YOU NAME IT

"THE ODDITY OF THE ORDINARY"

Rule number 1: Never trust a philosopher. For a bunch of reasons. Maybe because he tells you that he is gonna end his book even though he himself is not sure, and he just tricked you into believing it. Maybe because he is skeptical of all expect for himself most of the time and always nags "How do authorities claim to have all the answers?". Or maybe because he acts as if he knows the answer to existence despite the fact that he struggles day to day with all the stuff he disregarded as not important in chapter 2, a momentous follow-up. As fragile as a 12-year-old with slit wrists, spends most of his time fending off triviality.

Rule number 2: Run away when a supposed philosopher writes a book, cause all he does is fill your poor mind with trivial questions that will never ever get any answers, and he diabolically invites you to suffer along with him cause of the simple fact that, he needs to have buddies who feel the same shit that he does. So one day they shall all desperately chant:

"OH MY DEAR LORD, I WISH YOU WERE REAL"

What a happy squad!

You know that philosophy is exactly like a very beautiful and breathtaking path that you take where you see awesome scenery on either side of you. But as you proceed further along the road, you start to realize you're a long way from home and the path gets narrower and narrower. Almost no room to breathe. You've reached a dead-end.

But then again I think that there are no solutions to this genocide of minds, there are always some who overthink and acquire enough testicle power to ponder: "Maybe acing the exam doesn't matter", or maybe say: "What if GSP (Gold Sex Porsche) isn't the way to live, maybe it's actually PPPP that does the job (Porn Pizza Playing Portal)".

There are a gazillion people in the history who asked the same questions more or less, out of all of them, this guy has to be my favorite one.

There was this guy way back in history, ancient Greece, who was probably the most provocative and distinguishable philosopher that there ever was. Diogenes.

Bffs, best friends forever, explaining because of lame old people, with Socrates (Or maybe Socrates was dead when he was born, I don't know, read rule number 1.) was this guy who most probably was the inspiration for Rick Sanchez, the roast master, one who always lacked the adequate amount of fucks to give. He used to live naked in a barrel in the middle of the market, pissing on people, shitting in public and even wanking off when he felt like it. And based on the anecdotes, (Rule number 1 DLC: don't trust the majority of people.) he would literally roast anyone who tried to talk "Sense" into him. For instance, one asked Plato (He gave birth to The Matrix.) what is a human?

"A featherless biped" Plato replied.

Diogenes appeared and threw a fucking shaved chicken at him saying: "Here is the plutonic man."

Alexander the great (The guy who burned Iran and metaphorically fucked us Iranians. The emperor which was obviously super wealthy.) heard of him and was so impressed by the stories he'd heard of him that he decided to pay him a visit. You know, to get wisdom and all that. After chatting with him, Alexander asked: "Is there anything that I can offer you or help you with?"

"Yeah dude, move to your right, you're blocking my damn sunlight. I'm tanning here. Gonna be the most legendary summer ever." Probably the most legendary reply ever.

(One day they shall write about the one who sat behind his laptop naked eating pizza.)

If things have got no particular meaning, in a way, and the labels are just social constructs, what makes a noble prize winner any more valuable than the addict who is under my apartment traveling to Neverland? This world is so excruciatingly baseless that you either pick up on a few custom scenarios that the society has to offer, like GSP, or you decide to create your own way of living which mostly consists of improvising on the spot. Think of life as one huge improv theater. (Which is a curse, it's difficult, follow the rules and stay at school. Grow up, drink a shitton, burn philosophy books and continue your dad's legacy or whatever you were told to do, cause man the gift of brain is actually a curse.)

The homeless man you think not very highly of, might have thought a lot and has decided to resort to a friendly habit of not even trying, as he knows it's MCO (Meth Crack Opium ) that brings him the most happiness.

Rule number 3: Always take shelter in your local pub in the case of an emergency, in the case of a huge torrent of thoughts. To wash away the aching questions, to buy yourself a timeout.

The whole point is that thinking 24/7 is an impossible task to do, so all hobbies you see, (Some call it careers.) are just escape routes, away from awareness.

(TO BE HASTILY CONTINUED)