#Existentialist thought

[pebblegalaxy]

Navigating Life's Cosmic Carnival: Stoicism, Existentialism, and the Meaning of Existence

Navigating Life's Cosmic Carnival: Stoicism, Existentialism, and the Meaning of Existence #Philosophy #Existentialism #Stoicism #MeaningOfLife #Resilience #CosmicCarnival #AncientWisdom #ExistentialInsights #PhilosophicalJourney #HumanExperience

Embark on a philosophical journey through the cosmic carnival of existence, where the “Stoic Steed” and the “Existentialist Mare” beckon as metaphors for ancient wisdom and modern contemplation. Imagine a grand carousel of ideas, each horse representing a school of thought, carrying you through the landscapes of resilience, virtue, existential angst, and the pursuit of meaning. As we explore the…

[jeanclamence]

—Nausea, Jean-Paul Sartre

[stephantom]

I’d need to watch it again to confirm this, but I’m pretty sure that Thomas Becket is the only character who independently initiates touch with Henry?

There are plenty of people whom Henry touches, and it’s almost always possessive or threatening: the villager woman in the first flashback scene, the Saxon peasant girl (and possibly the old man? I think he prods at both of them with his riding crop), Gwendolen (holding her shoulders/neck), the French prostitute (kissing, leaning over, sitting on, slapping her butt), his sons (pushing and kicking them), the bishop (strangling), his barons (clutching onto one, tapping one’s head to indicate his vapidness), and Thomas too—(clasping his shoulders when he realizes Thomas is hurt, holding his hand to put on the chancellor ring).

Interestingly, I don’t think we ever see Henry touch or be touched by his mother or his wife. There’s the moment when he grabs/kicks their needlework, and later on he knocks all the plates off the table, possibly vaguely in their direction—so there are two physical interactions which are violent but still sort of… distant? And still the direction is just Henry to them (in terms of physicality, anyway—verbally, they do initiate conversations/fights with him).

Does anyone touch Henry? There are the monks who whip him in the end, but Henry has ordered them to do it. Likewise, there’s the servant/valet/page who begins to wipe him dry in the bath scene, but again, that’s someone performing a duty. Thomas Becket though, cuts in and takes over the drying, and the dialogue tells us explicitly that he’s not expected to do this, and doesn’t have to (“You’re a nobleman—why do you play at being my valet?”) but Becket seemingly wants to do it, and he knows Henry likes how he does it: enthusiastically, confidently, warmly, and freely (“No one does it like you, Thomas”). He towels Henry’s head, helps Henry put on his boots, and then casually uses Henry’s legs to push himself up to stand.

There’s the scene in Henry’s tent, after the French prostitute has left and the two of them are sitting on the bed: Becket sort of leans in and briefly clasps Henry’s arm where it’s lying in his lap, casually and warmly.

There’s also the getaway horse ride, where Becket is holding onto Henry, arms wrapped around him, and they’re both laughing and smiling. Henry’s shirt actually falls open a little and Becket’s hand winds up on his bare torso.

And then there are the thwarted attempts at touch, after the split: the two scenes where Henry accuses Becket of not loving him. Both times, Becket moves toward Henry and reaches out to touch him, and both times, Henry moves away and tells him to keep his distance.

They’re quick little things, but if they are actually the only instances of anyone touching Henry affectionately (or even of their own volition) that we see over the course of the movie, it does support an impression of Henry as fundamentally isolated—maybe there is truth to his claim that Becket is the only person who’s ever loved him.

What’s tragic is that 1) Henry doesn’t really know how to express love himself (see: Henry expressing nothing but violence and entitlement to everyone else around him, and even to Becket for the most part), and 2) Becket’s love, albeit huge in Henry’s world, is conflicted and unfulfilling—for both of them.

Becket might be the only person who’s dared to reach out to Henry and meet him on something close to a human level, and Henry loves him for it, but why does Becket do it? Part of it may just be an instinct of Becket’s to fulfill a need where he sees one, if he can, and if it benefits him. I think it’s so interesting that Henry seems obsessed with the question of whether Thomas really loves him, when it seems the truth might be that Thomas actually doesn’t know; maybe it’s an unanswerable, even nonsensical question to him. Like, what else could he do? I don’t know. “Insofar as I was capable of love, yes I did [love you].” But the fact that his last words, unwitnessed and private, are, “Poor Henry.” Fuck me up.

Ok, that last paragraph got away from me and now I can’t stop. Tempted to draw comparisons to “Beauty and the Beast” (this is a sad version where no magical transformation happens… unless you take a particular Catholic stance and consider that both of them maybe took real solace and meaning in Thomas being made a saint and that Henry maybe found real absolution through his penance).

I also want to compare all of this to “The Lion in Winter”, where it feels like, rather than a story about one lonely monster in a castle full of people he sees as objects, it’s a whole microcosm of traumatized and power-hungry people, reaching out for power and security and love and stabbing each other in the back, over and over. (Like, of course his mother and wife and kids have complex feelings for him—some of which involve love!) I think that depiction is better and less myopic, more true to life and probably a more accurate portrait of the historical figures involved (even when it comes to Henry and Becket—Becket was of that world too, after all), but I think I’ve rambled enough about all of this, so I’m going to end this post now. I’ll just say that there’s something nevertheless appealing about the boiled-down fairytale melodrama of “no one else ever loved me but you!”

[chwoyaz]

how i perceive skk and their philosophical beliefs, particularly existentialism and absurdism

in my opinion, dazai's an existentialist. his character explores around the concept of finding meaning in life bcs he has no idea what's the point of it all. is there even value in the act of living? or is it just a foolish desire human beings have?

we all know dazai struggles with human emotions and has a constant conflict with his own identity

and yet, dazai constantly makes his choices in order to seek meaning (ex. staying in the mafia for a period of time, joining the ada, saving people, etc.)

the thing is, he WANTS to learn what it means to be human; wants to understand and find the value of life

as for chuuya, i believe he's an absurdist.

chuuya's journey is simply—for lack of a better word—ridiculous.

he has faced many absurd challenges in his life, yet managed to turn his life around through sheer force of will (mind you), and continues to live through it all with a devoted passion towards maintaining his relationship with humanity

like dazai, chuuya also struggles feeling human. at his worse moments, he feels like a weapon only wielded for war

despite that, chuuya continues living and commits himself to the people around him as an act of defiance in my opinion

yes, the conditions of his life is inane. laughable. maybe even pointless. but does it matter?

he doesn't particularly care abt the greater value of life or actively search for the meaning behind it, since he has already lived his entire life accepting its madness

he does and will constantly choose to live in spite of his conditions bcs he refuses to give in to the notion that he's not human and therefore shouldn't even cease to exist

in the end, chuuya rejects the promise of death and the power of destruction he's clearly capable of in order to stay in touch with his humanity—no matter how absurd his life is

[painnsufferingg]

i feel the cigarette smoke pass my lungs,

its taste on my tongue,

oh it's just like you,

injurious to health.

- madhira

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

bad wolf soda <3

[yapoverdosed]

Overthinking should probably be a separate branch of art or subject under psychology, philosophy or literature. Because we become more stressed when we think over smth and it's not accepted by ppl (a feeling of being unfit in the society). We are afraid that it is abnormal. Bro! Even great existentialists of the 19th century faced this unrecognised condition. But see now, they'll be proud of themselves and their ideas in heaven.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

✨just sister things✨

[salsedine]

Finally got my hair cut and I feel like a different (better) person, so you'll have to suffer my badly lit selfie and grey skin undertone.

And the mug is just pretty, that's it that's the reason.

[sy1ver]

grasp

[ghoulierstudio]

✨Worldly✨ an experiment. Not perfect but good enough

This is a replica of painting I started yesterday however approached illustratively. A follower on TikTok had commented about being curious about how one of the Unremitting series would look illustrated, (yes, I do read comments & interact with people) which I had considered but dismissed because my painting style is different than my illustration style. I also doubted I could render it properly the first time, so it would feel like a fail to me, however a stepping stone to improvement. Though my personality is surprisingly all or nothing so it’s like: is this a path I should pretend to dabble in? Because I’m really like: I'll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times to make sure. (Mae West) oops it’s a habit & I’m addicted & it’s integral to me now.

But… I don’t feel like the same person everyday so I was like why’d I dismiss that without trying? So, here it is.

Just my inner monologue/ramble. I’ll post the painting tomorrow if things go as planned ✨

[jeanclamence]

“To talk about real life, they have conjured nascent assumptions about me and have told captivating lies solely, I suppose, because they have neither time nor great will to seek an understanding of me within themselves. They believe and nearly ascertain to themselves in a conceited manner that I have passed, although I have simply torn off my mask. But, is it righteous to blame them for wanting security? What would convince a happy, strictly practical man to stand on the tip of a cliff—and not to merely tower over it, but to jump into the abyss that gradually and gravely shows him an arranged accumulation of silent, convulsing uncertainty and crackling unease, reminding him he is all alone, that for the time being he must listen to his heart throbbing and his teeth jittering at the approaching gloom as his eyes descend its hollow pipe?”

—An excerpt from my unfinished book; Ma Lumiére

[missingn000]

[painnsufferingg]

and if I don't suffer, what will become of me?

[bell-honey-well]

Hunting Season

The tick of a clock is silver.

The tick of a clock is gold.

The tick of that clock is new, but

The tick of a clock is old.

When I want to wind down,

The tick of a clock speeds up.

It's the vested, carried hunter,

While I'm the flightless duck.

[croc-odette]

At a certain point in my 20s I embarrassed myself so much that I hit some kind of transcendent warp speed state where I’m just clowning and relieved to be clowning. No shame in being embarrassed it’s a beautiful human emotion like any other you little surreal French romcom movie protagonist. But also it’s fun to be a little humorous