Plato - The Apology Of Socrates

O Athenians, I see that you've all seen Aristophanes' shitpost about me. What's up with that? Socrates in the air? Lol what a silly stereotype! I haven't been flying like them skeptics; I have been in the dirt. I have asked your bitch ass questions and received no satisfactory answers. The Delphic oracle was right : I am fuckin wise. Now that bitch Melitus was butthurt, saying that I corrupt them youth and don't believe in them Gods. Bitch whaaat? He thought he was talking to Anaxagoras lol. Go study some ancient philosophy you fuckin poet! But whatever dude, I am wise enough not to fear death. You think you're doing something so cool by killing me. Wait and see fuckers, wait and see. It's me the history books will remember (usually painting me as some modern champion of free speech at any cost,  and misunderstanding my ideas entirely lol)

Robert Frost- Birches

Unlike your grandma, I don't blabber too much. The charm of my sexy poetry resides in the unsaid. This is not some shit that you can read in the bathroom while you text your imaginary girlfriend. As surprising as it may be to you, you'll have to work on my verses and make meaning yourself, you lazy fucks. But I'm gonna drop some hints about my famous poem Birches. Now read this and think about it :

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. 

 Needless to say, if you were looking for poetry about elves and weird obscure Irish crap, mixed with bizarre occult symbolism that no one gets, you should have stayed with Yeats. The simplicity of my realism can hint at general truths about the human condition, making my poetry far more superior. Get it? Read again "I'd like to think that some boy's been swinging them," the contraction and the rhythm of "swinging" conveys the sense of movement, as opposed to the "straighter darker" which conveys stability and height.  This contrast between the vertical and the horizontal is a defining characteristic of the human condition as such. The birches are the controllable, the way in which we act on nature. But we can never swing them so far. We'd love to think that we can bend them and subdue them completely,  but this is a job for the ice-storms. The field is inherited from our fathers, it doesn't belong to us in any absolute way. Note also the degree of solitude required in order to remove the stiffness out of the inherited :

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

We learn to climb and we learn to swing and the process is tedious. But this very swinging is almost dream-like. It is not the real as such, but a process of transformation and an attempt to control and subdue. Only the earth is real and this dream-like swinging should not substitute the organic quality of raw earth to which we must always go back.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over

 Because "Earth's the right place for love," we shouldn't fly too high with our elves and our mythologies. Yes! I am thinking of you early Yeats! Good that you had the right mind to change that shit later on. Anyway, I could talk about this shit for hours. DON'T EVEN GET MY STARTED ON MY SEXY METER. But I am not your poetic hamburger in some capitalist crap that makes everything for you, including what to want and desire. Learn to cook for fucks sake! I expect after this you'll be relatively woke. Bye poetic virgins.

Albert Camus - The Myth Of Sisyphus

So yea, hold on, take my cigarette. No wait! I forgot, I am a freaking existentialist! So where were we? Oh yea the question of suicide. So I see a lot of boring teens on Facebook pages posting very depressive memes related to killing themselves and stuffs like that. Haven't they read my book? I've tackled that bitch very seriously in my humble unbiased opinion. So let's assume that life is meaningless, that shouldn't be too hard, look at this shit. You're born in a universe that doesn't care about your needs and desires. The universe escapes our ability to reason and order it. Our desires are rarely met. For example, you can't just wish you could get laid and stop annoying us with depressive meme crap. Your desire to bang that hot chick and her refusal to even give you a blowjob is precisely the absurd.  Some pseuds talked about this before. As soon as they reach this condition of absurdity, previous "philosophers" usually run away to some sort of God or God-like metaphysical games. They go cry to their daddy. Yes! I'm thinking about you kierkegaard! I see what you did there. You'd have figured that out if you stopped crying and masturbating about Regina for one goddamn minute. Jesus Christ! Oh I forgot he doesn't exist. But okay let's say that life is meaningless, does that mean we should just hang ourselves like some emo teens? No! Because this challenge of the absurd and the lack of overreaching meaning is exactly what makes life worth living. Do you get it? Did you see that? Well if things were easy and had a definite course, it'd be so fuckin boring. Now the struggle in the absurd is exactly what makes this shit awesome so don't kill yourself. It's like that dude Sisyphus who keep pushing a rock up a mountain. Don't ask me how, but I think that dude is having some really good time.

Ernest Becker - The Denial Of Death

So I've got a good news and a bad news. Just kidding... about the good news part. But let me tell you something, kiddo. The human animal, no matter how sexy he imagines himself to be, is bound to have a shitty time. I mean, we are conscious of our fleeting mortality and that's some fucked up shit, man. So we try to start some little immortality projects. We invent Gods, superheroes, and shitty memes in order to play some fake immortality game. Each nation, with its army toys, wages actual and ideological war against another nation's immortality projects. I'm sure your mama told you that our animal part makes us do some fucked up shit. But let me tell you, it is our so called higher self that is capable of so many atrocities by perusing its theatrics of immortality. I mean, look at armies old and new. There's an insistence on remembrance, on memory, on some abstract nation of an immortal nation, on some unquestionable ideal. For the vikings and the Greek it was okay to die in battle, the bards will sing your name throughout the ages, securing a sexy immortality that you always crave. It's hard to find a solution to our feelings of fleeting mortality. There's the theological solution where you lose yourself in some absolute God or whatever, kinda like the movement of resignation of kierkegaard. There's the romantic solution, where you fall madly in love and then she leaves you for some sexy dude in a bar. There's also the artistic solution where you create things. Why are you making this face? Jesus! I'm not Oprah, I can't give you easy solutions. Find your own shit.