(For those unaware: due to late breaking stories, some days the final version of the news varies substantially from the first edition.)
 
 
 

In life, you get a gold star put by your name for good school attendance;
in death, you get ‘em for being dumb in life, and not attending to what you could have
(had you had a mind  to, so to speak).
 

A man wrote the Math Doctor: “Doesn’t anything count for anything?”
to which he replied:
“You should have addressed this question to someone in the departments of Philosophy, Psychology, Theology, or some other mushy area of pseudo science,
and not to a hard-number bunny like me.
What you ask has no meaning  --  oh, I am well aware that many  believe it does,
and I cannot prove to them otherwise.
Anything any man’s tongue can speak of can be declared by his mind
to count for this or to count for that,
which another mind with equal subjective weight can deny, and indeed insist that
what is being spoken of has no value whatever and counts for nothing.
So all things of which men are led to think and speak count for anything  --
and count for nothing;
it is a game that cannot be lost or won
except from the hapless perspective of those forced to play it.
    I, dear sir, do not happen to be one of those,
thus my declination to respond to your question........(other than as I  seem to have done).”
 
 
 
 
 

One man apparently affected by folk singing privately awarded his mind an affinitive name: he calls it: Ramblin’ Jack Greeberg(for reasons too obvious to note).
 
 
 
 

In his attempt to be more equitable (if not amusing) one king announced that henceforth all of the taxes would be borne by those whose troubles they’ve seen,
“nobody knows”
which brought instant outrage from the kingdom’s many fine priests and psychiatrists (“And don’t forget us,” squealed an economist),
and a reader writes: “Okay --  right here is another one of those news stories
you present that starts off seeming as though it is headed somewhere rational,
and worthwhile, and then --  BLAM! --  time and time again everything my thoughts
were doing in following your comments up to that point is suddenly gone up in smoke;
I must say, you have a hellava nerve doing such a great imitation of
my own routine mental assembly line.
   ‘Okay boys! --  that’s it!   We’re shutting down for the day --
    take on off and I’ll see you back here tomorrow for more of the same old crap.’
Yes sir! --  you and your Daily News have one hellava nerve.
     Cordially Yours, “ etc.
 
 
 
 
 

More News Regarding: Feeling-Bad.
It’s easier if it’s someone else’s fault.
It’s easier if you are in bed.
It’s easier if you believe you have an enemy.
And now some: War News.
A real enemy never sleeps  --   have you never noticed that even when you’re
in the dark, under the covers and immobile for that period every night
that a certain same something continues to go on in you,
and a man writes the Conflict Doctor:
“How can you determine with certainty who or what truly opposes you?”
to which the doctor replied:
“’Who or what opposes you’!  --  you should go to bed  --  you’re obviously ill,
(nuts, actually, but I don't know you well enough to say that).”
    If there is/was a real enemy he would for sure never sleep,
but if there is a true supporter of your interest, he/it too never sleeps  --
the tricky step is for the mind to ever separate clearly the two,
the difficulty caused by the fact that they are both the same.
    Only a man born with that certain-interest can ever pick up and use
a particular weapon that continually entices the mind to see it as the target.
    What you normally think about will never bring you to the realization of
what is actually going on,
indeed your present thinking about what you perceive to be going on
is what keeps you from the realization (and the really slippery part),
the only thing that will lead you from this natural trap is thinking  --
it is like going to kill a lion with a lion you’re swinging by the tail around your head,
and a reader writes: “Well that’s fuckin’ impossible!”
 

At one level, life is so simple that to ignite and sustain the developing of man it was necessary to make men start endlessly talking about it so as to,  complex-it-up;
all ordinary men and their minds live under this planet wide directive  --
a man who knows, doesn’t  --   that is how he came TO know.
                                   “Well, that too is friggin’ impossible!”
 
 
 
 

A tree carved ditty
outside of one city:
“He has not loved who has not loved at first sight,
and he has not thought who has not realized his first thought was right.”
    According to one legend:
upon becoming conscious, everyone has the same first thought,
and due to what life has planned for man:
everyone is supposed to immediately forget about it, and have their mind move on to the more practical matters necessary for normal collective life and being civilized.
    In a supreme attempt to kick the kid over the awakening edge
one father committed faux suicide.
    As it turns out, a man here and there turns up whose brain retained at least a
vague memory of that first thought  --  which tends to drive them into mental activities far outside those standard for the species;
those so driven make up various names for what they do, but all it is is an attempt to clarify their cloudy feeling of having had some earlier, quite important realization of something-or-other.
    In the effort to keep men performing their proper role in life’s life,
                   life performs on them a bit of occult, neural blood letting.
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man says he does not mind facing-the-facts
as long as he does not have to do so while he is in bed.

The fact is that life does not care how you look at it since
everywhere and anyway you look  --  you’re still always  --  looking-at-life.
And one man says: “I for one am going to live as though what was just said about life
in no wise applies to my mind.”
 
 
 

The environment: until you understand that thought is a natural part thereof,
nothing makes any mental sense.
Heredity: until you understand that thought is a natural part thereof,
nothing makes any intellectual sense.
Thought: until you understand that the environment is a natural part of man’s heredity you’re wasting your time trying to think-your-way to understanding.
Life is not only on the outside looking in, but is also what is inside being looked at,
    and a reader writes: “Now we're back to the impossible again!"
Life is not only the only thing that men talk about,
but also the thing that makes them do such talking.
Life is a conversation in which no party ever gains an advantage, or has the final word.
 
 
 
 
 

One Saint Veracity’s Day the Royal Confidant said to the King:
“Do not confess your uncertainties to me –
save them for the embalmer  --   where they belong.”
 
 
 
 

Travel News.
The smoke,
the warmth, the coziness,
and rhythmic swaying of the train can put to doze even the most alert of passengers,
and a reader writes: “I take it that your stories about traveling on trains
(same as all your others) actually takes place in a man’s own mind, or should I say,
they should  be seen as so occurring  (oops! did I over use the word, should)?”
Sir, for a true train traveler, such a thing is not possible,
and one man has evolved his own personal maxim:
“If life hands you a bunch of lemons what you do is
say: 'What the hell am I supposed to do with these!'”
(Believing that on man's standard journey you are at least  traveling in First Class,
                                                                                                                  is a first class illusion.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Pa pa, why are some people so pissed by you?”
     “They think I’m a know-it-all.”
“You’re nothing like that.”
     “Doesn’t matter.”

A blind King makes everyone nervous.
 
 
 

The lack of originality is what gives the embarrassing tone of faux passion
to ordinary men's ideas.
 
 
 

Music News Transcending Trains.
A man advised a nephew:
“Think like Bach and act like Wagner.”
 
 
 

One man notes: "It's really pathetic to be ordinary in your head
once you've been otherwise --
that's about all you can call it  --   pathetic."
 
 
 

An out of control King is standard for normal kingdoms.
 
 
 

From the herd came an authoritatively ringing voice:
“What history and fame do not reveal  --  they conceal,”
and a young perceptive calf mused:
“So that’s where all this shit on my feet is coming from.”
 
 
 
 

One man used to advise himself    ----    until he realized how dumb he was.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

You can live in thought, and you can live in behavior;
you can live in thought, or you can live in behavior;
you can live in thought while still living in behavior;
you can live in thought and ignore your living in behavior  --  and,
you can live in behavior at the attempted expense of thought,
but no matter which of these possibilities might seem to apply to you,

Two elephants were stretched out in the basement of a city apartment building,
and the first one said: “What d’ya wanna do?” and the other replied:
“How could I possibly want to do anything other than what I am doing?! --
I’m an elephant, for chissake  --  and I'm elephanting!”
and the first one had to tip his hat and trunk to the truth.
 
 

One childless man says that as long as he has himself he doesn’t need a kid.
(P.S. no one does --  especially the man who has some solid suspicion of what this is all about.)
 
 

One man says he suspects that people who claim to be trying to awaken from some sort of dream just live too much in their mind
......(you wanna take care of countering that one?)
 
 

The certain man’s private legend is:
“You waste your time to wait for proof  --  regarding the subject of interest to the few.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man lived where he was born;
sometimes he was aware of it  --   and sometimes not  --
but through it all: he lived where he was born,
and one man asked his consciousness: “Is that story about us?”

One man lived where he always had;
sometimes he was aware of it  --   and sometimes not  --
but through it all: he lived where he always had.
This is normal life in the city,
and this is why the man determined to get to the bottom of things is a revolutionist,
and secret civil outcast;
he cares not where he was born,
and he cares not where he is perceived to now be living;

(Remember: if you want to get a gold star put by your name at the funeral home  --  play dumb  --
life could be watching, you know.)