The Philosopher's Perception

by Anarchy476

Neither songs nor poems come to mind; a few half-driven essays and two stories which I cannot complete. This is the most frustrating parlays my mind has come to endure. Lacking the inspirational finesse which drives one to delve into their own existence of creativity is like being paralyzed from the neck down. I feel like a "vegetable" when I can't compile something of excelling literary quality.

It's devastating when the artist is blinded from his objective.

I cannot help but to write this very text being read now. I must put something down on paper in order to keep at bay my philosophical mind which screams to WRITE!, WRITE!, WRITE! which every twitch of the finger and spark of the mind. My hunger for aspiring pieces of literature is like a bad heroin addiction that I cannot (and am not too eager to) overcome. I crave more stories, more poems and songs, and more essays with each passing day. I am a philosophical "junkie" and I am not contempt to deny it.

On the face of things we seem to gradually loose interest in the very activities and passions which we hold dear. It is common human nature for this to occur. God help me that such a travesty isn't welling up like an atom bomb inside of my heart. With all inspiration gone and only remnants of a creative past leaves in its wake a mere washed up memory which fades faster than time itself. To be forgotten is a curse worse than any death, any manor of torture, any persecution or trial of moral and political fascism. I feel an obligation to the people -- be them friends, enemies, or complete strangers, as well as an obligation to myself -- to be remembered for what I have done in my life so far, and what I will do in he years to come.

The majority of western society is renowned for its stupidity. A mind is not a thing to waste. Despite this fact of life, any man, woman or child can see the stupidity by simply turning on the television.

It is the MINORITY which I address this to. It is the faces of outstanding intelligence and ingenuity that will hopefully achieve something in their lives.

Philosophy has always been a thing for me. The contemplation of life's eternal questions has annoyed me for years. Even before I would put my opinions on paper in essays, fictitious stories of the perturbed, or in the rhyming context which tells a story in its simplicity would I tell people my ideas and beliefs in seemingly endless conversations.

I came to a conclusion one night in my frequent spats of insomnia why it is that we philosophers have such long, impenetrable conversations -- the ability to stray. It really is a simple concept when you think about it. Look at the conversation of two philosophers as a large tree. A tree starts with the roots -- the core value and principles which forms the basis of practical conversation when comparing and contrasting ideas collide. Next is the trunk. This symbolizes the beginning topic of the discussion. It is in the branches where the real conversation begins. That first topic branches ten, branches thirty, branches one hundred.

Over the span of this that I begun writing yesterday, I have realized the actuality of the very inspirational block this is grounded on. You see, this article begins on the foundations of seemingly incurable problem. Through time and inspiration caused by the problem itself, I have in turn irradiated it.

I have also come to understand that I was wrong about a philosopher fading away. True philosophers never fade away. It just doesn't happen. We live forever growing by the day.

Hereby doth this end my mere summary which turned into four pages of notebook paper. I hope that the good people who take the time to read this will be able to make some sense of the thoughtful paragraphs, which, line after line delved deeper and deeper into my subconscious and my thoughts of philosophy and life's beautiful yet complicated journeys. A small piece of myself lies in these words. Thanks for getting to know me for it. Later 'till next time.