Truth is, the deliberate attempt of men to deceive themselves goes beyond my fake time.

People say “I would rather not know that” or “You could have just told otherwise”. For women, I guess its always about weight; for men nothing bothers them most than sex.

In colloquial terms we can call this stupidity, deception; politically correct lets say its called “not hurting one’s feelings”.

The intrinsic value of self-deception may vary for every person. As for its ethical underpinnings: is it fine or just plain folly? Utilitarians would argue “if this would make more people happy,you should do it”. The categorical imperative would argue otherwise, due to the violation of the principle of universalizability (i.e. Do only an act that you will to be a universal law).

People do things that may or may not be “logical” in normative terms. But does it make it meaningless?

Quine may beg to defer. For meaning should not be limited to mere empirical and logical evidences. There’s a need to look at the context, the situation; and from there we could derive meaning.

So does this serve a license to do “stupid things”?

I could argue more about semiotics but I just arrived at my bus stop. Another thought for tomorrow.

Armchair philosopher signs-off.

The maker,stopwatch on his hands – its time to play the game. Ha! Succumb to meaningless strife and lengthen suffering you foolish souls. For there is no heaven nor hell; and he is not even there.

The tears, the laughter, the strife, the triumph – only ripples that vanishes as soon as it have become.

Life cheats through the rise of the bourgeois – for these strangers only have their eyes on gold.

Oblivious of the meaningless game.

And the non-existent watchmaker.

The view from the window – serene. The warmth of the early morning sun envelopes with a feeling of longing.

Reality gives more meaning to the essence of man; yet most believe they are better off with dreams. And so the inclination for slumber has been the goal. If there is any safer and cheerful place it must be only in one’s imagination.

Yet, there is still a need to wake-up.

Sometime.

Very soon.

If only perfect moments can be preserved so that one can loan a good feeling just when they needed it. But then, does repetition make things ordinary – like when “I love you” just becomes an expression rather a definition. Or when a kiss is just given for hellos and goodbyes.

Maybe man is really condemned to chase the good – the good which varies for everyone. The good which could be a feeling, a person, a disposition or an object. That when man comes face-to-face with it, he wastes the moment and instead rushes to an absolute future – the thought of experiencing it again rather than cherishing the moment.

The perfect moment – elusive. Or it could be now; just wasted because of a future that might never come.

I havent blogged for quite sometime.I just thought maybe I’d post a photo with a view from my front door.

Holy week in this country is such a pain. I finally got a four day vacation without me begging for it, and I only got to options: (1) spend a lot for the overly rated beaches; or (2) rot at home and die of boredom.

The Holy Grail of psychology – multiple personality disorder. A thing I’ve learned from the TV series that I’ve been sexing for the past couple of days. As much as I want to, I don’t have it.

Now stitching all of these bruhahas together, someone kept on nagging me the notion that the mind when left alone to wander will produce ugly results. On one side of the coin it makes man self-aware, self-critical, perpetually changing. A virtue that not all people have the justified disposition to possess. Man in this highly shallow society like stability and order, change is equated to chaos and a stupid utopia that only petty college students still cherish.  The mind at peace which accepts reality as it is, treat evidences as they are, see statements as blunt objects – is more preferred. The mind which continuously asks, criticizes and doubts is labeled as paranoid.

Now where does the borderline lie? Does having different faces mean one should go to the mental ward? Or maybe the core self must not be shared to people. Its amazing how science in its grand prowess makes every one of us feels a freak. A label has been placed on everything, making one mentally unstable if you are not singing monotone.

Stretching my argument further, maybe it is really useless to share one’s self to someone, hence jumping to my age old theory that romance should be treated to be nothing but a biological trap.

In a country quarantined in the middle ages, Holy Week is the time to look on one’s transgressions and seek repentance. Unfortunately, all stores are closed and I got stood up for the nth time only Jupiter knows how many. So I guess I’ll just knock my self out until I reached the absurd.

Looking back on the pre-industrial society, people are used to perform their craft in reference to their cultural and social frameworks. For instance, bread making during the early days are associated not only with flour, right mix of ingredients and the right baking temperature. It involves dealing with suppliers; learning the skill under well-respected and close mentors; collaborating with the neighborhood who actually buy the produce; and spending almost a lifetime perfecting the skill of bread-making.

Now-a-days people’s learning patterns are not driven by mastering a particular skill- rather its focus turn to be more bourgeoisie, due to the now modern connotation of education equating to honor, pride, social standing and power. Analyzing the present situation of firms in the country, it is no wonder that it is already a common sight to see people who are not really adept in performing their job functions; or people doing things that they don’t really enjoy. At worst, companies now-a-days are directed and managed by group of individuals who do not really have a good grasp on how to run a highly competitive, humanitarian, creative and perpetually improving business.

As a humble proletariat enslaved by bills, mortgage, duties, norms and a whole set of unceasing wants and needs there is nothing much that can be done rather than endure and hope that someday, a fluke in the carefully weaved cradle of corporate reality will emerge.

Perhaps the modern society have focused to much on standards, protocols and optimization that the very foundation of one’s strive to success is stripped along the way.

Capitalists create people who are supposed to see and interpret reality as limited to their daily functions. Their notion of happiness and relaxation reside on overly priced travels, gadgets, coffee, alcohol and three-dimensional movies. Every day when I feel that I am slowly becoming what people in cold cream walls and well-polished floors do, I feel that I am slowly drifting away from an identity that I am most happy being so.

Now at my age, the thoughts of change, redefinition, revolution, truth, happiness, love and meaning are replaced with strategies, planning, goals, milestones, manipulations, protocols and what-must-have’s.

As I sit here in my office space with piles of issues to resolve, tasks to complete, e-mails to answer and people to talk to, I prefer to stop and write.

It makes me feel human… again.

Epistemology states that there are two major sources of knowledge, reason and experience. As I grow old, I came to appreciate the value of experience, more particularly if you view them like a tabula rasa- a blank sheet of paper. Philosophers always value perpetual learning, more importantly the type of learning that is associated to the enthusiasm of a child. In facing people everyday, more particularly clients who are seem to trained to be spoiled brats and irrational, one would ask what is the best approach. Shall we judge, shall we listen, shall we learn from it?

My default response is always the negative, I hate clients. Yet, on an objective stance, even the most insignificant and even most pestering individuals always have something to contribute to build one’s evolving paradigm. On a speculation, learning to see on others’ shoes is not only an existential act, but strategic as well.

Robert Green once argued that the greatest manipulators have the impeccable ability to mimic their targets; up to the point that they have come to believe that they are just like them. The person who wants change does not have to claim it by force, rather through subtle approach that will bring their opponents to an undefensive, powerless and surprised state.

The art of conquering, winning, and learning on this neo-liberalist society is something that perhaps Plato will disgust upon. However, in reality the standards of ethics and morality is just plain convention. As I am drawing near to another year of meaningless existence, I have come to question the foundation of this stupid thing that this pathetic state of affairs call as socialization.

At the end, the ultimate goal is reduced to something that is similar to taking a crap when one’s meeting is due in an hour; to make things worst, it is Baclaran Day.

People do whatever it takes to create a sense of meaning in any form work, personal life, achievements, ventures and other sorts of interests. However, what does it really mean to create a fixed notion of the self – the self which revolves around what is necessary in the eyes of the market; the self that is accepted and applauded by the society; the self that has meaning in the perspective of the spiritual?

Sophie, the protagonist in Gaarder’s novel said that as people grow old, they become buried deeper and deeper inside “the rabbit’s fur”. The rabbit a metaphor for the world as we know, is a place where people can choose to explore reality above whats apparent; or could be a venue to succumb in between the thick accumulated strands of norms and man-made reality.

Way back in college, my professor used to tell us “What does it mean for us philosophers to continuously speculate on things and eventually not arrive at a single conclusion?”

On retrospect, what sense does it really make? To continuously question and doubt everything; to think of possible realities and what might have been; and to create an overlapping thread of meta-analysis? Is it the goal of science to replicate the mind of “god”; to eradicate ignorance; and to create a world that is beyond human imagination? If people keep on doubting the world together with the body of knowledge as we know, would it be like cancer spreading in a healthy body?

But then, the greatest knowledge contribution of humanity came from people who are labeled insane, insignificant, and even social cancers. The infinite loop of arguments on epistemology and truth juxtaposed with the human psyche could either bring forth a unique theory or recycle everything that have been pointed-out in human history.

In effect, for the sake of simplicity and practicality, a working definition is necessary. The self must be defined, controlled and made to conform. Albeit, there are still these instances of alienation when a person feels something is not right… and so speculation and searching goes again. Yet on a scale of success, most endeavors are reduced on a dead end – a reduction to a state of absurdity.

Still, the mind needs to be challenged – the state of certainty and absolute control shuts down the continuously shrinking window of man to have a glimpse of understanding the rest of the universe.  Funny, this brings us back to square one.

It’s eight thirty in the morning, you have a client meeting at nine. You are wearing your coat dress and your black stilettos. You hover your eyes around EDSA and realized there is simply no way you can make it on time if you take the cab. You looked above, and there it is, always there waiting for you- basking in the eight-thirty-ish morning sun, the Metro Railway Transit, otherwise known as the MRT.

Middle-class girls and stilettos always have this love-hate relationship ever since the former’s birth in the early 1930s. Girls who love to work and play hard take refuge to stilettos due to its magical wonders – highlighting of the calves and thighs; and not to mention creating a sense of authority, intimidation, emancipation and sexual domination.

“There is no other choice” you murmured. Taking a deep breath as a preparation to climb the long, inclined, dirty, smelly and vendor infested stairs of MRT, all that you can do is curse, “Darn this stilettos”.

The stiletto as stylish and powerful as it may seem have a painful history. Normally varying in length from 2.5 centimeters to 25 centimeters, it counters the natural functionality of the feet which in turn opens a Pandora’s box- skeleton and muscular problems; and limitation of one’s movement. Albeit, on the other side of the coin it heightens the woman’s sexuality through the accentuation of the buttocks and raising of the female organ to the level of the male groin.

As you painfully drag yourself up the stairs, people started moving pass through you. “Gaganyan-ganyan ka tapos mag e-MRT ka!” (You will wear this ensemble, then ride the MRT?! What a vain-middle-class-idiot!).  Of course you know what people have in mind.  This is exactly one of the major reasons why every morning when you scan your wardrobe to look for something to wear, you deliberately scan pass  the dresses or try to forget how much stilettos fit perfectly with them.

Rolling your eyes in dismay from combined body heat elicited by your coat dress and those people around you,  you decided to take a little bit more effort to hasten your climbing rhythm.  As you do, you swear you already feel the skin at the back of your feet peeling off. Your toes screaming in pain wishing there is a just at least tiny-winy space more for movement. “It’s all in the mind, it’s all in the mind.  Block it”  You realized- now this is a good time to recall your psychology.

Imelda Marcos once said in a press article on 1997 – “What’s wrong with shoes? I collected them because it was like a symbol of thanksgiving and love.”  To love according to Plato involves a process- a process of attaining something which a person initially doesn’t have.  The process of loving involves the transition from the physical; immaterial (i.e. the soul); the logical and the spiritual; and finally its highest form- the Platonic.  To love interpreted in its highest form involves a process of maturity. It is here that a girl’s love for material things, more particularly of shoes can be given meaning beside what’s apparent.

Women’s love for shoes, more particularly those which deliberately hurt them are often misunderstood by men. The inclination of most girls for beautiful things despite its hidden and often unnoticed ugly side though may be negated by science, is a disposition inherited from what Plato called as the Form of the Good. The abstract concept of knowledge buried deep within the soul is  like a natural instinct of the appropriate object perception. The beautiful through the innate knowledge of man is a “wondrous vision,” an “everlasting loveliness which neither comes nor ages, which neither flowers nor fades.” It is eternal and isn’t “anything that is of the flesh” nor “words” nor “knowledge” but consists “of itself and by itself in an eternal oneness, while every lovely thing partakes of it.”

After two grueling minutes of working those stairs, the relief is simply remarkable. You did it, you actually did it! You leaped right inside the MRT, get-off at Ayala Station and get a cab effortlessly going to your client’s office.  You are just right on time, and was the first one to arrive at the meeting room… bravo, bravo bravo! You stretched your legs and slightly removed your feet from your stilettos. You toes are pulsating red and you have a huge blister on the back of your feet.  You checked your stilettos- the shinny ebony still emanates its beauty and prowess.

” I will just wake-up early next time to manage a cab transportation”  You stood-up, opened your laptop and scanned the presentation that you are about to deliver.

“People say I’m extravagant because I want to be surrounded by beauty. But tell me, who wants to be surrounded by garbage? Beauty is love made real and the spirit of love is God. Only a crazy man wants to be surrounded by garbage, and I’m not crazy just yet.” – Imelda Marcos.