Sunday, February 22, 2015

A Follow Up On Relative Ethics

There is no such thing as relative ethics.

At your very basic, you must, must, must have a universal of compassion.

Nothing can exist without compassion.

This thought comforts me.

We'll be fine.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Philosophy Needs To Go Die in a Hole


It is the shittiest concept ever and try as you might, you become unable to disprove it.  Certainly you can "disprove' an individual's relativity, inasmuch as "oh if an individual determines ethics than we don't need police!"
which can then be refuted with:
"well what if two ethics come in conflict with each other?  A third set of ethics can solve the problem or at least lean one way or another."
(unbiased anything is a lie, so don't go there xD)

And then you get to cultural relativity.  Spartans in Ancient Greece believed that stealing was morally correct; an African tribe in these modern days still believes that stealing is a moral thing.
How in the world are you supposed to deal with that?

Absolutely there must be a higher power of which ethics come from.  I am inclined to say God (but as my teacher said, "what about an Islamic terrorist saying 'my God says to kill people'", which one is right?), my creative writing teacher might say the "universe", but either way there has to be an absolute of ethics.

There's no way to prove this.
Or any of it, really.

So ethics are therefore relative, you determine your moral compass, and I cannot mentally cope with this.  At all.

So right now I am depressed, wanting to die, and majorly anxious and stressed out to the point where I am shaking and struggling to focus on anything.

I hate philosophy class.  Despise it.
I should probably drop out.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

I Worry

I can worry a groove into this floor,
I can pace back and forth for years,
I see myself, a future widow,
Waiting for someone to come home.
I am on thick carpet, carving a path,
It is new it is strange I am lonely and empty,
The worth inside of me raises its head
And goes back to sleep.
I fret too much, I worry about the broken souls I carry on my shoulders -
They don’t even know how much their happiness means to me.
I worry that tomorrow he will not wake up;
I worry that tomorrow she will forget how beautiful she is.
I feel like I am not precious,
And I am counting the days, holding them to my heart,
Waiting for him to realize his mistake,
And break my heart -
Which I would happily let him do
Because that is the cost of love, my happiness for his.
I worry that I am a burden,
After all I am lazy and I procrastinate.
I pace this wooden floor, back and forth,
‘Til I wear away a board and fall down
Into a pit of despair.
I am counting pennies, hoping
That I have enough for this next cost,
Worrying that I will regret it -
I regret so much in life.
“Live with no regrets!” I cry,
And I try to follow it, I do -
But I regret so much.
I worry I am a hypocrite,
That the words that come from my mouth don’t match my actions -
I know already that I do not practice what I preach,
That the darkness inside of me has swallowed me,
When I claim to be happy.
I worry that someone will see through my mask,
That my words will fall to pieces,
And in the echo of my love and hate,
I will be stripped bare, red and raw,
And I cannot gather myself together in time,
To pretend in continuation that I am fine.
I worry that the ones I love the most do not see my flaws;
Why, I wonder, do they not abandon me?
A fitting punishment for a torn creature,
I can do no pain when they do not stay.
I am not strong enough to push them away.
I worry about the damage I cause,
When in anger I lash out,
And all I get in response is understanding,
How can they not see,
That everything is wrong with me?
I worry that my words are too personal,
Or not personal enough.
I worry that nothing I do is good enough,
What sort of carried cost can I rise?
I worry that Ingrid Michaelson and Dia Frampton
Are not enough to keep the pain at bay;
I sing along with  my favorite songs,
But when I hurt, I despair.
I worry about how selfish I am -
I know I go too far.
I’m glad, at least, that I don’t hate myself for selfishness anymore,
But I still feel such a bitter chokehold,
I cannot understand.
I worry that when all is said and done,
The world will see through my lies.
“I’m fine” means something more along the lines of
“I’m breaking, but I’m making it”.
After all - I make my day,
You fake it until you make it,
I have to make it one day.
I worry that this is not good enough,
The baring of my soul,
But this is all I can do,
Poetry is all I’ve ever known.