Since Life has failed to mention it on your Dance Card, you might care to make an individual note of the fact that She has, for Her dominate forward dancers, and more submissive ones who glide backwards, provided two different schemes of morality.



Over on that little “secret” planet I’ve mentioned to you before, where I sometimes stop and refresh myself at Plato’s Bistro And Bar, a fellow on the next stool to me, after a few of his own forms of “refreshments,” intoned with a certain manual flourish, “What need have I of books, and universities, my opponents are my own beloved instructors.”



A Poem:

Every dog has its day,
Every woman has her way,
But every man who merely thinks,
Well…I’ll have to get back with you on this line…



At exactly seven and a half minutes before legal sundown, one bright kid asked his fading father, “If just thinking about something won’t make it so, will something being so make you think about it?”  And along with that fiery orb, the old man sank.



One subversive I met told me he had a motto, one he had gotten from Life Itself, it goes: “Everything, everywhere, at all times, is exactly as it should be…almost.”


Home-Held Advantage

One guy approached me in the park, with a pretty well discouraged look and hat on, and finally told me that for years, one of his “true pleasures in life was, ‘talking to himself,’” that is, until he suddenly realized how dumb he was!



It has come to our attention that some relatively consistent statistical proof exists showing a home field advantage in favor of life.



A guy hiding in a bush over in the park whispered as I passed, “Aggravation is the only sure evidence of life.”  (Perhaps that busu is thistle.)



Over on this one planet that had a fluctuating number of days in its week, a representative of their world’s religious institution was making a public speech wherein he noted the necessity of all people to confirm to the sacred teachings and rituals by stating that, “A man who is virtuous simply by his own nature has no future reward awaiting.”  And a pretty decent and upright gent right up front leaped up, ripped off his coat, threw it in the dirt, began jumping up and down on it and hollered, “Well, in that case – Forget it, just forget it!”



Now for some scores:  Tornados 12    Humans   0



At some sort of meeting or other, a speaker proclaimed, “A life well spent would be reflected in the fact that once deceased, one would no longer trouble the living.”  And a woman in back thought, “Very well, but then that opens up the implication that History led a scandalous existence.



“…and in conclusion may I say,” (and I did), “A man who would read while on a voyage should either not take a book along, or else not sail…(or, of course, he could also ignore my comments.)



One guy, who admits that some of his family, “worries about him,” told me that almost every night just before he falls asleep, his brain, quite distinctly thank you, says to him, “Is it safe to come out now?”



When others disagreed, and wanted to argue with him, this one guy would try to walk away by saying, (at least to himself) that, “It’s not worth it.”  (He did this for such a length of time that it became as though it were so.)



On that attractive orange planet just over there, on their beautiful resort island of St. Soothy, tourism was being severely damaged by the irrepressible presence of rats; the continuing complaint of irate visitors was always the same, “Rats, rats, and more rats,” they said, and then a local had a minor mental downpour, and solved the problem of the rats from stem to stern – they renamed the little critters, “St. Soothy Squirrels,” and now all goes well.  (By the by:  In your daily naming and renaming process, how goes it with you?)



Anything that’s true at the cost of something else being false is not true.


No Need to Call Ahead

At a “cast party” after opening night in one small galaxy, I fell into conversation with a bushy moustache, with a tall man, who confided to me that he was some sort of “self driven, private detective about to crack the biggest mystery in and of all creation,” and when asked exactly what that was, he, (the moustache, not the man), smiled – no, leered, and replied, “Ahhh, but that would be telling now wouldn’t it?”  (I have observed that in certain parts of this universe some parties that end too quickly didn’t start soon enough to begin with.)



On another bright little burgeoning planet, I found a new local religion the creatures were using, that went by the surprising name of, “No Need To Call Ahead”.



In one future, a dining companion noted to me, “In much earlier times, it was aid that, ‘An erudite fool is a greater fool than an ignorant fool.'”  (He ate a bite and then continued), “Then in more recent times, someone said that, ‘An erudite fool is a greater danger than an ignorant one,’” but I think our modern technology has reached the point where this should be again updated.”  (He sipped up his wine glass, and concluded), “We could now say, “An erudite fool is more wearisome than a routine one.'”  And with that, he paid his bill and took a nap.



If what ordinary men call the “gods,” did answer what ordinary men call “prayers,” then ordinary men would no longer be ordinary, in that local time would have been thrown into reverse, and their own genetic ancestors plunged into a state of inoperative chaos.



The only way to “know for sure” you’re in the Revolution, is to be in the Revolution.


How Many Brain Cells?

In his personal attempt, I suppose, to avoid the oft used, trite proverbial symbols of, “dogs-and-fleas,” and “pigs-and-mud,” this one poetically inclined lad writ as follows, “Lay down with Milton, get up with Blake.”



After years of what seemed to be futile efforts to improve the intellectual properties of his birthright, this one guy drove a sign at the edge of his head that said; “Commercial Potential:  Could be Re-Zoned.”



One little fellow with what seems to be some sort of shifty, supernatural grip on the universal untidiness of reality, was last week quoted as saying that, “Nature abhors a vacuum cleaner.”



Where land based, ordinary men seek knowledge is in much argument, noise, and debate: Where the Subversive pursue theirs’ is mostly silence.



Party Game For Those With No Particular Political Alliance:

Question:  How many brain cells does it take to change a light bulb?
(Or an opinion, or anything else, for that matter?)

Answer:    Just as many as an ordinary man has operating at that moment.



This ghastly=looking, hacking ole man, pretending to be dying, pulled the kid up close to his ole man type face and said, “I know your time with me ain’t been easy, and I understand that much of what I’ve told you seemed vague, if not downright improbable, but, cough-cough, just before I go, let me leave you with this, something on which you can always depend, a mental anchor to secure your safety in the troubled waters of ordinary, intellectual uncertainty – cough-hack – You may forever-and-a-fortnight rest assured that ANYTHING another human tells you is ‘absolutely true and correct’ is not.”  (And being so pleased with this final advice, he went ahead and pretended to die.)


Someone Stole the Ocean

You have truly joined the Revolution when you realize you’ve started something you cannot finish.



The once-and-sometimes, mighty leader of one fearful, faceless barbaric horde cried out each morning, “At peril of my snarling wrath, may ye never forget: at the first sign of success – RETREAT!”



I propose for our “Ole Sore-Head Of The Week” Award the gent who last night was heard to say that while “Waiting for his ship to come in someone stole the ocean.”  (One of his caliber may not often pass this way…instead of “may” perhaps I might say “shouldn’t.”)



At one of those erratic, unscheduled “God Conventions,” one of them stood and said, “May I offer a suggestion?”  And another asked, “Is that anything like criticism?”  And the first one replied, “Well, I guess you could say that.”  (All that was then heard in the hall was the sound of seven hundred guns being drawn.)



One semi-sparkling squire, after a certain exposure to certain subversive data like this, mused, “It somewhat strikes moi as a ‘robbing of Peter so as to teach Peter a lesson.’”


Need and Beauty

A man with a card that said, “Free Lance Social Commentator,” standing beside me at a corner across town where a sewer was backing up, proposed to me, “Tis' a sad life we lead when the most excitement many people ever have is being sick.”  (At least I hear the condition of the sewer eventually improved.)



The beauty
of things
as our need
for them



Over on a playground, I saw this chap with a steely look in one eye, and more of a carbon gaze in the other, talking to a group of children, and the part I overheard was this, “…and since men do not know the purpose of life they imagine-up gods, and they further imagine-up that the gods tell them what the purpose is, and that’s the way that little bagatelle is played.”  (Several of the nippers appeared a bit upset so the gent passed out some imaginary candy.)



Muse:  In a 3-D world, space has no room to move around, and time seems always out of sinc.



Message left on a bathroom wall for out-of-towners:  “Just remember; things are not as bad as you think or else you wouldn’t be here.”  (May we assume somewhere is a scribe flushed with pride.)


Talk is Time

Many think that peace, recognition, and satisfaction come through forces outside the person, the rest believe they must come from within the man himself, and god bless ’em, they’re both just as cute as can be.



It’s true in kindergarten, it’s true at Harvard; you can nibble now, and still gnaw on it later, but no matter what you try to do about it – talk is time.



Messages arrive from all directions, information comes in from all corners; thankfully, it doesn’t all pile up on you, eh what?



It’s hard to frighten people on the red planet by shouting, “Vermilion”.



They can see the cities fall, they can hear the crowned heads roll, but some know a revolution known to none.




After hearing someone say that, “The mind trying to examine itself is like a very tall person standing on a chair to make combing their hair easier.”  And this one dude said, “So – where else would he stand?”



On three sister satellites over in the laterally temperate sector I witnessed the following:
On the first world, the people who oftimes cry out, “Stand back, here come the gods and they’re hungry.”  And on the second orb, this shout was periodically heard, “Make way – the gods are horny.”  And on the third little planet, which seemed to promise the most, and threaten great reversals, you could sometimes hear the locals saying amongst themselves, “You better watch it, the gods are curious again.”



There are those who cry over beauty,
and those who cry over tragedy.
(Oh yeah, and there are some others too.)



In his wine, the most just ruler can become dangerous.  But who cares about the drinking habits of a tyrant – the worst is already known.


Call me Bill

Another guy who obviously, if not indubitably, recognizes the power, if not the terror, of words, tells me that he’s changing his name to "Bill," “just to throw ‘em off the trail.”



At some other time at this one place, there was a kind of cultish little collection of people whose leader one day accidentally cut off a finger, and the next occasion when they all met, and the followers expressed their concern over his missing digit, he covered himself by immediately declaring that his injury was a predictable result of a certain “mystical ritual,” to which they were not privy.  And several days later when they next met many of the faithful were missing a finger, whilst those others who still had some potential were simply missing.



Stiffening joints have made more men metaphysical poets than any dose of spiritual compassion.



I once became acquainted with a man who for many years toiled over his “grand epic poem,” which centered around the theme, “Those things I once did see, I gradually see no more.”  (And you might care to know this was in regards not to his growing blind, but to his growing up.)



To more completely fulfill the unknown definition of a “Real Revolutionist,” or a “Neural Subversive,” a person should have almost no ordinary “psychological inner life.”



And the Winner Is: Habit!

It is being rumored in some quarters, (and debated in other half crowns), that low cholesterol prevents proverbs.



No matter how they may define it, rhapsodize it, no matter how many beauty contests they hold, or swimsuit issues they publish, man finds the ultimate resplendence, the supreme beauty to be – not an object, no my lovelies, but the enchantress – habit!  (Think about it calmly, and see if all the visible evidence does not preclude the pre-eminence of any other competitor.)



This one ole sore-head with a patch, was really letting life have it one day, “Sometimes I get a special thrill over the stupidity of humanity, and the futility of their lives…just look at science, their ‘grand achievement,’ and especially an area such as mathematics, where they tried to finally come up with an intelligent, objective language that would be free of human bias, and personal prejudice, and look what good it did ‘em – hah!  See what I mean?”  And his better turned son said, “Seven.”



A reading from the book, “A Child’s Garden Of Verse For The Extremely Unruly Child”:

“I have a little friend who thinks for me,
I have a little friend who speaks for me,
I have a little friend
who’s not really my friend at all,
but who is me – Ha ha ha!"

  But no seriously, folks…”



In this one system a new game, “Quell The Disturbance” is sweeping their neurons; this system will add little to the Gross National Product.


The Normal Brain is No Loyal Friend

Those who criticize the past are deaf to the past, and those who fear the future cannot see the future.



I know of this certain, foreign universe, subject to the general weight of creation with sentient creatures, whose “family tradition” continually dies, yet perpetually survives.



The normal brain is no loyal friend, save to its own silent ancestors.



The mostly unknown, (though largely allegorical), Famous Titanium Triplets were one day discussing their individual views of man’s most beneficial technological milepost in the long march to progress, and the first one said, “Without any doubt, it is the general development of the field of electronics.”  And the second one added, “Why be hesitant, more specifically, I would say, would be the invention of television.”  And the third one countered, “Ah, brilliant choice, but I would refine it to the ultimate development of color television.”  And the fourth one finessed by saying, “Nope, ‘tis the volume control."



The more simple and the more complex, are the two least mechanically inclined to tell you “what kinda guy they are.”  (Although this should be of no practical use to you personally, it is noteworthy.)


Cartograhical Impossibilities

Over in this somewhat circular, cellular state, there was a man who was “well respected,” and he one day admitted that he did not know why this was so, and then he was respected even more.



If you have relatives who won’t talk to you, rest easy – they’re not really relatives.



A short scene from the larger drama of, “Reason and Logic Are Alive and Well, Their Verbal Worth I Cannot Tell: 

As we join the action, a first actor speaks, “You cannot have a vacation until you have a job.”  And a second player responds, “But if you did not have a job, you would not need a vacation.”  And now we see the first actor think on this for a moment, then for an hour, then for a day, until he finally returns to the stage and says to his companion, “I now have a response to your last comment, it does, however, require that I first kill you.”



Cartographical impossibilities are often just the ticket for the Revolutionist.



Our final figure in today's News is a gentleman who sends word that he will be able to recognize a truly “advanced civilization” when he finds one that has replaced the word “ironic” with the word “inevitable.”


Ordinary Pictures

While on some worlds poets are want to muse about “the heavens weeping for the suffering of the living creatures,” if a more complex truth be known, and the cosmos so anthropomorphized,  they would more likely be enthralled by the discovery of today’s local ‘conflict and destruction’ being verbal disguises for the joy and vigor of the universal tomorrow.



Over in this one area, there are two brothers in the psychiatric trade, and with a certain similarity in approach; when a patient appears to be running out of interest, money, or patience, the first doctor brother will counsel, “My dear Sir or Madam, my advice to you is that you should ‘clean up your act.'”  And under the same circumstance, the other brother is inclined to conclude, “And so, Mr. or Mrs. Patient, my suggestion is that you go and ‘clean up your room.’”  (Neither of these two practitioners are particularly well known – much less liked outside of my own imagination.)



Ordinary pictures of ordinary life are a patchwork.



Another traveler I met, (on my many sojourns), told me that his visits to other universes had taught him one thing in particular, which was that none of the gods anywhere seem to like being asked, “When are you having a sale?”



The beige section of one guy’s brain declared, “I am dazzled by my own brilliance.”
And the other area replied, “You got weak eyes.”


The Muncie Theorem

I once met this guy who would take things he had to do, and do them at times other than when they actually had to be done, and on the other hand, (as you might suspect), he would take things he didn’t actually “have to do,” and not do them.



Real pilots
fly nude.



So’s not to waste any time, one push-ahead-father told his newly born son on the day he was delivered, “Kid, if you’ve got a past, you ain’t a Revolutionist.”



This guy told his cousin, who had just arrived from another planet, “Whenever they’re yackin’ at you and you’re stuck for a reply, just tell ‘em – ‘See my agent, see my agent.’”  And the émigré sez that he doesn’t have an agent, and the guy replies, “That’s what you think.”



While out of touch at yet another of those…those conventions, (don’t any of you wonder how I get invited to so many of these conclaves?)  Anyhow, in some of the side rooms some of us were treated to a presentation of the Muncie Theorem which states that, “If one theorem will do, Life will give you two.”  (Professor Muncie says he has a second one also, but that he prefers to save it for next year.)



If the nucleus can’t grow – forget it.



After hearing of the new specializations of people becoming, not attorneys, but “legal assistants,” and not doctors, but “medical aids,” this one chap decided that the new height of his ambitions would be to become a “para-person.”



“Hey, Pop, inasmuch as you’ve already told me that ‘everything’s an indication of everything else,’ doesn’t it follow that ‘nothing’s an indication of anything else’?”  And the man called “Pop” was damn near overcome by cerebral carbonation.



After hearing his littler charge whine on about how all the great discoveries and inventions had already been done and used up, this one father offered his encouragement by saying, “But just think of all the grand things that have yet to be attempted verbally.”


All theories regarding sitting are derived from the act of walking.



Anything that only looks good at the expense of something else should probably be given a better second look (if it can bear it).



One recruit thanked the leader of his Revolutionist camp for, as he put it, “Never putting his wants before the welfare of the recruits.”  The older rebel winks, thinks, “Nice the way that works out since I got no wants of my own anyway.”



One up-to-date sire informed his genetic underling, “Remember, my boy, the syrup on the sundae, the cherry on the top, the icing on the cake is in the criticism.”  And the kid lost his appetite.



A thing separate from what it does is a thing no more.
(Anything else is too inconclusive.)


Life in Blabberville

You can’t throw away glue…(and even if you can it wasn’t real good glue to start with.)



And now another exciting episode in the continuing day-time, and part-time drama of, “Life in Blabberville”:  Our hero, recalling the subversive idea regarding the “ultimate triumph of talk,” suddenly realizes the futility of being mechanically taciturn, but understands the benefit of remembering the above very, very, very, very often.



Can you see that in intellectual worlds wherein power is perceived to be divided between good, supreme gods, and evil, subordinate anti-gods, that men apparently serving the former are, perforce, unknowingly toiling for the lesser force.  (By now, some of you should clearly realize that such as this is indicative of worlds far beyond any ideas of irony, past any sense of justice, and outside the orbit even, of truth and reality.)



In a world of limited, that is, known, dimensions, no envelope can ever expand enough to hold itself.  Even as knowledge increases, man’s need equally expands, and thus the needs are never filled.



Whilst conversing with a neighbor, this one guy says, “Frogmyer, if indeed that is your real name, Frogmyer, there are three kinds of talk: motor, limbic and cerebral,”…and his son broke in saying, “You forgot liquor.”  And the ole man realized that he himself was at least ninety proof, proof of the kid’s observation.


Face Lift

In some migrant affairs, there be a Simple Process, and a Complex Process:
The eyes can see and deliver an image to the brain,
or the brain can do it for itself.



Any example that contains the word, “exactly,” should be returned with a harsh demand for a full refund.



The Neural Subversive moves as from an older, unified and stable simplicity, to a more diversified, complex realm of apparently competing possibilities.



A face lift
won’t help



Why does every area experience a “renaissance”? Why is not the old destroyed outright?



Silly Rabbit

The first shot’s
always the loudest.



This one fellow attempted to describe the unusual expansion of his own intellect by calling the process:  “The Potemkinizing of His Own Neural Aborigines.”  (I say “attempted – he damn near succeeded.)



Regarding the perpetual question of, “Do you want me to come to your place or do you want to come to mine?” this one chap says his ideal universe will be one wherein the answer is always “Come on over here and we’ll discuss it.”



While this one guy, (with a better publicist), is remembered for saying, “Rituals are myths in action,” and his less known brother has said, “No, rituals are ignorance animated.”  (And moreover as their mother used to say, “P.R. means a lot when you ain’t GOT a lot.")



In a growing number of areas in this one galaxy the operative synonym for “attractive” is “silly.”