.... after sawing off some dead limbs today, I sat out on the patio and contemplated the meaning of life for a while.... I sipped a ceremonial rum and Coke and kicked back.... the wind chimes were going peacefully and the sweat was slowly drying off my back... and the more I thought about it all, the more I really began to wish that I could buy Soren Kierkegaard a beer... or mix him up a snazzy gin and tonic while he relaxed under the umbrella....

... although, I kinda doubt he drank... but still, I'd offer....

by Eric on June 19, 2006 | Bullshit (6) | TrackBack (0) | Drinking
Bullshit So Far

You would last about 10 minutes MAXIMUM talking to Kierkegaard before you whipped out your belt knife and slit his throat, in MY humble opinion (remember, Eric, I WAS an English major). Your beloved "Soren" was an asshat.

As existentalist writers go, he ranks right up there with (Jean Paul) Sarte as one of my all-time DISfavorites. I'll give him credit for one thing--- he was readable, which I never could say about Dostoyevsky, but he made me wanna PUKE.

I do have one question... why did sweat running down your nekkid back make you think of HIM???

Bullshitted by Acidman on June 19, 2006 07:15 PM

I apologize, Eric. Kierkegaard wasn't NEARLY as bad as Sarte. He was closer to Unamuno and Nietzhche. I kinda liked those guys, although Unamono's great quote "I AM my people" gave me lots of hoots when I got in trouble in college.

Yell THAT at an English professor, and he just MAY let you off the hook for YOUR crime.

Gawd. Ain't extistentalism GREAT??? But leave that sweaty back crap out of it.

Bullshitted by Acidman on June 19, 2006 07:29 PM

Fuck me runnin'. I thought the fool lost the US Open yesterday...

Bullshitted by RedNeck on June 19, 2006 08:42 PM

... well, my back really was sweating..

Bullshitted by Eric on June 19, 2006 10:09 PM

It's hard work being a man of leisure, Cat

Bullshitted by Catfish on June 20, 2006 12:01 PM

Eric --

God, deliver me... I find myself quibbling with Rob Gutrumbler! Please, sweat all you want. It's a rare condition in the cool climes of Soren's gloomy homeland.

Truth is, the guy was an unhappy fellow, and he wasn't alone. Lost in a world which was post-Hegelian, he was anti-Neitzchian because you have to have faith before you can oppose it. Kierkegaard said somewhere that life can only be understood backwards, but it has to be lived forward. His apologia for traditional faith was found in the angst of knowing no path to solutions of traditional Hegelian stuff. There only remains that leap of faith, the paradox of finding an ethical answer to the problems of an aesthetic life. Angst.

It just amazes me that Rob can find anger in that uncertainty. Is that a form of angst Georgia style? I wonder.

Now I'm afraid that the ghost of Newton Darius must be sitting in a jail cell in hell slowly putting his necrotic hand on the thigh of Marcel Proust (that wicked boy) while they turned the pages of a dirty magazine mailed to one of them from a smut merchant in Boston.

Oh, help us all. That Cracker has actually read some of the dismal philosophy of Kierkegaard! Angst! Hegel debunked! I may run madly into the surf off Hilton Head and put an end to it all.


Bullshitted by Bob Baird on June 20, 2006 11:08 PM