Opening Conversation.
“Since....”
    “But it will be about you, right?”
“Well, yes.”
    “Then indeed proceed.”

Proffers one chap:
“All words have their motive,
and all motives have their drive,
and all drives have their engines,
and all engines have their spark,
so to all words I say: ‘Greetings  –  you eternal great-great-grandchildren.’”
(Note To The Rebels: The creative potential in words lies not in the words,
but in the mind of he who consciously says them.

In an attempt to keep things mentally fresh, every morning immediately upon awakening, one man employs the professional magician’s well-known opening line
to an audience member about to act as an assistant to a trick,
and says to his just-arousing mind: “We have never met before, have we sir…”

Just as borrowing won't cure poverty,
accepting the thinking of others only forestalls the ultimate triumph of stupidity in you.

The city (functioning as all citizens’ family doctor) advised:
“Just because an operation won’t help is no reason not to have it.”

The only way The Secret is permitted to collective man is by it being split into
billions of slivers with everybody getting just one little piece of it.

An ordinary man’s mind can tell him anything  –
that’s why it IS an ordinary man’s mind         –       dumplin’.

From one perspective, smaller minds are the easiest to protect,
as ‘tis simpler to defend a hole in the ground than a castle on a hill.
   (Life’s thinking looks at man’s mind as a sitting-duck.
       “Go, ‘Quack quack’ for the nice man, Bartholomew.”)

The collective thinking prevalent amongst men is like: Blinders for the mind;
when it becomes institutionally codified it is like: Full-head helmets with no eye holes.
You can be strangled as part of a herd, or as an individual cow;
what could be neater than having choices!?
   (Via email, one reader says he finds the Daily News stories:
    “Chillin’, thrillin’ and more enlightenin’ than a paperhanger on meth.”)

In an apparent attempt to get back to his roots, one chap has changed his business card from: “Psychiatrist” to: “Hog Reclamations & Hen Refinishing.”
   (And another reader writes to say that although he enjoys the Daily News,
    he doesn’t for a second believe that the stories actually mean anything.
     [FYI: such communiqués get turned over to our solicitors, Lord & Lady Beaverdrawers of Queen’s Court,
      London NW10 7AS.])

Words have been the death of more men than all the armaments ever produced.....
(mental death of course....and extremely stupid men, certainly).
One man’s fervent plea: “How do I get out of here!?” –  only one way sir  –
wake-up to the reality of what words really are.
   (“Hey-y-y – that’s a trick  –  ‘cause that’s the cure for everything!
       Boy! –  you had me going there for a moment.”)

The cook at one rebel camp (acting as M.C. for the night) opened the show by saying
to the assembled:
“The difference between ordinary men’s concept of Life and a revolutionist’s
is similar to the distinction between a pig and sausage patties.”

While hormones are in man’s blood,
city neurons get into watches and street maps.
Ordinary minds cannot have thoughts that are not set in time and space;
only the consciousness of the unconventionally-wired few can play home to free-floating ideas.
   (“If it’s untethered,
      I like it much better          --             to say the least.”)

The discussion, apparently gone quite far enough to suit one of the participants,
came to a head when the man in the front of the line violently threw down a can of sauerkraut that was on sale, and screamed to his conversational partner
(who was already sacking up the groceries):
“NO! –  applying moralistic standards to instinctive behavior is not simply silly –
it’s downright religious!”
 

Normal people adopt a set-of-values for the obvious reason that they
have none themselves;
those born with that funny wiring-scheme are a different matter.                (Funny that!)

Without continual self-reference,
cities tremble and personalities tumble.
When you don’t possess a certain thing which all men say they do,
you must keep talking about how you also do.
   (“I find that somehow personally offensive.”
          You're damn-near alone.)

The creative talent of the nervous-system-rebel (whether he can paint, compose,
or sing or not) is in his mental output of non-polarized thoughts  –
those original with his mind, and not from Life’s.