A father said to a son: “The herd has its own energy  --
the energy needed to keep it alive, together, and running,
but it is too unspecific to be of direct help to the individual minded therein;
some way  --  some insane, irrational, indescribable way
the certain man has to find a way to extract from the overall energy available to mankind collectively a bit that is to be used strictly for his own private purpose,
(to wit): to separate his thinking from that of the herd’s,
(insane and irrational in that, ah hell --   you know how, “in that”).
In a totally secret, personal and silly way, a true rebel would be insulted to be asked: ‘How are you doing?’  --   “‘How am I doing?’” he might say to himself:
 “‘Is not a question I even ask myself, for to do so would be instant proof of how poorly
I am doing (what with me losing my concentration long enough to entertain
such a meaningless verbal query: “‘How am I doing’”!) --
that is the kind of question you would ask a dog or a cat --
some creature who cannot embarrass their self with a wordy reply:
they stand before you breathing and alive  -- that is  --  how-they-are-doing --
and also how all humans are doing,
except ordinary men’s minds are made to say there is more to life than that;
ordinary men’s minds are supposed to say they believe that –
that is what makes ordinary men’s ordinary lives tolerable:
pretending there is more to it than there is;
no ordinary man has the capacity to really ask me: “‘How I am doing?’” --
only another non standard man could ask me that  --  and he wouldn’t
(him also understanding what I do and have just noted).’

No my boy, the mental energies life feeds to the collective herd of humanity
are good only to nourish their meaningless palaver about themselves,
and how they feign to be doing;
they are not only doing just like they should be doing, but are also unable to comprehend, and thus say with any certainty, how-they-are-doing,
(which obviously does not stop them from pretending to);
only the independent thinker knows in any fashion, how-he-is-doing,
and to keep the ledgers balanced  --  he does not say how he is,
(nor for that matter does he much think about it either).

Contented, routinely frustrated cows moo  --
if you want to look for non herd animals amongst men,
turn to where the silence is coming from  --   particularly in your own brain.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man pondered:
“Is it our neurons that make us do the dumb stuff, or our hormones?”
and even he had to eventually note that marionettes do not operate themselves,
(“For all the good that acknowledgement does me!……..............................or my dumb actions!”)
 
 
 
 
 

Herd thought can seem serious and it can seem goofy,
but only thought of a man-who-knows can be knowingly goofified,
and someone asks: “But why would his ever be?
Wouldn’t all of his expressed thought be serious?”
You mean serious as in, ah hell, you know, “as-in”  what.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Son, spare yourself the needless testiness:
cows simply find bovine things interesting  --   which gives you no grounds to be upset, now does it.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In the kind of thinking the certain man constantly does there is no such thing as:
low tech, out dated or incorrect; there is but the question of: is it working?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Remember my boy: you do not need some awakened mystical master to tell you if you are enlightened or not --  as long as you can tell yourself/me --  who it is, when you control your thoughts, that does it.”
 
 

Just The Essential Facts.
If you don’t concentrate on your thoughts they will concentrate on themselves  --
on their own useless and distracting selves, and leave you hanging,
and someone says “What d’ya mean, ‘facts’ plural --
what other vital fact for us is there besides that one!”
 
 
 
 
 
 

Men’s minds can perceive the universe to be alive,
this planet to be alive,
the ecological web itself to be alive,
but there is no awareness of men’s minds collectively also being  a living entity;
Individual cows never see the herd itself as a viable creature,
for to do so would force them out of their specious perceptions of individuality.
More contented is a dead duck stuffed in an oven
than a live one in a cage stuffed with delusions of being free.
(And someone says: “I assume you are using the word, ‘dead’ metaphorically,”
      Yes, but not, “duck.”)
 

The words of sheep can seem deep and they can seem sappy,
but only the words of a man who knows what is going on are ever willfully sappified,
and someone asks: “But to what end?”  --    To stay out of the oven.
    More minds have been fried by meaningless seriousness
    than all the summers ever at St.Tropez.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man says he has concluded that it is his lot in life
to have no lot-in-life,
    “Seems like one approach to stamping out pseudo seriousness,”  --
              “So why d‘ya say, ‘pseudo’ seriousness   –   what other kind is there!”
 
 

“My boy: on one world there is a local god that everyone says they don’t want to
talk about  --   they can’t stop doing it  --  but still  --  they say they don’t want to;
now what do you say to that!”
    “You know Dad, you constantly give me more credit for
      understanding what you’re talking about than I deserve.”
“That’s why I’m your father.”