Annoy the Annoying

You DO realize that I’ve told you a lot more than you think I have…(and that so have you.)

 

 

One City sorehead said that his humble aim in life was to “annoy the annoying.”

 

 

Well, look at it this way:  At LEAST Man’s no more worse than you imagined.

 

 

A would-be Revolutionist said that he knew he was in good hands when he heard the leader of the uprising say that he had Life itself stuck all under his fingernails.

 

 

A chap over by the ice cream stand in the park, told me that what he really sought from life was to find a place that advertised, “Speak a foreign language in two hours.  Lose twenty pounds in 5 minutes.”

J.

J.

Roll Over

The true intellectual circus superstar would be he who could properly make nouns and verbs lie down and roll over together.

 

 

A cynic’s just a sorehead with a degree, and a critic’s just a cynic with a job.

 

 

One difference between Men and their gods is that the latter know how to properly pretend.

 

 

One other City sorehead noted, “Tis at least some comfort to realize that even though not all art is art, or all truth, truth, you CAN rely on the fact that all shit IS shit.”

 

 

The victor
doesn’t need
a good memory.

J.

Dirty Tricks

All serious, soft-science-theories should be shot without a trial.  (Ah, but such are the pleasures and nose bleeds of the city-wide City, wherein justice for the complex is always just around the corner.)

 

 

Remember, in your private conversations with yourself is the one area in which there are no constraints on flattery, and no limits to hyperbole.  (And let the cry of a contented People be, “Spread it on, Your Grace, spread it on.”)

 

 

A Sorehead’s Rhyme
Of The Month:

Dirty tricks
and dastardly deeds,
are not so called
when they succeed.

 

 

You could say that, to Himself, a Revolutionist’s past is all metaphors, at best.

 

 

The free
don’t need
an alibi.

J.

Timely Weekend Edition

You can’t really call Man intelligent until he discovers for Himself that even the most simplistic forms of talk are necessary energy conversions.

 

 

One City bohemian confided to his coffee house crowd that he only sought to produce art that would fall into a position securely between grandiose and rubbish.

 

 

Part of Mans’ job is to make things animate…only Man can turn iron into an engine.

 

 

A Man who can tell time
doesn’t need a watch.

 

 

Overheard from one would-be City thinker, pondering on the general nature of life, who declared in sweat drenched tones, “I am more and more inclined to believe that there may be only one game in town”…Don’t know how it may affect him to realize that there may be only one town.

J.

Free Won't

I do wish they’d finally see this clearly, say it, and be done with it: Everyone’s a child of the times.

 

 

The problem of “free will” concerns no one until the question of profit arises.

 

 

Trying to
say good-bye
isn’t worth the effort.

 

 

After a particularly tricky interlude, one partner said to the other, “You'll be the death of me.”  And the partner replied, “I hope you mean that figuratively,” and the partner replied, “YOU hope.”

 

 

One City-ite said that the idea of, “Garbage in, garbage out,” was surely one of life’s most discouraging, but thankfully, at least it didn’t apply to Man.

J.

And the Answer Is...

I heard one Man in the City recently proclaim that he was surely suffering from “cerebral cellulite.”

 

 

In the City, some methods of distinguishing the ruling, upper classes are by their interests and hobbies, which are totally useless, and that their time seems continually ill spent, if not wasted, and that much of what they consume is questionable for its price.  Sounds not totally unlike some Revolutionists, what?

 

 

Don’t look for enlightening transport in systems that require “exact change.”

 

 

A Revolutionist should – no, make that, MUST – be a moving target.

 

 

The answer is,
Life, genes and accidents.
Now what’s your question?

J.

Enlightenment in a Suitcase

In that City coffee house, in a back booth, I overheard this one chap claim that the proper way to read poetry was from the last line forward to the first, “Try it,” he said, (“No comment,” say I.)

 

 

There’s this one guy on the Slovakian side of the Carpathians, who sez he’s got everybody’s number.  (He has a three-fourth’s brother on the Chech side who similarly claims to have everybody down pat.)

 

 

All institutions, organizations, clubs, and mobs, tend to annoy Revolutionist intelligence.

 

 

Don’t look for
enlightenment in a suitcase…
oh, go ahead.

 

 

After a certain leg of the journey, and from a certain passing view, a Revolutionist could say, “You know, I’m now the kinda person I used to hate, and laugh at,” and like all real good stuff, this is so, no matter who you are, were, or may become.

J.

Well Done

When one guy was queried on his apparent lack of friends, he replied, “I’m not into strangers.”

 

 

All religions have some notion of a final day of judgment wherein, “The dead shall live, and the living shall die.”  Is that not what THIS is about – NOW!

 

 

One fellow said that all he really hoped to accomplish was to get to the place where he was “just out of range.”

 

 

A Real Revolutionist
is both rare,
AND well done.

 

Ordinary life is a series of un-complicated conclusions.

J.

What's the Time?

Ordinary life is a series of uncompleted conclusions.

 

 

A Real Revolutionist is one who would rule, or ruin, (His own state, that is.)

 

 

A Real Revolutionist
knows what time it is
even when time
has run out.

 

 

With the proper intensity, you wouldn’t care if gas stations were open late or not…(a matter of fuel availability, don’t you see...)

 

 

On one non-particular level, war can be seen as the ultimate purveyor of the complex, in that the more simplistic are always defeated.

J.

Your Area Code

While numbers are a necessary tool, they can also furnish the basis for pleasant hobbies; but nothing matches the hearty laughter in a Revolutionist as when City folks turn them into serious statistics.

 

 

One ole sorehead declared, “If god hadda wanted us all to be Christians he wouldn’t ‘ave given Jesus such a funny last name.”

 

 

Overheard a chap, in that new littler bar over near that old little bar, say that in regards to his overall environment, he’s finally come to the conclusion that his brain’s wired up to a different area code.

 

 

Here’s one you can inscribe on a coin or flip during the next tri-axial solar wind storm: If you only do what you’ve always done, you’ll always be who you’ve always been, but-and-furthermore, if you’re only who you’ve always been, you’ll only do what you’ve always done.

(Tidy, eh what.)

 

 

It is the rulers, and leaders of governments and institutions, who most eloquently sing the joys of and the necessity for fidelity and patriotism, yet they feel it the least. What ‘dya make of that…internally where it counts?

J.

Sports Page

Part of the benefits, and unrecognized intrigue, of civilized sports, is not simply in the physical movements, but also in that watching sports causes one to look around more.

 

 

Jealousy can be seen as a mis-diagnosed City awareness that Man Doesn’t Really Ever Own ANYTHING.

 

 

One guy said,
“I saw it coming,”
and all around him
nodded and agreed.

 

 

In a more complex sense, a Revolutionist knows that what took place was truly yesterday, and that what must take place will be valid tomorrow.  It is what people call “now,” that will forever, to them, remain vague, uncontrollable, and generally useless…almost as though there were no such time.

 

 

I’ve got one more personal submission for the ole Safe Statement Award: “May I then rely on receiving any suggestions, or corrections you may have?”

J.

Verbs and Nouns

There is
an unrecognized tyranny
to uncertainty.

 

 

When the combination between the knower and the knowledge is just right, Revolutionist data can work not unlike a psychedelic drug, forging new neural connections, except these are not transitory.

 

 

All deals
are big deals
to little dealers.

 

 

Are there really any nouns?  For instance, in a sentence/idea such as, “Men (noun) run (verb).”  Does “run" actually exist outside of a noun doing it?  Does “run” exist when no one is there to do it?  Are all verbs just nouns alive and nouns just verbs in potential?  To a Revolutionist, these areas would be of interest in regards to the mind’s mutual captivity, its perceptions, and not merely on a linguistic basis.

 

 

Said one sad case in the City, “I survive by apologies alone.”

J.

Re-Packaging

One fine morning a guy looked in his bathroom mirror, spread out his hands, and declared, “Hey, I may not be much, but I’m all I got.”  His reflection laughed so hard the toilet made ice cubes.

 

 

There’s a guy near Tripoli, with legs not at all unlike a Queen Ann table, who sez he’s got the goods on everybody – including you-know-who.

 

 

If someone in authority asks you if your partner didn’t recently, “Go to live with Elvis?” – look out!

 

 

Do note: Verbal re-packaging IS a form of new packaging.

J.

 

The Simple Survive

In City affairs, if there is no immediate enemy, there should at least be the appearance of one.

 

 

When one Revolutionist heard the proverb, “Mere assertion is no real proof,” he thought, “Even though it may be so in the City, it is good that the Bushes are so confined.”

 

 

There’s more to freedom than just not being locked up.

 

 

The simple survive,

the complex flourish.

 

 

Anyone who begins a sentence by saying, “Why, I can remember when…” should be let out of doors immediately before they can do further damage.

J,

Haircut

To have intelligence without strength is to find the former impotent, and inoperable.

 

 

The free don’t need weekend passes.

 

 

My encouraging news for the day: Deposed kings rarely make a comeback.

 

 

At that off-the-park tavern last night I heard one chap heartily conclude that, “Thinking is too complex a matter to be left to amateurs.”

 

 

A Man
with a convertible
doesn’t need
a haircut.

J

 

Picture a Picture

Out near the outskirts, (just past the petticoats), of the City, they found a man immobilized in a frozen position of ambiguity and statuesque uncertainty, with this note in his hand, “Our actions determine us as much as we determine our actions.”  Last I heard a team of doctors, priests and sewer inspectors were still trying to jump start him.

 

 

Remember:
No one here –
anywhere –
is in charge.

 

 

What I give you is no mere picture of the world, but is a picture of YOUR picture.

 

 

Weak people never have the right idea.

 

 

A Real Revolutionist
is the kind of person
who can put them SELF
on hold.

J.

Correct Postage

The pretense
of change
IS change.

 

 

One guy said he’d tried his best for awhile at being religious, but that cheerfulness kept getting in the way.

 

 

Conversation Number 15/5:

“Always clean up after yourself.”

“You mean if I don’t, no one will?”

“Contraire, the danger is that, if you don’t,someone else will.”

 

 

For important matters,
just “correct postage”
is usually not enough.

 

 

In the City, and yes, even in your inner City, when any new organization is set up, the very first department that should be activated is always that of “Self Defense, Explanation and Apology.”

J.

Claim to Fame

Those in the City who suspect religion, hope, and faith are tricks to distract Men from their futile lives and certain death, denounce the gambit as despicable, while the Revolutionist finds it hilarious.

 

 

Although
there’s only one way
into Life,
there are at least two out.

 

 

Once, near a Revolutionist’s camp site, I heard a voice exclaim, “Wow, its GREAT in here!”

 

 

There’s this guy who lives near, (or maybe it’s with), an ancient Roman ruin, who has no correct shoe size.  He admits that's a tenuous claim to fame, but sez it’s all he’s got.

 

 

Only City folks, god bless ‘em, can see a rat in the pantry and shout, “What’s he doing here?”

J.

Not-I

One voice said, “Anybody who would believe that, would believe anything,” and a second voice arose, “No, anybody who would believe ANY thing, will believe anything.”

 

 

As the Revolutionist expands, He begins to embrace, then absorb, the-plus-sign (+) in the Equation, “I+Not-I=Everything,” then moves on to take over the “Not-I” part.

 

 

No information is valuable
until it is moved
from its place of origin.

 

 

Inasmuch as things are never completed in the City, and all success is fractional, may I suggest that under such conditions, anticipation is the required hobby of choice.

 

 

Maxim For The Day:
Those who live in Argentina
shouldn’t throw stones.

J.

Honorable Mention

If Men actually believed half the things they believe, then half the time, they could be correct. (You figure it out.)

 

 

Absenteeism is the acceptable attendance standard at most City schools and institutions.

 

 

All words have an evil twin brother, who surreptitiously says those parts the original word leaves out.

 

 

A Real Revolutionist could be a person of few contrasts; not necessarily grey or beige, but still, perhaps, lacking the immediately visible turmoil that so clearly delineates everyone else.

 

 

“Honorable mention”
ain’t.

J.