Raising wheat is serious  --  story-telling is not;
it may well be more entertaining to civilized men than the former,
but the fact remains.

Conversation.
“What’s the funniest thing in human existence?”
   “Teenage angst.”
“And second?”
   “Middle aged angst....no....wait, maybe I've got that backwards…
     I always get confused about this....uhhh?....”

Verbally describing Life changes your relationship TO Life.

In a subtle attempt to give credence to what are, in fact, merely his personal opinions,
one man liberally sprinkles his comments with the term, “of course.”
(This of course makes him appear a fool to intelligent people.)

A lad asked his dad:
“Do things not active actually exist?”  –  and the elder replied:
    “There is a quiescent area of your own brain to which this question could be more
      appropriately put.”

Treating any matter in second-reality solemnly, regardless of how seriously it may be taken by everyone else, is the height of preposterousness.

The Order Of Hormones & Neurons And Their Intermingling.
First comes breakfast  –  then, story-telling  –  including ones about what you had
for breakfast yesterday and what you'll have tomorrow.

Quizzes a chap: “Why is it that if you read deeply enough into their lives,
it seems that all the great men of history were also kind of weird?”

At this year’s, Hey! -- Look At Us convention, the lead speaker had these
inspiring words:
“Just as those of superior intellect have said that they:
‘Stand on the shoulders of the giants who have gone before them’ –
we pinheads too have a similar prior support network.”

One guy’s: Operating Premise Regarding Everything:
“Whatever it is, if it can be compared  –  it hurls.”

The way you can tell those who are part of the World-wide-conspiracy is that
they wear a team sweater which has no number nor team name.
(Neurological note: Those in the civilian sector who try to follow, untangle, and otherwise figure-out the conspiracy all eventually suffer from the “My-brain-feels-funny” syndrome.)
Yes, for many years, exploratory ships bound for the uncharted western horizon
were launched from Gibraltar;
then, as man’s understanding of physics and the other sciences became more sophisticated, they began sending them off from the harbor below.
(Epistemological Note: Those who don’t understand how everything is connected – 
don’t understand anything.)

The job of normal men, once they’ve fed themselves, is to tell stories  –
and the more fantastic, the better.

Life.
Life can absorb a lotta crap  –  a hellava lot.
   (Also true for the search for The Secret.)

Dialogue.
“What is man’s most futile act?”
   “Trying to shame the uncivilized into being so.”
“What about trying to reform the snippy?”
   “Yeah ....I'm  always getting their order confused....”

A man standing on the steps of City Hall made the following declaration:
“Words are as counterfeit as the lives of the men who live in accordance therewith,” and a woman in a nice dress who was passing by stopped long enough to ask:
“Exactly what does that mean?” The gentleman bowed and graciously replied:
“Madam –  I'm sure I don’t know  –   I do not work here.”
Rhetorical Moral: A proverb that won't readily fly in the skies of the city,
will crash & burn!  –  and whose fault is that?  –  the proverb’s pilot?  –
or the peoples’ chintzy landing strip of comprehension?”

Said a father to a son:
“A neural revolutionist laughs in everyone's face yet keeps anyone from being
aware of it.    (In fact, he doesn’t literally do what I just described).”
   “So why’d you even mention it?”
“Because what he does do is close enough to warrant your considering the matter for yourself in greater detail.”

Graffito Found.
A self-proclaimed “reformed” anything will always prove a dunce.

Many things fuel man’s second-reality –  but they're all the same thing  –
and no residing there realizes what it is.
   (A magic house which bamboozles its own builder.)

Life helps compensate men for the fear & uncertainly they feel once they have
a functioning mind and realize they don’t know what’s going on, by having them confidently say to one another: “Yeah, I now pretty well know what’s going on.”
(And of course when they're back home alone they can still:
wash out their mouths with soap for saying it,
wring their hands in despair,
fall on their knees in prayer,
and moan the confused-blues just like they wanted to do in public with their peers.)
Wombat Protocol: Real thinking is a secret weapon  --
but one that can be kept too secret).

The funny thing about the clues the special-investigator needs to ever crack-the-case
is that they are no where to be found  –   no where outside  the investigator.
    “Wow! –  I'll bet that is one tricky fact to ever realize, huh?!”