Even
as passengers in Second Reality Class
continued to believe that the ship was
(or
at least, should be) sinking, a certain stowaway (acting secretly
as his own ballast
and
crow’s nest) sang to his self this long forgotten sea chanty which succinctly
comments on the steerage crowd’s contorted view:
“Oh
the world of the mind – can save your behind.”
In
the first, primary reality there are progressions but no beginnings;
in
man’s second, inner reality – just the contrary.
It
appears that one man has set up the equipment in his attic so that one
thought
will
automatically trigger another.
(Sounds like a real energy-saver, huh?!)
One
chap says he has decided that the face he sees in the mirror is not his
own;
he
admits this sounds ludicrous but says it still beats the alternative.
“Remember,”
cautioned one local reality, “there are seven steps to captivity,
but
only seven to freedom.”
One
of the speakers in city park today had this to say:
“If
a wheel believes itself on a magnificent journey – it is never
satisfied unless
it
is turning,” and to everyone in the assembled crowd who nodded their agreement
thereto, an organizer from the W.B.A.
(The Worry, Booze & Anger Union)
handed
an application for membership.
Normal
people’s interest in biographies is the hope that others have done better
than they; their interest in gossip is that others have done worse;
the
man who understands-what's-going-on has no particular interest in what
others have done, indeed, the deeper grows his comprehension
the
less interest he even has in how he has done.
When
all is said and done all you really have is what was done –
not
what consciousness said
was done;
interpretation
has its place – in fact, at the very center of man’s all-important,
inner,
second reality – but don’t bother bringing buckets of water
to Newcastle.
In
lieu of real thoughts, one man had mini thoughts
(well,
seeing as how it was his self, he was charitable enough to call
them, mini).
One
kid refused to listen to the ole man’s tales of human horrors & atrocities,
and the elder pressed him, saying: “But how else will you learn of the
crudeness of man?!”
to
which the younger replied: “Through having you trying to tell me such stories.”
Though
quite tricky to realize: only consciousness can unscramble itself.
In
one reality, the local god sends every newborn a card exclaiming:
“Come
as you are!”
And
this email just in:
“Dear
Sir:
If,
in some subtle fashion, all these entities you write about (the father
& son;
gods
& kings; the city & rebel areas; the first & second reality)
are actually manifestations of our own consciousness, then how in sweeny’s
sweet name
do
you explain my Uncle Floyd?!
Sincerely,”
etc.
In
one kingdom there is a surreptitious Minister
Of Contusion Calculations,
so
that while the people always enjoy receiving such, they are unaware they
are
being
tabulated.
(“No sir, count me out: I do not want to know precisely how stupid I am;
it’s enough of a drag just having to be here.”
Spoken
like a true champion of make-believe city freedom.)
The
ordinary measuring of human progress could be described as second-reality’s
attempt to distance itself as far as possible from the first (in
the eyes of human consciousness).
The
song is no longer just for kids:
“Oh,
you’ll – never get away, never get away, never get away, never
get away,
never
get away – oh you’ll...”
“Yeah yeah, we get it, we get it.”
(Pst!
– that’s what they always say in the city when they don’t get it.)
Then
there was this other god who would let anybody into his heaven who would
simply sign a release form absolving the Big Guy from any responsibility
for
their
just completed life.
One
man didn’t like anybody as much as he did his self:
Wow!
– imagine what a self that must have been!
Chanted
a child: “My knee is me and so is my mind –
but
my knee never bugs me by talking about it.”
The
king scratched his chin; furrowed his brow and looked pensively off into
the vague distance and said: “Is it possible that I am wrong?”
– and the entire court instantly leaped to its feet and exclaimed:
“No Sire! – it is not possible!” – and he said:
“You’re
right.”
One
ole sorehead’s fatherly advice to his burr-rated nipper:
“Never
trust anybody who’ll accept your explanation.”
(Even
a dazed badger can recognize when he is in wolverine territory.
“No he can’t!”
And
that’s how he knows.)
One
fellow found life so enjoyable that he said he would consider coming back
–
if
someone really attractive invited him.
(Wow!
– just imagine what a life that must have been!)
Some
good and bad news: The man who so incessantly insisted that he had invented
the preposition has passed away.
Only
three things prop up man’s inner reality
(and three of them are the same thing).
Said
the ole man to the kid:
“Since
you’re the kid and I’m the ole man, I’m gonna call you, kid,
and
I’m gonna tell you some ole-man-stuff (like this):
‘If
you ever did answer all of your critics – you’d no longer
have
any
critics --
then
where would you be!?’”
Ordinary
attempts at acting serve to highlight the difference between human emotion
and real emotion.
Do
not bother giving a sponge bath to a sponge.
Department
Of: Here We Go Again.
Hormones
start
fun – hormones can finish it.
As the king primed the knights for their latest adventure he announced to them:
J
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