Can you write philosophical mumbo jumbo?

Genkora

Frog blast the vent core!
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In high school, I wrote a lot of philosophy and stories that have philosophy in them. Chicks dig philosophical deep guys, but that's beside the point.

I just thought we could have a thread all about philosophy
whether you actually believe the stuff you wrote or just made it up.

So I suppose I will start, just keep in mind i won't know what I'm writing until it's done.

the sky is dark and I am all alone. The clouds want to rain, but the tension holds them in. Exploding and bursting, the minds starts to fry, insanity takes over and my heart starts to cry. The maze winds around, the clouds still holding, loneliness consumes me and withholding my immunity.

The maze itself has some cheese at the end, delicious delicious cheese, but I suppose I won't ever get my delicious cheese because I can't find the exit. Squirming and crawling, my mind is in a fit, left, right, forward then backward. Back track, my hand along the wall, I find myself with many people, people who I don't know. One introduces himself as envy, and compliments my shoes, another says her name is lust, and she looks me up and down. A man known as pity, he stands tall and proud, looks at me and asks if I am lost. I say, please sir, I just want my delicious cheese. He says you poor poor child.

I walk along further, the air getting thick, the rain finally lets down, and I think I will be sick. A man runs ahead, he says his name is greed, I call out to him, but he continues to run. Around the next corner I see, he is munching on none other than my delicious cheese. You scoundrel! He stands up and looks at me, pointing over my shoulder, I look around to see a woman, dressed in rags and roses. She says her name is insanity, and that she would like to follow me. of course I know not the way out, but I allow her to follow anyway. With one last look at greed, his face fat with cheese, I walk away through the other door.

Insanity follows me, always stepping on my heels, she says she thinks I'm cute, and would like to be with me for longer. Forever we walk, and forever she continues stepping on my heels, and all i can think is how I could have possibly allowed her to follow me. Away with you! I cried, I want you here no longer! But she just smiles at me and follows, no matter what i do.

The exit came so early, and insanity had frowned, she said oh well, and shot herself. Alas poor insanity, I knew her well. The man in white picked me up, and then he said, good job little mouse, you made it out! And then what happened, I was so happy, he handed to me my delicious cheese.


before anyone says anything, it's philosophy damn it! A story packed so full of philosophical insight that I had to be a mouse in the story to express it. Ok, so maybe it isn't a good example of philosophy :rolleyes: make of it what you will I guess
 

Ninva

Анна Ахматова
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This story is full of my personal beliefs. I like it a lot. It may not be full of philosophy, but it has a philosophy in it.

The stream babbled with a mild acrimony, which was appealing to the human eye, but within the apparently benign, flowing water there was a genuine terror for all of the fallen insects within the flowing water’s great surge drowned. John, who was the man that listened to the gentle rippling of the rivulet, could not hear the silent screams of dozens of ants whom have slipped off leaves of trees and blades of grass. He was totally ignorant of their demise, and this was beautiful to him.

A blissful smile was presented upon John’s bright face under his long, black hair. He wore his light green uniform while he marched nearby to his fellow soldiers. Most were preoccupied with thoughts of a fantastic death, romantic victory, or safety at their destiny Camp Jim McCall. John didn’t have too many friends in the army, but he usually made acquaintances with whomever he was marching with. Today he had made acquaintance with the well groomed and handsome Carl August. He was a sweet man with a lover back at home who sent him a letter each day despite the fact that Carl only received a third, and he could only reply to a fourth of that third. The ingenious man actually did that mathematical formation in his head within two years of his military service. This was Carl’s second time out in Canada, and John thought it was very dignified of him to serve his second term with such dignity. When John mentioned this, Carl only chuckled while he told the young man that he expected everyone to do the same for their great nation.

“But you do know that not everyone returns for their second term,” John replied.

“Yes, but no real American would coward like those draft-dodgers do.” Carl asked.

“What makes you a real American?”

“A thin piece of paper that says Carl August is an American civilian since 1991.”

The two jovially laughed after a short moment’s pause. John sincerely wasn’t anticipating a joke. His respect for the witty man grew with each smart remark he made.

“So tell me,” John began after the chuckling had settled into calm smirks, “where do you and your wife live?”

“Well, Kim lives in Marquette, Michigan. I live in an army cavalcade of jesters, brilliant philosophers, wise-asses, teenagers, lovers, poets, journalists, artists, musicians, and the finest damn men I’ve ever met. You know, back in the day, my friends used to tell me that the army was for failures who were too weak to commit their own suicide. Well, now I would have a thing or two to tell my ol' friends from my high school years about our nation’s military force. And through my statement they’ll build up a whole new respect for this fine group of men, yet the media keeps flaring off more crap about… Oh, I’m sorry. You asked me a simple question, and I got on my soap box just like that,” he chuckled nervously. “Excuse me.”

“No, it’s fine with me. That was a nice sermon.” John said only half-hearted.

John felt like he was forced into this situation, and he was only praying for a good night sleep at the camp. There he wanted to remain only doing small chores until his first term was up. Then hopefully he’d be dismissed from his second term due to some act of God. But this scenario was unlikely for the terrorist operation had set up several, carefully hidden fortified structures within the Northern wood of Canada. Finding all the structures would take up at least a few more years, but rumors have said that terrorists are now traveling within nearby Canadian cities instead of staying in one position, which would complicate issues. There also have been reports of terrorists capturing several ports, looting small communities, and escaping the clutches of the American army time after time.

Carl grinned faintly and nodded to John’s comment. He was obviously embarrassed about this outburst, but John honestly didn’t mind Carl’s spontaneous rant. John was a stoic fellow.

All of a sudden there was a faint rumbling that quickly progressed with great bounds. This procession of intensifying deep vibrations continued for the count of three seconds, which was enough time for a nearby sergeant to bark the following command: “Spread out!”

The first explosion blinded both John and Carl as it picked them up and threw them into the air. They violently landed into a back roll, which lasted briefly for a tree caught them with its solid trunk. Shards of bullets then followed bursting splitters of wood. Then came more rockets colliding with the ground at incredibly high velocities, which killed and scattered dozens of soldiers leaving the army in a confused panic like a child that suddenly discovers that he is no longer with his parent. Carl felt around for John, and then rudely pushed him to his feet. The man then shouted words that seemed to be gibberish to John until hot, fiery projectiles began to fling past their heads.

John then screamed the word retreat with the idea of fleeing, but Carl held onto John’s collar tightly. His ardent eyes burned fiercely into John's who only winced at Carl's gaze. Carl then steadily pulled John near his face, and spoke in a very loud, fervid voice: “We’re going to freakin' stay here and fight like freakin' Americans, boy! What the hell are you, a freakin' child? Get your flippin' head straight and kill those freakin' bastards before they freakin' kill you. I’m going to stay here with you, so if you decide to run like a flippin' sissy I can blow your freakin' brains out.”

There was a moment’s tension when John remained silent and still, but the blood thirsty soldier pushed John forward near the battle field - John's execution. John marched steadily without a weapon to what seemed like a chaotic scene from a hell. He didn't know how to kill, nor did he intend to kill. He watched young men in green uniforms concealed behind tree trunks shoot at the opposing figures a few yards away. But the tree trunks seemed to be fruitless endeavor for the young men as the enemies’ bullets penetrated through the thick trunks into and out of the bodies of American soldiers. Many collapsed with a frantic thud after one enemy soldier shot a single round of ammunition at certain area. The morale finally broke after the fifth wave of gun bursts, and soldiers began retreating without any commands to do so. Organization had long been departed as the soldiers broke off into different directions to flee imminent death. As the soldiers made their escape, rifle men took their aim and fired at disbanding men who were no longer masked by trees. Those few brave and noble enough to stay were all dead after the seventh spread of machine fire.

“We should turn back,” John said in a shaken voice.

“Keep moving,” Carl barked.

As he said these words a skilled sniper took his aim at Carl’s chest. He steadied the barrel, and once the clear shot revealed itself, he pulled the trigger. The projectile flew faster than the speed of sound into Carl’s chest nearly missing his heart. Carl collapsed into a brutal heap of blood and spit. His body bled profusely and his ability to speak was impaired by sheer fright. Thus John advanced toward the heat of the dwindling battle unaware of Carl’s fatal injury. He continued to march until he came to the creek he and Carl walked along. The water there was now dyed red from blood of many dying soldiers – most of the blood came from the veins of Americans and Canadians, some from the veins of rebels.

There, at the stream, an anonymous rifleman shot John down. The vehement bullet knocked him to the ground with a profound thrust. His frail breath began to shake while he lay dying. He felt the wound upon his chest while blood streamed forth. Then he gazed up towards the heavens where he saw the blissful clouds through the tree tops as they gently drift away while enjoying the view of the halcyon forest completely ignorant of the genuine terror that was occurring in it. This was beautiful to them.
 

Genkora

Frog blast the vent core!
Reaction score
92
I really like how you come back to the idea that very small things are rather meaningless to very large things at the end of your piece.
 
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