So I stand axe in hand before a jumble of wood and plastic that may have been a stool. Around me only the bleached sand of a climate catastrophe and war ravaged world. But in my mind there is hope. For this is the last thing to sit on. With its end the question will be answered.
I feel like as long as we keep doing philosophy there is always some hope. As long as we keep thinking, keep imagining, keep wondering, then we can always hold on to the hope that one day we'll figure out whether or not chairs exist once and for all.
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The essence of the chair is not the bringing-forth of chairness, it is the challenging-forth of the act of sitting. The chairness of the chair is challenged forth by the sitting of the sit. Recliners, of course, are another matter entirely.
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I’m married to Chairs.
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Chairs only exist in the context of those who sit.
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Obviously, chairs exist and their are made out of billions of tiny chairs
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If there are no chairs, where does the angry man sit?
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On his own rage
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I hit a chair with my toe once. It hurt very much. So I concluded that chairs do exist.
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Future philosodroid hacking time to bring u this spoiler: they don't.
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