I maintain this blog for two primary reasons: as an archive, and as a forum for engagement.
Philosophy isnât a mass-market pursuit. Most people are content simply to make it through the day without undue turbulence, and I can hardly blame them. Thinking deeply is not an act of leisure; itâs a luxury product, one that Capitalism would rather you didnât afford. Even when Iâve been employed, Iâve noticed how wage labour chokes the capacity for art and thought. Warhol may have monetised the tension, but most of us merely survive it.
Video: Sprouting seed. (No audio)
Thatâs why I value engagement â not the digital pantomime of ‘likes’ or ‘shares’, but genuine dialogue. The majority will scroll past without seeing. A few will skim. Fewer still will respond. Those who do â whether to agree, dissent, or reframe â remind me why this space exists at all.
To Jason, Julien, Jim, Lance, Nick, and especially Homo Hortus, who has been conversing beneath the recent Freedom post: your engagement matters. You help me think differently, sometimes introducing writers or ideas I hadnât encountered. We may share only fragments of perspective, but difference is the point. It widens the aperture of thought â provided I can avoid tumbling into the Dunning-Kruger pit.
And now, a note of quiet satisfaction. A Romanian scholar recently cited my earlier essay, the Metanarrative Problem, in a piece titled Despre cum metanaraÈiunile construiesc paradigma Èi influenÈeazÄ rÄspunsurile emoÈionale â translation: On How Grand Narratives Shape Paradigms and Condition Our Emotional Responses. That someone, somewhere, found my reflections useful enough to reference tells me this exercise in public thinking is doing what it should: planting seeds in unpredictable soil.
I’m working on more serious content, I swear, Meantime, ChatGPT has me distracted with furious furries.
Write a poem about furious furries in iambic pentameter.
Furious furries, with their teeth all bared,
Their paws clenched tight with fury and with hate,
They snarl and growl and pace, not yet aware
Of the cold reason that might dissipate
Their rage. They are a force to be reckoned with,
These creatures of the wild, with primal might
And strength. They are a force to fear and fear
Again, a force that few would dare to fight.
But even furries, in their wildest rage,
Are still just animals, with hearts that beat
And minds that think and feel. And so, perhaps,
We ought to try to understand the heat
That drives their fury, and to seek to find
A way to calm the storm that rages in their minds.
Write a haiku about furious furries
Furiously they pace,
Fierce and wild, their eyes ablaze
Furries in a rage.
Write a postmodern poem about furious furries
Furries, oh furries,
Fierce and wild and in a rage,
They pace and snarl and growl.
But wait, what are these furries?
Are they real, or just a guise?
A mask to hide behind?
Perhaps they are a metaphor,
For something deeper, something true.
A way to express the rage
That lies within us all,
The primal, animalistic force
That drives us to lash out.
Or maybe they are just furries,
Fierce and wild and in a rage,
Pacing and snarling and growling,
Unapologetic in their fury,
Unwavering in their rage.
Furries, oh furries,
A mystery wrapped in fur,
A symbol of the fury
That lies within us all.
Mais mĂȘme les furries, dans leur rage la plus sauvage, Ne sont encore que des animaux, avec des cĆurs qui battent Et des esprits qui pensent et ressentent. Et donc, peut-ĂȘtre, Devrions-nous essayer de comprendre la chaleur Qui alimente leur fureur, et chercher Ă trouver Un moyen de calmer la tempĂȘte qui fait rage dans leurs esprits.
Write a sonnet about furious furries in conflict with French fairies
The furious furries snarl and growl with rage,
Their paws clenched tight, their teeth bared and sharp.
They pace and seethe, a primal force engaged
In conflict with the French fairies, who hark
Back to a time of grace and chivalry.
But even in their wildest, most ferocious state,
The furries are still just animals, with hearts
That beat and minds that think and feel. It's late
To try to understand the heat that imparts
Their fury, but perhaps it's not too late
To find a way to calm the storm that rages
In their minds, and bring some measure of peace
To this eternal battle, this never-ending war.
The French fairies, with their delicate wings and charms,
Stand against the furries, a clash of two worlds,
Diametrically opposed. Who will emerge victorious?
Only time will tell.
Philosophics 