a thread for mundane ironists

[b]Jonathan Safran Foer

There is nothing wrong with not understanding yourself.[/b]

Like we even can.

We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families, and our friends, and even the people who aren’t on our lists, people we’ve never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe. But I knew that there couldn’t be pockets that enormous. In the end, everyone loses everyone. There was no invention to get around that, and so I felt, like the turtle that everything else in the universe was on top of.

Or, instead, he could just get to the point.

At the end of my dream, Eve put the apple back on the branch. The tree went back into the ground. It became a sapling, which became a seed.

Was that before or after the Big Bang?

I asked her why she was getting so upset about such a small thing. She said, ‘It doesn’t feel small to me.’

And who among us hasn’t been there?

Without context, we’d all be monsters.

Among other things, define monsters.

I went to the lobby and asked Stan what he knew about the person who lived in 6A.
He said 'Never seen anyone go in or come out. Just a lot of deliveries and a lot of trash.
Cool.
He leaned down and whispered Haunted.
I whispered back I don’t believe in the paranormal.
He said Ghosts don’t care if you believe in them.
I walked back up the steps, this time past our floor and to the sixth. There was a mat in front of the door which said ‘welcome’ in twelve different languages. That didn’t seem like something a ghost would put in front of his apartment.

Casper, maybe.

[b]Terry Pratchett

Something Vimes had learned as a young guard drifted up from memory. If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you entirely at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man. Because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. They want you to know you’re going to die. So they’ll talk. They’ll gloat.

They’ll watch you squirm. They’ll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar.

So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.[/b]

More to the point, hope like hell you can stop him. Otherwise you’re just prolonging the fear.

Once we were blobs in the sea, and then fishes, and then lizards and rats and then monkeys, and hundreds of things in between. This hand was once a fin, this hand once had claws! In my human mouth I have the pointy teeth of a wolf and the chisel teeth of a rabbit and the grinding teeth of a cow! Our blood is as salty as the sea we used to live in! When we’re frightened, the hair on our skin stands up, just like it did when we had fur. We are history! Everything we’ve ever been on the way to becoming us, we still are.

Satyr could not have put it better if he tried. Only he wouldn’t stop there, would he?

I commend my soul to any god that can find it.

Pascal on steroids.

Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.

Paraphrasing Woody Allen as it were.

The sun rose slowly, as if it wasn’t sure it was worth all the effort.

Every twenty four hours in fact.

Go on, prove me wrong. Destroy the fabric of the universe. See if I care.

Let’s just say he’s still working on it.

[b]Peter Matthiessen

The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning,” they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.[/b]

Or something like that. But point taken.

Soon the child’s clear eye is clouded over by ideas and opinions, preconceptions, and abstractions. Simple free being becomes encrusted with the burdensome armor of the ego. Not until years later does an instinct come that a vital sense of mystery has been withdrawn. The sun glints through the pines and the heart is pierced in a moment of beauty and strange pain, like a memory of paradise. After that day, we become seekers.

Seek and ye shall find. If only what you were always meant to.

The concept of conservation is a far truer sign of civilization than that spoilation of a continent which we once confused with progress.

The concept of conservation. As opposed to actual policies that will work. And that’s before we get to the part about who they will work for.

We have outsmarted ourselves, like greedy monkeys, and now we are full of dread.

Let’s exchange dreads.

Of all African animals, the elephant is the most difficult for man to live with, yet its passing - if this must come - seems the most tragic of all. I can watch elephants (and elephants alone) for hours at a time, for sooner or later the elephant will do something very strange such as mow grass with its toenails or draw the tusks from the rotted carcass of another elephant and carry them off into the bush. There is mystery behind that masked gray visage, and ancient life force, delicate and mighty, awesome and enchanted, commanding the silence ordinarily reserved for mountain peaks, great fires, and the sea.

You saw one once at the zoo, didn’t you?

This world is painted on a wild dark metal.

Or, sure, maybe not.

[b]Joseph Heller

Now you’ve given them hope, and they’re unhappy. So the blame is all yours.[/b]

Not often thought about in that manner, is it?

‘Help!’ he shrieked shrilly in a voice strangling in its own emotion, as the policemen carried him to the open doors in the rear of the ambulance and threw him inside. ‘Police! Help! Police!’ The doors were shut and bolted, and the ambulance raced away. There was a humorless irony in the ludicrous panic of the man screaming for help to the police while policemen were all around him. Yossarian smiled wryly at the futile and ridiculous cry for aid, then saw with a start that the words were ambiguous, realized with alarm that they were not perhaps, intended as a call for police but as a heroic warning from the grave by a doomed friend to everyone who was not a policeman with a club and gun and a mob of other policemen with clubs and guns to back him up. ‘Help! Police!’ the man had cried, and he could have been shouting of danger.

Not often thought about in that manner, is it?

It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t even good grammar. What the hell does it mean when they disappear somebody?

Let’s just say that, viscerally, we know exactly what it means.

When you consider the opportunity and power He had to really do a job, and then look at the stupid, ugly little mess He made of it instead, His sheer incompetence is almost staggering.

And that was long before Trumpworld.

In a world in which success was the only virtue, he had resigned himself to failure.

You know, given his pitiful bank account.

I’m cold, Snowden said softly, I’m cold.
You’re going to be all right, kid, Yossarian reassured him with a grin. You’re going to be all right.
I’m cold, Snowden said again in a frail, childlike voice. I’m cold.
There, there, Yossarian said, because he did not know what else to say. There, there.
I’m cold, Snowden whimpered. I’m cold.
There, there. There, there.

Trust me: You’ve either been there or not.

[b]Steven D. Levitt

Few people think more than two or three times a year, Shaw reportedly said. I have made an international reputation for myself by thinking once or twice a week.[/b]

You can’t help but wonder though: Think about what?

It has long been said that the three hardest words to say in the English language are I love you. We heartily disagree! For most people, it is much harder to say I don’t know.

In other words, even when you really don’t.

But as incentives go, commissions are tricky. First of all, a 6 percent real-estate commission is typically split between the seller’s agent and the buyer’s. Each agent then kicks back roughly half of her take to the agency. Which means that only 1.5 percent of the purchase price goes directly into your agent’s pocket. So on the sale of your $300,000 house, her personal take of the $18,000 commission is $4,500. Still not bad, you say. But what if the house was actually worth more than $300,000? What if, with a little more effort and patience and a few more newspaper ads, she could have sold it for $310,000? After the commission, that puts an additional $9,400 in your pocket. But the agent’s additional share—her personal 1.5 percent of the extra $10,000—is a mere $150. If you earn $9,400 while she earns only $150, maybe your incentives aren’t aligned after all.

Not only that but this is still argued to be the best of all possible worlds. And what if it is?

He found himself one night in a bar standing beside a gorgeous woman. “Would you be willing to sleep with me for $1 million?” he asked her. She looked him over. There wasn’t much to see—but still, $1 million! She agreed to go back to his room. “All right then, “ he said. “Would you be willing to sleep with me for $100?” “A hundred dollars!” she shot back. “What do you think I am, a prostitute?” “We’ve already established that. Now we’re just negotiating the price.”

What lesson do we learn hear?
As opposed to the lesson that we ought to learn here.

While one might expect that suicide is highest among people whose lives are the hardest, research by Lester and others suggests the opposite: suicide is more common among people with a higher quality of life. “If you’re unhappy and you have something to blame your unhappiness on—if it’s the government, or the economy, or something—then that kind of immunizes you against committing suicide,” he says. “It’s when you have no external cause to blame for your unhappiness that suicide becomes more likely.”

Confirmed here: youtu.be/dwqwAy85CgY

Prediction, as Niels Bohr liked to say, is very difficult, especially if it’s about the future.

And not even counting this: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncertainty_principle

[b]Jan Mieszkowski

Logic: true or false?
Epistemology: knowable or unknowable?
Ontology: being or nothingness?
Politics: hemlock or arsenic?[/b]

Or, sure, for Don Trump, the nuclear option.

French philosopher: I work in a cafe
German philosopher: I work in a wooded grove
American philosopher: I work at McDonald’s

In other words, if he’s lucky.

Is Twitter a waste of time?
Bataille: What is “waste”?
Kant: What is “is”?
Husserl: What is “of”?
Camus: Yes.

Seriously, though, which of them would or would not use it?

Metaphysics: Mind over matter
Physics: Matter over mind
Ethics: It matters that it matters
Politics: I don’t mind that you don’t matter

Let’s put them in the right order.

Philosophy 101: What?
Philosophy 201: Why?
Philosophy 301: Why not?
Philosophy 401: How?
Philosophy 501: How much?

Let’s put them in the right order.

Cultural Studies 101: Fetishism of the commodity
Cultural Studies 201: Commodification of the fetish
Cultural Studies 301: I :heart: my iPhone

Let’s call this the history of capitalism.

[b]Stephanie Danler

You know what I dislike? When people use the future as a consolation for the present. I don’t know if there is anything less helpful.[/b]

Or more helpful. You know, as the case may be.

I had a ritual—and having any ritual sounded so mature that I told everyone about it, even the regulars. On my days off I woke up late and went to the coffee shop and had a cappuccino and read. Then around five p.m., when the light was failing, I would take out a bottle of dry sherry and pour myself a glass, take out a jar of green olives, put on Miles Davis, and read the wine atlas. I didn’t know why it felt so luxurious, but one day I realized that ritual was why I had moved to New York—to eat olives and get tipsy and read about Nebbiolo while the sun set. I had created a life that was bent in service to all my personal cravings.

On the other hand, don’t we all?

I thought that once I got to this city nothing could ever catch up with me because I could remake my life daily. Once that had made me feel infinite. Now I was certain I would never learn. Being remade was the same thing as being constantly undone.

Not counting those of us who actually do get it right.

It’s brave if you make it, foolish if you fail.

After all, what else could it be?

A certain connoisseurship of taste, a mark of how you deal with the world, is the ability to relish the bitter, to crave it even, the way you do the sweet.

Anyone here actually done this?

There are many romantic reasons to watch the sunrise. Once it started, it was hard to leave. I wanted to own it. I wanted it to be a confirmation that I was alive. Most of the time, however, it felt condemning.

Me? Well, I know the sun is up there somewhere.

[b]Malcolm Gladwell

Words belong to the person who wrote them.[/b]

But only up to the point where they belong to the person who reads them.

Education lays the foundation of a large portion of the causes of mental disorder.

In his own obscure opinion of course.

We need to respect the fact that it is possible to know without knowing why we know and accept that–sometimes–we’re better off that way.

A classic “general description”!

To become a chess grandmaster also seems to take about ten years. (Only the legendary Bobby Fischer got to that elite level in less than that amount of time: it took him nine years.) And what’s ten years? Well, it’s roughly how long it takes to put in ten thousand hours of hard practice. Ten thousand hours is the magic number of greatness.

So, what would you put in ten thousand hours of practice for? Obviously not philosophy.

Each of us has his or her own distinct personality. But overlaid on top of that are tendencies and assumptions and reflexes handed down to us by the history of the community we grew up in, and those differences are extraordinarily specific.

Not really though right, Mr. Objectivist?

“Affect, Imagery, Consciousness”, a four-volume work so dense that its readers were evenly divided between those who understood it and thought it was brilliant and those who did not understand it and thought it was brilliant.

This: tomkins.org/what-tomkins-sai … -vol-i-iv/
Anyone here able to sum it all up in 280 characters or less?

[b]tiny nietzsche

it’s beginning to look a lot like nihilism[/b]

Right, like it ever hasn’t been.

I sexually identify with biting the hand that feeds me

Maybe even knocking a few off.

the scars are what hold you together

I’ll bet you can’t say that.

you: I love a sunny day!
me: the nuclear fusion that drives this hellish sphere is the only thing keeping us alive in the endless darkness

Not only does it work that way, it’s the only way it can.

2014: ice bucket challenge
2017: blood donations for gun massacre victims

Coming to a town near you.

It’s that time of year to pull out your heavy clothes and promise not to kill yourself

Trust me: This year will be no exception.

I just called to say I texted you

Expect a letter in the mail to confirm it.

[b]André Gide

After much searching I have found the thing that sets me apart: a sort of stubborn attachment to evil.[/b]

Or, for some of us, what more or less passes for evil here and now.

Art begins with resistance—at the point where resistance is overcome. No human masterpiece has ever been created without great labor.

Let’s decide: Does that include the art of philosophy more or less than the philosophy of art?

The most beaten paths are certainly the surest, but do not hope to start much game on them.

On the other hand, go off the beaten path far enough and you may well end up being the game.

Understand that the only possession of any value is life.

And how comforting [or not] is that?

I exist only as a whole; my only claim is to be natural, and the pleasure I feel in an action, I take as a sign that I ought to do it.

Then there’s this part: my pleasure, your pain.

Most often people seek in life occasions for persisting in their opinions rather than for educating themselves.

And though you think that you’re the exception, I may well really be.

[b]Roland Barthes

This book has two determinants: on the one hand, an ideological critique of the language of so-called mass culture; on the other, an initial semiological dismantling of that language: I had just read Saussure and emerged with the conviction that by treating “collective representations” as sign systems one might hope to transcend pious denunciation and instead account in detail for the mystification which transforms petit bourgeois culture into a universal nature.[/b]

Marx plus as it were.

You have never known a Woman’s body!
I have known the body of my mother, sick and then dying.

Sure, that counts.

The cultural work done in the past by gods and epic sagas is now done by laundry-detergent commercials and comic-strip characters.

And let’s not forget reality TV.

To read is to struggle to name, to subject the sentences of a text to a semantic transformation. This transformation is erratic; it consists in hesitating among several names: if we are told that Sarrasine had ‘one of those strong wills that know no obstacle’. what are we to read? will, energy, obstinacy, stubbornness, etc.?

Or, sure, we can all just agree to accept your definitions.

The more technology develops the diffusion of information (and notably of images), the more it provides the means of masking the constructed meaning under the appearance of the given meaning.

What we call “fake news” today.

Incoherence seems to me preferable to a distorting order.

Finally, a “general description” that nails it.

[b]so sad today

i could love you based solely on you ignoring me[/b]

Starting now.

masturbating and crying and eating

Let’s imagine it.

being born is a lot of pressure

Not that you know it at the time.

can you feel my desperation through the internet

No, as a matter of fact, it seems…calculated.

can’t tell if i’m losing it or i’ve lost it

If you find it let me know.

i was fine till you gave me hope

To some, this actually makes sense.

[b]Walter Kaufmann

Man’s world is manifold, and his attitudes are manifold. What is manifold is often frightening because it is not neat and simple. Men prefer to forget how many possibilities are open to them. They like to be told that there are two worlds and two ways. This is comforting because it is so tidy. Almost always one way turns out to be common and the other is celebrated as superior.[/b]

Ah, yet another rendition of “one of us”.

One need not believe in Pallas Athena, the virgin goddess, to be overwhelmed by the Parthenon. Similarly, a man who rejects all dogmas, all theologies and all religious formulations of beliefs may still find Genesis the sublime book par excellence. Experiences and aspirations of which intimations may be found in Plato, Nietzsche, and Spinoza have found their most evocative expression in some sacred books. Since the Renaissance, Shakespeare, Rembrandt, Mozart, and a host of others have shown that this religious dimension can be experienced and communicated apart from any religious context. But that is no reason for closing my heart to Job’s cry, or to Jeremiah’s, or to the Second Isaiah. I do not read them as mere literature; rather, I read Sophocles and Shakespeare with all my being, too.

Ah, yet another rendition of, well, this.

Men love jargon. It is so palpable, tangible, visible, audible; it makes so obvious what one has learned; it satisfies the craving for results. It is impressive for the uninitiated. It makes one feel that one belongs. Jargon divides men into Us and Them….

Who does this remind you of?

To an even moderately sophisticated and well-read person it should come as no surprise that any religion at all has its hidden as well as its obvious beauties and is capable of profound and impressive interpretations. What is deeply objectionable about most of these interpretations is that they allow the believer to say Yes while evading any No.

Either that or one or another inquisition will put it on trial.

The Golden Rule is intolerable; if millions did to others whatever they wished others to do to them, few would be safe from molestation. The Golden Rule shows anything but moral genius, and the claim by which it is followed in the Sermon on the Mount – ‘this is the Law and the Prophets’ – makes little sense.

Let’s file this one under, “okay, but what else is there?”

Rabbi Zusya said that on the Day of Judgment, God would ask him not why he had not been Moses, but why he had not been Zusya.

So, what will you say when He asks you? And imagine His reaction to me.

[b]Mary Roach

Gravitation is the lust of the cosmos.[/b]

Or for some [no doubt] the rape.

Upon the occasion of history’s first manned flight - in the 1780’s aboard the Montgolfier brothers’ hot-air balloons - someone asked Franklin what use he saw in such frivolity. What use, he replied, is a newborn baby?

So, is that a good point?

Masters points out that the heterosexuals were at a disadvantage, as they do not benefit from what he called “gender empathy”. Doing unto your partner as you would do unto yourself only works well when you’re gay.

And that’s only natural, right?

There wasn’t an anhydrous lacrimal gland in the room…

Cute.

So animated are these freestanding hearts that surgeons have been known to drop them. “We wash them off and they do just fine,” replied New York heart transplant surgeon Mehmet Oz when I asked him about it. I imagined the heart slipping across the linoleum, the looks exchanged, the rush to retrieve it and clean it off, like a bratwurst that’s rolled off the plate in a restaurant kitchen.

Sounds counterintuitive though, doesn’t it? Especially if it is actually true.

…he was doing a breath hydrogen test. If you know the amount of hydrogen someone is exhaling orally, it’s a simple matter to extrapolate the amount they’re exhaling rectally. This is because a fixed percentage of hydrogen produced in the colon is absorbed into the blood and, and when it reaches the lungs, exhaled. The breath hydrogen test has given flatus researchers a simple, consistent measure of gas production that does not require the subject to fart into a balloon.

Among other things, I didn’t know that.

[b]Jeanette Winterson

I was in danger of drowning, and nobody lost at sea worries about whether the spar they cling to is made of elm or oak.[/b]

Or not as worried as they might be about sharks.

There is still a popular fantasy, long since disproved by both psychoanalysis and science, and never believed by any poet or mystic, that it is possible to have a thought without a feeling. It isn’t. When we are objective we are subjective too. When we are neutral we are involved. When we say ‘I think’ we don’t leave our emotions outside the door. To tell someone not to be emotional is to tell them to be dead.

Let’s just say that distinctions can be made.

I have written about love obsessively, forensically, and I know/knew it as the highest value. I loved God of course, in the early days, and God loved me. That was something. And I loved animals and nature. And poetry. People were the problem. How do you love another person? How do you trust another person to love you?

And then the part where they start to hate you instead.

It takes much longer to leave the psychic place than the physical place.

A hell of a lot longer. Well, not counting those times it’s the other way around.

It seems obvious, doesn’t it, that someone who is ignored and overlooked will expand to the point where they have to be noticed, even if the noticing is fear and disgust.

Or a fusillade of bullets.

I am not a fan of supermarkets and I hate shopping there, even for things I can’t get elsewhere, like cat food and bin bags. A big part of my dislike of them is the loss of vivid life. The dull apathy of existence now isn’t just boring jobs and boring TV; it is the loss of vivid life on the streets; the gossip, the encounters, the heaving messy noise that made room for everyone, money or not.

So, how vivid is life here?

[b]Ernest Hemingway

I hope I am not for the killing, Anselmo was thinking. I think that after the war there will have to be some great penance done for the killing. If we no longer have religion after the war then I think there must be some form of civic penance organized that all may be cleansed from the killing or else we will never have a true and human basis for living. The killing is necessary, I know, but still the doing of it is very bad for a man and I think that, after all this is over and we have won the war, there must be a penance of some kind for the cleansing of us all.[/b]

Nope, nothing like that yet.

Life is a dunghill, and I’m the cock that gets to crow on it.

Yes, another rendition of the best of all possible worlds.

What did he fear? It was not fear or dread. It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was nothing too.

Nothing meaning something if you’re reading this. But nothing not meaning something eventually. Though only of course if that is actually true.

You have never heard me talk much. But an intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend his time with fools.

So, what’s your excuse?

The one who is doing his work and getting satisfaction from it is not the one the poverty is hard on.

Anyone like that here?

You may not believe this. No one believes this, but it is true.

What you might ask.

[b]Philosophy Tweets

“Life is a sum of all your choices". Albert Camus[/b]

On the other hand, what else could it be? But point taken.

“A man devoid of hope and conscious of being so has ceased to belong to the future.” Albert Camus

In other words, no shit.

“All is mystery; but he is a slave who will not struggle to penetrate the dark veil.” Benjamin Disraeli

Maybe, but the mystery remains all the same.

“Nature is pleased with simplicity. And nature is no fool.” Isaac Newton

Nature is. Period.

“The reason most people fail instead of succeed is they trade what they want most for what they want at the moment.” Napoleon Bonaparte

I know that I did. Lots of times. And, among other things, it explains everything.

“The superior man understands what is right; the inferior man understands what will sell.” Confucius

Though every once in a while they are one and the same.

[b]Philip Larkin

Time is the echo of an axe
Within a wood.[/b]

Reverberating from the cradle all the way to the grave.

…men whose first coronary is coming like Christmas; who drift, loaded helplessly with commitments and obligations and necessary observances, into the darkening avenues of age and incapacity, deserted by everything that once made life sweet.

Any one here [like me] smack dab in the middle of it?

[b]It will be worth it, if in the end I manage
To blank out whatever it is that is doing the damage.

Then there will be nothing I know.
My mind will fold into itself, like fields, like snow.[/b]

As you might well imagine, I’m working on it.

I think that at the bottom of all art lies the impulse to preserve.

In other words, while you still can.

[b]The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.[/b]

The sentimental fool syndrome.

What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It’s more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can’t remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there’s really been no change,
And they’ve always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don’t (and they can’t), it’s strange;
Why aren’t they screaming?

On the other hand, wouldn’t screaming be just as useless?

[b]Neil Gaiman

I was a normal child. Which is to say, I was selfish and I was not entirely convinced of the existence of things that were not me, and I was certain, rock-solid, unshakeably certain, that I was the most important thing in creation. There was nothing that was more important to me than I was.[/b]

Nothing cultural [or historical] about that, is there?

Let’s start a new tomorrow, today.

Let’s file this one under, “I’ll let you be in mine if you’ll let me be in yours”.

Now you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.

Here it’s the equivalent of defining things.
Sort of.

Tell him that we fucking reprogrammed reality. Tell him that language is a virus and that religion is an operating system and that prayers are just so much fucking spam.

Right, like telling him is all it takes.

Why do they blame me for all their little failings? They use my name as if I spent my entire days sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commit acts they would otherwise find repulsive. ‘The devil made me do it.’ I have never made one of them do anything. Never. They live their own tiny lives.

And, if they are nasty, brutish and short, it’s their own damn fault.

He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring because yesterday has brought it.

Think about it: Would that really work though?

[b]Existential Comics

Philosophers are just a bunch of wisdom nerds who never outgrew the childish phase of trying to comprehend the world we are thrust into.[/b]

I know what you’re thinking: What if that is really true?
Or, instead, am I the only one?

The first step towards accomplishing anything difficult is always the hardest: actually trying to accomplish it.

Either that or [the easiest] just insisting that you already have.

Ever wonder why there is something rather than nothing? It’s because God is an asshole.

Sure, that is one possible explanation.

A history of Metaphysics, everything is:
500 BC: Water
200: One
1700: God
1900: Matter
2017: Maybe it’s all, like, just a simulation dude…

Water?!

Rule # 34: If it exists there is porn in it.

Or, for some, there certainly ought to be.

There isn’t a single self proclaimed “nihilist” in history who has actually behaved as though they believed in nihilism in fact.

Let’s discuss how that should be.