Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Discuss any topics related to metaphysics (the philosophical study of the principles of reality) or epistemology (the philosophical study of knowledge) in this forum.
GaryLouisSmith
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 29th, 2019, 7:35 pm
When I write I use only the ideas that come out of strict logical analysis
Sure you do
I know what I am talking and writing about.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 29th, 2019, 7:21 pm
The potential is everywhere forever.
Yes, but the potential becomes liminal when the baby is ready to be born, when the moment is upon you, when you are about to totally immerse yourself in the cold sea water, when your finger hovers over the click "buy it now".

Gary, I think you slightly mar your writing with your eccentric usage of 'religion' and 'ghosts'.

The best strategy for western thinkers is art. Religious practise is an art form i.e. theatre. Ethics are best expressed by allegory and fiction. Doctrines and ideologies are best demolished by humou
Belindi, you are very High Church. You worship the God of Reason, Morality and good social order. You are a child of the Enlightenment. You are educated and you believe in science. I am low church. I live among the poor who believe in ghosts and magic and animal sacrifice. I identify with the poor, not the educated urban elite with their high and fine art. High Church people look down on low church and the unclean poor. No, I am not going to visit galleries where "In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo".
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Bluemist wrote: October 29th, 2019, 7:11 pm
GaryLouisSmith wrote: October 29th, 2019, 6:24 am In that instant when the potential changes into the actual, is there a thing there? Maybe a ghost.
The potential is everywhere forever. What is actual depends on either personal experience or on some kind of public experience. Since personal experience is momentary, why not have actuality of experience flicker in and out of being?

Scientific experience and actuality must then be different than the personal in the sense that scientific observations are either recorded or are repeatable. This kind of objectivity is not the same as philosophically agreeably objective semi-permanent actual existents.
I believe in telekinesis and telepathy and all manner of paranormal ghostly unthings. My left hand is up. Why do you ask? But maybe I already know.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by Belindi »

Gary I am what you say except not elite, my social standing is lowly. I am interested in the paranormal but I know there are a lot of charlatans.I guess I'm a lot older than you and I have become prudent and less gullible with age. Reason is comparatively reliable.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 4:57 am Gary I am what you say except not elite, my social standing is lowly. I am interested in the paranormal but I know there are a lot of charlatans.I guess I'm a lot older than you and I have become prudent and less gullible with age. Reason is comparatively reliable.
I'm 75 years old. If you are older than I, which I doubt, you can't be that much older. You yourself may not be elite, but you hold the proper ideas if you ever want to join that august group. The paranormal is not as straight-forward as is science. The trickster rules the paranormal. There is no paranormal without deception. To believe in the paranormal is to believe that deception, illusion, error are real things, real things outside the mind. They are NOT subjective. As for ghosts, they are essentially indefinite and questionable. Again, there really are indefinite, essentially questionable, unthings out there, external to the mind. I repeat - they are NOT subjective and "in the mind". Until you can understand that and get rid of the idea that the paranormal must be scientifically verifiable, you will not understand. Deception is a REAL thing.

https://www.amazon.com/Trickster-Parano ... 421&sr=8-1 A very good book.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SB7O7R35P-o&t=47s Jeffrey Kripal is also very good
GaryLouisSmith
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 4:57 am Gary I am what you say except not elite, my social standing is lowly. I am interested in the paranormal but I know there are a lot of charlatans.I guess I'm a lot older than you and I have become prudent and less gullible with age. Reason is comparatively reliable.
I think you should not try to accommodate the paranormal within your philosophy. A paranormal entity is entirely phenomenal with no physical component, as I analyze them. I think that in your philosophy all phenomenal entities are "in the mind" or in the brain, and they are not real. Therefore no paranormal entities exist external to the mind. I, on the other hand, with my realism, have no problem accommodating them.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by Belindi »

Do paranormal entities cause anything and are they affected by causes?
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 8:00 am Do paranormal entities cause anything and are they affected by causes?
I don't know. I never think about cause and effect. I will leave that to science.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by Belindi »

You would die if you never thought about cause and effect.
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 9:07 am You would die if you never thought about cause and effect.
I manage just fine. Actually I don't believe in cause and effect. I think it is nothing more that constant association, which of course could be very different every time.
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Bluemist
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by Bluemist »

GaryLouisSmith wrote: October 30th, 2019, 9:18 am Actually I don't believe in cause and effect. I think it is nothing more that constant association, which of course could be very different every time.
You're very confused. Like every one of us. :P
Every time my cat mews at me a small dish of food appears in front of her.
If you don't believe in telekinesis then raise your right hand :wink:
GaryLouisSmith
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Bluemist wrote: October 30th, 2019, 3:32 pm
GaryLouisSmith wrote: October 30th, 2019, 9:18 am Actually I don't believe in cause and effect. I think it is nothing more that constant association, which of course could be very different every time.
You're very confused. Like every one of us. :P
Every time my cat mews at me a small dish of food appears in front of her.
Yes, that's a good example of cause and effect as constant association. Another example is that every time someone lights a cigarette from the wrong end an angel falls from heaven, or when you wear your magic underpants your team wins the game, or when you leave the milk out on the counter it tastes sour when you drink it, when you put fire under a pan of water that water will soon start to move about nervously, (but if you watch it, it won't). Or when you post a perfect reply a typo will appear in it after it's up and you can't change it.
GaryLouisSmith
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 9:07 am You would die if you never thought about cause and effect.
Hello Belindi, I want you to check out the poetry of Robinson Jeffers, if you haven't already He is a Nature poetry. The environmentalists love him. But Nature has a Dark Glory for him. His writing is definitely NOT something I can identify with. It is much too scary for me, a nightmare really. Nonetheless, I respect him as a great poet and I can appreciate the greatness of his poems. From a distance. Check him out on Wikipedia and elsewhere.

file:///C:/Users/dell/Desktop/June%20pics/the_dark_glory_-_robinson_jeffers.pdf
GaryLouisSmith
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Belindi wrote: October 30th, 2019, 9:07 am You would die if you never thought about cause and effect.
I sent you the wrong link. Here's the correct one, I hope.

https://sbc.org.pl/Content/61433/the_da ... effers.pdf
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Re: Are you a Realist or a Nominalist?

Post by GaryLouisSmith »

Ghosts

Plato discovered the World. Before him there were only cosmological theories of the universe. .Earth, water, air, fire, the ether. The Limited and the Unlimited. Union and Strife. Number. After Plato there were beds and clouds and dogs and eyes, hair and wagons, governments and schools, doors and now computers and cars, conversations and art. Everything.

The same change happened with the movement from modernism to postmodernism. Modernist art consists of basic forms in construction. Postmodernist art has Brillo Boxes and Toothpaste. The whole everyday World entered the realm of Pure Abstraction. It was eternalized – almost. The everydayness was preserved – almost. With post-postmodernism we are back at religion and the full Eternal. The Platonic Forms of Soup Cans have appeared. The gods.



Today I look about the streets of Kathmandu and I see gods in all the consumer items flooding about me. Drainage pipe, curtain rods, paint, baseball caps, motorcycles, fast-handed boys, ticket takers. It’s all right here. From out of Eternity right beside the temple to Shiva and the ancient water spout.

I am not postmodern because I do not see the empty nothingness of all of it. I am post-postmodern, back with the ancients, because I see the universal Forms descending as they always have. This is religion, not parody. The old ways are here again. The boy is the Boy.



The world is pornographic. Desire rules the place. The Unplace of the Forms. His Form is Perfect with Photoshop. All imperfection is gone. The End is at hand. His nice round end. Penetration!

This is perfection as pastiche as the Really Real. Plato is camp. Plato is gay. Plato is of the gods. Watch your darling as he busses tables. As he eyes the customers. As your coffee is getting cold.

Or those unknowing Vedantists. They never knew the Unity they sought was right here working until nine o’clock. And can be had for a few dollars and an mp3 player charged with your charger.



Only now are we realizing the presence of Infinity. I soon have to go to the Supermarket and buy some bread for my eternal peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It makes me tired thinking about the infinite space between here and there. But I’ve done it many many times. Maybe an infinite number. Already. I will do it again. I too am infinite in my everydayness. The world is not what it now seems. Being is turned on.



This book started off as a way to show young gay boys that there is hope. There is a lover waiting for them. They are at the pinnacle of human thought and God and their sexual desire are one. He is their Beatific Vision. Cruising the streets He appears is so many doorways. And at night He is close. Maybe uncomfortably close.

The problem with most Christian literature today is that at best it offers only toleration and maybe acceptance, but reveals no lover. No hope of finding one in eternity.

Therefore I have gone back to the Platonic beginning of Christianity and even the old Israelite religion to show that He is there. I expect this to be controversial even among atheists, most of whom are naturalists, worshipping the Great Goddess Natura. So be it.



Postmodernism gave us a way to attack oppressive forces, deconstruction worked well. But it stood still in oscillation at last and then lost its nerve. It was afraid to say that a god was present in that trembling. As that trembling. The Trembling. He shakes you to the core. And you are sore from love. Postmodernism, like modernism, never knew.

I say it right out. Your gay god is here. The Touch, the Sound, the mind-obliterating Fragrance. You know it exactly.



Here in the mystical East it is all denied. They want to be Western and modern. And now they are because they have forgotten. Religion is Bhairav. The Shiva Lingum is to be explained away. And they sink into hyper-intellectualization.

The old yogis understood. Guru, chela, tapas; he’s on top of you, my lively fella. A lapse and then enlightenment. Where were you, Honey? Did a ban jhakri get you? Mantra Tantra, a night in man trance, dance!

Soon the Atman will become you and you that and you will fly away. The dialectic is rough. Possession and obsession. A hard addiction. Relax.



So now here I am looking for a publisher. It ain’t easy. But maybe it is and I just don’t know. A cover letter. What the hell have I done? I have ejaculated all over my computer screen and now I expect people to buy it. Why not? Reading is sex. The author comes on your eyes. In your word-mouthing mouth. There’s nothing new. Does the author exist? Honey, it’s the author of your dreams. Eat Him.

Do you think I exaggerate? Of course I do. Or rather He does. Look at that Capital Letter. He is That? The Lingum is Cosmic. And your impossible asana to take it all in hurts. But you go on.

Will a publisher understand? Of course. But he mustn’t, so he won’t. I move on.



To publish my book is to make it a consumer item, so camp, so empty, so religious. I am that.



Is religion camp? Pornography is bought sex. I write that. Buy me. The way I buy trinkets for boys. A watch, shoes, an mp3 player. His hair-cut is horrendous, but fashionable. I live with it. The emptiness of the gods. Nothing has changed.

The others think we should live a common material life. Without the excitement. Without the trance. Without being eternally paralyzed. By queer asanas. Bend over. The other way. Head down. Into the sky.



I think most postmodernists did not take postmodernism or even modernism seriously. They thought of it as art and thus removed from the serious materiality of life. They still liked to go to conferences and sit in comfortable chairs while drinking wine and thinking about sex back in their room. Post modernism is empty. Buddhist empty? Existential empty? Capitalist empty? The boy is a consumer object. A shiver comes over you and the cold of death.

I have gone back to religion, but isn’t the New Jerusalem of Revelation just a campy stage set? Oh those boy angels are so bare-butt beautiful. And empty sublime. So nice.

Isn’t all of the old stuff postmodern consumerist nothing? Kitsch. A bitch back stage. Roll him over. Fun?

Where is the seriousness? The heavy force. The reality. Is it anal plenitude? Burning tapatic sparks? Is it your embarrassment and shame? Work it up. You have been penetrated and possessed by a ghost. You know.



That isn’t postmodernism; it’s modernist failure, the lure, the sure, the way things are now. But maybe it’s the blur. Historical divisions meld into a lovely aestheticism of placelessness. It is the enigma of the Bible. The Riddle. Parables that make no sense. Extended mantras. Like your dick. Thick with pulsating emptiness. The Smear. So near. So impossible.

Human beings have no will. Everything that happens, absolutely everything, is the intention of God. You, my lovely, did nothing. It was done to you by Him with the big H. Breath.

When postmodernists give up their human will, then God looms. The Fullness, the Lingual Lingum, deep throat moans. Meaning. In a new morning of kitsch.



I write the break, the discontinuity, the disjunctive. But what else is new? That’s modernism. That’s the genius of the modern. It’s how the genie, the jinn, got out of the bottle. I’m throttled. The head explodes. Which, if you’re with me, you know that that was supposed to be a sexual metaphor. In an old hat.

Sartre was enthralled by the ability of the mind to stand back and look at itself. To stand in the nothing. Maybe with an upside down standing. He came in his own mouth. And swallowed the world. Such a lovely cosmic cycle. A bicycle with a curly-headed boy on it. Going nowhere. An elegant philosophy.

Saint Genet was where he camped out. Oh Honey. Dumpster chic. I mention Genet because Sartre was a sexual idiot. Stand back, indeed! Bend over.

Buttis butt, bottling throttling, “narrow-necked hollow vessel for holding and carrying liquids,” throat swelling cut. Tight twisted taut string. Your rigging is delightful my strangler. You sphinx, you sphincter. The Jinn jump.



Quantifiers are the main concern of Logical Analysis. The Theory of Descriptions and how we can think what doesn’t exist. The present king of France. They go to the heart of the thought of thought. Everything is so indefinite. How can we think the indefinite? What is it? Ghosts are all around us.

The philosopher is one who takes apart a thought and sees the basic elements. Among those are those logical elements. The logical form of the world exists and to contemplate it is to escape.



Boys and sex and The Boy. A god, a rod, eternity at the tip of your tongue. Again and again. Lick it. Ingest it. Become a supernatural fop. Drop dead. The highest heaven is yours. Tantra mantra yantra. Transgressive jism. A prism of liquid light. Bite it. He comes.

It’s all words words words. I mouth them to myself. I name the gods. This one sitting crooked. That one looking down. Another who walks funny. Idols of embafflement. Heaven’s ejaculate. I’m late again. I dally.

The goal is not power here, but presence there. Thus boys. I hover. The air stings. Rising up up up. Then ether burns. And the empyrean plains. In plane English. He is skewed.



Of course a lot of preparation has to happen first. You have so much to read. So much has been written. The forms, the forms, the forms. And the connectors. They hang on nothing. What’s the point? He is at your door. Again.

The bare particular. Just that one. Ever again. The haeccitas. The mirror. Speculation. The empowering Spirit. Blow your mind. The boy is with himself. The double doubles. Just more mathematics.

If space is internally infinite, if it subdivides and subdivides forever, if the infinitesimal is ever out of reach just on the horizon, and then another, then I am the universe and my legs are the pillars that hold up heaven. Pulsars and radiation arcs on my tongue. I am mineral. I am an ionic flare. I am on my bed. So hard.



You cannot escape until you have become anathema. A criminal or a psychopath. Dishonor. Then the door opens. The wind blows. You are scattered. The hero, the madman, the shameful. Pasupata avamaana. He knows you. You are crushed in his knowing. And it hurts. Gently.



In normal Tantra the Boy is nowhere. Except maybe as a chela. Is he that grand thing? He is just a jack-off artist. But I utter the words of ritual and transform him into a god. It’s easy. The Form separates from the bare particular and both are far from the ordinary. It’s just a matter of uttering the words. In an oracular manner. So close now to ordinary speaking. But with a nuanced difference. I superimpose my dick on the world. No one knows. Everyone suspects. But it’s too frightening to think.



The boys (with a small b) of my writing are isolated. They are nowhere in the context of the world. On a microbus or in their room, or a restaurant they are only there without history. They are always in something, it seems. A frame or a fence. They are corralled. In a cell. Away from the outside world.

Likewise, when I mention a thing of the world such as a computer or a bicycle, it’s as though I have removed it from the world and put it in a museum. Like pop art.

One could say that I write about the ghosts of dead boys. My whole art is to separate things off. They are not of the world. I write about the ghosts of ordinary things.



And like all things separated out of the world, they are kind of creepy. Not of this time and place.

In my philosophy there are no substances. Only appearances. Nothing endures through time. It’s here and gone. Again they are like ghosts. He looked intently at you but after you left, he was not there. Then you realize that he was not from here. Even the world vanishes. Fleeting disconnected appearances. What is that other place like?

In eternity there is no time. You never had a chance to really talk to him and explain to him who you are. But then you too are from there. The heart twangs.



I pay attention to style over content because I am writing about ghosts and they are pure style. What is style? Are you asking what the material content of style is? Get out of here. Style is less than nothing. It is what the atheists are so proud of thinking doesn’t exist. Style is everything of value. Without style, we have only proud intellectualizing.



I am a ghost. A ghost writer for real. I have no context in the world. Here in my room it is just me and ghost boys. Gods and masturbatory ritual. Writing. Magic lines. Jesus Magus. And you.

William Burroughs has the appearance of a ghost. I really am one. I can prove it with my dialectic. Elenchus. You will be crushed. And if you now run, I will sic my boys on you.

This is Tantra without the bitches. Sex and divine cum. Oral, anal, on the wall. Your cranium will explode. And part your hair where you never thought it would. It’s simple ontological analysis. The coming apart of holy sacrifice. Bare your neck.

Oh Holy Night. When your senses fall into oblivion. Again. The cold knife is a joy. Ghostly. Like nothing at all.



Hinduism, Platonism, Christianity, Islam. Logical Analysis. The places of ruins that is the beginning of modern thought.

Jesus is the dervish in the Demi-monde of Kathmandu. Sacrificed on the cross of corruption. Moonlight in the trash. Your ass is your way out of here.

Shiva Lingum liquid fire on your tongue. Fine, tomorrow is another day after a fitful night. Cold. Bhairava sold. Into the arms of God. You are the Lure.



Writing. Naming the gods. Dividing, cutting, sacrificing your lovely unity on His Logical Syntax. The Ax.

When I was a boy I could diagram any sentence. I hung the parts on a schema of lines and transversals. I took apart thought. And hung it on the cheek of rectilinear night. Still. Finished. Lingual fever. I swallowed light.



Will the properly religious be offended by my meanderings on the cremation grounds of intellect? Of course. This is Avamaana. The dishonorable Pasupatic swagger.

Have they misinterpreted me? Yes, we have all been misinterpreted. How else can we advance to the Heights? Will they find my **** religion repugnant? It must be. We kick against the pricks. Light with stinging Light. Bend over into embarrassment. Your bare ass is so very fine. My dear boy.

Jesus was a magician and I am writing magic. Mantra tantra yantra. Geometrical patterns repeating repeating repeating. Buddha balls. In the halls of Dike. Being is and non-being is not. This chariot sings.



I am out here in the world Plato discovered and then transfigured. The Transfiguration! Of boys into Jesus. Joy toys. A ploy. Deployed. So coy. As cunning as serpents. As innocent as doves. They come in droves. Birds.

My main fight of course is with the rationalists. Snowflakes, sensitive, easily offended, dilettante cosmologists, unaware that they are lying on the winds of paradox, Vishnu serpents, Naga naked.



Have I understood Tantra well? I am not a Tantrika. I am on the outside looking in. I would never be a Tantrika. I fear what is in there. That fear guarantees that what I see is true. Thus I have a Tantra of the Boy. I transgress their transgressing. It is x to the second power.

The relation between this Boy Tantra and the Tantra of the goddesses is the same as that between Platonism and nominalism. As that between the Supernatueal and the natural. As that between the mathematics of the Infinite and the mathematics of the finite. Self-reflection. Endless falling. The Absurd. Versus comfort.

The reason I fear normal Hindu Tantra is the same reason I fear normal householder life. It is a trap. So sensible, so reasonable, so easy. I look for an escape in madness. I fear the ordinary.



Why am I so in love with the paradoxes of logic and onto-logic? That is the spirit-wind that undergirds the world. It is the illogic that is logic. It is the unknowing that is the essence of knowing. Perfect Form is feeling. Feeling is orgasm. Bham! I swallow Light. I am in thrall to a ghost lover.



Still it’s all very transgressive and no sensible person would follow me. I am a writer, only a writer, the Boy is only in my words. But out on the street I utter my magic mantras and transmogrification. The ordinary is changed to the extraordinary. The unlimited, infinite takes him and he is cosmic. Plain old vagueness to the many. He wafts. I cough and move on.

No harm is done. Or is there? Subtle spirit things get under his skin and when he goes home he fidgets. He spins. He takes a nap and dreams. God is ultimate harm. A herm. The boy is horny. I smile. But it’s only a verbal thing. Still, we are made out of words and stylish language. There’s nothing else.



Tantra is sex. Don’t let the pundits tell you otherwise. Sexual fluids must not be turned into metaphors for abstract forms. Abstract forms are metaphors for sexual fluids. I say things directly. In his ejaculate I see spirit. I see difference spiritualized. We are here in another place. Mathematics is desire and falling. That is the Infinite.

Ordinary Hindu Tantra all sees ultimate reality as sexual fluids, but it aims for Nature, while I aim for the Sky. Purusa is with himself. And like Krishna becomes his own lover. It is so psychopathetic to the many. And criminal. But I know logic and onto-logic. And the anal sparks of hatha analysis.



The God of the Deists is big but still finite and eminently rational. The God of the Theists is found “among the least of these”, infinite inversion and irrational. The Deistic God is a policeman keeping order in the world. The Theistic God is a wayward boy always running running from the police.

A theistic God is sexual, because sex is that which is the most questionable in a rationalist’s mind. He hates its uncleanliness. He never mentions it. He is not a Tantric with Lukalisa and the Pasupata Shaivites. Avamaana. I am back where I started. The Deistic God is properly proper. I demur.
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Mary Jane Whiteley Coggeshall, Hicksite Quaker, Iowa/National Suffragette And Her Speeches
by John N. (Jake) Ferris
October 2022

In It Together: The Beautiful Struggle Uniting Us All

In It Together: The Beautiful Struggle Uniting Us All
by Eckhart Aurelius Hughes
November 2022

The Smartest Person in the Room: The Root Cause and New Solution for Cybersecurity

The Smartest Person in the Room
by Christian Espinosa
December 2022

2021 Philosophy Books of the Month

The Biblical Clock: The Untold Secrets Linking the Universe and Humanity with God's Plan

The Biblical Clock
by Daniel Friedmann
March 2021

Wilderness Cry: A Scientific and Philosophical Approach to Understanding God and the Universe

Wilderness Cry
by Dr. Hilary L Hunt M.D.
April 2021

Fear Not, Dream Big, & Execute: Tools To Spark Your Dream And Ignite Your Follow-Through

Fear Not, Dream Big, & Execute
by Jeff Meyer
May 2021

Surviving the Business of Healthcare: Knowledge is Power

Surviving the Business of Healthcare
by Barbara Galutia Regis M.S. PA-C
June 2021

Winning the War on Cancer: The Epic Journey Towards a Natural Cure

Winning the War on Cancer
by Sylvie Beljanski
July 2021

Defining Moments of a Free Man from a Black Stream

Defining Moments of a Free Man from a Black Stream
by Dr Frank L Douglas
August 2021

If Life Stinks, Get Your Head Outta Your Buts

If Life Stinks, Get Your Head Outta Your Buts
by Mark L. Wdowiak
September 2021

The Preppers Medical Handbook

The Preppers Medical Handbook
by Dr. William W Forgey M.D.
October 2021

Natural Relief for Anxiety and Stress: A Practical Guide

Natural Relief for Anxiety and Stress
by Dr. Gustavo Kinrys, MD
November 2021

Dream For Peace: An Ambassador Memoir

Dream For Peace
by Dr. Ghoulem Berrah
December 2021