In the grip of reflectionitis, a man said that when he was young his greatest desire
was to be taken to be a thinker (a goal he never achieved)
but since he’s gotten older and his sex and vanity hormones have slowed down,
he has started speaking in nothing but well known and respected clichés,
and has now started to be taken as a thinker.
(And another chap offers his several choices for a conclusive maxim relative to
the above rumination: “How long it takes for stupidity to fully settle in  –   or:
How long it takes us to fully appreciate stupidity  –   or:
How long it sometimes takes for the stupidity of others to catch up to our needs.”)
 
 

A man who lives in the city became so engrossed in his self that he eventually saw only two ways out.
“What inspires me about the tunnel into town is how it goes in both directions,
yet never moves; why can’t my consciousness at least achieve the accomplishment  of an engineering project!?”
The Planetary Commission On Everything says that too many people are currently asking too many questions and that some of you are going to have to ease off
(at least for a while....which is why one guy keeps reminding his self
not to stick his belong where it doesn’t nose).
 
 

A man diagnosed to have a terminal ill rented a yacht, stocked it with his favorite booze, drugs, cigars, and a couple of twenty-year-old strippers, and sailed off toward the far horizon to spend out his final days, but along the way he was met by the exact same boat with a man who looked exactly like him, standing at the wheel alone,
coming from the far horizon, headed toward shore.
  From any scene can thoughts weave metaphysical brain-storms and savers,
  but only in real water can you actually drown.
 
 

You can’t milk 5-D cows on a 4-D farm.
There’s not enough time, for one thing,
  “And space, for another,”
    “And hands to match the number of the teats, for another  –
     all in all, you’re right: You can’t get 5-D reality out of 4-D consciousness.”
“It’s good to be right,” mused Captain Accurate,
“not as good as being wrong but freshly fucked  –  but that’s an issue best left to philosophers, and not the physically grounded likes of me.”
A comment that spurred one young milker to ponder:
“Who makes the determination of what it is good-to-be  –   hormones or neurons? –  and would the answer be affected if I phrased it:
‘Who makes the ultimate determination?’  –   or: ‘initial determination?’”
This non-routine mental activity so suddenly excited the lad that he
kicked over his bucket (which he finally realized doesn’t make you go blind or sprout palm hair).
 
 

Talking about yourself is dressing cinderella (not to mention making yourself more like her).
 
 

In the city, some people’s business is denying that other people’s business exists.
(The relevant sentiment, if set to music, would sound something like this:
    “The world’s large enough to do without you,
      which is why I’ve been sent to tell you to leave.”)
 
 

A father told a son:
“If you’re impressed by people who flatter you, you’re as bad as they are.”
   (“You mean, as dumb, don’t you?”)
 
 

“But,” asks a chap, “doesn’t ordinary people talking about their life make it seem
more meaningful and  interesting?”
    Yes.
 
 

Everyone is working-without-a-net, but life in the pack allows men to
hold another impression.
 
 

Behind the scenes, much of the power in human institutions is held by chimpanzees.
 
 

For the big game between hormones & neurons, the midfield referee was given
a wireless mic that fed directly to the brain stem of the entire stadium.
 
 

One thing death in the city will bring out is under-talented people paying
over-heated tribute to other under talented people.
   (“But doesn’t ordinary people talking about the lives of the deceased
      make both their existences seem more meaningful!?”)
 
 

He who explains his self, blames his self.                         Qui s’explanare s’culpare.
 
 

Everyone knows why they say the things they do,
but only the certain man acknowledges it to his self.
 
 
 

Although they generally don’t face it and speak of it head-on,
ordinary people only have one matter to talk about.
    (“Okay: if the yacht is named, Survival, and there was a tender stashed on deck,
       what could possibly be its moniker?”)
 
 

One guy admits that he only has five senses, “But what a five they are!”
 
 

Replay.
For the big game between hormones & neurons, the midfield referee was given
a wireless mic that fed directly to the fans’ cerebral cortex.
    (“I may not know what is going on everywhere in the stadium, but I do have the
       foolishness factor of my Section nailed.”  [A comment to which pat immediately objected.]
       The Consolidated Council On Uncertainty said they had no comment at this time.)
 
 

Real gods never say out loud who they favor.
 
 

Business News From The City.
One chap admits that his mental enterprises are mostly just a mom-&-pop operation.
 
 

Proverb Update.
The wages of sin are tax deferrable.
 
 

After acknowledging to his self how difficult it is to get excited about other people’s interests, one man then named his self spokesperson for:
The International Obvious Society.
 
 

A heretofore unheralded feature of the expansion of man’s intangible reality
(including such affairs as religion, the arts, philosophy, social mores, inter alia) is:
Once you’ve got the number one  –  all the others fall in place.
(Aka: Once you start down that road  --  there’s no stopping.
    “How about: any waking-up?”
Compromise: there’s no routine stopping.)
 
 

Related Fact For Around Bed Time.
Stay up long enough and something will happen.
 
 

Proverbs in other languages mean other things,
just as thoughts in an imbecile’s brain are not necessarily like the ones in yours.
     (“Was it really necessary to emphasize the word, necessarily in that comment!”)
 
 

And apparently directed at the matter of excessive babble, one man,
(clearly not above pilfering from tourism claptrap) has concocted his own
private slogan concerning his supra brain stem activities:
“What happens in consciousness –  stays in consciousness.”
 
 

As other men persisted in their efforts to find the right words to describe what
they believe “the gods expect of man,” one chap mused:
“If you don’t give a potter clay, no ceramics can he make  –   but if you do,
then that’s all he’ll ever produce.”
    (His brother’s view: “Farts should stick with the source from whence they cometh
     and not be roaming around amongst the lilacs.”)
 
 

Making fun of larger dogs is how chihuahuas maintain a reasonably acceptable
self image.
 
 

Stretched out in a grassy spot in city park a chap mused:
“When men have become truly civilized, their greatest pleasure comes from
paying someone else to do something while they watch;
good thing this has never seeped into their mental life   –   my god!” he cried
as he sat up bolt right: “but it HAS!”
 
 

Another way to determine that you are using your consciousness in a manner
proper for a nervous-system-rebel is that only you can make you feel angry, fearful,
guilty or embarrassed.
     “Why must the onus always be on me?” mused the guillotinist to his self,
       being again required to furnish his own neck.
“Yes indeed, that is what happens to you when you display too much talent publicly; the pack will turn on you in a manner quite unexpected and vicious.”
     (“Good thing that only a rebel can get milk from wolves.”)
 
 

The arts are criticism put into physical form;
criticism is anger at someone else’s criticism, put into words.
You can direct laughter all day long at a rhino with impunity,
but not so, hitting him with mud clods.
(“As always my boy: You have to know your audience.”
    “And understand the room, huh Dad!?”
Show biz insight to succor the savage brain.)
 
 

A chap mused: “When men have become truly civilized their greatest pleasure
comes from paying someone else to do something while they watch.”
    “And a prime example being movies, no?!”
         “And fiction.”
                 “And don’t forget, human conversation    (and it seems to be free!)”

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

JAN'S DAILY REALNEWS