Archive | December, 2011

Post hoc ergo propter hoc

29 Dec

Post hoc ergo propter hoc, a Latin term to explain a human misconception of why we associate reasoning with effect ‘’after this, therefore because of this.’’ It is a natural human instinct to assume that everything is caused by effect, that because of something, something else occurred. It takes great strength and understanding to even contemplate the idea that sometimes things just happen which are out of our control.

We all seek desirable things; faith, religion, success and material goods, to name just a few. But we also seek things we cannot attain, and the reasons for these things being unattainable are undesirable. So we ignore these unwelcome logics and continue in seeking what we cannot achieve, so instead we overlook the situation and we lay blame.

It is a huge relief to understand that what we do, every single thought and how we react to it is human nature. With that, it affirms that human nature is naïve, and an extremely complicated design, and needs much more understanding. And by realising this human fallacy of post hoc propter hoc, it is the first step to overcoming what the real unresolved issue is. Sometimes we just have to accept that some things are just unresolvable and we have to let go, and to rely on the greater forces above, to continue on the path we have already been given.

Sex in the City, in the style of A Clockwork Orange

29 Dec

‘Come,’ I said: ‘my sisters, it is a choodessny day to spend some cutter.’ And they, which are Sally, Fiona, Donna and Violet were all looking like starving chicks waiting to be fed. I found it very hard not to be as excited, but my platties were so very old that I had to plesk abit of dobby cutter from my hoards, but with that, Sally said ‘I don’t have any money, I will just come window shopping.’

And indeed, O my sisters, I knew when out shopping with my devotchkas, I knew that that dobby pischa  mesto was like calling me, O my sisters, since the day I first tried that dobby pischcha I could never be like weaned.

‘And I will watch you all eat,’ said Sally, ‘I suppose I should be on a diet anyway with these trunks for legs.’ Then she like grabbed a chunk of her thigh and said: ‘See, see. Time to make a start,’ all my dobby devotchkas smecking with radosty, then she like sat down. She said: ‘Seriously I can’t watch you all eat, I should stay here,’ and then put her head down. So I was put on the spot and felt all shilarny that Sally would be missing out, so I wondered if the others were feeling this shilarny, but skorry soon they all like jumped up. They squeaked: ‘dear we will pay for your pischcha. No problem.’

‘Wonderful,’ I said, with relief. I did not quite have enough cutter to spare, the dress the purse the shoes to go with it all, I had to get. I looked around, at all my devotchas, their litsos full of radosty that we were all setting off on our pretty polly spree. Sally looking all a bit gloopy and said: ‘I don’t know what to say my friends, you are all awfully kind. I am ever so sorry though for this trouble.’ I said: ‘forget the appy polly loggy. These dama’s offered, it is only an insult to refuse, now we must shop.’

‘Of course, let’s go shopping,’ yelped all my grinning devotchkas.

Ittying down the street in an almost like strutting kind of way, me and my devotchkas, our heads held high in our smart platties with these vecks all like staring at us as we pass by, the sun was shining, the streets were busy, all I was thinking about was getting my new platties real skorry before anyone else got there before me and take what I have wanted for far far too long. I had had enough of my screeching devotchkas and suggested to part our ways until time to eat and meet later in that dobby pischcha mesto. So I parted from my dear droogs, and made towards that boutique mesto, the one with manikins in the okno, wearing like bridal gowns and like saying: ‘Come in. Come and spend.’ I knew the look in those manikins’ eyes,’ not that there goobers would like move or anything absurd likes that, but the body language of these statue things certainly had a luring abby litteee, like some subliminal technique or whatever it was that some clever veck had invented. O my sisters, this was not the mesto that I was to buy my new platties and not the kind of mesto that I was able to afford a single item. But to hell with it, lured in I already was.

‘That one, can I try?’ I said: ‘I will look wonderful in this fine piece of plattie for my wedding.’ The dama viddying me up and down with a curious almost like judgmental look on her litso, like she could tell I was telling a complete fibby. Then she just said: ‘If you must.’ She was the stuck up type, nose over glasses, looking down upon me, she certainly thought she was something special. Then she said: ‘So when will your matrimonial be taking place? Young lady. And where will the ceremony be held?’ she said, and she said it very snobbery, ‘ I do not see you around this side of town dear, our customers are usually local, do you come from around here?’ ‘What is this?’ I said. ‘Why is it you are so shilarny with my business? Why do I interest you so much?’ ‘I am being polite,’ said the dama.  ‘We are polite to all our customers. But if you do not intend to purchase our valuable products then, then you are not welcome.’ With her finger pointing to the door, ‘You can leave,’ said the rude bratchny dama. ‘How rude,’ I screamed. I had to leave before I gave her a dobby flat morder, O my sisters, I was as close as to getting myself in real trouble as to end up in the staja. So from that nuking mesto, I left.

Ethical Issues

10 Dec

If a man steals a purse from a woman, how do we know this is wrong? perhaps because the woman will become upset, that all her money was in her purse, and now she will not be able to buy the things from the shop that she wants or needs, so that makes it wrong right?

The robber has taken the purse, we can see this is fact that the robber has done so. It is also fact that the woman can now not buy what she needs. But to say the robber is wrong, is an extra fact on top of the other facts of what is actually going on. How can we detect the extra fact, that what the robber is doing is actually wrong? as we can not taste it, we can not smell it, we can not touch it, and we can not see it. We can not detect the wrongness with these five senses.

G E Moore, a famous philosopher proposes that we can detect wrongness with a sixth sense, but this is too mysterious for us to answer the question of  ‘how do we know an act is wrong?’ Because we can not detect wrongness with our five senses, it would then seem that wrongness is a very weird and undetectable property.

It seems that if wrongness were to exist, we would not really be able to surely know about it, as wrongness is not an objective fact. The act of stealing is objective and therefore a moral fact, although to detect the act of wrongness is not objective.

Wrongness, is decided through our morality, which comes from with in us. One person may see the wrongness in the act, while another person may not be able to see the wrongness in that same act. For me to say the robber is doing something wrong,  is just what I feel, therefore it can neither be true or false. There is no such fact as it is only my subjective.

The only fact is, that I believe that stealing is wrong. To express my point further; If we, the law and God felt like, say, killing was wrong, and that it were even to become legal, killing would still be wrong, but there is no objective moral fact that killing is wrong. Woody Harrelsons character, Micky Knox in Tarantinos Natural Born Killers believed what he was doing, was right!

 

Please dont sink me

5 Dec

Please don’t sink me anymore

I’m already drowning

One minute I’m black, the next I am strong

When I think I’m alright, I’m not I was wrong

The more I push on, the weaker I become

Handling the pills, but too scared to be numb

Spells and prayers are something I’ve done

I’ve tried to play the game, but I’m not the one who’s won

Hell on earth is it all in my head?

But I still can’t get rid of these nails in my bed.

Roomy’s

3 Dec

A fiery red-headed woman

Living with a hyperactive gay

Whom is just as fiery

And in fact, they are almost exactly the same,

With very similar temperaments

But not even they could fore-see

How occurrences would arise

And how states of affairs would be.

 

Friends for almost a decade

The first glance foretold the permanent stain,

Although their travels took them on separate journeys

Their friendship would still remain.

Both eager to get away

From the chanceless ghost town of which they grew,

Like little baby seagulls

Leaving the sea to explore something new.

 

He started a new life up north

In a relationship he will forever regret,

But decided to move to London

To make the most of his strikingly good looks

Living the life in So-Ho

Working in Top Shop, that is!

Meeting the likes of Sam Ronson and Li Lo

And closing the store for

Paris

And then he got work as a bar-man

Oh god help those poor men,

All trying to get his number

How they all loved a bit of fresh rump!

It was all going alright until

He hurt his leg and it went Pete tong,

So, he came home for a while

Home where he belongs.

 

She enjoyed a life down under

And had taken up employment

Caring for children with disabilities,

Until that fatal day,

Back home, her father had become ill,

Riddled with cancer, he did not have much time,

She flew straight home to England,

And cared for him until he died

The RSCN, she called Florence,

Upon leaving, she told her,

She brought a special magic,

And that magic will forever stay.

So she is full of delightful memories,

With the delightful cherubs, untill this day

Of bathing in the sun, reading fairy tales aloud,

Playing music and going to the park,

And watching, the Australian X-Factor!

 

Searching for a story,

They could call their own

Little did they know,

They were running away from home.

Now that they are back,

And after living so long alone

And enjoying their own space,

But now they share a home.

 

A fiery, red-headed woman

Living with a hyperactive gay

Whom is just as fiery

And in fact they are almost exactly the same,

With very similar temperaments

But not even they could fore-see

How occurrences would arise

And how states of affairs would be.

 

They bicker about noise

And whose pet peed on the floor

But the social trips to Camden

And cheap trips abroad

And the chats when they are down

And about the adventures still to come

And just the general chit-chat

Make it all worthwhile

And fun!