February 1, 2003                                                                   © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 
 
 
 

In Re The Law & The Lobes.
A major difference between the contractual arrangements that govern
thought in the city, and the realization is that in the latter, there is no fine print,
or exclusionary clauses.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In but a single setting is it useful for one person to say to another:
“No need to take this personally, but I am not really interested in your opinions”  --
can you figure out what/where this situation is?
(Say, is that far sightedness you're displaying there?)
Do you realize that if by some miracle everyone could suddenly,
insightfully  --   lighten-up --   the whole herd would fall apart?
“Pardon me, but is that the herd of humanity-the-collective,
or the herd of your own collectively inspired/generated thoughts?”
One man in the city says that after reading the daily news presented here for a while
he has lost most of his previous interest in that covered there.
Every morning one king demanded that he be brought the Daily Snot Report,
and while no one knew what it was, what with him being king and all,
they brought it to him anyway,
(in one ballroom the name of that song is:
“When IT Doesn’t Matter, The Peripherals Of It Don’t Either”
[sometimes played as a tango under the title: “Whatever Front Lobes Want  --  Front Lobes Get”]).
Below the level of the herd is nothing  --  nothing that cows can perceive  --
see --  that’s the hat-rabbit to radical travel:
anyplace your present thoughts can conceive of attractive enough to make them want to go there,
is not accessible/available to them, which (strange as sounds) is why they thought of it.
All cows dream of having wings, but only one with the full recognition of his cowness has the possibility of growing them (even though it is clearly not possible............and yet..........).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

All would-be rebels can benefit from having a hole in them,
as in something happens in their life that results in them feeling like
a hole has been blown through them;
for the few, this can prove most helpful.
 

 All knowledge of man’s inner reality is made up --
therefore: a man who knows nothing about it   --  knows everything
(this can be understood in two different ways: both enlightening).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

One of the hectoring habitués of the speaker’s area in city park
recently proclaimed to those fortunate enough to then be passing:
“As long as nature provides pools of reflective water, what need have we for villains.”
(Some of those who passed by at that time said they considered themselves actually less fortunate than those who did not.)
One local god decided to publicly mingle with his charges, incognito  --
but quickly lost interest when no one recognized him;
the thoughts that clamor for your consciousness’ attention
stake their claim solely on the basis that they clamor;
what the certain-man-area of your brain knows and can tell you
does not shout, nor pretend to be anything other than what it is,
                               (and what a blessed, enlightening relief that is to the few.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

There are old worlds to live in  --  and new ones,
and if you make no choice  --  there is no choice.
It is unfair to call men dumb  --   but then again, there is nothing fair to call men.
The attempted suppression of hormonal influences via renaming them
is a primary cause of men’s dumbness
resulting for instance, in their professed beliefs of divinities being more important
to their lives than their diet;
neurons hearing that you have won the lottery will certainly cause you to feel good;
hormones having to deal with late night anchovies will make you feel bad,
but without the internal, verbally aural fanfare of their upstairs brothers (put another way): men’s thoughts say they believe that some gigantic, supernatural force can, save-them, whilst giving insufficient shrift to the reality that small, lowly cells will most certainly destroy them;
one of the dividing traits twixt a routine mind and a rebel’s
is the direction in which they look  --
“No son, the realization is not over that way;  the mere fact that you
want to keep looking there should be enough to tell you that it’s not........but then again: