The idlest of idle chatter. Thought out of gear, engine idling. Just rumination. Chewing the philosophical cud.

Making the pointlessness worse, by talking about it. Making the pointless even more pointless by making it explicit.

Our philosophical prattle, to add to all the other prattle. To prattle about prattle, doubling up all the other prattle. Our meta-prattle.

 

Words, words. When’s any of us going to act? When are we actually going to do something?

 

Just the usual nothingness talk. The usual pointlessness talk. Just sharing the horror that anything is at all, that we exist at all, that we can talk at all.

 

This isn’t even philosophy. It’s not rigorous. We’re not constructive arguments. We’re not debating, or trying to reach the truth.

 

Lost thoughts. Thoughts undeveloped, that don’t do anything. Just a general sighing.

 

Idle philosophy. Philosophy at rest. Barely even philosophy. At the threshold of philosophy. We never get any further, do we?

 

Is this a protest? A lamentation? A complaint? A keening?