If the Biblical deluge had been of words, and not water, what then might Noah have taken aboard?



Read by a City poet who said that “the surest way to a woman’s heart is by way of pity.”  It must have worked, since Men have adopted a similar tack regarding their gods.  (What will humans think of next…if anything?)



One harried City-ite confided to me that, during one especially restless night, he heard his brain say to him not to worry, that it was “just passing through.”



Everyone’s about the same distance away.  (Unless you’re doing it wrong again.)



Last weekend at that little tavern just off the main City park, I overheard this gent at a nearby table announce, “Well at least I do not engage in exaggerated claims; in fact I make fewer exaggerated claims than any man, woman, or priest who’s ever lived at any time or place in history.”


It's All the Same

If problems
don’t happen on time
hey cease to be



A Real Revolutionist is a person who can give Himself a hand, while simultaneously bowing.



I met this one guy who said that on City applications he would list his vocation as “Apprentice Dolt,” (and in less secular circumstances).



To a Revolutionist
it’s all the same,
except for the parts
that’s not.



There is this other City park philosopher, who evidently has had some revolutionary exposure, who recently pronounced the following:  “If the position of truth and error, good and evil, were any closer, priests would be intellectually door dinged, and philosophers would be chain link installers.”  After a few minutes of silence as we surveyed our quiet surrounds, he added, “If death stood any nearer to life, we’d all have the willies even on weekends.”

The Asking Price

Numbers ain’t shit…
neither are most letters.



A Real Revolutionist might play it safe even when He knows it’s a waste of time.



One West Coast Revolutionist told His partnership, “Don’t call me, I’ll call me.”



The home field advantage don’t mean nothing if you’re playing the game in the tar pit of your own mind.



A Real Revolutionist
sorta smiles at the
original asking price.


Small Talk

People who can BE subdued probably need to be subdued, periodically.



Why be a “ph”
in an “f” world.



“I’ll tell you what it is,” he cried, “You want me to tell you what it is? O.K., I’ll tell you.  The human race is either organized crime, or codified suffering.”



There’s this wiry guy who lives in Oslo, who runs about the neighborhood all the time shouting, “So what’s it with you?”  Some of his neighbors wish he would move.



So why do you think
they CALL it
“small talk”?




Everyone has a “secret vice” they believe they desire, but which they never consummate in a manner that produces the imagined pleasure.



As gods and philosophers
get older they can’t be
as choosey.



History, to use the parlance of TV programming, certainly proves the value of “lead-in.”



One ole City atheist said that the only down side to his situation was that His only source of advice was His lawyer.



One guy, sitting next to me on a park bench in the City, confided that he found the whole concept of death “droll.”


Half a Damn

What everyone else imagines, a Real Revolutionist knows, and what everyone else knows, a Real Revolutionist forgets.



The only condemnation worth a damn is self condemnation, (and even that is only worth half a damn.)



The routine info/energy exchanges between Men are always reflections of prevailing official City reality, and do not begin to convey, or touch, the level of Revolutionary data.



If you don’t think
that sequence
is damn near everything,
just try and change
your place in line.



While sitting in a City park, a Revolutionist overheard a conversation in which one person told another, in a most serious tone, “I just PRAY that I’m wrong.”  And He laughed so hard He frightened an old oak tree into wetting itself.


What's Best?

Question Number Blah-De-Blah:

Can one cause passion without oneself being a carrier?
(How about the same question, but regarding intelligence?)



What’s best
for the most
won’t butter
your toast.



A young nephew asked his uncle, “Say, how do you get to be an uncle?”  And the older one pondered for 2, or 7 seconds and replied, “Through genetic chance, a favorable planting season and daily diligent practice.”  And the lad admitted, “That’s SOME answer, Unc.”  “That it is, me lad.”



Bullets can be a useful memory aid.



A Real Revolutionist
is simplistic, AND
complex beyond belief.


The Guy in Dusseldorf

Yet another way (if one is truly needed), to gauge your “dumb potential” is to ask yourself this question, “Do you tend to talk just a bit more in areas in which you do have some knowledge?”  Tut tut.



Heard another one of those ole soreheads declaim, “Seems like all our gods are determined to stay invisible, and untouchable; that’s just so’s you can’t get your hands on ‘em when they deserve it."



There’s this guy in Dusseldorf who actually seems to know what he’s doing…(at least it sometimes appears so.)



In the City, I must have seen a hundred poems that speak of sleep as the “brother” or “sister of death,” yet why no verses that mention the kin of the daytime hours?  What’s the matter…chicken?



After a lengthy, stinging criticism of something or other, one City pundit concluded by screaming, “Would we even recognize the truth if it ran up and bit us on the ass?!”  I slid further down on my cool sheets, under my warm blanket, and smiled at the ceiling.


Everything Else

To most people, monotony is the state of being married to just one person.



Overheard one City ponderer exclaim, “I’ve got it – everything’s a mirror,” to which his other voice replied, “Oh yeah, then what’s everything else?”



One Hang-out-in-the-Bush-oriented person once stated, “Although there may be ideas, concepts, and insights expressed by other Men which may indicate, or point toward, some basic truth, or general understanding, I still operate on a simple basis:  If I didn’t think of it first – fuck it!”



A City-stuffed rhyme for leaf-blown minds:
Asleep, I often dreamed,
of life as just ennui,
but then upon awakening,
I saw it was just me.



The thing, perhaps, that a Revolutionist likes best about someone else’s place, is that He doesn’t have to live there.


For Larry's Sake (Tax Day Edition)

All governments
are headed
for a downfall.



For Larry’s sake,
don’t serious-to-death.



A certain ambiguity, an integral dis-specificity, is necessary for the info-machine to roll on.



There was one particular Revolutionist who fairly seriously seemed to believe that you should not have more stuff than you could carry in one car load.



Tis been City-said that, “The object of a government’s power is the welfare of the people.”  But, the correct Revolutionist’s interpretation is that, “The object of a government’s power is the welfare of the government.”  (And, I might add, a situation as normal and beneficial as sunshine.)



There is this one ole City ragged religious maven, who sez that beyond the Ten Commandments, and other well known teachings, Moses also brought a more secretive one which was, “Change your underwear.”



Oftimes, in the City, men are chided that they “Think only of themselves.” Which a Revolutionist knows is not so.  But even if it were, he further understands that, if done correctly, it would be no fit subject for accusation, and would be nothing to be ashamed or defensive of.



A Real Revolutionist knows it’s kinda iffy, if not dangerous, to tell ordinary folk that they “think too much.”



In the City
if you talk about
anyone long enough
they become your hero.



To really believe that you “completely know all about something,” is to cut off the possibility of knowing something more.


Liquid History

Have you ever noticed that most of the things people do on their knees they like to do in private?



One bloke, perhaps revolutionarily influenced, labeled His own particular efforts as, “An amusing bit of wrestling with one little piece of time.”



I am disturbed
by the similarity
of the words,
“fame” and “shame.”



For those of you who’ve ever seriously wondered if you were “on the right track,” – well, there’s your answer right there.



The blood of Man
s liquid history.



Listen, the sooner you get this through your head the better.


Those Who Know, Know

Those who know, know,
and those who don’t, argue.



Approaching the windward side of the Bushes, I heard a voice cry out, “I would rather be wrong with a Real Revolutionist than be right with a band of angels, a flock of philosophers, and a herd of gods.”


Is it not droll, if not interesting, how, as their hormones are running down, many men discover the profit AND the ability to curb their tempers and appetites.



“Bilateral, interlocked appeasement, say I, IS the solution,” proclaimed the member of the Senate,  “And further, say I – what IS bilateral interlocked appeasement?”



A fairly intelligent Man was once assailed thusly, “You only skim over the surface of ordinary human affairs.”  And to himself, he mused, “Well, you skim over whatever’s available…the surface is all there is, ole sport.”


Don't Mull on Anything

Don’t mull on anything
that’s liable to mull back.



Another ole timer, sitting in the shadows of the City Park, head in hands, was heard to bemoan, “It seems like my skull is in port, while my mind is the Flying Dutchman.”



One slant-minded student of the past recently stated, “I do find the broad picture of history benign, but I must admit that specific epochs make me a bit uneasy.”



One City father’s parting advice to his yearling, “Let a smile be your umbrella, a handshake your contract, and a gun your gun.”



After reading a book,
and taking a look,
a man asked His cook,
“Is it considered couth
for words to ever, completely
part company with reality?”



I saw a guy squinting, and rubbing his eyes, who finally said, “Jeeze, I guess I’ve reached the age to where my eyes are playing tricks on me,” and his neighbor thought, “How’s he gonna feel when he finds out about his MIND?”



In City affairs, Men are driven to say and believe such things as, “Although it may not come to be in our lifetime, we will have the comfort in dying to know that we assisted in its ultimate arrival.”  At least in this Revolutionary activity,  you’ll never have to say…hell, you can NEVER say that.



Ordinary “truth”
is growth



A former political leader, in his dying days, sat on a mountain top looking down on his City and thought, “How, how, can I have any hope for a state made up of People just like me?



The rich are beautiful,
but the free are MAGNIFICENT.



Dumb, Dumber, Dumbest

If they were to try and compliment you on certain efforts, and you were somehow obliged to respond, you might say, “It’s my job man, it’s just my job.”



The ole terra-toned City philosopher in the park caught me last night and asked, “Hey, my question of the hour is this:  Do enrollments in Geology studies increase immediately after an earthquake?”



There is this fellow quite near Warsaw, who calls himself, “The Very Large Fellow,” and he says that the impression is even greater if you see him by himself.



Once you realize that “it’s all in the packaging,” you gotta then consider the trade of RE-packaging.



There’s a guy who sez He’s figured out what the “D’s” stand for in the term, “Three-D Universe”, dumb, dumber and dumbest.




Within the Revolutionist’s system there is always room for benevolent assassination.



Don’t bother
to go see
a new species
on their opening night.



Two more City voices in the carioca of conversation:

 “What could be more full of promise than an egg?”

The reply: “A full stomach?”



Don’t forget, next week is the monthly meeting of that formidable City organization;
The Society For The Increasing Influence Of Limited Minds (SIILM).  See you there.



Heard some good advice for
both in-here and out-there: 
“When in a strange court
call everyone ‘Your Grace.’”


It Takes Two

In the City
it’s hard NOT
to be a piker.



It requires the services of at least two people to establish any human problem.



One father would line up his four sons each morning, and shout at them, “If you got a duty, do it!  If you ain’t got a duty – get one!”



Who is it that truly represents the most complex danger to a State - the powerful, or the powerless?  (As someone in the back of the world suspected, this IS a trick question.)



Any question
is a trick question.


From A Certain Angle

You might suspect that you’ve lived something close to a Revolutionist’s life, if they offer to bury you for free.



Conversation Number 23-G:

“The worst is yet to come.”

“No, the best is yet to come.”

And a wrap-up voice injected,
“No, no, the REST is yet to come.”



There is this rather hairy gent behind a counter at one City bank, who, when asked the date, sometimes replies, “The ninth of Maybe.”



When you’re dead and fully caught up in City affairs, you’ll no doubt know things you don’t know now.  Whether its worth the bother is, I guess, a matter of taste.



Folks, I gotta tell you:
From a certain angle
EVERY body looks funny.


Report Suspicious Behavior


In the City
the first cut
is just the first cut.
(Stay tuned.)



There’s a small businessman in downtown Lahore who sez he makes the world’s best pizza – absolutely – bar none.  (But he also sez to mention, that he doesn’t deliver, at least after eleven, or west of Gibraltar.)



If you’re gonna report all suspicious behavior, you aren’t gonna get much else done.



There’s a professor What’s-his-name-or-something, who sez that, in studying, he discovered that in most, if not many instances, one eye sees one thing, and the other eye, something else.



There’s this guy who, looking back, avers that he lost His virginity AND His mind at the same time.