February 11, 2003                                                                   © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 
 
 

And in the field of music, a father said to a son:
“What men never consider when they boastfully sing:
‘No one can do the --  Shin-a-ling!  --  like I do,’
is that maybe no one wants to;
what one man’s thoughts picture in the other reality as attractive
can seem exclusive to him for his thinking of it in a certain way  --
the certain way of him being the uncontestable super hero
of his individual version of man’s other reality;
no one ever gets the best of God when he is a figure in God’s imagination
(same with Superman and Miss America).”
As long as a man’s genetics have first call on him before his individual mental activity
the dead will forever be speaking to him  --  and he listening.

And moving to the area of animal husbandary & mental midwifery,
the father further said:
"Imitation is the sincerest form of bovinity,
(and also the best way to stay alive  --  and popular -- in the herd)."
A reader asks The Question Doctor: “If for example, someone’s mother just died,
does it help to tell them that you recently underwent the same experience?”
   “It can.”
“What if you are lying?”
Cows tend to be agreeable;
sociability, like ignorance, is best used, and not abused.
Regularly amidst everyday, aimless conversations one man will  suddenly inject: “Yes, several people have called to complain.”
The civilized tend to be agreeable,
   “I thought it was cows?!”
So?!
In some kingdoms if you are right more than once
they take your card away.
Cribbing a line from professional advertising in his attempt to sell his brains,
one man touts them as: “used --  but not over used.”
Regularly whilst someone is speaking to him about utterly meaningless matters,
one man will  suddenly ask: “Is this supposed to be a hint?”
One man paid his friends to not refer to him as a cow,
(remembering, it’s assumed, that in the city’s other reality everything that doesn’t exist costs exactly the same price as everything else that doesn’t exist
[except for the ones you are personally attached to]).
Fear of repute holds together the city (and of course, herd thinking)
as surely as does Elmer’s Glue, shaky cows,
the justice of it being that only brains feel the need to defend themselves; not hearts, not lungs, not livers, not kidneys  --  only brains  --   and axe yourself:
“Is that not the most beautifulest justice you’ve ever seed?”
Pee Wee Herman won’t take no disin’
while Hercules doesn’t give a shit what anyone says about him.
    “Pa pa?...”
“Yes son I know: ‘Why does Pee Wee pop up so often in my head?’
As long as your hormones maintain their natural first call on your neurons, for all practical purposes, you have no individual mental existence, which is to say: Hercules-of-thought is absent in you.”
    “Pa pa?”
“Yes son?”
    “How do you know what I am thinking?”
“That should not be the question: ‘Why do you not  -- more profitably?’ --
now there is a worthy query.”
One man tried to bribe his mind not to think of him as a cow,
and another chap says he does not believe that life itself has even the
slightest strain of sarcasm, and his brother said that sounded fine --  except:
”Where then do all the human smart asses get their training?”
One man has begun begging his thoughts not to make fun of him.
"My boy, you've got a couple of choices, you can assume that other people
are as serious about what they say as they seem to be --  and are thus idiots,
and that only you see the situation as it is  --  or:
assume that they are just pretending to be serious,
and that by you being upset by it  --  you are the idiot  --  or:
face the fact that both possibilities have already come to pass,
and then hang yourself a hard right at Jupiter and take the rest of the weekend off."
Over in one city someone published a pamphlet entitled:
“How To Make Sense Of It All” (a bit of business they lived to regret),
and one man notes:
“Life sure has gotten a lot of mileage out of man becoming civilized.”
And another fellow says: "The way I see it is that one of the most viscid vagaries of being a human bean is that whenever you pick out something singularly human
that you want to pursue, you get immediately all tangled up in questions regarding the the presumed proper way of doing it, and while my dear old daddy taught me to be considerate of other people's sentiments, he said I should waste none of my life concerned with how Santa might feel if I don't write to him this year.
The activities man has available to himself in his mentally created, other-reality,
while literally needing no moral support to survive  --
nor indeed being capable of receiving such  --  nonetheinsaneless must have it,
(or else, denunciation --  the same thing)  --  to survive  --   in men's opinion,
and therein, Beer Drutis, lies the brub:  all of men's personal preferences
concerning matters which exist only in the other, inner-only reality
are operationally synonymous with the matters.
A carefully alert & concentrated man would take note that:
             just being pissed is no excuse for being alive  --
which once forced stage front an unknown & non standard god who noted:
"My chagriness must be infinite  --   how else could I have survived this long?!"
 
 
 
 
 
 

"Son, there is no shame in being mentally incompetent --
but you should dip your head in shit do you not realize that
the incompetency comes with the area of your brain in which you were born,
and that if any change is to ever occur in this situation
(which is not necessary and certainly not in the cards for 99.9 % of humanity)
it is entirely your responsibility
assuming that this 99.9% impossibility is for you a possibility --  ah hell! --
let's be honest: it doesn't matter whether a literal change in your
natural born temperament and its consciousness-of-what-you-are is possible  --
the only thing that counts is whether you are born with a determination so intense
to accomplish the rebel's extraordinary, anti indigenous deed
that whether it is possible, impossible, or green with blue strips
is fourteen tons of irrelevant.