I believe this poem relates to philosophy in the sense that it puts forward premises which it uses to make conclusions. I do not think the poet has attempted to argue about word definitions and opposites. Rather she took for granted that the opposite of 'i love you' was 'i hate you' (because the opposite of love is hate) and zodiac opened up the debate. Had there been a word that translated 'i love you' into 'i hate you' perfectly I am sure she would have used that instead of opposite.

Also, I would like to know what it means for a poeme to be "philosophical in the strict sense."

No, look. I'm not saying that's what you insisted about words. I'm saying it's what philosophers in general insist about words. I don't consider you a philosopher, so you aren't included in that generalisation. Now that your panties have become dislodged from your crotch, maybe you could answer the question: How does this poem relate philosophy, as it applies to word definitions, to felt life?

Did I insist that words must have precise definitions? I don’t think so. The poem has an appearance of philosophy because of its reliance on word definitions and allusions to variations in definitions. It is not philosophical in the strict sense. When on a tirade, I seldom take breaths or line breaks.

P.S. Concerning zodiac's misuse of 'your'. He does it because it's funny to say things like 'your gay', 'your dim', 'your a clod'. Not because he doesn't know the difference between 'your' and 'you're'. Your such an oaf.

"But I agree that the poem presents an appearance of relating philosophy, as it applies to word definitions, to felt life." The way philosophy applies to word definitions is: It takes everyday words which are only used in certain sorts of situations, and tries to determine the "real" definition of those words, such that the definition covers all possible situations and avoids all ambiguity and contradiction. Of course this endeavour is doomed to buncombe, because most everyday words don't have (or need) a precise definition. Insisting that they must and trying to find out what it is is like insisting on knowing what colour Winston Smith's underpants are. There is no answer, and there won't ever be until George Orwell rises from his grave and writes a prequel to 1984 where Winston frequently appears in his underpants for an hilarious assortment of reasons. At any rate, what has all this got to do with "relating philosophy, as it applies to word definitions, to felt life"? And for Christ's sake, use linebreaks.

Again, you have rambled on and on in hopeful appearance of reasonableness and have failed. Your attempts at relating my poem and my comments to logical arguments lose on the very grounds you claim as necessary bases for evaluation of poems. You say, “This poem is trying to be a philosophy/math poem” and that I’ve “filled it up with philosophy gobble which you don't get. When we held you to the standards you set for it by doing so, you said ‘oh no, it isn't a philosophy poem, it's felt life.’” As usual, you have said that I said something which I did not. But I agree that the poem presents an appearance of relating philosophy, as it applies to word definitions, to felt life. You have carried on about the precise meaning of “opposite,” claiming that “hate” is not the opposite of “love,” and using mathematical analogies to prove your point. Of course, hate is the opposite of love in the minds of most people, even logical-minded ones like me. You, of course, would not understand if I were to say that I wish we could change the counting system to the base 9 because then the dawn of the 28th century would probably fall within my lifetime, just twenty years from next New Years Day. It’s something your three years in math has not prepared you for, any more than your floundering language abuse has prepared you to criticize poetry. I do appreciate your (notice I have used the word correctly here, not as you so often do when you mean you’re) baseball story because it reminds me of the way you define poetry.

lol

You don't understand. I'm not skipping letters, I'm simply adding on an additional letter, Z, whose value is 35 (contrary to the idiotic error in my last comment). A's value is still 10. Let us use base 10, where letters A-F are used to represent numbers 10 through 15. Then DEAF = (13 * 1000) + (14 * 100) + (10 * 10) + (15 * 1). This doesn't magically make it hexademical, in which DEAF = (13 * 4096) + (14 * 256) + (10 * 16) + (15 * 1).

PS-I'm a great man to live with. People love me. PPS-These are my written words. What are you on about?

I'm reminded of how once, during a baseball practice with the old Milwaukee Blacks (all Negroes, except me), a young woman snuck onto the field, rubbed herself all over with faeces, and proceded to run around the bases, furiously dry-humping anyone unimaginative enough to stay in his position (ie, most of the team, as they were all Negroes.) "What are you doing?" I asked, when she'd finally tired out enough to listen. "I'm playing baseball," she answered. "No you're not," I said. "Baseball is played with a stick and a ball. We're playing baseball." "That's not my understanding of baseball. Mine is running around bases and faeces. What authority do you have to say your game is baseball and mine isn't?" she said, surprisingly articulately, which made us think she'd probably picked up the phrase somewhere else. "Well," I said. "We invented the game. We have umpires and coaches who tell us what is baseball and what isn't." "I reject your umpires," she answered pertly. "Besides, umpires don't even play baseball. They just watch and comment. How are they to know what's baseball and what isn't? When I rub myself with faeces and run bases, I FEEL that I'm playing baseball. What have your umpires got to compare with that?" "They INVENTED the game!" I shouted, getting a little exasperated. "The definition of baseball is 'A sport played with sticks and balls and approved by umpires'!" "Poot!" she said. "Rules! Correctness! No one would have any fun playing your baseball, adhering to rules and logic and authorities! The fun is all that matters to me!" "Look," I said, lowering my voice a little (for the Negroes were getting a little frightened, in that way Negroes do sometimes), "Baseball is one of the most popular sports in the world. Tons of people have fun playing it, rules and all. Now, Lord knows you can play whatever kind of game you want. But why don't you just call it something other than baseball? And try not playing it on a BASEBALL field?" "I WANT it to be baseball!" she answered. "No, I don't know where I got the idea that it was baseball. I was just rubbing myself with faeces one day when the word just came to me: Baseball." We could tell she was getting worked up again, her faeces-caked eyes kind of aglow with a weird stupid light. And sure enough, she started chasing the players again until we were forced the abandon the field. And that was the end of the Negro League in Milwaukee. The end.

I'd thought you might say that. Still, "base 35, where digits above 9 are written using letters A - Z" seems clearly intended to mean the value 10 is expressed using A, 11 with B, 12 with C, and so on without skipping letters to Z. You're backtracking. An gentleman would at least blame the help. It's been five years since I studied Maths, meaning eight years since I last saw bases. Checking my transcipt, I find I made dismal grades in everything except Intro to Logic and Proof. Lately, I'm even embarrassed about that.

lol yea... and that makes it so good