Poem in Which I Write a Pocket Encyclopaedia of Enlightenment Man-Philosophers (A How-to Guide)
Turns out a babe can be a tree and a god. This can be accomplished dressed or undressed, before or after breakfast (although an over-full and windy stomach can inhibit true understanding).
To begin: Sit on a bench and stare up at, say, a hawthorn in May. Examine your hand, then the blossom – same thing, no? Bend your neck back with an open mouth. Let the sky fall down your throat, into your heart, your cunt. Let it crash through your knees, out your feet into the dogshit-stained gravel path of your local public sector park, and down to the core of the earth.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
This is for you ladeez with a roving eye. Cheating is for slags. Borrow the Leibnizian approach and inhabit multiple possible worlds, each populated by a hench gallant of your choosing. There you can whatnot with whomever. No need to return to your hot boyf with soaked thong and abject guilt creaming your veins. Because, people, you can live in all worlds simultaneously. Seventeenth-century philosophy, what’s not to like?
Ohmygod, this dude was fricking wrong. Here at Man-Philosophers HQ we don’t endorse this soulsucking:
Everyone is separate. We’re all individual. Short selfish brutes everywhere. If it sounds familiar it’s cos it is – plays havoc with the dewy complexion. Count. Us. Out.