Wednesday, June 27, 2007

With Snark

[posted by Callimachus]

Snark is the wit's pleasure in his own stink.

Snark mistakes grafitti for architecture.

With snark hath no man a point of good persuasion. Solzhenitzyn came not by snark. Nor Mark Twain; Galileo came not by snark.

Snark lacks courage. It is the self-satisfied snort of slaves and eunuchs. It is a smug cakewalk entertainment for chattels that makes the performer feel special and changes nothing.

No tyrant fears snark.

Snark is rhetorical junk food. All salt, no meat. Stuff your face with it all day and you gain no nourishment.

Snark is to inquiry and discourse what Westboro Baptist Church is to Christianity. It is a swamp of poisons into which nothing thoughtful goes and from which nothing emerges untainted.

Snark is not opposition. It is not honest invective or keen satire or moral outrage. It dulls the blades of all those.

Snark is the smacked ass smirking at the hand that slapped it.

Savvy modern tyrants, if they could, would prescribe the voice and tone of dissent. And they would choose snark for that voice as the least effective one imaginable.

Snark is the chirp of minds that choose to be small yet can't cease to feel important. It is the trade of shiny feeble tugs that can ply no rough waves or tow no thought longer than a slur.

Snark gives the lazy thinker an excuse to write anyhow, sans imagination, sans purpose. It finds no truth; it exposes no error. It is wit borrowed on interest and spent wastefully. It debases the coinage of commentary.