Posts Tagged ‘philosopher’


WHERE IS MY SOUL DOCTOR?

 

Sometimes I wonder doctor.

Don’t look at me like I am a rotten tomato…I, too, can wonder.

Yes, but I wonder what makes you wonder.

That, I won’t tell you…you bloody bastard! In fact, I want to see sweat even in your ass to find that out.

I see.

Sometimes I wonder doctor…I wonder where my s…Hey what is that in your hand?

Oh, this?

What else is your hand doc?

Nothing!

Then why do you ask me such a question? Are you a doctor or a magician?

It is a game cube. You want it?

Are you bored?

No, it is for patients.

I am not sick and you are not a doctor!

You know that…there is no you or me or she or he or we or us you know that! Give me that black  cube!

Here, take it!

There is only this dark cube game, you play it right! I willingly play it wrong! That is all doctor! You know that you cowardly hero!

Hey listen!

I have a story to tell you for a change…

I am sure you do.

A story that has a clue for everyone who feels lost on this maddened world.

I love riddles and clues…

Cool…I thought you had lost your ability to love quite a few times actually. Are you really able to love?

Yes.

Really?

Yes.

Still?

Yes.

Despite everything?

Yes.

Then why are you still here?

How do you know where I am?

Who is talking to me right now?

A doctor.

And that is not you?

Only a part of me.

But that is still you, in fact, maybe the darkest part of you.

soul

That is not true!

We will see. Let me tell you my story…sometimes I wonder doctor! I wonder how on earth I had managed to live with no soul for so long…and I remember the morning when I commuted to work. I was on the train…it was full of slaves with fearful faces. They were too embarrassed to look at each other so they all stared at adverts on walls of the train where they lean their heads on sometimes. Or they all read the same free newspaper to look, sound, feel and act like they were all on the same page of their artificial culture. I was calm and quiet, still running around the world to satisfy my stomach. And I wondered why that newspaper was free in a culture which kept telling people there was no lunch for free. It bothered me but I tried to convince myself that I could still be an angel with no wing. Are you with me doc? Stop taking notes, you can never decode my madness!

I might!

And I ran and ran and ran to catch the same train over and over again many morning doc. I did not read the free newspaper nor did I stare at the adverts on the top of my head or secretly watched people’s reflections on the windows of the train. I wanted to understand this shit so I turned to philosophy. There they said, you cannot philosophize if you put into account your God! Then they got me ask whether there was a God! Well, how you could you talk about something that does not exist anyway I asked.

 

And then one morning I saw a man in his 50s wearing a black suit while sitting on the same train, readying myself for 12,5 hours long slavery. That was fucking wrong, hence I was searching for the truth.

 

Where was it?

 

In the smile of the man in the black suit.

 

How so?

 

He was standing by the door with a woman in a black suit. He looked at what I was reading and smiled. He then looked at the woman standing beside him. She,too, smiled victoriously and devilishly.

 

Why?

 

Because the article I was reading to learn how to philosophize was titled “Does God Exist” without realizing that was how…

 

How?

 

That was how I began to loose…

 

Loose?

 

Loose in this magicians’ world…but now I know all their secrets doc!  I now know why the man in black suit smiled at me that sarcastically that morning.

 

Hmmm…

There never was a free newspaper…people paid it with their souls. There had never been a true philosopher on the face of the earth! They were all devil boys in black robes! They were there to steal God from people!

And you are a bastard doc!  Because I found my soul!

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And a Philosopher Goes to a Whore

philosopher and a whore

Endless arguments through which men seemed to be searching the truth had finally tired him in one of the cold British evening in December. It was almost the end of the year and he was melancholic once again.

“It is all nonsense; constant classification, definitions, explanations, all nonsense!” he heard his wife again.

“All you do is to divide people, things, thoughts and censor their emotions! If religions stand between God and humans; you, philosophers, stand between every living being like an invisible membrane to separate them from one another!” shouted she with anger when he returned home after midnight exactly this time last year.

“Not only that! You stand even between them and their real selves! Who do you think you are?” she shouted again appearing in the window of the bar. And he went pink, sitting in the corner of a bar, breathing the noisy and smelly air. He gulped down his fourth pint and sighed bur she continued:

“I read your work and your friends’, no matter how intellectual how smart how superior you think you all think you are, you are still unable to think without your penises, in fact you think in the shadow of your little penises and write with your penises!”

And he finally punched her in the face.

“Just say it, if you don’t love me anymore, say it, stop behaving like a whore!” he shouted. It began snowing outside, just like it did when he had left her bleeding and unconscious on the floor that night.

“I cannot love you when I know what you really do to humans and our humanity!” she barely said when he stormed out, slamming the door.

“That was not rational, was it?” asked his ideal philosopher self on his way, walking at dark snowy night.

“I know but what she said was not acceptable!” he replied.

“You could have explained it to her, you live for explanations remember!” reminded his ideal self.

“Yes but I was horny! I was defeated in an argument and needed a relief!” he finally confessed.

“So she was right then?” boldly asked his ideal self as he turned to the red light district that night.

“I am a philosopher, I am a philosopher, I am a philosopher, I am a philosopher,” he murmured and gulped down another big pint.

Hello everyone! You have just read the fist half of the sixth story. Join the Magic Book Writing Project now to discover, improve and sharpen your creativity.


Before we look up and see, before we look down and feel dizzy, before we laugh, before we shout and fight, before we stay, after we leave, before we accept or get accepted, before we love and be loved , we hear three voices echoing in our heart soon after they raise in our head. They compete to rule us, govern us and eventually enslave us. But we always  listen  to the one that offers the least painful option and we defend this voice with the best rationales against other two voices which become louder after we make choices. What are they?

A Naked Philosopher

They are self and morality’s twin kids, who are eternally rivals to each other, good and bad or call them right and wrong. What really are they? Why do they ferociously fight to rule one another to be able to govern us? In order to be able to answer these questions we need to know what governs morality and self.

Self is our existence and it is a very artful rebel that can only bow in front of its will. It is indeed governed by will. How can anything else including morality govern the self unless it is no longer conscious of its existence? There come other selves and their rights. The self recognizes its boundaries in existence of others and tries hard to expand its borders in every opportunity. These borders are the ones which also govern morality. In other words, morality lives in the rights of others.

The self can still live like a rebel as long as it has enough power over others. The most famous and threatening phrase of morality “What if it was you?” only makes powerful self smile sarcastically. “It will never be me!” it answers. Indeed it will never be the powerful self as long as others fearfully recognize its power and believe its most colourful rationales.

What if the self is oppressed y others? That is when morality becomes the sharpest sword of the self. That is when the self raises this sword to make those, who hold the power, recognize its rights and their own immoralities. But it is too weakened to bleed any immoral body. And the morality tells the weak self to destroy the strongest rationale of the powerful self to undress it in front of millions. And that is how human beings turn the life into a continuous war in the name of morality.

But the truth, which is too loud to be ignored, is that the morality is only the mask we, human beings wear, to comfort and satisfy our wild selves. And the only truthful self who is brave enough to walk around naked and say that is the self of a philosopher…