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Written by Bunny in portal Philosophy

Decorative Pets

 Decorative pets, such as fish in fish-tanks, do not sit well with me.  It is of my belief that the concept of 'fish as pets' is emblematic of a society of restraint that tries to contain the primitive instincts of Man to the extent of castrating the natural growing process that is inherent.  Those subdued guppies would more then likely grow twice their ornamental goldfish size if they were allowed the growing space of a normal sized body of water.

In this sense, Women have often fit this 'fish as pets' metaphor.  They are charged with the duty of acting out the latest fantasy of the moment by media, Men, and other competitive Women.  Thusly, they are trapped in the prescribed reality of the average Women who's at least mildly obsessed with fitting in.  The same can be said for Men, who are encouraged by the media to embrace their role as the more violent sex.

Decorating oneself does not, in any sort of way, have to become a thing that is rigidly consistent.  It seems, however, that Men, and Women are becoming more and more identical, and regimental, in their self expression, and this increases limited expectations for all.  

As we descend into banality, we should make a point to take more notice in our self expression!  Are we imitating the excessively traversed roads of the latest celebrity?  Are we truly expressing our own desires with our outfit choices?  Was RuPaul correct in saying that that "We're all born naked, and the rest is drag"?  Is all clothing simply a band-aid on the bare-bones truth, or can it be a reflection of our intimate selves that we dare not express in any other way but through the medium of apparel?.........................................................................................................................................but now, back to the subject of Decorative Animals.  Please don't have a pet for the sole purpose of an eye-catching display.  Pets are living animals.  They are not objects, and we should stop treating them, and ultimately ourselves as such.

©

2017

Bunny Villaire 

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Written by Bunny in portal Philosophy
Decorative Pets
 Decorative pets, such as fish in fish-tanks, do not sit well with me.  It is of my belief that the concept of 'fish as pets' is emblematic of a society of restraint that tries to contain the primitive instincts of Man to the extent of castrating the natural growing process that is inherent.  Those subdued guppies would more then likely grow twice their ornamental goldfish size if they were allowed the growing space of a normal sized body of water.

In this sense, Women have often fit this 'fish as pets' metaphor.  They are charged with the duty of acting out the latest fantasy of the moment by media, Men, and other competitive Women.  Thusly, they are trapped in the prescribed reality of the average Women who's at least mildly obsessed with fitting in.  The same can be said for Men, who are encouraged by the media to embrace their role as the more violent sex.

Decorating oneself does not, in any sort of way, have to become a thing that is rigidly consistent.  It seems, however, that Men, and Women are becoming more and more identical, and regimental, in their self expression, and this increases limited expectations for all.  

As we descend into banality, we should make a point to take more notice in our self expression!  Are we imitating the excessively traversed roads of the latest celebrity?  Are we truly expressing our own desires with our outfit choices?  Was RuPaul correct in saying that that "We're all born naked, and the rest is drag"?  Is all clothing simply a band-aid on the bare-bones truth, or can it be a reflection of our intimate selves that we dare not express in any other way but through the medium of apparel?.........................................................................................................................................but now, back to the subject of Decorative Animals.  Please don't have a pet for the sole purpose of an eye-catching display.  Pets are living animals.  They are not objects, and we should stop treating them, and ultimately ourselves as such.







©
2017
Bunny Villaire 






























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Written by nceguy68 in portal Philosophy

The Philosophy of Friends and the Prism

I can't help but think of my friends when I think of the prism.

I firmly believe in giving more than what you take in, especially from friends.

I believe firmly that what we take in, are different parts, or different pieces of our friends input from other sources.  

We bend the "light" if you will of their inputs from their other friends, and us too.  But what emerges, is the processed thoughts of their experiences, the "bullshit" if you will 

of their own experiences, be it good or bad and then, it is emitted to us, their friends. and visa versa.

So you see, it makes all the sense to me, that we are like the nature of prisms.  We take in these sources of knowledge and feelings and then we bend these thoughts, feelings and emotions based on previous experiences or thoughts...or influences (other lights) and continue to disperse or propagate these inputs, much like the light and the prism.

eh, what do I know...I'm just spewing bent light...

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Written by nceguy68 in portal Philosophy
The Philosophy of Friends and the Prism
I can't help but think of my friends when I think of the prism.
I firmly believe in giving more than what you take in, especially from friends.
I believe firmly that what we take in, are different parts, or different pieces of our friends input from other sources.  

We bend the "light" if you will of their inputs from their other friends, and us too.  But what emerges, is the processed thoughts of their experiences, the "bullshit" if you will 
of their own experiences, be it good or bad and then, it is emitted to us, their friends. and visa versa.

So you see, it makes all the sense to me, that we are like the nature of prisms.  We take in these sources of knowledge and feelings and then we bend these thoughts, feelings and emotions based on previous experiences or thoughts...or influences (other lights) and continue to disperse or propagate these inputs, much like the light and the prism.

eh, what do I know...I'm just spewing bent light...
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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy

The Kind of Heat

It's May in Massachusetts and we're experiencing a heat spell. Before we go any further into our chat, I just want to say that I don't do heat. I melt, I dew, I sweat, I drip, I...oh God, moisten. Not the good variety of moisten either. A few summers ago, my guy had the bright idea- let's go to Florida in July! "Yessss," I said, "my brilliant man, yes yes!" The girl inside shook her head vehemently. No, you dumb (but adorable) fuck. Florida in July?! Nothing sounded worse. Maybe we should go to Alaska in winter while we're at it.

So back to today. In true non-conformist fashion, I wore all black to work. On the hottest day of the year so far. Maybe I'm the dumb fuck, ha! Touché.

In the states, we often hear about temperatures spiking over 100 in Vegas or thereabouts, which honestly sounds altogether terrible and like hell on earth, but people tend to follow that up with: "but it's a dry heat." In Massachusetts, we don't have dry heat. We usually have wet, moist heat. And today it was 97 and heavy heated.

The kind of heat that clings to your thighs and drips droplets down your back. The kind of heat that blisters the backs of your bare legs as they touch the leather car seats. The kind of heat that makes me want to give up my humanity and run like an animal, wild and naked through the woods. This is the kind of heat that scorches you, from your core to your lungs to your blood to your skin.

Moral of the story? There isn't one. It's just fucking hot as balls and I just saw some crazy motherfucker running outside in it. Running. Outside. Fully clothed.

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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy
The Kind of Heat
It's May in Massachusetts and we're experiencing a heat spell. Before we go any further into our chat, I just want to say that I don't do heat. I melt, I dew, I sweat, I drip, I...oh God, moisten. Not the good variety of moisten either. A few summers ago, my guy had the bright idea- let's go to Florida in July! "Yessss," I said, "my brilliant man, yes yes!" The girl inside shook her head vehemently. No, you dumb (but adorable) fuck. Florida in July?! Nothing sounded worse. Maybe we should go to Alaska in winter while we're at it.

So back to today. In true non-conformist fashion, I wore all black to work. On the hottest day of the year so far. Maybe I'm the dumb fuck, ha! Touché.
In the states, we often hear about temperatures spiking over 100 in Vegas or thereabouts, which honestly sounds altogether terrible and like hell on earth, but people tend to follow that up with: "but it's a dry heat." In Massachusetts, we don't have dry heat. We usually have wet, moist heat. And today it was 97 and heavy heated.

The kind of heat that clings to your thighs and drips droplets down your back. The kind of heat that blisters the backs of your bare legs as they touch the leather car seats. The kind of heat that makes me want to give up my humanity and run like an animal, wild and naked through the woods. This is the kind of heat that scorches you, from your core to your lungs to your blood to your skin.

Moral of the story? There isn't one. It's just fucking hot as balls and I just saw some crazy motherfucker running outside in it. Running. Outside. Fully clothed.
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Written by Mamba in portal Philosophy

Lambda

Reptile belly

on concrete

This is an equivalent

solid equation

no wrong turn

no flat alley

burst into nowhere

rebuild

bend the fabric of time

with only mind

a mad and separate spirit

Remember

How you forget

Sirens

Close enough to care

grab them

they are there

These moments

lean North

while feeding sheep

from the open

palm of your hand

Empty at times

Now filled

Heavy

with wheat

smooth desert heat

taste of salt on skin

ocean closer now

Let the horse ride

wild

Let it save the mountain

higher than most

Move in silence

As the horse slides

between your thigh

against hot wind and

dirt paths

against memory

Fist on metal

Sharp

bones break for

this beautiful equation

Trample the masses

for one simple touch

fall

as they weep

steaming breath

beaten by honor

Form forgiveness

over current

The path

Open

move in pixels of true color

Look down to cracked cement

thoughts

blown

to bits by the chance to know

truth hidden by lambda

Mistakes demolished

The strong know

truth by counting colors

Move tile and divide

Sleep to a light blue

iridescent voice

Blink and wait

For your

Thesis

For your

knowledge

It will come and stay

Begin

Repeat

Constantly

Consistency

A new day begins at dawn

Eyes slit

heavy

Only hot blue flame

could

melt the seal

This days dust

complete

Shaken away

morph into skin

flesh on heat

gold with honor

center soft brick

fixed under long

front porch

pour gasoline

and wait

snap

and flick

the match

slowly

safely

walk tall

into the fire.

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Written by Mamba in portal Philosophy
Lambda
Reptile belly
on concrete
This is an equivalent
solid equation
no wrong turn
no flat alley

burst into nowhere
rebuild
bend the fabric of time
with only mind
a mad and separate spirit

Remember
How you forget
Sirens
Close enough to care
grab them
they are there
These moments
lean North
while feeding sheep
from the open
palm of your hand
Empty at times
Now filled
Heavy
with wheat

smooth desert heat
taste of salt on skin
ocean closer now
Let the horse ride
wild
Let it save the mountain
higher than most
Move in silence
As the horse slides
between your thigh
against hot wind and
dirt paths
against memory


Fist on metal
Sharp
bones break for
this beautiful equation
Trample the masses
for one simple touch
fall
as they weep
steaming breath
beaten by honor
Form forgiveness
over current
The path
Open
move in pixels of true color
Look down to cracked cement
thoughts
blown
to bits by the chance to know
truth hidden by lambda
Mistakes demolished
The strong know
truth by counting colors
Move tile and divide
Sleep to a light blue
iridescent voice
Blink and wait
For your
Thesis
For your
knowledge
It will come and stay
Begin
Repeat
Constantly
Consistency
A new day begins at dawn

Eyes slit
heavy
Only hot blue flame
could
melt the seal
This days dust
complete
Shaken away
morph into skin
flesh on heat
gold with honor
center soft brick
fixed under long
front porch
pour gasoline
and wait
snap
and flick
the match
slowly
safely
walk tall
into the fire.
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Written by JimLamb in portal Philosophy

AFTER-THOUGHTS: Morning Glory

"If you can’t enjoy a sunrise without doing the math, you’re missing the point."

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Written by JimLamb in portal Philosophy
AFTER-THOUGHTS: Morning Glory
"If you can’t enjoy a sunrise without doing the math, you’re missing the point."
#philosophy  #culture 
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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy

Sunday Misery

Fucking Sunday's. Worst day of the week. Even worse than Monday; yah, you heard me.

On Sunday nights, I'd like to say that I look forward to the week ahead. Nope. Not even close. Starting around this time of the night, every week without fail, I get these nasty anxious feelings deep in my gut, spiking my blood with sourness and dread.

Many would be thrilled with my job. From the outside, it's a pretty cool gig, being a buyer for a major, relevant global brand. If I were a different person...sure, cool, yas. Boss bitch. But for me, knowing that I'm stuck in a shallow, meaningless job, constantly aware that I'm not contributing in tangible ways to enriching people's lives, is like tiny knife cuts to my soul. I hide it well.

Some swear that it's never too late to do what you love. I can co-sign this to an extent. But we all know this ain't true all the time. So until I figure out a way to make this happen, I'll spend another Sunday night reveling in pretty little daydreams of a new reality for me, one that blends passion and meaning and a steady paycheck all together into one big delicious bundle.

Raise your hand if you know what I mean...

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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy
Sunday Misery
Fucking Sunday's. Worst day of the week. Even worse than Monday; yah, you heard me.

On Sunday nights, I'd like to say that I look forward to the week ahead. Nope. Not even close. Starting around this time of the night, every week without fail, I get these nasty anxious feelings deep in my gut, spiking my blood with sourness and dread.

Many would be thrilled with my job. From the outside, it's a pretty cool gig, being a buyer for a major, relevant global brand. If I were a different person...sure, cool, yas. Boss bitch. But for me, knowing that I'm stuck in a shallow, meaningless job, constantly aware that I'm not contributing in tangible ways to enriching people's lives, is like tiny knife cuts to my soul. I hide it well.

Some swear that it's never too late to do what you love. I can co-sign this to an extent. But we all know this ain't true all the time. So until I figure out a way to make this happen, I'll spend another Sunday night reveling in pretty little daydreams of a new reality for me, one that blends passion and meaning and a steady paycheck all together into one big delicious bundle.

Raise your hand if you know what I mean...

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Written by Vyxyn in portal Philosophy

Wisdom of a Geisha

When being the giver

of great love

It profits not one to expect

the same back in kind,

Only to be content in the knowledge

of making another life less burden

In doing so you find like minds.

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Written by Vyxyn in portal Philosophy
Wisdom of a Geisha
When being the giver
of great love
It profits not one to expect
the same back in kind,
Only to be content in the knowledge
of making another life less burden
In doing so you find like minds.
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Written by Syne in portal Philosophy

The Sorites Paradox (edit)

One grain of sand is not a heap

Neither is one grain more

If adding one makes not a heap

Neither is three or four

So as we keep on counting up

Adding grains one by one

When do we have a heap of sand

If one more's not enough?

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Written by Syne in portal Philosophy
The Sorites Paradox (edit)

One grain of sand is not a heap
Neither is one grain more
If adding one makes not a heap
Neither is three or four

So as we keep on counting up
Adding grains one by one
When do we have a heap of sand
If one more's not enough?
#nonfiction  #education  #childrens  #poetry  #science  #philosophy 
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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy

A Letter to my Enemy

How does one craft a beginning, middle, and end of a letter to a sworn enemy?

Can't very well use "Dear" or "G'day". Not even "Hello", because the early uses of the word appear to make a somewhat...friendlyish cast upon the word. And enemy mine, this ain't a friendly call.

Maybe the fitting greeting is "Attention, you worthless, hopeless, witless, git" or "To that unconscionable douche." If rage is severely burning up the blood, try something like "Heads up, asshole, I'm coming for you with the whitehot fire of the sun" quickly followed by something poetic yet punchy. An omen, perhaps, of their impending downfall. "Do you dare fuck with the one who will annihilate your world and everything in it, you cuntciscle swaddcoddle bobbydicker?" When in doubt, a simple list makes a strong impact. "Let me count the ways that hatred burns through my spirit; a million twisted tortures as penance to pay for your transgressions against me and mine." Middles aren't my specialty though. This is a good spot to get creative, friends. Always be sure after laying out the reasons, move toward the undue suffering that will be inflicted; this piece must be detailed in excruciating clarity. And no proofreading, editing, rewrites. Nada. Zilch. Close up shop with a tough-as-steel Eastwood quote: "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn’t have f’ed with? That’s me."

-Lola

"Bring it on, motherfucker"

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Written by saltandink in portal Philosophy
A Letter to my Enemy
How does one craft a beginning, middle, and end of a letter to a sworn enemy?

Can't very well use "Dear" or "G'day". Not even "Hello", because the early uses of the word appear to make a somewhat...friendlyish cast upon the word. And enemy mine, this ain't a friendly call.
Maybe the fitting greeting is "Attention, you worthless, hopeless, witless, git" or "To that unconscionable douche." If rage is severely burning up the blood, try something like "Heads up, asshole, I'm coming for you with the whitehot fire of the sun" quickly followed by something poetic yet punchy. An omen, perhaps, of their impending downfall. "Do you dare fuck with the one who will annihilate your world and everything in it, you cuntciscle swaddcoddle bobbydicker?" When in doubt, a simple list makes a strong impact. "Let me count the ways that hatred burns through my spirit; a million twisted tortures as penance to pay for your transgressions against me and mine." Middles aren't my specialty though. This is a good spot to get creative, friends. Always be sure after laying out the reasons, move toward the undue suffering that will be inflicted; this piece must be detailed in excruciating clarity. And no proofreading, editing, rewrites. Nada. Zilch. Close up shop with a tough-as-steel Eastwood quote: "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn’t have f’ed with? That’s me."

-Lola
"Bring it on, motherfucker"
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Written by harris40tude in portal Philosophy

My Word.

Words (especially those whereby the mind and tongue need to form multi-syllabification parts of this Lingua Franca - i.e. the English Language mother tongue), I codify hidden nuggets of personal information akin to a treasure hunt.

Also as to that oft repeated (and perhaps unwelcome explicit reference to male anatomy? 

Frequent so called Freudian slips of the fingers done somewhat tongue in cheek.

Once a person tires of this electronic shenanigans of mine (usually after the initial introductory email), I back down from this profuse and verbose spittle of words and communicate in a more typical fashion.

Nothing (except a picture of George Washington crossing the Delaware River) could bring me additional subsequent giddy delight than to develop a mutually enjoyable friendship, which human bond could proceed at whatever pace most comfortable to yourself!

Come hither and yon most resplendent daughter of Zeus so we might cavort (with body, mind and spirit) NOT in that heavenly vault of royal blue, but rather here upon the terrestrial (i.e. terra firma) tarmac.

As most likely became apparent (since reading thus far in this personal Craigslist posting), I absolutely love the rich resources of the English language and can sometimes be much more adventurous, bold, cerebral, daring, energetic, felicitous, glib, Herculean, insidious, lively, magical, opportunistic, powerful, questing, rambunctious, seductive, teasing, unpretentious, vivacious, wise, witty and zestful than in real life.

An adroit ability to bend and ply

words of English,which communicated message may or not comply

with the usual manner of introducing oneself

with a simple and straight forward hi!

Most women who do write back

in the majority of cases nearly require

photograph, polygraph test of similar facsimile from this guy with a knack

(paddywack give your dog a bone - rhyme track)

which item can be compensated - for the short term

with an accurate character sketch per this cracker Jack.

I (just a regular apt pupil constituting a bag of mwm whitened bones) could nonetheless be your shining dreamcatcher! Go the extra green mile for this male who suffers the twin perils of desperation and misery! His existence akin to living in the dead zone. He could most definitely use either a firestarter or perhaps a new breathing method. Maybe you could be someone to call his own Carrie, Christine, Molly, Rose Madder and/or Rose Red before he looses his grip on this last rung of the ladder. The ability to cling dissolves and sends me to the other side of the fog.

The raft called faith plunges one speck of this human flotsam on the worst cursed expedition albeit like some horrendous storm of the century. Afar off in the distance, a blaze (vaguely resembling a cat's eye) glimmers from the abysmal ledge. An abrupt cessation from (what felt like light speed motion) of this frenzied tumbling into the mist fuels a collision, which slams this body hitting hard the boogeyman sleepwalkers thing at the bottom of the well.

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Written by harris40tude in portal Philosophy
My Word.

Words (especially those whereby the mind and tongue need to form multi-syllabification parts of this Lingua Franca - i.e. the English Language mother tongue), I codify hidden nuggets of personal information akin to a treasure hunt.

Also as to that oft repeated (and perhaps unwelcome explicit reference to male anatomy? 

Frequent so called Freudian slips of the fingers done somewhat tongue in cheek.

Once a person tires of this electronic shenanigans of mine (usually after the initial introductory email), I back down from this profuse and verbose spittle of words and communicate in a more typical fashion.

Nothing (except a picture of George Washington crossing the Delaware River) could bring me additional subsequent giddy delight than to develop a mutually enjoyable friendship, which human bond could proceed at whatever pace most comfortable to yourself!

Come hither and yon most resplendent daughter of Zeus so we might cavort (with body, mind and spirit) NOT in that heavenly vault of royal blue, but rather here upon the terrestrial (i.e. terra firma) tarmac.

As most likely became apparent (since reading thus far in this personal Craigslist posting), I absolutely love the rich resources of the English language and can sometimes be much more adventurous, bold, cerebral, daring, energetic, felicitous, glib, Herculean, insidious, lively, magical, opportunistic, powerful, questing, rambunctious, seductive, teasing, unpretentious, vivacious, wise, witty and zestful than in real life.

An adroit ability to bend and ply
words of English,which communicated message may or not comply
with the usual manner of introducing oneself
with a simple and straight forward hi!

Most women who do write back
in the majority of cases nearly require
photograph, polygraph test of similar facsimile from this guy with a knack
(paddywack give your dog a bone - rhyme track)
which item can be compensated - for the short term
with an accurate character sketch per this cracker Jack.

I (just a regular apt pupil constituting a bag of mwm whitened bones) could nonetheless be your shining dreamcatcher! Go the extra green mile for this male who suffers the twin perils of desperation and misery! His existence akin to living in the dead zone. He could most definitely use either a firestarter or perhaps a new breathing method. Maybe you could be someone to call his own Carrie, Christine, Molly, Rose Madder and/or Rose Red before he looses his grip on this last rung of the ladder. The ability to cling dissolves and sends me to the other side of the fog.

The raft called faith plunges one speck of this human flotsam on the worst cursed expedition albeit like some horrendous storm of the century. Afar off in the distance, a blaze (vaguely resembling a cat's eye) glimmers from the abysmal ledge. An abrupt cessation from (what felt like light speed motion) of this frenzied tumbling into the mist fuels a collision, which slams this body hitting hard the boogeyman sleepwalkers thing at the bottom of the well.


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