Naturalness On The Hoof.
Short haired sheep, comfortable in their confinement, will automatically support the words of their peers and assault those of the long haired.               (And of course, vice versa.)
 

The conscious part of the brain plays on man (that is: on itself)
the oldest trick in the human play book.
(And guess from where the play book got it.)
 

With a modicum of innate mental wherewithal, any man can think in depth about
any second reality matter      (since none have any depth).
 

By-Play.
“What can be more natural than stink on shit  --  and wool on sheep!”
    “Ordinary consciousness on your brain?”
 

A father noted to a son:
“The reason humans can’t be perfect is that the conscious part of the brain
won’t let them be:
it won’t let them be as per its definition of perfect,
and it won’t let them actually be, which would come through them having a consciousness which understands that everything is perfect by it being what it is.”
 

Ordinary people have no interest in hearing comments concerning
second reality matters from commentators who seem un committed thereto.
 

When not engaged in problem solving: the conscious part of the brain is like a
frisky dog which is either: running wild, or else doing its one trick of: “Sit!”
 

After years of meditation and metaphysical study, one man could sit out in
freezing temperatures for hours (wrapped in an electric blanket) and not be cold,
while his companions (who did not use one) suffered severe discomfort,
(and some even frostbite).
 

Because of a personal superstition, one man (who continually makes
short movies of his life) won’t talk about any upcoming one.
(And a son instantly said to a father: “I can't believe it!  --  I get that one.”)
 

Religion provides consciousness with the one thing (the idea of God) in which it can express unconditional faith  -- even above that of a mate's fidelity, childrens’ love,
the king’s good will, but especially: any other ideas that come to consciousness.
    (“‘Tis indeed good,”  so saith collective humanity,
       “to have at least one thing on which you can rely  --  even if you can't.” )
 

Sweat Relief In The City.
Stop worrying about it: nobody really understands the meaning of the word, reality.
 

While ordinary men must be alert to physical threats throughout their lives,
the nervous-system-rebel has to watch out for but one thing.
 

On his fiftieth birthday one man put a sign across his forehead that announced: “Celebrating Half A Century At The Same Location.    (Dammit!)”
 

Answers are easy to come by  –  blank revealing walls are another matter.
 

On one world when some historians surprisingly began to understand their own field, they became both suicidal and cannibalistic (knowingly, that is).
Man’s second reality not only traps its own feet, but chews them off as well,
and before you can say: “Ow!”--  grows new ones.
(And some chemists cried: “Foul!”)
In the struggle between the silent brain and its conscious part,
only one of them perceives the conflict as unfair.
    “Don’t you mean to say that only one of them says so?!”
(And some chicken pluckers cried: “Fowl!”)
 

Conversation.
“Most promises are made through the false sincerity of wine…”
    “But I don’t drink.”
“…or other neural stimulants.”
On the entry exam appeared the question:
“If hormones make your dick rise when you see her, what causes your tongue to say: ‘Come here often?’ ”
The obvious answer would be: it’s still your hormones behind it  –  except that:
they can’t chat a chick up.
    “Which are you getting at: the fact that the silent part of your brain has no idea that
      you want to alter its conscious operations, or that it’s not possible to communicate
      this desire TO the non verbal part?”
The exit exam opened with this one:
“What was men’s inspiration for the recreational activity of: Hollerin’ down a hole?”
 

Regarding Conversations.
Always remember this: all conversations are between SOME body  –   except ONE!
 

Reality Relief In The City.
Don’t sweat it: nobody really understands the meaning of the word, really.
 

In the city if you insist on a diagnosis  –   you’ll demand a remedy:
something that is not available there:
thus you end up double-strapped: feeling the need for a needless remedy,
while faced with the fact there is none.
The conscious part of the brain concocted the idea of Santa Claus so that there would be another figure (albeit fiction) outside of itself on whom men cannot rely.
    (“Diverting attention takes the pressure off,” muttered some frontal lobes.
         [If anyone would know about that it’s certainly the areas of consciousness.])
 

Wrapping his arm snugly around the appropriate part, a father said to a son:
“Children are the low-man on everyone’s totem pole       except for the next one coming up.”
Corollary.
All games are won by kids.
“Pa pa: is that why it is so important for me to wake up to what's really going on
before I am your age and it is too late [which is to say]:
before I become you all over again?”
Being routinely human is to: do it all over again, and again and again,
which physically presents no problem; indeed: such is the means of a safely led life, but a similar situation in the conscious part of the brain is for a few,
another matter entirely.