This is a newly-translated aphorism from 19th Century Positionist philosopher Ernst Werklempter, found in his groundbreaking but somewhat confusing “The Untimely Medications”.
Truth is like the wood of a tree - solid, grandiose and standing tall. The Philosophers say that lies are like the destructive force of the Westphalia wood weevil eating away at the truth. But we Unphilosophers are beyond truth, beyond lie, beyond mere value, mere meaning. We are like beer wenches in the garden, crying out in the night. We are beyond wood and weevil.
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If our truth is that in which we believe, we are all philosophers. I’d say there is no unphilosopher. We are all subjected to wood and weevil (good and evil).
Werklempters suffered, as many philosophers did in that century, from syphilis, thus he often projected his malady onto other things and process, here philosophy, sbulimated in the arboreal metaphor. In the end he found that he was not beyond (his venereal disease) and died painfully, but not unhappily, attended by his old friend and nemesis William Blake, who said upon Werklmepter’s death…
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way."
The birth of the genealogy of decadence. The rebel with cause, a sumptuous feast of a loosing battle, with the war having been won. Now let those on the right side cheer and celebrate our good fortune instead sinking into lethargic and depressing anti hero stuff.