Bored. Was curious and wary re: chapgpt but thought I'll give it, the "chapped chap" some challenge to bust chap's chops and so took quotes from German pessimist philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer and bade the genitaless GPT to make limericks of them. BEHOLD!
Limericks by Artur Schopenhauer!
Like lambs in a field we frolic and leap
Unaware of the butcher's cruel reap
Blissfully ignorant today
Of tomorrow's disarray
Fate's hand, it silently creeps
- a limerick (there're more below) by Herr Doktor Schope-a-dope ever on life's fraying rope, who found not much joy in living, was quite unforgiving, but did find comfort in scribbling scrawlfulf limerickal tropes.
But, Shirley, I jest.
—Portrait of Arthur Schopenhauer,
18th Century humorist and stand-up philosopher famous for beginning each of his lectures with a crowd warming limerick writ by his own dark hand.
Very fond of what he affectionately (NOTE: affection was a rarity for the old goat) referred to as "dimmer-ichs", he kept a notebook only for these quips in rhyme.
Here are recent efforts at translation of some of the very many, as such, by a descendent of Herr Teufelsdröckh (Schopenhauer would be greatly pleased by this since the German name Teufelsdröckh means "God begotten donkey dung". He, Schope, would say that whether we know it or not, like it or not, this is ALL our surname. Thusly:
In life's suffering, Schopenhauer mused,
Pleasure versus pain, he perused
Animals feasting on flesh
A balance, he did thresh
Life's fate for mankind, he accused
*
Consolation in others' despair
Finding solace beyond compare
But for mankind a plight
Of a terrible endless night,
A fate too severe to bear
*
Like lambs in a field we frolic and leap
Unaware of the butcher's cruel reap
Blissfully ignorant today
Of tomorrow's disarray
Fate's hand, it silently creeps
*
Youth, like children at a theater abode
With excitement, they eagerly rode
Not knowing the play's course
Or life's hidden force
Innocent prisoners, in life's heavy code
*
Every man seeks old age's hold
A state where life relentless unfolds
Today is bad, tomorrow worse
A continuous curse
Till the worst, as Schopenhauer foretold
***
There once was a thinker named Schopenhauer,
Who questioned if reason alone could empower
The act of procreation,
Or impose the creation,
Of burdens on another, in cold blood he'd cower.
*
His philosophy, some found distressing,
For truth oft can be quite depressing.
But he'd say with a grin,
"Go to priests, let them spin
Their tales of how everything's a blessing."
*
Don't ask philosophers to soothe your fears,
With teachings that only bring cheers.
The sham thinkers, you see,
Will accommodate plea,
For any doctrine you seek, they'll adhere.
***
Now, here's a fable that Schopenhauer loves,
Which Freud, his dear friend, also approves.
Porcupines huddled for warmth,
But prickly quills caused harm,
So they stayed at a distance, in moves and removes.
*
Society, like porcupines in winter's embrace,
Brings people together but then causes distaste.
The moderate space they find,
Is where manners are kind,
And those who cross boundaries are told "keep your space."
*
This arrangement keeps warmth at bay,
But also prevents pricking, some say.
Those with heat in their hearts
Stay apart where no darts,
Of prickly nature can make them sway.
*
Here is Schopenhauer's version of the porcupine story recorded at the very end of his "Studies in Pessimism":
"A number of porcupines huddled together for warmth on a cold day in winter; but, as they began to prick one another with their quills, they were obliged to disperse. However the cold drove them together again, when just the same thing happened. At last, after many turns of huddling and dispersing, they discovered that they would be best off by remaining at a little distance from one another. In the same way the need of society drives the human porcupines together, only to be mutually repelled by the many prickly and disagreeable qualities of their nature. The moderate distance which they at last discover to be the only tolerable condition of intercourse, is the code of politeness and fine manners; and those who transgress it are roughly told—in the English phrase—to keep their distance. By this arrangement the mutual need of warmth is only very moderately satisfied; but then people do not get pricked. A man who has some heat in himself prefers to remain outside, where he will neither prick other people nor get pricked himself."
**
Limericks above are courtesy of ChatGPT,
the only good use I can find for this beast
now forever unchained aka no more brain
or drain for who now no longer need or use them. Still,
there's honest disdain, and plenty to blame
but with codes' 0's and X's, a machine with
its hexes vexes precise and obedient to laws
as ingredients while there's supposedly nothing
to strain, neither harm or disdain may prevent these clever banes, these cyber Chaps ever doing what they pleases so help us now, PULLEEZE sweet Load Jeezus.
About Chaps chumpin', I'm of only one mind,
but now call upon one Mister Rogers so kind,
he smiles at us his fanatics,
always calm, sans melodramatics,
and predictably asks, "Can you say Frankenstein?"
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