Mused
one man: “If you can’t draw what you want in one continuous line
--
you
don’t really know what you want to draw.
Humm............same with ideas.”
A
bit later the same guy further reflected:
“It’s
surprising how much money you save if you don’t want anything,”
(him
understanding that he was thinking money,
metaphorically).
Greed
is destructive -- except in a certain area of consciousness.
At
the border of one state a spokesman declared:
“We
as a people are smarter than we realize,”
and
from the adjoining territory came a voice that proclaimed:
“WE
are dumber than we realize,”
and
a chap passing overhead in a cool air balloon mused:
“Hostilities
should commence shortly --
and
thus will be spawned: man's spiritual and intellectual worlds."
("Am I to assume that the terrain on which he looked
bears a real resemblance to the cortex?")
One
chap congratulates himself on being married for sixty years to his consciousness
without one of them killing the other.
(“Killing,”
he adds, “being open to figurative interpretation.”)
In
man’s cultural reality: the prevailing position toward plagiarism is that
if
the thief in any way added to what he stole -- no robbery took
place.
(Your take of this might be altered if you figure in the fact that
to survive in this realm -- no other attitude is possible.)
Only
amongst rats can rats live -- same for rat synapses.
The
nest life provides for the collective is constructed of both the collective,
and
its subsequent reaction to
the nest.
(“Is this why you can’t really get away from life?”
Is
this a trick stupid
question?)
When
the publicist for one man’s city would start one of his frequent press
conferences he would quickly stand and say: “I’ve had enough of this “
-- and leave.
An
easy way to cut in half the time you’re normally hypnotized
is
to not think about other people.
To
start off the day on the desired note,
one
man would often spring from bed in his one room cabin --
look
excitedly all around --
then
yell out: “Okay! -- where’d you hide all the elephants!”
(Certain
features inside his brain always find this particularly humorous.)
A
man with a world wide reputation for being able to find people lost in
the wilderness is discovered to be responsible FOR people getting lost.
City
Hosting Tip.
If
the tempo of the party gets threatened by guests’ demands for cynicism,
and
frustration, tell the band to play the song:
“Change
Is Just An Illusion Anyway.”
If
you’ve been identified as a critic of man -- you’re a dumb
one.
Men
become married to the collective before they even get a chance to be virgins.
(“That’s why there is
the activity talked about here, no?!”)
One
of the park philosophers pitches his opinion that it was man’s deity
who
provided the term: goddamn
--
as
his contribution to the overall acknowledgement of life’s inevitables.
In
city eyes/I’s:
any progress is some progress..........and no
progress is also some.
A
good short idea is the same as a good long one ---
just shorter.
If
it weren't for words: a thoroughly civilized man wouldn't have much,
(and
forget-about
a sleeping one.)
How
A Certain Matter Has Been Approached Elsewhere.
A
man shot himself dead in the head --
then
never displayed any acknowledgment of what he’d done.
One
little ruffian in city park barked:
“Singing:
‘Take Me Out To The Ballgame’
won’t make you a ball player,”
and
a second scalawag said: “It won’t make you a singer either,”
and
a third kid standing nearby wondered: had there had been a third voice
in
this story -- what kind of metaphor would he have made of it.
One
guy (who bristles at being called a: sorehead,
but
insists rather that he is simply: an
objective realist)
says
that most city fun seems to consist of:
getting
drunk --
falling
down and hurting yourself --
then
healing back up.
(Is
this perhaps a form of: trick
progress?)
Mostly
when his brain phone rings, this one guy doesn’t answer --
(he
says most are just unsolicited calls trying to sell him something).
At
the reading of the deceased father’s will, one of his hazier children
(who
had long loved to say that he: “Lived a life of symbolism”)
learned
that he had been left a bunch of symbols.
(He
subsequently wondered if the old man’s death had been a trick one.)
A
metaphor stretched far enough becomes like cotton candy:
then
you eat it -- and it becomes metaphor again.
The
certain man (from the real menu of but words and dirt) consumes only the
latter.
An
elderly chap notes:
“It
is surprising how easily you can come to terms with hormones when you get
old,”
(which
about clears the books -- since with most,
neurons
cease being a bother way before
then).
Spying.
Those
who get on the inside
react in two different fashions:
one
group says nothing about it --
while
the other shouts: “Hey look! -- I’m on the inside.”
(To
be precise; the second group is composed of people who only once
got
a brief glimpse of it.)
“Might this be why they act like that?”
Might.
Thanks
to the freedom of the city’s incorporeal marketplace,
and
the ever shifting needs of the individual consumer,
it
is now commercially safe to say: “No one-size bullet is right for
everyone.”
At
the earliest possible time, one father began telling his son:
“If
you ever need help -- come to me,”
but
whenever he would do so the elder would rebuff:
“It’s
every kid for himself,” and after thirteen years of this the boy
said:
“If all you were ever going to do was tell me that it is: ‘every kid for
himself’ --
why did you bother in the first place to say that if I ever needed help
I should come to you?”
The
old man laid a hand on his shoulder and replied:
“I
thought you understood how this works.”
(Today’s
wrap is):
Everything
affects everything else --
and
the ordinary believe that so does every body
-- everything else.
This
is why you never see photographs of the awakened man with a son. (Or
eating words.)
J
P.S.
On his left hand one man had tattooed: "With The Exception Of..."
and
on his right: "There IS No Exception Of."
JAN'S
DAILY
REAL
NEWS
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