Epitaph Carver presents Plato v. Aristotle

So last night I did some playing around on a philosophy assignment. I had to do a dialogue between Plato and Aristotle. I call onto all experts, and those that enjoy the subject to read it and tell me what you think. Here it is…. Epitaphs  Plato v.Aristotle

Plato: Aristotle, may I ask you why you disagree with my theory of forms? Can you explain, or reveal your thoughts as to why? Better yet, express a theory you could replace my theory with.

Aristotle: Sure, do you mind answering some questions for me? Just to confirm my understanding of your theory.

Plato: Certainly.

Aristotle: Is it safe to assume that the way you define the word ‘form’ in your theory of forms is synonymous with the word ideas?

Plato: Yes.

Aristotle: Ideas are perfect as long as they are in your mind. Would you agree with that statement?

Plato: Yes, I would agree with that statement.

Aristotle: This could be taken a step forward, a step so far that even you will disagree with it. Would you like to hear my progression based on your theory?

Plato: Sure.

Aristotle: According to your theory of form every idea a person has is perfect, and every attempt to bring life to that idea is imperfect. Is that right?

Plato: Yes it is. I’ve said this before.

Aristotle: Do you realize that someone could very well take your theory and assume you are insulting the Gods, or at the very least someone could interpret it in that way.

Plato: What do you mean? You believe that I imply that God’s are flawed? You think that my theory of form can lead someone to believe such as thing?

Aristotle: That, and worse. You see, if the idea of something is perfect and to create it makes it imperfect you must consider the world around you, the environment, everything around us, the Earth itself.

Plato: Interesting, I believe I know where this is going, but carry on.

Aristotle: Do you think the Earth is perfect? If you answer ‘yes’ you must believe that it is only an idea, not really in existence because if in existence it would be imperfect. And keep in mind that if you said ‘no’, that you’re saying the Earth is not perfect, and Earth has a creator, more than likely a God.

Plato: In both instances the Earth is an idea in my theory.

Aristotle: According to you.

Aristotle: If the Earth, as the example is an idea, are me and you only thoughts? Do you see now how extreme your theory can be? Taken too far someone that could abide by, and believe in it could question existence as a whole. Because if things are perfect as ideas, they are only ideas. Untouchable, you cannot touch an idea can you?

Plato: No, you cannot.

Aristotle: Then what happens when whoever’s mind we are in, whoever is having this idea stops thinking? We will cease to exist, along with the world and everything in it.

Plato: I see.

Aristotle: And on a lighter note your theory leads to even worse, even more elaborately ridiculousness.

Plato: Such as?

Aristotle: Alternate Earths, alternate universes. See, with a planet as an example of a thought, you must keep in mind that us as human beings are thinkers, even those of us that are less educated, such as the slaves. One can easily think of a planet, as an idea, then skip on to the next thought. That planet no longer exists, that thought is no more, along with the life on that thought of a perfect planet, and the thoughts that the life on that planet. And that cycle goes on and on.

Plato: Interesting play on my theory. Do you have an alternative?

Aristotle: Sure, make your term “form” more literal. If something is to exist, it will simply exist. Why bother to label it with perfection, or imperfections?

Plato: Please explain.

Aristotle: Things exist for a reason, reasons other than the fact that someone thought of them.  Things exist being the realm of ideas. There is a cause, four causes to be exact.

Plato: Interesting, keep going.

Aristotle: The first cause is the materials that make an object exist. The second cause is what made the object, what, or who put these materials together to create this object. The third cause pertains to your word “form”. But form is not an idea, it is simply the shape of the object. And the last cause is the purpose of this object, why was it built.

Plato: Interesting thoughts, and ideas. It would be a shame if I my form theory were correct.

Aristotle: Why is that? It would only be a shame for me because I would be wrong.

Plato: *smiling* Because your well thought out theory and rebuttal to mine could go to waste if the being that is thinking this planet into existence losses their train of thought

Moniker Talk 4/ Philosophy of the Middle Finger

I just thought about something. I have a huge ego that I want my thoughts argued over. Not only argued over, but argued over for thousands of years after I’m dead. I guess the way I pictured what a philosopher as was spoon fed to me from the media as an old, short, balding white guy in one of those Ancient Greek robes, but it is not, it is simply a thinker, a thinker with the forethought to write his thoughts down. But I have a few mental blocks I need get past before I record my most intimate thoughts all willy-nilly. That would mean I have to get serious with you people. Propose some seriously harsh thoughts, make a few assumptions you may not like much.

I thought being a philosopher in this day and age would be absurd, but my second thought kicked in. Someone, from an individuals’ standpoint has to have a voice about what life is like in this day and age where we think our current technology is futuristic. lol. In a time where we actually assume we’re ahead of our time, yet, still treat other people as second class citizens in some aspects of life. But I do not think one can discover much undiscovered about life(unless we invent some great new scuba gear) what I do think is that most thoughts philosophers would have at this stage in human history would be damage control on our behavior, and how to improve life. If not abroad, then just for yourself, fuck it. Just some of the thoughts I’ve had since starting my Philosophy class, and my wondering about the present when it becomes the ancient. I want Epitaph Carver to be seen as Socrates, but when they translate my words in the very distant future(because I’m assuming language could evolve) they will be stuck on the word “fuck” not knowing what it means, but it will be in my writings repeatedly and regularly, because I do not plan to lose my profane flare…Til Next Time

Despicably Yours

Written While Bored ( The Blahs)

At a boiling point with the blahs
Nothing is as it was, and even remembering my high school football games
The cheerleaders gave us half assed rah rah’s
Now are you a talent because you write about your life
Or what you make up?
If you claim you’re conscience and looking down your nose
At me you need to wake up
I’ve embraced all my social disorders to walk up to you
And give you a hug
Snatch your wallet and leave you
Walking away with nothing but love
I flirt with venting, but I get the feeling
Some minds can’t take the heat
Like that royal dousing sweeping
A Celtic from his feet
I’ve come to the conclusion that my mind
Has to be the depths of hell
Because my headaches burn
And make my eyes swell
My advice to any one at any given moment is to duck
If sex isn’t a part of your job description
Be stingy with your fucks
You can’t have a genuine despair pie
Without a pinch of hope added to its crust
Have a taste for your destructive lust
It may not even be just
But you’ve bitten the dust
And savor the pleasure
As if juices earned from hip thrusts
But calm your body
Because as things can get spotty
When they get sloppy
I’ve rigged bombs in vibrators
So things get costly
When you get soggy
On your hitachi

Agent Smith

Want me to break my rhymes down
And tell you the truth
I see way more money on the New York Stock Exchange
Than in a rap booth
The word conscience artist disturbs me
As if I’m walking around sleeping
But my doses of honesty are poisonous
If given a heaping, you’d begin weeping
You must understand that I understand
You don’t desire to be unplugged
At first I tugged and I tugged
Then realized you’d rather be drugged
Then I Kanye shrugged
Went from the One
To an Agent Smith
Evil word smith
Possessing wherewith
To give you a pretty myth
My rhymes a tabooed splendor
Like the joys of a sex offender
Sought out like legal tender
And even known cut sharp to the balls
Changing one or two males genders
It leave me to render this message
That a message would be meaningless
Maybe that’s why read me
Leads to mass squeamishness

Should have been a rap Freewrite

I am poetry’s villain
Worst rhymer in the world
Be amazed at what is typed
As my fingers unfurl
I could take about me
I could talk about the world
Could opine on worldly possessions
Or receiving oral sex from your girl
Yes imagine it, imagine my cock
Mopping your girls lips
Her spit drips to her tits
And look at my naked asses care for your feelings
Do you see two shits?
I bask in your pain
And bathe in your suffering
And send more bullets at you
Then lies in stories FOX news is covering
You’ll fulfill my fantasy of hearing
A dead mans muttering
But I might shoot you while your dying
If you begin stuttering

2nd Edition of Moniker Talk w/ Epitaph Carver

Well, I think I am well overdue for another moniker talk post. In my mind there is an overflow of thoughts and emotions (I HATE EMOTIONS) that I can’t quite put into poetry, jokes, or short stories. I’ve even thought to create another moniker in order to express these thoughts with a thicker coat of anonymity. But what I’ve chosen to write about today is hatred. Hate, hatred, haters, hater-aid, player-haters ect. I personally think you people are using the word all wrong. People use words wrong all the time, but this one is the kicker for me. I don’t understand how expressing an opinion that isn’t in line with another is me ‘hating’ that opinion. Things people are in favor of is a matter of taste, last I checked. I love apple sauce and an occasional bottle of pear juice. I don’t think you’re a hater if you don’t like those things, and that’s cool. When it becomes an issue for someone to have an opinion that is different from yours, then there is a problem somewhere. The wires are cross wrong, or something.  It’s either 1 of 2 things happening here

Number 1: Someone is overly sensitive about being disagreed with.

Number 2: Someone doesn’t know enough about the other to make a fair judgment.

Luckily many, many, many people don’t bother with number two because facts don’t mean shit to that many people anymore.  So that leads me to have to opine about people as a whole and our emotional states, which I have plenty to say about, but they must be stated in the way I actually talk (at least when I’m annoyed I talk like the following)

TOUGHIN THE FUCK UP, BITCH. EVERYONE AIN’T GONNA LIKE EVERY FUCKING YOU DO, AND EVERY FUCKING THING YOU LIKE! ALL YOUR FRIENDS AIN’T GONNA LIKE THE SHIT YOU LIKE EITHER!! YOU LIKELY NEED TO FIND SOME NEW FRIENDS THAT WILL GIVE YOU INSIGHT YOUMAY NOT BE OPEN TO HEARING BECAUSE YOUS A CLOSED MINDED MOTHAFUCKA!!!!

FUCK!!

One another note about hate, I don’t know if people really know what hate is. Those race riots in the 1950’s and 1960’s that was HATE, the Nazi shit in Germany, that was hate. When you become so consumed with anger and the thought of ‘getting’ one person that you begin roaming the streets of a rather dangerous city with nothing but the clothes on your back and a revolver searching for that one person, that’s hate. Hate truly consumes people. That’s why I smirk at how the word is used when it comes to matters of opinion. I don’t hate Lil Waynes music,I think it sucks.lol. Totally different concept, which will always for some reason be mixed up with something else.

Well I’m done yaking, I’mma go get me some apple sauce.

Bitches Love Love Poems

I read a love poem today. Bitches love love poems. Please be mad that I called you a bitch, you fucking bitch. The writer spoke of how much he missed his love. Countless metaphors of how much he missed his bitch. Bitches love being told how much they’re missed. He missed his missing bitch like racist miss slavery. He missed his missing bitch like a new coward misses their bravery. It made me think to myself, my style of poetry is very rejectable, far from bitch acceptable. I mean, you write a few pieces in an attempt to relive crimes of infamous serial killers and the whole world turns on you. What can a fellow do? I wrote a love poem once. I even wrote one missing a bitch or two. If I wrote a poem about nature, quite frankly it would leave you blue. Because I’ll blame you for destroying it, from the trees to the desert, it’s all you! But enough of my bitching about poetry. Bitches pick beautiful lies over the opposite all of the time. And don’t you forget to be angry, you fucking bitch. I’ve called you a bitch several times.

Poetic Venting

I guess I have a damaged psychee
Why don’t they like me?
Would they be more adoring
If they saw my skin and organs
If I poured my heart out
Would they gulp it down
Or savor the taste of my blood
A professional palate could taste
There ain’t no love
In one of my blinks I could tell you a nightmare
Going from in bed watching tv to a policeman’s
Pistol in my face, right there
I’d rather have pleasant dreams
But those don’t last
I wish I’d have smiled harder
When I was just smirking
I wish I’d have grabbed some broads hands
Instead of just flirting
Nose to nose
Eye to eye
We’d do dance steps
Spins and dips
Passionate kisses ended slowly
With a softly bitten lip
I fell in love with a purple shadow
And now the suns risen
My fist squeeze a rose stem
And the petals begin to wizen
My hand frozen in pain
Penetrated by a poison thorn
Thoughts adrift on losing
My favorite Capricorn

Girl In The Barbie Chain

So against my judgment you come to this party
Oh, you didn’t think I would come with
It’s your paranoia talking, your fun’s curse
Your life’s gift
Focus on the attire
Who’s in Cartie glasses and leather jackets
Who has the attitude that says without saying
“I’m armed, holding heat, I pack it”
Likely one of the few in with guns
So play it cool, attempt to have fun
Mingle a little with women
Chick with the barbie chain, big chest, and hair in a bun
She talked about popular rappers
I nodded unappreciative of her jargon
I begged her pardon
Stepped to the window and enjoyed the even view of the garden
I sensed a calmness similar to births of storms
The chick with the tits and barbie chain seems to be having a convo
With a man she wouldn’t norm
Not a pleasant exchange
She pushed him, and cursed him
He slapped her to the floor
From the ground she caps his ass
With a chrome .44
The party dies instantly
Among the scatter of people she sees me
Gives me the finger and aim her gun at me
Exclaiming “You were rude to me!”
I followed instinct and rammed shoulder first through
The window
She wasn’t shooting high enough for my head
To bring me to an end though
I did all this worrying about dudes
And end up with a crazy chick blasting at me
Then I guess my paranoid side started feeling happy
In the midst of escape I sprint into darkness
Her trigger squeezes are aimless
I had the drop on her two thunderous strikes
Left her on the ground and storm clouds rainless

Freewrite…

I jog in the fog
Carelessly carrying live grenades
Tossing them willy nilly
Sharing my sunshine with those under shade
I love to shoot people up
From their kneecaps, up to their sculls
Or dangle them from a tall building
Let go, and watch them fall
I’d say my favorite mutilation
Is a chainsaw castration
While you scream in pain
I’ll be sawing away in jubilation
My blade works good
Some of you may call it ox work
Buck 50 across your face
Indicating your life’s worth
Stab wounds make pink out of that precious white shirt
Blood tasted like baby’s milk,now that qwinched my thirst