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Philosopher Kings Tyranny is a product of personal significance that results from experiences in one’s mental society. Despots have a sense of personal potency. They are the product of democratic restlessness, with exacerbations on each person’s sense of individual significance. This restlessness becomes a perpetual state of motion and discontent, an ongoing search for something better that cannot be satisfied. The attempt to find dignity in life, both by means of an increasingly narrow circle of acquaintances and by engaging in an unending pursuit of trivial material pleasures, has the ironic effect of only increasing the popular sense of indignity and weakness, contributing to the rise of rulers.
The Philosopher King’s Final Words to Kingdom Subjects
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The Philosopher King’s Final Words to Kingdom Subjects
Subjects, take heed: The kingdom may depend upon my honest account, without any further guarantee that this spark of mind is as insightful, bright, and fulfilling as my denizens could desire; but the caveat of it is, syllogism will have its way: every action must be advantageous and my void and rough reasoning can produce nothing but what is very unimaginative, very uncivil, and unlavish beyond vision. You may think I am the child of unjust power, basking in the hot sun with despondency as residence and forlornness as comfort. Tools of oppressors may escort you to bleak landscapes, gloomy habitats and a troubling state of mind. They all get your hopes down and impregnate even the most buoyant troubadour with fabrications that fill the pondering and curious mind with tar and charcoal. Some kings are so blinded by the sense of superiority that they turn their imperfections of behavioral norms into a plethora of decrees; I hereby state that this is not my case. The folly of rebels must be pervasive in order to reach wit and sense. Nevertheless, kings disavow the authority of rebels and impose traditional customs. They won’t openly listen to anyone, dear subjects, they won’t pardon carpenters who want to become warriors and rulers. For what favor can kings expect from faulty subjects, who are neither their friends nor kin? Subjects have neither critical thinking of their own, nor the privilege of free thought. Everyone acts as king when sitting by a hearth, as much as any despot in power; there’s no such thing as liberty and property and the only thing that sets you above is corruption, whilst acquiescing to the unchecked power of the master. It is high time I expose this fallacy as naked as it is. For I dare boldly say, that though I bestowed some time crafting the ideas of no senate, no opposition, no free press and no judiciary, it cost me much labor to be a generator of spiritual enlightenment, creating a perfect society according to my views. As I sit here in pompous poise, a fellow friend comes to greet me. The one that stares back when I look into the mirror; an ingenious gentleman. Thoughtful. Someone who doesn’t mince words. Someone who could be like Plato, or Pericles. I resolve to trouble my head no further, I’m not a cruel pharaoh or deranged Roman emperor. Why should I stand here and wait for the whip of the clergy? I have spent my youthful days in respite, boasting about good language and invention, very eager to please them all.
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Wisdom means one tends to be on the lookout for signs of change. Truths found in nooks don’t reveal themselves to careless eyes, though. The things I say are just, but there’s slander against me. I am the philosopher king. I have laid out the master plan for an ideal society, so I could purge the kingdom from all evils. My personal ethics, aided by a system of logic and an impartial view of the natural world help me be knowledgeable of many noble things. This has given me much hatred, since I claim to see no difference between content and form. I need subjects to sharpen their philosophical orientation and decipher complex structures that are part of this intricate continuity of the sensible. Words, things, power and geography are all the same thing. The multiplicity is never one, since our brains are neural networks and behave like webs. Giving form to content only takes place in a linguistic world, a world that needs someone to utter “I”. This one is I. I shout and enunciate, becoming a subject myself. Language is inseparable from action. I let go of old doctrines and consider now all possible forces. Yet this overthinking gives rise to flows that escape subjectivity and truth; they gel into transient reasoning, which resides on the edge of consciousness. Yet when the flow emerges it is always ready to conjoin decoded thoughts, which allows the axiomatic premises to be amalgamated into states of equality. This is the case for inwardness, which is the king’s relation to royal poise. Bottom line, this is just committed knowledge towards the good and just. Human injustice is not always caused by malice; it may be simply the result of the flawed process of decision-making. Today is the last day of ruling. The day is doomed. The fall and destruction of the socalled monstrous tyrant begins. The enemies of the philosopher king will reappear. The forces of tyranny will annihilate the orchid and the wasp. All subjects are for the king. Who here will join me in times of despair? I do not wish for false pity and I get plenty of anger from rogues. Fear and insecurity will corrupt all of us down to our souls. We all need to watch more sunsets and be attuned to the true interests of subjects. Is there such a thing, though? Who are the people? Peasants and workers declare war on all the tyrants of the world, only to become them in the future. We should follow where reason leads. Tyranny is like a dandelion, which drifts in the wind and will do so over and over. Is this what is seen as a revolution? I tire. Breaking dawn. All of a sudden, the dead king falls, while the sunrise kisses the birch bark and morning dew sprinkles the pine trees. I have attempted to warn you. It is now for you to be just. Let language spread like the surface of a body of water, seeping through available spaces, fissures and gaps, eroding what is old, dismal and bleak. Let each subject choose between philosophers, kings, between the theater of illusion of justice and true weaknesses. Unite towards your cause for you have truly rebelled against all rulers. I take my leave as I hold this crimson petal in my hand, strolling for my final palace walk, begging you not to forget your ever so humble servant.
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Bio Alex Tamulis was born in 1982 in São Paulo, Brazil. He’s a linguistics major at the University of São Paulo. He’s the author of several essays and satirical novellas and poems, such as “Elliot Atop The Landfill Mound”, “Dimwit in the Land of Bad Grammar” and “Vampiric Beings”. His main interests are theoretical linguistics and the origins of language. You can check his work on www.alextamulis.com and on websites such as Research Gate and Academia.
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