I absorb, therefore I absorb.
Why do I not care? Why will I not mark “true” or “false” with
Why is my heart hollow of all momentum?
I am an empty shell that is merely aware.
Is this enlightenment,
Or is this hell?  (3/6/1996)

Note: this was written long before Radical Centrism became a political ideology with its own Wiki page.

Andy Senior is the Publisher of The Syncopated Times and on occasion he still gets out a Radiola! podcast for our listening pleasure.

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