EVENTUALLY (Aphorisms)
By: Sad Tractatus
Tags: Pessimism, Socrates, Bible, Schopenhauer, Philosophy

1

‘And so castles made of sand

Slips into the sea

Eventually’

— Jimi Hendrix, Axis: Bold as Love —

2

People tend to (or at least wants to) based their action on wisdom. Wisdom for some people is the best they can do to ensure a good life. Wisdom even is the basis for philosophy’s etymology which everyone uses as an answer to the question ‘What is philosophy?’ (Which their answers are that philosophy is a love for wisdom) which is very misleading for what philosophy really is.

People romanticize wisdom without considering other life’s incalculable variables that influence how one’s future is going to turns out. They practice prudent because it is wise, not because prudent in itself. Wisdom is not something you do, and wisdom is not an action. In contrast, it is a benchmark on the values of your actions and choices. You don’t put that benchmark by yourself, other people do. Just like the oracles of Delphi puts the benchmark on the wisest man of all Athens to Socrates.

3

Care and a thought for the future, prudent they called. To see everything fits like a puzzle. ‘No worry, we’re all set’. But to see nothing of the future, how about that? I am sailing away in a rotting boat of prudent in oceans of sands. Doesn’t it seem unnecessary when we’re falling headfirst down a well of nothingness, meaninglessness, valuelessness? When we‘re searching for meaning down there, all we can find is drought.

Hence father if today the kingdom come, I wouldn’t really know what to do, and I really wouldn’t want something to do. Noon after noons I’ve wasted sleeping and killing myself slowly. Trees cut, animals gutted, children spoilt. I met Caligula the other day in my dreams. He despaired and cried ‘Oh the blood I’ve drained. How it drifts so fast tumbling away from the thing I truly and only care!’

4

I see up here from the tower. That wicked Sheppard and his herd of sheep he led. Meadows so wide, I’m not really sure what’s he looking for. For some time he stops and picked one of his sheep, unsheathe his dagger, and slits a neck to drain the sheep’s blood.

That night he feasts. A feast so grand, God grant him a goodnight sleep. The next morning he wakes up. He went and relieves himself. ’67 sheep I had, 46 burdens I have’. He then continues a walk of a long and unending walk, just like Moses and his 2 million Jews.

46 days has gone by, 46 necks has gone by. 67 days of walking with no purpose whatsoever. He found himself a giant oak tree to lean on. ‘How I killed all my sheeps, how I soon realize this insanity.’ a man can survive 3 days without water. and so he survive, and so his agony awaits.

‘what difference does it make? what difference does it make dying here under this oak tree or to die in a comfortable bed 10 years from now?’

5

It’s humiliating how every time I’m sad I pick up a cigarette and light it. The chemical tastes that burn my tongue, the eye-drying smoke that confines in my room for hours and hours ventilating through my dried lungs. Feels like I could collapse anytime now. No more smoke inside my coffin, no more cracked walls of my home, no more puzzling feelings of mine.

Now and then I kept my cigarette’s ash as long as i can until it crumples on its own. Some sticks last a lifetime while some sticks felt as fast as high school goes. Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me. I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.