I don’t get philosophy.

“Democritus, why you laughing? Is it for these atoms uplift you, and the world taken on is paltry game? Is it because you do not burden with the prime mover? Does your mind not dwell on what happens, when you are no longer here to ponder mere puzzles? Democritus,” said the weeping philosopher to the sleeve of his robe. “How is it, that I’m freed from all, in my reality which moves so freely? Yet, wholly lost within my own melancholy pathos. How do you laugh, when you only delusion yourself with understanding the logos? You formulate, but feel no personality in the formula. You’re like a smart raven repeating reoccurring events. Of course, you deserve to laugh. Perhaps, I am obscured. For being immovable, witnessing strife derived by source’s flow as justice and penance. Not as effect prior effect. For seeing the path of up and down as one and the same. For seeing that everything. Flows. You remove yourself from everything to measure it. I swim concluded with it. You laugh; they will bury me in my own poop.”


“I dunno, Heraclitus,” the laughing philosopher said, “it was just funny.”


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