The Future is Friction

A “Fable For Someone Else’s Time”:   A whale sighed, “It’s hard to be humble when you’re the largest thing in the sea.”  And the waters replied, “Ho-hum.”

 

 

An unpublished pharmacist I met at a recent soiree, told me that his overriding concern in life was that his own brain wouldn’t take him seriously.  (I’m not absolutely certain, but I think I heard his frontal lobes go, “Ho-hum.”)

 

 

A Rule Of Thumb
For The One Handed:

Only those
with symptoms
can find
a diagnosis.

(Parenthetical Corollary):

Only those
with symptoms
DESERVE
a diagnosis.

 

 

This one fellow says, “Oddly enough, when I’m away from home, I feel most like myself.”  And oddly enough his near-twin added that, “Strangely enough,” he almost felt conversely.  (In the psyche-garment trade, I believe this is known as an “odd lot.”)

 

 

The future is caused by friction; thus, eliminate competition and be free of tomorrow.

J.

Don't Look Off

Don’t look off while loading.

 

 

On this one planet, they have an alternate genesis myth that says everything was created simultaneously, and after that, each part merely discovers, rediscovers, and expands its discovery of every other part.

 

 

We’re all being held responsible…and this within the framework, and outside the framework, of man not actually being so.

 

 

Over in the park this one rather lengthy chap ignored the soap boxes, and benches, and climbed directly into a fashionable elm and cried out, “So long as the word ‘ambiguous’ is open to interpretation, we’re all in-for-it!”

 

 

Whilst out surveying history and other wild creatures with his charge, a father said, “Son, ponder and remember this: If the Siege Of Troy had not actually occurred, men would have had to invent it.”  (Reply), “But Pa Pa, ‘tis fairly well accepted now that it ‘twas mere fantasy.”  (Confident sire says), “See!”

J.

See It or Don't

Over on a certain planet the cry of one young group was, “If we can’t change the world, at least we can change ourselves, and if we can’t change ourselves, at least we can change the world.”  (I must look back in on them one day.)

 

 

Inscription on a public building of an obscure civilization as yet to be rediscovered, it reads:  “Would there be the need for us to, ‘Pull Ourselves Together,’ were we not constructed to fly apart?”  (Perhaps, “rediscover” is too kind a word…perhaps.)

 

 

Believe It Or Not, See It Or Don’t, it’s still staring at you from right over the hill – all of life is a matter of conflicting common interests.

 

 

An author with a typewriter in his bathroom may be considered a serious threat.

 

 

“Whoa, don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what?”

“I thought you were going to say that everything’s a fait accompli.”

“Whoa, then I won’t say that.”

“Whoa – Phew!”

J.

Once is Not Enough

For all you news junkies, and info fans, don’t get all concerned over the questions of “inaccurate items,” “unsubstantiated stories,” and “unconfirmed reports.”  After all, the human intellect RUNS on rumor.

 

 

If all you have is a “one lifetime view,” then one lifetime won’t be enough.

 

 

"Remember son, eat everything on your plate –  including the plate.”

 

 

All political, social and economic theories are worthless...and you can really forget those that can be proven.

 

 

If you like, I can fairly wrap up the earlier speaker’s comments for those of you who arrived late; he seemed to imply that within the realm of strictly it all comes down to a skirmish of “reason versus a hope burger.”

J.

The Kiddie Version

There is, of course, the “kiddie version” of the Revolutionist’s ark wherein there are at least two views of everything.

 

 

There’s gonna be this one guy who always brought his own drugs and entertainment with him wherever he went, even when empty handed at a nudist colony.

 

 

One rainy day, while his little grey cells were just sitting around noodling, one group of them said, “Only those who can hear the difference between Haydn and Mozart know the difference.”  And shortly, another cellular collection replied, “But only those who know that there is a difference between Haydn and Mozart can hear a difference.”  And finally the man himself spoke up and said, “Would you repeat that last part again?”  And quite startled, both groups yelled, “Who said that!?”

 

 

One young lad, in his burgeoning attempt to become his own advisor and philosopher, said to himself, “What is the good of having something if you’re just going to use it.”  (Well, I told you his efforts were inchoate.)

 

 

The “external” world is a perfectly beautiful metaphor for your “internal” one, for the very reasons you should have now come to suspect.

J.

Pure Wool

Don’t be a sophomore in a junior world…(oh yeah, and P.S.:  Don’t be a junior in a junior world.)

 

 

Another snippet of another conversation:  “Well, look on the bright side, those with the most to lose, lose the most.”

 

 

A “fully functional” government, including an intellectual one, always includes the “loyal opposition.”

 

 

Pure wool checks
bounce
in polyester banks.

 

 

In a para-lateral, up-coming world, a guy told me that he was gonna, “turn up the heat,” by substituting the word “but” every time he wanted to say “and.”

J.

Bubbles

As one mother advised her daughter, “Hey, if champagne didn’t have bubbles, it’d be as clumsy as everyone else.”

 

 

Snippet of overheard conversation:  “We don’t wanna be accused, of shooting philosophers in a barrel.”

 

 

The father took up his serious sitting position and said, “Son, describing a thing just so you’ll know what it is, is like drawing a picture of a horse so’s you can take a ride,…over to a place where they’re having a sale on corduroy.”  And the kid thought, “Is it possible that my very old man posed for the original pictorial definition of ‘going too far’?”

 

 

After concluding one of his more memorable bombasts in the speaker’s area of the City park, this one sweaty chap stepped down from his high box and soap hose, and leering right past me and several of the fine citizens exclaimed, “If you think I’m crazy now, you should have seen me tomorrow.”

 

 

Complex time is the supreme transportation system, in that it moves in all possible directions at once.

J.

Don't Let It Bug You

With apparent few other possibilities looming, he decided to bestow the honors and recognition on himself, so standing at his solitary table, he pronounced the following, “All that I have I give to thee; it is now all your, flourishing, ripe little brain cells as far as the eye can see.”

 

 

The more reluctant factors accuse their liberal brothers of pursuing that which is “too new and untested,” and cannot see that their definition of their own position that, “conservatism is adherence to the old and tried,” translates into the “did and died.”

 

 

Private Court Advice; For Your Eyes Only:  Don’t let it bug you; the king is ALWAYS threatening to recall this or that minister.

 

 

A visitor to a certain world, upon discovering their Supreme Idea and Operational Way To Go was embodied in the slogan, “It’s one thing to show a man his errors, but quite another to give him the truth,” decided that while some traveling is broadening, some is downright fattening.

 

 

On the final evening of the Intergalactic Scientific Conference, it was decided that he with the most awards, prizes, and honors would make the closing comments.  And when the good doctor was led to the microphone he had the following to say, “Fuck the inevitable laws of nature.”

J.

Passing Happiness

When it was more or less his turn, this one guy hushed the crowd and said, “Here is my theory, my own personal theory, I say that the only thing standing between me and the future is the past.”  There was polite applause, and he continued, “Thank you, thank you, that is my theory, and like many of you I oftimes think that it might be more than just a theory, and like the majority of you – I’m sick of it.”

 

 

One sho-‘nuff sorehead admonished his son, “What EVER you do, don’t ever exacerbate any passing happiness.”

 

 

Said the first fighter, “What I like best about threats is their low cost.”  And said the second, “My approval of threats is based on their efficiency.”  And the referee intruded, “Shut up, or I’ll tie your tongues together,” then …silence…..long……cheap……..silence.

 

 

There are enough Sisyphusian activities extant without you attempting to put hermits into herds, or giving pack rats individual tasks.

 

.

In an attempt to console the youngster, the ole sore head said, “Hey, don’t sweat it.  If worse comes to worse, and you just can’t make it as a critic you can always take up something that requires talent.”

J

Stuff It!

One of the speakers wrapped himself up via the following declamation: “Intelligence without humility is like a banquet without a telegram.”

 

 

Having no father of his own, this one kid gave himself some advice, “If you lose your place, you can go faster.”

 

 

As one Neural Subversive once told his charges, “If you really think this is tough, just remember that working solely for Life is the ultimate ball-buster.”

 

 

While waking, (that’s a misspelling, it should be, waiting), for the concert to begin, I borrowed a program and found that the composer had entitled his new symphony, “As I Look Back Over My Life, I Regret One Of Two Things: Either That I Had A Life, or That I Looked Back.  (Oops, gotta run the overture just overtook me.)

 

 

On this one planet, up near the humid zone, they have two major religious groups, one which says that, “The first death is the hardest.”  And another group says it is not.  (You might also be interested to know that, on their moon, two distinct systems likewise predominate, the one that says the first death is the hardest, and the other that says, “Stuff it!”)

J.

Precious Birds

Conversation overheard in a local library:

“Hey, listen to this quote, ‘The critic who first praises a book is second only to its author, honor and merit.’”  They both enjoyed some snorts and chortles, and one said, “What bricklayer you reckon wrote that.”

 

 

The president-elect of this one planet secured his victory by making the same speech at every corner of his world; he would mount the platform, look around intently at all assembled, then shrug and declare, “We’re ALL precious birds in a gilded cage.”

 

 

Sorehead Quote Of The Week:

Guy says, “When I was a younger man, I seriously tried to like those who disagreed with me, but now that I am no longer a child, I have not the time for foolish experiments.”

 

 

On this one, somewhat cautious, little world, they give “X ratings” and in some cases even prohibit movies that show full frontal intelligence.

 

 

One neural émigré asks of man, “If it is better to be ‘safe than sorry,’ would it then not be better to be dead than alive?”  (Can’t foreigners be downright disruptive.)

J.

Being Alive

If they begin to play music when you begin to walk – stop immediately.

 

 

Very first thing every morning, this one chap would have a thought, any ole random thought, just so’s, as he put it, he could “run a quick check on all his systems.”

 

 

On this one planet, over near the other side, they don’t ask much of their gods, only that they “get out of the way.”

 

 

Oh, I’ve been retelling tales about some guy calling up all the local communications companies trying to have “thought forwarding” hooked up to his brain.

 

 

Simply “being alive” is incestuous.

J.

What a Waste

One quadrant of a feller’s brain said, “I only report what has happened.”  And some passing, free radicals thought, “What a perfectly good waste.”

 

 

One ole' major instructed his soldierly son, “Don’t ever let them catch you crying, but if they do, tell ‘em it’s because you were just reflecting on their inevitable passing.”

 

 

Wait till those upset about the past get a load of the future.

 

 

Whilst visiting this suspiciously superior seeming planet, I saw a chap sitting in an impressive booth by a major thoroughfare with a banner overhead that read, “The Ultimate Secret Revealed, $12,000.00.”  (He told me it was to keep away the tire kickers.)

 

 

Well, once you’ve said “THAT” there’s really not much else to say now.

J.

Funny Shoes

According to reports, there’s a guy in a flashy suit with neon shoes hanging around in the park, who approaches people with children, and after a few perfunctory pats on the head asks, “How many miles you got on this kid?”  (The reports go on to note that some parents want this stopped, while others want more details regarding possible trade-ins.)

 

 

A man
with funny shoes
doesn’t care
where he walks.

 

 

It’s been reported that one Neural Subversive said that to finally “do this,” you’ve almost got to be an environment unto yourself.

 

 

If you’re
coming and going,
it doesn’t MATTER
whether you’re
coming, or going.

 

 

One sore head’s kid was admonished by a neighbor regarding his crude speech and behavior thusly, “Being considerate of other people’s feelings doesn’t cost you anything you know.”  And the lad retorted, “Say what?”  “That’s right, a little courtesy doesn’t cost you anything.”  The kid retired himself to a seat under a nearby tree and thought, “You know, if that old geezer is right, I’ll have to rethink my whole fuckin’ concept of mathematics.”

J.

Advance Team

A rather distracted young man I met near a live oak, made me privy to his eponymous idea which he called, "The Crudwattle Theory," which claims that Karl Marx and Johannas Brahms were actually Siamese twins accidentally separated at birth.  I noted to him the clear impossibility of such a proposal, based on incontrovertible evidence regarding their different birth dates, and natal origins.  Monsieur Crudwattle admitted to knowing all of this, and agreeing to its validity, but clung on by stating that in spite of “all that” it was the only theory he had.

 

 

How may we be assured of fairness, when some men become dishonorable only at the hands of the honorable.

 

 

“A man who knows how to correctly compare things can learn the extraordinary.”  “That sounds simple enough.”  “In that case, you didn’t exactly hear me; it’s not a matter of a man correctly comparing two particular things, but a matter of knowing what thing TO correctly compare.”

 

 

You might care to make a note of the fact that gods you get from a books can’t be returned.

 

 

The alien ship landed right downtown, the visitors alighted and loudly announced, “Greetings, poor creatures, we are allegories here working as advance men for metaphors.”

J.

Wanted for Questioning

“At night the price drops and seconds after the race begins, the odds shift to your favor.”

“And what does this teach us, dear Pa Pa, that if you wait long enough…”

 

 

Much of what, in the ordinary world, passes for biting insight, is just the sound of a man’s sexual streams drying up.

 

 

There is an obscure district, who locally claim to perceive a direct connection between needless alliterations and atmospheric pressure.  (I’m sure this will only fuel the fires of frustration of those few who fear for the future of phonetics…I do trust you will forgive me, I’ve just returned from a dizzying intellectual height.)

 

 

When it was his turn he stood, and unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, said to the assemblage, “I am certainly honored by this recognition, and I would like to thank all of those who have helped me along the way…”  He paused, looked down at the list in his hand, then dropped, and said, “No, let me change that, I want to thank all of those who intended to help me.”  And he sat back down.

 

 

According to some suspicions, everyone’s wanted for questioning somewhere.

J.

Graffitti Advice

During the fourteenth year of study towards his Expert’s License in Political History, this one dusty chap ran across the following Medieval comment, “An injustice done to the individual may be of necessary service to the public.”  And for some reason, the next day, he abandoned his graduate work, mumbling something about, “Enough is enough, and knowing enough is quite enough, thank you.”  (P.S.:  There is an unsubstantiated rumor regarding him repeating his idea around the Psychology Department which, coincidentally, just disbanded.)

 

 

The king, in a moment of “glorious regal enlightenment,” (okay, so he paid me to throw that in), announced, “Good people, my Prime Minister has brought it to my kind of attention that the onliest – I mean, only reason we have Prohibitions is that some of you ‘can’t stop,’ and so as to curtail the continual enactment of new prohibitory laws, I, your kind and glorious king, have directed that all who cannot stop are forthwith prohibited…so there.”

 

 

The preliminary distractions and diversions being completed, the featured speaker took to the platform, and after an immediate, and reverent hush fell upon the assembled, he removed a scrap from his pocket, and said, “My comment tonight will consist of but one sentence, which will succinctly, and in a manner most bold, completely wrap up the entirety of my life’s study and experience.”  He cleared his throat and week-end calendar, glanced at the note, and declaimed, “Ignorance has no climax.”  He looked closer at the scrap of paper and added, “I’m sorry, my secretary wrote this out for me, and the first word is not ‘ignorance,’ but I can’t make out what it actually is – so sorry.”

 

 

In a rage of anger and frustration, this one guy faced off toward that part of his universe where it was rumored their gods lived, shook his fists, and screamed out to the deities, “We made you, and we can break you!”  And then in the flush of a passing fit of serenity he thought, “Mama mia, what if that’s true.”

 

 

“Graffitti Advice” inscribed on the bathroom wall of one little tyke: “If you do not believe revenge to be a pathetic endeavor, just ask yourself this – ‘Who loves it more than your enemies?’”

J.

Use It or Accuse It

Oh, okay, I’ll grant you this much, on a comparative coda I guess the locating of irony  is somewhere above the discovery of spit.

 

 

A certain would-be intellectual celebrity I recently met in one of your larger cities, told me that one of his operational mottos was to, “never quote anyone you can’t whip.”

 

 

If you don’t
use it,
you got to
accuse it.

 

 

 

Since his son was temporarily away, this one father was left to offer himself some advice, and so he said, “Look here, you can believe this:  if someone tries to convince you of something – anything, they either do not fully understand the subject on which they speak, or else they do not understand how life is arranged in man.”  (He seemed rather pleased with this self-directed interlude, although he did express some displeasure over his wordiness.)

 

 

In the grip of some sort of passing fit-or-the-other, one fellow thought, “Any god that I could perceive of is hardly worth thinking about.”

J.

Super Good

Another chap I met over in the speaker’s park, who seemed to be having an “off day,” kinda mumbled to either me, or a nearby tree, or no one in particular, “The difference between being a prophet, and making one, is a great gulf indeed.”  (Mumble, mumble.)

 

 

While there is obviously competition for the good stuff, in the area of the super good stuff, surprisingly enough, there IS no competition at all.

 

 

A pretty upscale, new religion on this one little planet, has what they call a “boutique confessional booth,” which specializes in hearing only exotic, one-of-a-kind sins.

 

 

After many of his chums commented on his father’s apparent cold demeanor, the kid told ‘em, “Yeah, I know what you mean, but he’s not actually like that; I finally asked him about it myself and he said that since he was not at all mad at life, he just didn’t wanna be too obvious about it.”

 

 

The only mysteries
are in the past,
and nobody finds
this weird.

J.

Mid-Week Sale Day

Over in the park, a stranger moved into the speaker’s area, and climbing up on a vacant soap maker stated the following, “Irony is but an oxymoron writ in more dimensions.” 

(Several of the people hearing this appeared offended, and had a hot dog.)  Oh yeah, if you’re interested; I came across this guy again a few days later on a street corner downtown, and he delivered, I assume a later variation of his idea, he said, “Custom is but a public holograph of private fear.”  (This time I noticed he picked an area free of street vendors.)

 

 

The first voice said, “In dreams there are no cowards.”

The second one said, “A man with a fountain pen can always change his name.”

And the first voice said, “Why does he always get the best lines?”

 

 

A man with a hat from out of town, (the hat, not the man), writes as follows: “If it be true, as I have read, that, ‘Racing improves the breed,’ and ‘Adversity strengthens the race,’ then what does this imply that death may have to contribute to life?”  (You know, some people can wear a hat, and some can’t.)

 

 

This one guy, (who already had once told me that his primary interest in life was in increased efficiency) says that he has developed a new tack to deal with any and all expressions of criticism, or comments of correction, no matter how justified, aimed at him; he says he shakes his head and declares, “How distasteful, how simply, simply distasteful.”

 

 

If you know where to look, every day’s a sale day.

J.