Distilled in glass three men who look like me:
An actor, a musician, and a philosopher.
Each bear my weary eyes, my face, my body,
But each in trade before my eyes now differ.
The first, connected to a childhood dream,
Speaks wonders with a thousand masks on stage.
The second, conceived as a teenager it would seem,
Rocked strings to songs self-inked upon a page.
The third, however, by the time a beard
Could thickly grow to sculpt my face a mane,
Discovered me in ancient books and cleared
Vain, desperate follies aching for bright fame.
Still beams this prophesy I can’t refuse;
Am I all three or must I stand to choose?

Here’s a straw man fallacy for you in the form of a new song!

Music & Lyrics by Silvan Rus

Yes, I’m a student of philosophy,
Poor as hell with the tendency
To think too much against a fallacy –
Golden years; rusty tears.

In the dark I study by the candlelight
Even though I have a lamp to study by,
‘Cause I’m classical with a little hint of romance
Descartes said, “I think, therefore, I should dance.”

*CHORUS*
How come my feet don’t listen to my head?
I don’t know what to do.
My feet are dislocated from my neck –
I thought I thought it through.
Hold me by my hips,
Guide my petty steps.
Hold me by my hips,
Guide my petty steps.
I should’ve taken more dance electives;
Golden years, rusty tears.

I’m dancing in the club like Peter Garrett,
I still don’t know where my feet begin.

Here in the shadow of my stupid apathy
Wanting more, but doing nothing.
‘Cause I contemplate with a little hint of vanity
Descartes said, “I think, therefore, I should am.”

*CHORUS*

Now I’m alone in this dome I call my throne,
Deep in the night with my dear friend, candle, O
Well at least I’m right. My logic tells me that I’m so:
Descartes said, “I think, therefore, I should doubt.

*CHORUS*

*INTERLUDE*
I’m dancing in the club like Peter Garrett
I still don’t know where my feet begin.

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Since I perform no acts of recreation
To warp the days that trip my sober youth;
Since my vanilla life, no chocolate eaten,
Despite the sugars that attract my tooth;
Since fellow-students smoking more than nicotine,
Do leave me all alone save for my glass;
Since caffeine and sweet cider are my sole fiends,
Am I no rock-god, just a sober ass?
If potions be the well of human genius,
I am as dull as lead, as lame as algae.
But if I am to join the the legends previous,
Will muddy potions tint my clear sobriety?
My tongue says yes! My money-purse says no.
Back to the cheap drinks shall I sink my woe.

Time never shows his face ’til time is wasted,
Heaving from breath to breath; burnt up its air
That once inspired the life it never tasted,
Only to find meaning in our lost despair.
What cunning trick has time performed for me,
To fuel my need for greatness, poke my ambitions,
Shun love for labours, speak pretentiously,
And guild my sorry-self for a glowing reputation?
I’m at the mercy of his pendulum.
Time’s swing did catch me in his hypnotic charm,
Mislead me with a coin of gold to dance for him,
As, tick-by-tock, my neck fitted his arm.

All this he conjures though he’s not to blame.
I am to blame; my folly fits my name.