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Currently reading “Fragments for the History of Philosophy.”
Now, I want to step aside and clarify what I’m actually doing. Am I still attached to the idea of building the English Speaking Community of Kaluga? Or do I just use other people to gain intellectual superiority for the development of my digital identity? Practicing philosophy for more than a decade, I’ve learned that communication is one of the greatest obstacles on the path of self-creation. In 95% of cases, it’s waste of time. The original books of the greatest philosophers, which acquired their value throughout multiple ages, are the real friends of men of knowledge. Those who can’t read them shouldn’t be necessarily called fools, but their company makes a philosopher superficial. Hence, it’s wise to avoid social interactions as much as possible. And yet, it’s so tempting to go to the marketplace and preach new values, and even to engage in the bombastic chatter of vulgar men. Why the hell am I building this community if I want to practice philosophical asceticism? Haven’t I given up my Russian to dive into profound solitude? I didn’t like to talk to people, mostly because of an unbridgeable misunderstanding. My decision to cease all social interactions was dictated by the necessity to cut off everything that held me back. English was my way of running away from the barbarian society controlled by foolphones. And here I am, building the community and inviting hopeless windbags to be my friends. Isn’t it paradoxical?
Alright, there are only a few lines left on this page; let’s get back to Schopenhauer. Arthur, I’m paying my debt. You know, my ex-girlfriend once said that there was no difference between studying you and practicing painting. Her point was that, as an individual, one couldn’t be better than someone else, no matter what one was doing. Soon, we broke up.
Bing's version:
I read the books of wise philosophers
And seek to understand the truth of life
But find myself surrounded by pretenders
Who fill the air with empty words and strife
I wish to be alone, to meditate
And cut off all the things that hold me back
But still I have a strange, unsatisfied state
That draws me to the world, to join the pack
Why do I build this community of speech
When I have given up Russian for the English tongue
Is it a paradox or just a lesson I must teach
Or maybe I’m just young and need to have some fun
But now I must return to Schopenhauer’s page
He is my only friend, he knows the way to sage.
Adding self-irony, anger and cynicism:
I read the books of old philosophers
They preach to me about the ways to life
But then I see the new philosophers
And laugh at how they struggle and have strife
I mock them all and think they’re so beneath me
They can’t comprehend the depths of my mind
But still I have a sly, untrustworthy glee
That stirs when I can use them and be kind
Why do I build this community of fools
When I have quit Russian for the English tongue
Is it a paradox or just a way to bend the rules
Or maybe I’m just smart and need to play along
But now I must return to Schopenhauer’s page
He is my only friend, he knows the game I stage.
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