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#philisophy
wethepoems · 2 months
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Art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you
Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story
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willstapeworms · 1 year
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diogenes had a point with the featherless biped thing, however i propose:
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lemme explain
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hear me out...
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by definition: will wood is a seraph
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lycanderslove · 3 months
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so very fed up with Gen Z’s idea of romance. There are so many examples, the one that pisses me off the most was people thinking “My Love Mine All Mine” was a ROMANTIC love song.
You people heard “nothing in the world belongs to me but my love, mine all mine, all mine” and thought it was about a PERSON? Mitski herself said “my love” was in reference to the love you have stored inside yourself, that you give out.
I’m all for art being up to interpretation, but the truth is that your lover does not belong to you. Your lover has parents and family and friends and pets and people that see them in the places they walk by everyday.
this goes in line with people saying they love cannibalism as a “metaphor for all-consuming love”. Love is the root of everything good in the world, the most sacred thing in humanity. Love isn’t for consumption. You aren’t consumed by love. It fills you up and makes you whole. That shouldn’t cause violence?
You aren’t in love, you’re selfish. You should love your friends and you should love the universe and the sky and yourself and your go-to meal that you get every take out. You should be kind and you should have faith in other people.
I don’t really have an end point to this - I’ve never been good at writing essays - just that teenagers (or young people, that’s who it mostly is) need to understand that romantic love is not the most important thing in the whole world. You’re the most important thing in the whole world. The love you put out and the love you take in and being kind especially being kind, those are the most important things in the whole world. Romance is great, but that’s just a part of being alive. If you learn to appreciate yourself, and everything around you, instead of just this one, singular person, perhaps you’ll be happier.
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altar-ov-plagues · 10 months
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"By not being aware of having a shadow, you declare a part of your personality to be non-existent. Then it enters the kingdom of the non-existent, which swells up and takes on enormous proportions. If you get rid of qualities you don’t like by denying them, you become more and more unaware of what you are, you declare yourself more and more non-existent, and your devils will grow fatter and fatter."
- Carl Jung
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queerquaintrelle · 8 months
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Will Graham 🤝 Benjamin Tallmadge 🤝 Louis de Pointe du Lac 🤝 Lestat de Lioncourt
Honour/morality/ethics/philosophy codes but only when it doesn’t get in the way of the plan or narrative.
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Yeah, they also all look good killing people, and are my blorbos. But I’m talking virtue ethics and lesser of two evils philosophy. Also all religious/have religious trauma and hypocritical disasters (affectionate). Traumatized or insane or both (affectionate).
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Will & virtue ethics - @cryptidfang.
Virtue ethics.
Aristotle & virtue theory.
Aestheticism (art for art’s sake).
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existential-fox · 1 year
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If I had a nickel for every time an Indie game gave me existential emotions so strong that when I think of certain moments from them I become overwhelmed with phenomenological thoughts and feelings that grow into something I perceive as larger then both myself and the world around me...
I’d have two nickels but its weird that its happened twice.
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purp-parallel · 8 days
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We hunger eternally and never cease except for the few moments when we eat. Why has god cursed us with this unrelenting hunger? What did we do to deserve such pain??
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snazzy-hats-and-adhd · 3 months
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Thinking about the time anon tried to justify capitalism to me by saying that art should be compensated. It was just so incredibly Out There and I was still so young and naive that I was stunned into silence.
I will now spend the rest of my work day trying to articulate a simple and non-judgemental rebuttal to anon trolling from over a decade ago.
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"Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them." - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations Art by Tom Bagshaw
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mobilis-in-mobili · 8 months
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Without Fear of Infamy, I Answer You.
A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR
I am haunted by humans.
When Death utters those words unto Liesel Meminger's soul, he did so, not as a replacement or a respite, but as the truth. The only true one he knew. The Reaper of Souls though he may be, he, just as humanity, has been witness to, of not part of, suffering. He has seen our race fall down to the depths of Dante's inferno and rise above. Then, through all of this, why must be himself, the Spectre of Spectres, fear, or rather, remember us, the colours that we are?
We are an ironic species, us. We act antithetical to that which we wish to do. We suffer for happiness, we fight for peace, just as we give to gain. We are as Machiavellian as chronologically feasible, that when The Book Thief asks Death thus of her book, which was nonetheless, mankind as a metaphor, "Could you understand it?", he falters, for that is perhaps the one thing he - let alone all of humanity - will never be truly capable of – understanding itself. We may someday conquer the stars, but never ourselves. We're enigmas, every one of us, for To Understand is To Define, and as Oscar Wilde wrote, To Define is To Limit, and doubtlessly the human race is aught but predictable, and naught but limitless.
We cannot know us. For we love, and in that, we are love.
When Death says he is haunted by us, he does mean it. He has seen us at our best, and our worst. He has seen us give bread to starved prisoners on an empty stomach. He has seen us bomb the cities of those of our own, purely for power, and lay waste to Heaven. He has seen is shelter the accursed, and cry over our dead. He has seen us accuse our parents of cowardice, treachery and infamy. But most of all, he marvels at our capability and occasional indifference at dying and killing alike – for an idea. For words. Because it is not what we are born as that shapes us, but what we endure, for words can and do bring us together, just as well as they can break us apart. 
Death is one who knows that the worst form of disability is in fact, Hatred, for there is no greater loss a soul knows than that of Love.
They say, "Nobody truly Dies", for their legacies live long and prosper long after they are gone. We can be all that we are, so long as we know and remember the people we were, for we are but amalgamations of the people we choose. And finally, when all is were, for we no longer are, those who love us will remember us, and perhaps, miss us. When English and German soldiers celebrated Christmas and played football together, they sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, "We're here because we're here", it doesn't mean that our existences are for a reason we know naught about, if not purely for the fact that we exist. It means, that for as long as we are alive in the hearts of men and women, we will Be, for that is what we all are in the end, what Death loves us for – a Story. And a Story never really dies so as long as it is told, does it?
We remain alive unto Death itself after we ourselves aren't.
"There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate." 
T. S Eliot could not have summed up the human race more beautifully when he wrote thus in his masterpiece, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. We create and destroy ourselves alike, and all indeed, to question why we are, and simultaneously stand by that which we believed in to affirm the same. And yet, amidst the chaos, we see order, and in that, hope. Men like Vincent van Gogh and Frederic Chopin, who have seen and known life at it's lowest, created such art that their pain and sorrow was turned into joyous hope, for they poured out their souls into that which they made, which inevitably rendered them gutwrenchingly beautiful. Bigger on the Inside, if you will. It only made sense, for they knew, that words and stories, though with neither a tangible beginning nor end, did exist, and in that, were loved and loved alike. The fact that what they poured out into their art could be resurrected, purely by trying to understand it for what it is, is nothing short of wondrous. We are that which can dream out loud.
Omnis Cellula E Cellula, after all.
Death is haunted by us, not for us being ironic in in existence alone, but truly, for us being ideas ourselves. We are such a beauteous species that we harbour upon the one Singularity that any life form, disregarding all barriers, can show unto its fellow consciousness, and that is Love. Death doesn't believe us to be ghosts. He believes us to be stories, and ideas, and only so, that our existences outlast us and culminate just as the final words of Liesel's book:
I have hated the words and
I have loved them,
and I hope I have made them right.
PS. Death believed, and does, that so long as there is life after death, there remains love, and that makes us immortal. Consciousness is not subjective to it's shell. And Love isn't something that we understand, because we cannot. It defines Everything. One could be infinitely brilliant at something, but upon failing to love it, would inevitably detest it. To Do and to Be, takes Love. And it isn't something that ends with death. It, unlike mundane finality, is forever, beyond the realms of Time. It passes, from the first running race in the mud, to the charcoal in the ears, to the book from the river, to the stolen apples, to the asking for a kiss though being indefinitely scared of it for he loved her too hard, to the acknowledgement that he Is no longer and neither will be, again, to the kissing of the dusty, bomb-hit lips, to the thinking of the boy with the hair the colour of lemons forever, just before she ceased to be – and moves on, beyond earthly existence, for there is no finality to Love. 
Indeed, to be a Story needs love, too. And Death himself, was one who felt an undefinable sadness to come and take Rudy Steiner away – for he knew, that his story could have been so much more – that he could have had more numbers than he did, for the boy with the bread deserved them, and he had Liesel, lollies and Love to live for.
You see? Even Death has a heart.
The Truth, of what Death loves us most for, and what it is within us that haunts him, is that amidst all adversity, beyond and against all rationale, we Hope. 
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
– Dylan Thomas
Godspeed.
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yahoo-sodaa · 11 months
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I’m genuinely not caring and don’t care for these worldly things anymore, and that’s when I started losing people from my life.
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jackelopeofthelake · 5 months
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Daily reminder:
Just because someone is fighting for a “good cause” doesn’t mean they’re in the right.
Some of the cruelest things I have ever heard have come from people who think fighting for something means they’re allowed to do what they want
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atbussysparks · 1 year
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Girl help I'm hyperfixating on the Mobius strip
GIRL HELP IM BECOMING INTERESTED IN PHILOSOPHY
GIRL HELP IM BELIEVING IN ABSURDISM AND EXISTENTIALISM
GIRL HELP I FOUND OUT THE CONCEPT OF LIFE HAVING A MEANING IS MEANINGLESS
Wait nevermind it's Garfield again.
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th78 · 2 months
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My teacher asked me to define the term Hero, this was my answer
Defining a Hero is difficult, as a hero can be different in different lenses, one person's hero may be another's villain, typically the hero is the one who slays the "monster" and gets the girl, or saves the princess, but in the eyes of the "monster" the "hero" may be the villain, therefore, it is too hard to put a definition to the term, one example could be Tony Stark, most view him as a hero, however, before he became Iron Man, he made weapons of mass destruction, so many might have viewed him as a villain
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intrepid-travels · 1 year
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I've been searching for this quote everywhere. I originally saw it in one of Michael Grants' books where Astrid the Genius has some introspection about faith.
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Cosas raras, mi alimento, cosas raras.
Conocerme y desconocerme a través del otro.
Si me olvido de mí, soy todo. Pero yo no soy los demás y los demás no son yo.
La diferencia causa soledad. Pero la soledad es buena.
No sé ni qué decir. Pero el silencio es bueno.
No basta con aspirar a lo elevado. Lo material también cuenta.
Nada puede conocerse si no es a través de la experiencia.
La experiencia es cansada.
Busco mi hogar, constantemente. No lo encuentro, pero ahora sé algo: mi hogar no es el que siempre había supuesto que era. Y si al encuentro del otro he de perderme a mí, la soledad no es tan mala ni el silencio tampoco.
Pero no debo aferrarme a nada. Ni a los deseos. Ni a la experiencia. Sólo a los buenos hábitos, que en realidad todos conocemos. Aceptar la extrañeza de que soy única y, a la vez, parte del todo.
Todo lo que hago a otros, a mí me lo hago. Esto significa está simbiosis. Por ello, el egoísmo no sirve. Tampoco ignorar que todo es regido por reglas pese a nuestra supuesta libertad.
Todo es a la vez eso mismo y su contrario. El mundo no es dual, sino neutro y como neutro que es, no nos salvará porque el peligro ni tan siquiera existe.
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