A man pondered: “Is change most attractive when executed via movement in time  –
or in space.” (Aka: “Am I really in-here  –  or am I out-there?  –   or maybe in some situation
completely inconceivable to my mortal mind?”)

On a hot summer’s day, a man called his next door neighbor over to the fence and said:“Frogmyer (if indeed that is your real name) Frogmyer, according to where it originates, there are three kinds of talk: motor, limbic and cerebral…” and his young son interrupted: “You forgot liquor,” and the elder suddenly realized that he himself was at least ninety-proof proof of the boy’s assertion.

After one man (with a good publicist) received wide coverage for his quote:
“Rituals are myths in action,”
his brother finally (and with lesser results) countered with:
“Rituals are ignorance animation.”
   (As their mother always said: “P. R. means a lot when you ain' t got a lot.”)

One chap offers his observation that struggling-to-awaken-from-man’s-dream
is like trying to make alligators out of handbags & belts.

On one far away world (okay: In man’s mental-only, second-reality),
nothing is believed until it is said.

War News.
The first shot’s always the most disturbing.
   (“What I want to know,” injects an experienced warrior,
    “is why all the shots after that can't have a similar effect.”
If Life wanted more men to come out of the dream,
persistence would be a more popular commodity.)

There is a Circuitous Process and a Direct Approach:
in one, the eyes see and deliver an image to the mind,
and in the other, the mind does it for itself.
(An inside-job you might say.)

One fellow attempted to describe that uncommon re-doing of a man's thinking
that occurs when he begins to emerge from the dream as:
“The potemkinizing of his own neural aborigines.”
   (Perhaps “attempted” does not do it justice?!?)

In one area of this one galaxy (all right: in man’s increasing understanding of second-reality) the operative synonym for “attractive” has become “silly.”

In one man’s consciousness, that ever-persistent question between his natural-born-mind and his hunger-to-waken (“Your place or mine?”) has taken on super-erotic implications too spicy for public publication.

As man’s collective consciousness has moved from an older, more simplistic
view of Life to its contemporary, more complex one, gradually is laid before his mind
a realm of apparently competing possibilities, the mother’s milkshake of
mental expansion, and ergo, Life’s continued good health.

Any example taken from man’s mental-only-world that contains the word “exactly” should be returned with a firm demand for a full refund.

A face lift won't help guilt, nor spiritual redemption a sagging neck;
in the worlds of hormones & neurons, hormones help hormones who help themselves....same for neurons....‘cept neurons keep pretending they can do otherwise....
and completely surprising, are able to fool themselves into believing they do.
   (“Man! –  who saw that coming!”)
Conversational Fragment.
“‘Tis a brilliant possum who can make his self think that he is not a possum.”
     “No, no! –  you’ve got it wrong: ‘Tis a perfectly ordinary possum.”

Strolling through city park, one man reflected:
“Why, in man’s second-reality, does every activity experience a renaissance,
rather than being ultimately destroyed outright?”
Would a camel, being in part supported with by an imaginary leg,
ever cut that one off?

Fact: You can't throw glue away (and if you can, it wasn’t very good glue to begin with).
   (A dromedary should stick with its mamadary.)

The teaching of one local god (who you don’t hear much about any more) wasn’t about what is supposedly good for you, but rather about what makes you feel good.

Can you see that in man’s intellectual world, wherein power is perceived to be divided between the good forces of truth, and the evil ones of ignorance, men apparently serving the former are also unwittingly working for the latter?
(And for the few of uncommon sight, far beyond any worlds of truth, error, evil or irony, is a realm even outside the orbit of conventionally conceived reality itself.)

In a land of limited dimensions, no envelope can ever open wide enough to hold itself;
thus the man-who-knows is not to be found in your land.
   (And the ole itinerant folkie commenced to sing: “Your land’s not his land…”)

Anything that only looks good at the expense of something else,
the nervous-system-rebel should give a careful second look.
Suddenly seeing what is really going on with Life is a stand-alone, everywhere-at-once experience which transcends any comparisons, and all apparent competitors: