View Full Version : When the children were ten years of age one of the philosophers died.


alexthestampede
08-23-2006, 12:09 PM
When the children were ten years of age one of the Philosophers died. He called the household together and announced that the time had come when he must bid them all good-bye, and that his intention was to die as quickly as might be. It was, he continued, an unfortunate thing that his health was at the moment more robust than it had been for a long time, but that, of course, was no obstacle to his resolution, for death did not depend upon ill-health but upon a multitude of other factors with the details whereof he would not trouble them.

His wife, the Grey Woman of Dun Gortin, applauded this resolution and added as an amendment that it was high time he did something, that the life he had been leading was an arid and unprofitable one, that he had stolen her fourteen hundred maledictions for which he had no use and presented her with a child for which she had none, and that, all things concerned, the sooner he did die and stop talking the sooner everybody concerned would be made happy.

The other Philosopher replied mildly as he lit his pipe: "Brother, the greatest of all virtues is curiosity, and the end of all desire is wisdom; tell us, therefore, by what steps you have arrived at this commendable resolutton."

To this the Philosopher replied:
"I have attained to all the wisdom which I am fitted to bear. In the space of one week no new truth has come to me. All that I have read lately I knew before; all that I have thought has been but a recapitulation of old and wearisome ideas. There is no longer an horizon before my eves. Space has narrowed to the petty dimensions of my thumb. Time is the tick of a clock. Good and evil are two peas in the one pod. My wife's face is the same for ever. I want to play with the children, and yet I do not want to. Your conversation with me, brother, is like the droning of a bee in a dark cell. The pine trees take root and grow and die.--It's all bosh. Good-bye."

His friend replied:

"Brother, these are weighty reflections, and I do clearly perceive that the time has come for you to stop. I might observe, not in order to combat your views, but merely to continue an interesting conversation, that there are still some knowledges which you have not assimilated --you do not yet know how to play the tambourine, nor how to be nice to your wife, nor how to get up first in the morning and cook the breakfast. Have you learned how to smoke strong tobacco as I do? or can you dance in the moonlight with a woman of the Shee? To understand the theory which underlies all things is not sufficient. It has occurred to me, brother, that wisdom may not be the end of everything. Goodness and kindliness are, perhaps, beyond wisdom. Is it not possible that the ultimate end is gaiety and music and a dance of joy? Wisdom is the oldest of all things. Wisdom is all head and no heart. Behold, brother, you are being crushed under the weight of your head. You are dying of old age while you are yet a child."

"Brother," replied the other Philosopher, "your voice is like the droning of a bee in a dark cell. If in my latter days I am reduced to playing on the tambourine and running after a hag in the moonlight, and cooking your breakfast in the grey morning, then it is indeed time that I should die. Good-bye, brother."

So saying, the Philosopher arose and removed all the furniture to the sides of the room so that there was a clear space left in the centre. He then took off his boots and his coat, and standing on his toes he commenced to gyrate with extraordinary rapidity. In a few moments his movements became steady and swift, and a sound came from him like the humming of a swift saw; this sound grew deeper and deeper, and at last continuous, so that the room was filled with a thrilling noise. In a quarter of an hour the movement began to noticeably slacken. In another three minutes it was quite slow. In two more minutes he grew visible again as a body, and then he wobbled to and fro, and at last dropped in a heap on the floor. He was quite dead, and on his face was an expression of serene beatitude.

"God be with you, brother," said the remaining Philosopher, and he lit his pipe, focused his vision on the extreme tip of his nose, and began to meditate profoundly on the aphorism whether the good is the all or the all is the good.

yo soy el mejor
08-23-2006, 12:12 PM
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v388/fatterd/87a08466.jpg">

yo soy el mejor
08-23-2006, 12:57 PM
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v388/fatterd/ea78e23d.jpg">

alex walks in a funny way.

Rockin' Cherub
08-23-2006, 01:49 PM
i read all of that. where is it from?

yo soy el mejor
08-23-2006, 01:53 PM
so did i. why does everyone thing make me cry?

Rockin' Cherub
08-23-2006, 01:55 PM
let's cry together

alexthestampede
08-23-2006, 03:19 PM
"Crock of Gold" by James Stephen. as far as i know its pretty much the only thing he wrote.

yo soy el mejor
08-23-2006, 04:01 PM
you know you could have just googled the first line. that's what i did. some people!

Rockin' Cherub
08-23-2006, 05:25 PM
:/

Thaniel Buckner
08-23-2006, 06:51 PM
those is some clean motherfuckin socks.

alexthestampede
08-23-2006, 09:40 PM
man i went to the gym today and there was a guy that took 35 minutes to do 4 sets of quarter squats on the one and only squat rack. the whole time he was talking to his friend who was doing deadlifts on the one and only powerlifting mat