IN WHAT RESPECTS PHILOSOPHY IS BUNK

Insofar as philosophy tries to tell us anything philosophy is bunk, and insofar as philosophy somehow does tell us or merely even seems to tell us anything philosophy is bunk.
Philosophy's only valid function may or might be to bring us closer to old-fashioned kinds of wisdom -- that is, closer to being able to use language with vast adroitness and vast precision yet without actually seeming to say anything. Thus, any philosophy or philosopher that lacks wit, verve, style, and panache may be no true philosophy or philosopher but another vitiator.
Philosophy ideally, along, say, with "true poetry," might help hone man and Nature to a very perfect edge; yet, by and large, philosophy remains too impure, too imprecise, too unpoetic, to be anything, really, but another damned book, another tome that can be wheezed over and sneezed over but will never do anything or anyone even one iota of good.
The only at least potentially true philosophers are our greatest writers and speakers -- that is: folks among us who have apparently made rather fine efforts to chasten language considerably. All other "philosophers" probably are hacks, fools, and nitwits, who (as absolutely must be true of the writer of these very lines?) stay lamentably incapable of using their sensory apparatuses very sensibly.
Society increasingly appears to be an illegible textbook composed by utterly third-rate "philosophers" who never have quite begun to realize that the universe is a riddle whose possible solutions may far outstrip the powers inherent in a somewhat good cup of coffee or a somewhat complete sentence riddled with monstrous incompleteness.