October 30th, 2022
I completed my self-assigned course on the history of philosophy tonight, and as I turned the last pages in the final book of my “class,” my stomach did a turn, as well.
I made a terrible realization.
I’ve written about philosophy several times lately; namely, how stupid it is.
This is why the revelation was so upsetting.
Shit, you guys: I’ve been doing philosophy, like, this whole time.
Like, wholeheartedly, unironically, doing the embarrassing philosophy thing.
There’s a saying: you either die a hero, or live long enough to find yourself the villain.
There is a third option.
You may, in fact, unintentionally discover over the course of your life that you are the thing you mocked and still sort of loved the entire time.
And it’s not just these stupid social media posts, fam.
IT’S IN MY BOOKS.
Honestly, I am disgusted over just how philosophical something like Cold World is.
For example, in a few paragraphs’ time, I discuss the idea of the soul, while intertwining concepts like linguistics, gender identity, and organized religion.
And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I was philosophizing this whole time.
It was irresponsible of me. I don’t know how many of you I hurt; the number could be in the millions at this point.
I’m also afraid to admit: I can’t stop.
I keep having thoughts about life and death and feelings and kindness and addiction and recovery and I can’t stop writing down these terrible things, and putting them on display like grotesque scribbled mannequins.
I’m so sorry.
I checked my reflection earlier and found a spontaneous beard had grown upon my face; I’ve been carrying a pipe for days and I don’t know where it came from.
I’ve been feeling contempt for other philosophers, which is how I know I am one of them.
And I am sorry the most if reading this has made you realize that you are one of us, too.
We are pointless, but we can explain why we are pointless.
And that is the entire point.