During a period of peace in the Yellow Kingdom there arose a certain military scholar who carefully studied the written histories of all the world's great battles, generals,
and their tactics; his resultant writings on warfare brought him unparalleled fame,
and the entire Kingdom recognized him as its supreme military theoretician.
The day came when the Red Province declared war on the Kingdom and the emperor immediately placed the scholar in charge of its defense; an army was raised and with him and his notes at its head, it charged off to confront the foe.
Across the river, over the plains, through the forest and in the early morning hours,
up to the peak of the outer mountains that surrounded the Province they rode,
and the first rays of light found the military sage astride a mighty steed,
his notes and hypothetical battle plans in hand,
scanning the facing ridge over which the opposing force was expected to appear.
Then in the distance a rumbling was heard, which grew progressively louder as dust began to rise; louder and louder grew the thundering din; higher and higher swirled the dust, then suddenly  –   the formidable hordes of a mighty army began to crest the ridge and the scholar’s fine reputation was forever lost as he turned and galloped away,  his papers flying from his hand as he screamed:
“Where the fuck did all those people come from!?”
 
 

 More Scenes From: Life In The City.
A man who became ill for the first time at an advanced age said:
“After having never been sick a day in sixty years it’s hard for me to complain about this now,” and his mother said, “No it’s not  –
just move your lips and let nature take its course.”
 
 

Everywhere he’d go, this one guy would stand-in-line  –   and if one wasn’t there  –  he’d start one.
 
 

One man changed his name to a dead person’s  –   so’s everything would match
(as he put it).
 
 

Even though his last great thought was thirty-four years previously, one chap says he’s nonetheless now in the planning stages for a: “Grand Come-Back Tour.”
 
 

“Woe to me! –  woe to the world,” moaned a man, “I have nothing to live for,”
and a voice asked, “Do you owe money?”
“Yes,” he replied, then the voice said, “You have a reason to live.”
 
 

One man gave every organ in his body its own name  –   except one  –
then made his self guess which one it was.
 
 

A man in the city said to his son:
“Something to look out for is the human inclination to try to become recognized  –
to be a famous person  –  someone people want to consult,”
and after a hefty pause the lad inquired: “Is that all you’re going to say?
Can’t you tell me more, like: how to handle this urge?” and the elder replied:
“If I knew any more about it I wouldn’t have to be warning you about it.”
 
 

One man gave every organ in his body its own name  –   except one  –
then made IT guess which one it was.
 
 

A being on one faraway world says that something keeps whispering naughty stuff
in his ear  --
he admits to living alone  –
but says that doesn’t matter.
 
 

To get-by, one man says he has two attitudes: the first is:
“I never think about Thursday, and the second is: Today is always Friday.”
 
 

Mechanical Urban Development.
The consciousness of ordinary men automatically becomes gentrified
the older they get.
    (“If my neurons had undergone the change they have through their own efforts
       and not merely as a by-product of hormonal shifts,
       I’d have something worthwhile in my head today.”)
 
 

Man’s intangible realm not only eats its own, but without doing so, it would have none.
 
 

There Are Explanations For Everything (Even For This Assertion).
One man says his present mental condition is the result of being under
outside domination for nearly seven hundred years.
 
 

Life In City Residences.
One man keeps a cloth hanging by his door to clean his shoes before he enters
the house; he considers it one of the most important tasks in life to keep the
cloth clean – no matter the price  --  even that of not wiping his shoes therewith.
 
 

A guy mulled: “The worst part of being sick is that you’ll do almost anything to get well and there’s always a new treatment available which you feel obliged  to try;
then if you do not fully recover you eventually begin to despise doctors;
so now you’re both physically ill and emotionally upset.
Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten sick in the first place.”
 
 

Incomplete minds need icons.
 
 

Second Version Of Supra Story.
A guy mulled: “The worst part of being sick is that you’ll do almost anything to get well and there’s always a new treatment available which you feel obliged  to try;
then if you do not fully recover you eventually begin to despise doctors;
so now you’re both physically ill and emotionally upset.
  Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten sick in the first place.
     Why does this remind me of my struggle to awaken?!”
 
 

After several natural disasters and with more pending, the townspeople gathered around their priests who prepared to perform the mysterious rituals needed to
ward off additional danger.
One citizen noticed a man beside him who seemed seized with fear and in an attempt to reassure him said:
“Do not be afraid my friend, the religious men know what they are doing,”
and the fellow replied: “I AM one of those religious men --
and I know what they are doing   --  and that's why I am so afraid!”
The only diagnosis of ultimate interest and value to the certain man is his own.
 
 

Prancing about the palace in his royal tights and fancy vest a smart-ass prince squealed: “Only a fool dies for honor,” and his manservant bowed and flashed the official sycophant grin as he added the expected confirmation:
“Indeed Your Excellency, and only a fool has any honor,” (then to his self muttered:
“I should know.”)
If state secrets were known: the term: self-respect and the activities that normally transpire inside ordinary men’s minds would scarcely appear together.
 
 

One guy thought: “It’s hell being ugly,” and his inner partner (always the helpful sort) said: “Yeah, but at least we don’t have to look at us.”
(Have you ever heard a better oblique description of man’s routine state of
distracted consciousness?
    “That’s okay mister smartypants: I may be living in a dream,
      but at least I’m not aware of it!        So there!”)
 
 

On special occasions (to amuse the children) one ole neighborhood man would reverse his frontal lobes. (Some of the wee ones were more entertained by it
than others  –  especially those who could tell a difference).
 
 

An email was received this morning from a follower of the Daily News who says
he is now convinced that half of what he reads here is true but meaningless,
and the other half super true and downright dangerous; he says he will send a check for some “reasonable amount” in return for being told which half is which.
 
 

If you picture ThisKindaActivity as a nervous system aerial act,
you could then plot a certain progression, of it going from: working-without-a-net –
to: doing-it-without-a-trapeze  –  on to the climax of:
doing it without benefit of gravity, an act or an audience.
 
 

Oh, and there’s a guy on the phone calling collect who claims to be John Milton  –   yes, that John Milton, and he says we won’t believe where he’s calling from,
and SURE won’t believe the phone bill we’ll be receiving.
The collective human nervous system is indeed an immense network.
(And speaking of that: One man refuses to speak to anyone but his self.)