Head Start

In his ofttimes breathless manner, one guy said, “You know, the more I talk, the more I want to talk,” and his tongue said, “Tell me about it.”



Even Sherlock Holmes can’t find an exit door in an abattoir.



One chap used to say, on at least every other day, “Count the days that I’m gone.”  And his partner finally blurted, “You keep saying that, but how can I count the days if you never leave?” And he replied, “I just want to give you time to get a head start on it.”



One real sly little ruler, so as to more efficiently wield power, sat up his dummy brother on the throne as king; a neighboring monarch quickly perceived the beauty of such an arrangement, and decided to do likewise – but then realized it was already too late to imitate.



There are no “economic hardships” in the poor house.


A Unique Axis

A woolly seeming tailor I stood next to in a breakfast queue just around the corner, told me that about the only way he could get a straight answer from himself was to ask a crooked question.



Another out-of-town divinity sent me a card and said he’d heard of my recent collection of his peers’ sentiments, and in the same regard, he wanted to state that what he liked best about being a god is that you can whine and no one ever notices what you’re actually doing.



The first voice said: “There’s only one thing I am justified to hate – dumbness.”

And his friend’s voice, in a captious mood replied: “Okay, but who’s to decide what IS dumbness?"

And number one voice declared: “Why me, of course, I’m certainly qualified to do that, or I wouldn’t be smart enough to spot all the dumbness in the first place – Humph.”

And the other voice said: “Rats – foiled again!”



Over in the deep end of the pool, a lurking liquor sales man said to me, “I have but one fear in life and that is being misunderstood.”  And one of his parallel voices said, “Jeeze – talk about a half a problem”



In one yet flashing galaxy, there is a rather hard-nosed description of what many creatures consider metaphysical insight, and it says, “Each individual is a unique axis in their own unique wheel of no personal consequence.”


A Man With A Gift

You can’t agree
to be ordinary…
(of course,
you don’t have to.)



While sitting in that oblique park near the orange zone connector, a chap talking to the pigeons turned his tongue to me for a moment and confessed, “After more than a few decades of life on this planet, I finally seem to have developed a precise, delicate balance that is just right for me…and what’s even more bouncy is that I have no idea what it is.”



A man with a gift
generally assures others
that his talent
s no “mere gift.”



Over on this pretty speedy, young planet, they have a tale exemplary of how varying, partial impressions will produce diverse, incomplete conceptions of the same thing.  It is in the telling of the story of “The Five Blind Men And The Computer.”



One more of these trans-mortal creatures slipped me his Olympian sentiments on the matter by saying that what he liked best about “being a divinity,” was that some of his grandchildren still mistook him for candy.


Every Day's a Holiday

Things not necessary may be LESS than necessary.



One voice said, “When every day is a holiday all men will have their own party hat.” And a semi-parallel voice counterpointed, “If every man had his own personalized party hat, there would be no NEED for holidays.”



At the ceremony, upon receiving his award, the man stated, “I’d like to thank everyone who made this possible,” and then added, “My brother would also like to thank the same everyones who made this inevitable.”



No matter their intentions, whatever a man may do will be harmful to someone else; only the mythical can survive without causing injury, (and of course they cannot either, as soon as men believe in them).



A member of a private security force told me quite publicly, “Hey, they pay me to guard stuff, not take care of it.”


Warn Me Once, Warn Me Twice

Any source that will warn you twice may not have your best interests inherent in its programming.



If you were to ever find yourself in a place where time was not on everyone’s side, then rest assured, it would be on NO one’s.



The Revolutionist’s graduate program is in recognizing that the forces that drive all of life “out there,” are the same ones that power all of his “in here.”



In the operational mythology of a here-D world, error keeps truth compact, and evil keeps good from flying apart.



A certain father, upon the second departure of his grown progeny, offered the following verbal, going-away-snack-lit-a-sack: “My genetic extension, if your concern over acquiring certain info is still on the basis of, ‘what good will it do me?’ then the good stuff I do know won’t do you any good.”


The Alternative

During one of those periodic episodes of shared, philosophical introspection that often follows times of tragedy, the populous of one area engaged in a conversation thusly:

First village voice:  “All that keeps me going are my religious beliefs.”
And a Second voice contributed:  “What keeps me going are my many social and personal  responsibilities.”
And a Third voice-of-the-village added:  “The only thing that keeps me going is in considering the alternative.”
And a certain rebellious based voice near the outskirts noted:  “Ah, but what keeps the adventurous going is their awareness of the alternative to all alternatives.”



There is a place, over in a faster time zone, where a myth is not a noun.



One pleasantly grizzled gentleman, to me confided the following, “Whilst being a human here in this life, I must confess, I never truly grasped the nature of compassion until I was well into my sixties, and by then, I didn’t really gave a damn.”  (When your hearing is more complex, it sometimes surprises how dissonant the chorus can be from the verse.)



Ordinary thought is to This, as love is to lust, as foreplay is to the transcendental quiet of the death-nap afterwards.



In this one place, they have a saying that goes, “Society should serve man, not man society.”  Now what if you tripled the stakes, and changed the game so that instead of the units, “society” and “man,” you had “Life” and the “Revolutionist?”



Wild Bill Chaos

One sturdy little cerebral cowpoke told me that he sometimes thinks of his personal involvement in all of this as, “riding dangerously close to the spread, and property lines, of Wild Bill Chaos.”



In a more
complex future,
time is a place.



Near the epicenter of a more condensed universe, there is an area where dimensional distinctions have lost some of their charm; for instance, one revered critic there, in reference to the musical arts, recently stated that “ninety percent of the new artists will fail and quickly be forgotten, since none of them sounded alike.”



Telling yourself, “how to look,” is not the same as HOW you look. (Warning:  Do not apply this to other parts of the body.)



Without the illusion
of freedom
there could be no



Man's ancient, and contemporarily expressed desire, to “live in harmony with creation,” is the want to have some of last year’s legislation.



One chap, symmetrically irritated, (but not, he assures me, without “good reason”), says that those people who continue to refer to a period as “the best of times, and the worst of times,” should be forced to live in neither – simultaneously!



Amidst that last, great nervous system conflict, from the noisy bowels of adversary chaffing against adversary, from one side came the cry, “I’m warning you – we don’t take prisoners!” and from the other side came the response, “That’s just fine for we don’t furnish any.”



This younger god one day decided to make his first great pronouncement, and did so by proclaiming, “We are ALL outsiders.”  And his older brother grabbed his arm quickly and said, “We’re all INSIDERS,” and one observing it all mused again on how neat it is to be a god.



One guy suddenly sez to himself, “In the area of intelligence, there is no ‘after-market’ activity,” and just as suddenly he realizes, “Hell – that’s the ONLY kind there is.”


If You're Gonna Be Smart

The place wherein symbols have reached their manifold attainment, is that time wherein symbols no longer represent anything specific.



One ole' forward looking sore-head says that when he dies, he wants to go to a place where you can “be naughty without being nice.”



A slightly irregular fellow I fell in with, just over that way, informed me that his primary goal now was to collect those kinds of ideas with a high R-factor to best insulate his mind from inclemency.



There is this band of kinda, “traveling gypsy rebels,” over in the sixth quadrant, who have painted on the side of one of their space wagons this:

“If you’re gonna be fat,
be real, real fat, and
If you’re gonna be dumb,
be exceedingly so, but
If you’re gonna be smart,
just a little bit will do.”



As the future more and more finds its space here, the fear of the gods is the coming of man.


Speak Well of Nouns

On this one little planet, where numbers seem to count for as much as does boredom, their number one best seller for the year was a book wherein twenty-seven celebrities each listed their eleventh most favorite restaurant, and then gave their eighteenth most liked chemical formula.



One fleeting father told his quirkily quick son, “Speak as well of nouns as you would the dead.” And the genetic spurt replied, “And I’ll just bet I’m not supposed to ask why.”



In my following physical exposition of an emotional dynamic, keep in mind that the psychological term I use refers not to some aberrant behavior, but to the general condition of mankind…got that?  Okay, here tis:  Loneliness is the cause of schizophrenia.



The “true enemy”
of the Revolutionist
is always
his close kin.



Not too long ago, one of the newer gods, standing amidst his cohorts, suddenly shouted out, “Have any of you figured out yet what the hell to do?”


Fresh Intelligence

Fresh intelligence can lack a perceivable center of gravity.



A percipient hermit is one with custom ear-sight.



One fairly rebellious father told his son, “If you can’t ‘take it on the chin,’ where ARE you gonna take it?”



Over in another place, this one ole sore-head told one even older than himself, “Hey, just because they tell you that you’re ‘old and in the way,’ doesn’t mean you’re all that old.”



Whilst tuned to their media-spectrum on a certain green-shifted planet near the Fourth Quadrant, I discovered a quiz show that was the current rage, and that evening’s excitement was climaxed by this exchange with the final contestant: of the evil, truth and error, one and many, and so on, which, dear contestant, which of the eternal opposites is THE most important?”  And the quiz taker instantly replied, “Believing there is an answer to this question.”


Defeat Awaits All That Is Measured

Over in a near distant system, wherein they already enjoy hyper neural interstate highways, they have a hot quiz game they play, a sample of which is thusly:

A man named Willie Walker runs everywhere he goes, and a man named Ronnie Runner also runs everywhere he goes; Question – What’d ya think?



All dimensions re ultimately doomed; defeat awaits all that is measured.



In some quarters ‘tis said that “A hero is one who has given himself over to something bigger than himself,” but in the “out there,” EVERY thing’s bigger than oneself – but wait – so is  nothing.



One well crafted father told his fine-tuned son, “If your own intellect is not your own cruise director, you’re in for a long voyage.”



When all of the gods are dead, only the rebels will remain.


No Need for Metaphor

Another one of “those kinda questions,” (you know the sort, the kinds they don’t wanna use on the quiz shows, the types you don’t want bothering your own mind, you know the kind, well anyway, here’s the query):  If you don’t KNOW the difference, IS there a difference?



More in our series of , “Words To Live By If You’re Only Having A Few”:  If you’re bored, you’re a neighbor of death; if you’re boring, you’re in his employ.



When the myths need second mortgages, those in rental properties had better brace themselves.



The Real Revolutionists are those very, very few who have ever actually lived through the repeal of a tax law.



In a future where things are more complex and compact, more manifold and expansive, there will be no such word, or need for,  metaphor.


Four Food Groups

One real feisty little fellow told me that he just about had the “whole shooting match figured out,” if someone would just help him with one final detail.  He wants to know this, “If ‘bourbon and coke’ is the answer, what is the question?”



At another “thinker’s confab,” over near the wet sector, one gentleman commanded the floor to deliver the ultimate wrap-up of his philosophy, and he did so by saying, “Everyone knows the answer, they’re just afraid to tell their mother.”



A chap who resides over in a near-by 3-D universe, seems to have put his neural grip on at least one reoccurring limitation of such spatial worlds.  He sez that the Four Basic Food Groups are: fattening, more fattening, most fattening, and look-out, here-comes-Moby-Dick-in-a-leisure-suit.



Real Revolutionist activity is not “results oriented,” but IS results, without the weight of notation.



Before they fully see what’s going on, all gods believe they’re the messiah.



Everyone Needs an Artificial Horizon

Question: Why do men remain entangled in questions regarding the “nature of reality?”
Answer: Because, dear minstrel, there is contrariness between “reality” and the “nature of reality.”
(At this point the audience cheers, and the winning contestant is shown the door.)



When it comes to the navigational operations of the brain, everyone needs an artificial horizon.



For those interested in such matters, (and if you are, you’re normally driven to ponder them in all the wrong places), take note – loneliness is caused by talk.



Over in one of the man’s near-by, in-law galaxies, a place where space seems to drift, one father had to continually console his children thusly, “I assure you, my putting of chocolate on your pills will in no way spoil the taste of medicine.”



Think on this for a moment:

What is one thing you can do that makes you always, and unconditionally happy? Now reflect on this: How often do you do this one thing?  Now let’s all join hands with yourself, and sing a rousing chorus of, “What Kind Of Fool Am I?”


A Cogent 3D Wrap-Up

The more complex messages and fitful codes from the future are not necessarily dependent on anything that’s happened.  (Thus, in part, the itchy limits of simplistic data.)



On a time not too near where we now stand, a father said to his son, “Son,” and the lad interrupted him by saying, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”  And the father asked, “Why?”  And the boy said, “You know why.”  And the elder responded, “Yes, but unless I pretend I don’t I will no long BE your father.”



A timekeeper I spoke with at another one of those pandemic philosophers’ conventions, told me that he was “sick and bloody tired” of hearing and reading about how all of the “best things cannot be spoken of because they transcend mere words.”  He says that his latest thinking on the matter is that, “the best things can’t be talked about simply because people don’t wanna talk about ‘em.”



A clipped, but cogent wrap-up of 3-D myths, religions, and psychology can be stated thusly:  As soon as you say, “I am,” you’re not.  (No need to thank me now, just send cash later.)



The son of a certain neutrally based, cosmic Revolutionist one day sat down next to his father and confided, quite forcefully, the following, “After years of pondering your wondrous words, and studying those oral and recorded materials apparently related thereto, I sometimes truly feel that all of these ideas of a new knowledge, and of transcendental experiences, are simply ‘tales’ that such men as you weave for the mere pleasure of it.”  And the old man replied, “So?”



The intellect has to do with the pleasures of measure and meaning, the excitement of change, while the rest of man’s system is about the direct, primary joy of simply being alive. 



There is a cold mythology that is beyond all fiction.



Do not put
an illiterate relative
in charge of
picking up the mail.



I continue to be contacted regarding the little survey I started, and just yesterday, yet another deity let me know that he wanted to be recorded by saying that what he liked best about being a god, is that even when you’re wrong, they think you’re right.



On the leeward side of death, the cause of all pain is dual.  For those of more precise notebooks, I could trans-diagnose and say:  Dual causes are the cause of all pain.


Everything has a Memory

Everything has a memory…(More specifically and expansive:  All things retain a memory of more complex dimensions from whence they were deduced.)



Some things, if not properly attended, when they die are damn near dead forever.



All ordinary stuff runs its course…(that’s one way you can tell it’s ordinary.)



Every day, for many years, this one father would shout to his son, “Don’t you fall from that ladder!” and this was long before the boy had ever even seen a ladder.



Inscribed on the wall of a certain 3-D way station, “’God’ is what the intellect calls tomorrow.”



At a philosopher’s convention over on that humid planet, one of the featured speakers had the following to present:  He said that after a full life time of thought, study, research and discussion, he was now “all but certain,” about one single thing…he did add that the only problem was that he wasn’t sure what it was.



This one file clerk who had long been seated at the bar, drinkin’ and thinkin’, then doing it some more, finally delivered his magnum opus by announcing, “The nature of civilization is in a collection of diverse entities banding together in such a way as any aggression remaining is directed outward.”  And another mind, a few seats down mused, “Is that not also true for the individual?”



There is fame-worth-having, and fame not-worth-having, and they’re both the same.



While considering some of the less than kind things said about him, one god said, “Well, sure, I may be a myth, but myths have feelings too.”



The first guy, yeah, that one right over there, well, he ups and sez, “The history of civilization is no more than the ever increasing inclination of man to come indoors.”  And that other fellow, just over there next to him, counterpointed, “Hey, that’s also the history of mans’ gods.”


You've Almost Got It

One interested little soul, who had kinda “studied” with a certain Revolutionist, one day said to his teacher, “I don’t get it,” and was told to “keep pressing on.”  And after a few years more the little soul again insisted to the rebel, “I tell you I just don’t get it,” and once more was directed to “keep one with it.”  And finally, after even a few more years, the would-be insurgent confronted his radical leader, and began tearing at his clothes, ripping at his hair, leaping up and down in fits, and finally falling to the floor as he shook and trembled, all the while shouting and screaming, “I don’t get it, I tell you – I don’t get it now more than ever!” and the Revolutionist grinned and exclaimed, “Why you’ve almost got it.”



A guy in a slightly altered time zone recently assured me as follows:  If you “know the trick” you can lay down with fleas and get up with dogs. (Now that I think about it, who was the goddess of linearity and predictability?)



The Real Revolutionist can die with no honor other than that self bestowed.



Being equipped for a job is not the same as having a job, and vice versa, all of which is definitely to man’s advantage, or else we would all be out of work.



In his attempt to “play Revolutionist,” this one person would assure himself that he “needed no assurances.”