It is true that, at one time, I resigned myself to writing the half-assed manifestos and idealistic drivel that brought philosophy such high regard (by this, I mean 'enduring infamy') throughout the ages.
But somewhere along the way, in some crack between 'God' and 'Truth', I astutely observed that philosophy must always be studied in context; to uproot a philosopher - and the expression of their philosophy - from the age of its origin with the wild abandon for which humanity is known is dangerous to those who have made it their business to 'cultivate their understandings'. I dare say, I was a student of the Socratic method back when he was still 'midwife to the truth'...but enough!
In later years, I discovered philosophy to be nothing more than fertilizer for a hardier strain of thought, and still a steppe away from the mountain of my understanding. For mark my words - although you may disagree with me, reader, you cannot dispute I am one of those who have set out on a quest for understanding.
I shall never consider myself a philosopher. A traveller perhaps, and a poet par excellence - believe me when I say I could tell you of exquisite suffering at the foot of the muse.
But for the philosopher, the intellect becomes a battlefield, a conflict waged with paralysing rhetoric and internal dialectic. Never doubt that the philosopher is a warrior, and that he can bleed and mend himself after conflict. And never concern yourself with a philosopher's business. He is, by necessity, a private man - a hermit, if you will - who dwells in a Desert of Ideas.
In fact, I travelled once with a philosopher through this very desert, and this is the advice he gave me: "Lie down straight in the ground - this way you leave a nice set of bones"...
