Conversational
Game.
“What
is: being-asleep &
unenlightened?”
“Failing to feel the humor in being able to think about being alive (in
other words): taking the thoughts that appear in your brain concerning
being alive, seriously.”
One
father’s advice to a son: “Always say: ‘That wasn’t me,’ regarding whatever
was going on the conscious part of your brain just before you caught it
and said that.”
You’re
either you,
or a dog chasing cars.
About
his newly realized condition, one chap has this to say:
“It
has all of the advantages of the old without any of its disadvantages.
(Damn
seldom do you find that in life.)”
Offers
one guy:
“Wanna
sound insightful while not understandin’ nuthin’? – just
recount something men commonly do in a voice touched with sadness and censure.”
Confabulation.
“Nobody
likes a know-it-all.”
“How about the know-it-all?”
“He
doesn’t count.”
“Some particular reason why?”
“Yes,
but it’s not for me to say.”
When
an awakened man analyzes some particular human matter in the manner natural
to him, there is after that, no need to ever think about it again.
Dialogue.
“In
the ruins of Kalastachia, an ancient sage’s manual has been unearthed which
says that past a certain age, a man should stop awakening and settle for
the feeling of wisdom that comes with the natural degeneration of sex hormones.”
(“No
wonder the place went to pieces.”)
A
chap says:
“Wrapped
around the top of my brain where the cortex should be, I seem to have instead
either a musician or fisherman (based on its activity of harping and carping).”
The
good news: All conversations are recorded;
the
bad news: They’re only available on 8 track.
In
his effort to stay on the cutting edge of a certain fashion, one man,
(when
alone or anywhere else important) wears a mental see-through
blouse.
(“If
you don't provide your needed stimulation --
who will?!”)
“Why
do you never criticize or ridicule other people?”
“It makes me ill.”
If
you must mention to famous people, your claim to fame,
you’re
not famous.
One
guy’s take on a certain core element of modern psychology:
“Since
you can consciously think about the ‘unconscious mind’ – it
can't exist.
(Or
in the alternative: if it did – it doesn’t any longer
–
not
now that you’ve sucked it into your conscious mind.”
(He
later puzzled over why no one in the field has realized this.)
(Commencement
of what one man hoped would be a dialogue):
“I
sometimes suspect that you haven’t tried to describe to me
everything
you understand.”
No
matter who or where you are, there are only two possibilities:
the
conscious part of your brain is either mechanically yapping,
or
it is still and momentarily quiet: that’s all there is.
The
bad news is: Every thought you ever had was recorded;
the
good news is: No one is interested.
(Version
II).
The
bad news is: Every thought you ever had was recorded;
the
good news (if you’re a nervous-system-rebel) is: You're not interested.
When
drugged, one man can see the light;
when
normal, he doesn't even suspect the existence of darkness.
“Sire,”
said the page, “there are visitors here from a foreign land, bearing gifts,
who
wish an audience with you,” and after one heroic Hurumph!
the
loutish looking liege said he would consider it, but first wanted to know
the
nature of the gifts they had brought; the attendant withdrew to check,
and
shortly returned with the answer: “They bring words, definitions and categories,”
and the illiterate monarch (unable to read, but quite aware of how to hold
onto power) ordered the visitors be immediately shot.
In
city elevators, someone has been posting signs which say:
“Where
consciousness and the rest of the brain meet is the area of man’s
greatest
confusion.”
(“That and when the cable breaks, mused one guy.)
At
intersections where one dimension unfolds into another,
there
exist beings who perceive evil to be no less than what they perceive to
be weakness in themselves.
For
the nervous system rebel, the present problem is that his elevator
does
not go high enough;
the
connection between consciousness and the rest of the brain is unfinished,
garbled,
and under developed.
“Second-reality
matters can only be improved by second-reality means.”
“Which means they can’t
be?!”
Every
time some doctor would tell one man he was sick, he’d whip his ass
–
(which
kept him in reasonably good health).
“Only
primary reality can be changed.”
“You’re referring to actual
change?!”
“The
only kind there is.”
One
man who was never heard complaining, heard himself doing so;
“Screw
that!” he said;
“Screw that!” he had his mind say;
“Screw that!” the conscious part of his brain said;
“Screw that!” the conscious part of his brain said, then realized:
Every
time a certain diagnostician would give one man an unfavorable report,
he’d
shut him up by stopping what he was doing and looking him directly in the
face.
The
most ancient of all mythical travelling orders devoted to a man’s radical
inner
reconstruction of his self had as its motto (and sole method):
Get
A Grip.
J
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