http://www.wolverlei.com/USA2000/ppages/ppage8.htmlHe backs nothing with action. Action is void of all philosophy. He is the quintessential existentialist “floater,” the nauseated being, devoid of values, unwittingly, desperately, futilely espousing empty, baseless values… “like a record, baby, round, round.”
At least this much is true. He inadvertently supports his claim to existentialism, despite his lack of intent.
The problem with the most plebeian existentialist elucidation is that it fails to take up the significance, the suggestion, the prescribed course of action. What is it, fundamentally, most simply? Mostly simply put, it is the urgent need for us to take full responsibility for our actions, despite the difficulty, perhaps impossibility, of really doing so.
Of course it’s difficult. OK. In the end, this in itself is trite. We know this. This does not merit philosophical text upon philosophical text. It demands more. It demands a suggestion, a deduction, a murmur of hope. And even existentialism has this, perhaps especially so.
Action.
Action.
Action.
Follow through.
Commitment.
Responsibility.
Trueness.
You-ness.
“Fuck you, mother fucker.”
If he were to have called, I wouldn’t have answered anyhow, but I would have slept better. I might have slept at all.
I would have said all these things to him. I would have, but it didn’t make any sense somehow. They were already too familiar.
At least this much is true. He inadvertently supports his claim to existentialism, despite his lack of intent.
The problem with the most plebeian existentialist elucidation is that it fails to take up the significance, the suggestion, the prescribed course of action. What is it, fundamentally, most simply? Mostly simply put, it is the urgent need for us to take full responsibility for our actions, despite the difficulty, perhaps impossibility, of really doing so.
Of course it’s difficult. OK. In the end, this in itself is trite. We know this. This does not merit philosophical text upon philosophical text. It demands more. It demands a suggestion, a deduction, a murmur of hope. And even existentialism has this, perhaps especially so.
Action.
Action.
Action.
Follow through.
Commitment.
Responsibility.
Trueness.
You-ness.
“Fuck you, mother fucker.”
If he were to have called, I wouldn’t have answered anyhow, but I would have slept better. I might have slept at all.
I would have said all these things to him. I would have, but it didn’t make any sense somehow. They were already too familiar.
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