Point of Entry

Most thoughts, opinions, and beliefs should be amortized as quickly as is reasonable and convenient.

 

 

One fidgety father, in his paternal attempts to teach his scion some mental machination, instructed him like this, “Whenever you say ‘shit,' think ‘crap.’”  The lad pondered this for a while then asked, “I think I see the point, but couldn’t you just as easily have given me that in a reversed form?’  And the non-lad pondered this for a sec and said, “Well yeah, but then what would I have had to tell you tomorrow.”

 

 

One little chap finally admitted (leastwise to himself) that his most exciting dream was to be “locked up for many hours in a small room with the greatest man he’d ever met,” and himself said, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

 

 

One recent speaker over in that freewheeling park demanded to know, “Where is the magnanimity of justice, the equal distribution of experience, in that no literary teetotaler seems ever to have a tavern discovered as a redoubt of human wit and fellowship?”

 

 

Whilst searching for an easy way out, several people discovered a felicitous point of entry.

J.

Think More Than You Have To

In that little uptown bistro over on the planet I once mentioned, a young chap standing next to me, after wiping the sweat and concern from his brow, shyly smiled and confided, “Wow – being vexed is some hobby.”

 

 

You can’t be mad
at something
without comparing it
to something.

 

 

In certain matters, seen from certain views, the operational difference between the singular and its plural is not merely one of quantity…(Yes, an “S” can be a most formidable addition.)

 

 

All criticism, be it learned or crude, all criticism, be it externally based or self-directed, all criticism is a cheap shot.

 

 

After all of the recent brio and pleasantness, this one chap has sought permission to use some of my ideas to construct this own personal motto, if not epithet; if I agree, he says it will thusly read, “If you think more than you have to, you won’t have to talk more than you must.”

J.

The Yet-to-Be

There is this formally obscure little planet that is now experiencing a tourist boom, ever since it was discovered that on their world, advice is more beneficial than example.

 

 

This one tall little chap says he’s bloody well tired of hearing about how much we owe to famous people of the past; he concludes that they owe as much or more to us, or else they wouldn’t even BE famous.

 

 

I find those thoughts
a waste of time,
that must be put
into a rhyme…
let me rephrase that.

 

 

In every land, in each generation, a voice declares that “power is not to be trusted,” (this usually elicits a wink and a smile from power.)

 

 

This one fairly anxious planet decided that the only way out was to simply leave…and I know you’re going to find this weird, but it worked.

 

 

Only that which is yet to be, truly belongs to man.

J.

All Misery Contains Some Pleasure

Insofar as certain psychic travel is concerned, one human noted, “Seeing the depraved, the mad, and the criminal, is only seeing a worse me.”

 

 

All misery contains some pleasure…(and if it does not, all misery has some pleasure in the recounting thereof.)

 

 

Overheard from a sweaty crowd mulling about on that rapidly warming planet just to our south, a harried voice announced, “The time and tides of chance may soothe and buffet us all, and fate may blindly deal us favorable hands today, or not, and though all of this be so and unavoidable, I’ll still, Sir, be quite-well-damned if I’ll be pushed around by the likes of me.”

 

 

There still exists a blinding, though potentially liberating, difference between what the physical demands of human life make important, and what life makes man’s brain say is important.

 

 

Folly at home and caprice abroad remain sufficiently distant as to keep travel agents and human imagination in business.

J.

Earth Alert

One chap who had spent a goodly portion of his life reading about, and hanging around the edges of activities such as this, finally had his own day of reckoning, and he loudly announced, “The reason this kinda stuff seems so vague and hard to describe is quite simple, IT DOESN’T ACTUALLY EXIST1”

 

 

I heard tell of this one old chap so rich (and nervous, I presume) that he kept a whole brain on retainer – just in case!

 

 

Earth Alert RF-16:

Progress always
comes too late.

 

 

I heard this one man say that now that he was almost the kinda guy he always dreamed of being, he’d about stopped dreaming…(He added that this was not actually as strange as it sounds, even to him.)

 

 

On this one planet, where on alternate days everything was either real and simple or allegorical and complex, an unknown doctor at their medical convention introduced a proposal for the organization to privately commend “Human Speech As Medicine’s Supreme Ally,” and he supported his idea by saying, “If man could not speak, we could not diagnose our patient’s ills.”  Some agreed with this, and some did not, so he pressed on by noting:  “If we could not talk, our patients could not tell us what their problems are.”  There was more discussion and some still agreed, and others did not, so the doctor added this:  “If man did not have speech, billing would be impossible.”  There was no more discussion.

J.

One thought, One vote?

“I believe in freedom and equality as much as the next man,” said this one chap.  Then pointing to his head he continued, “But when it comes to matters mental I think, ‘One thought, one vote’ is carrying things too far.”

 

 

After hearing me say that “without spies and traitors inside your own system, the necessary neural wars could not go on,” this one guy turned to his own mind real quick-like and demanded, “Okay, whose side are you on anyway?”  And his brain (or something in there) replied, “Exactly!”

 

 

While instances can be marked wherein words seem to stand between man and a more direct experience, it may also be noted that many of these experiences would not exist were it not for talk; an illustration of this phenomenon is in his failure to recognize stereotypes as a type.

 

 

In the wondrous (if not silly) way in which life is arranged, a man finds the occasions wherein he has the time for repentance occurring much more often than do the chances to sin in the first place.

J.

Talk-About-Yo-Mama

Graffiti found on a stray kid over near the park:

“You can look for a lump, even search for a cyst, but you can’t reconnoiter for a goiter…leastwise, not around here.”  (An alert statue, sensing my bewilderment, winked, pointed to its head, and said, “Leastwise, not around here.”  I smiled as I took my leave, pretending that I could spot a metaphorical pigeon as well as the next man.)

 

 

Anything a man can start, he can stop…(except, of course, in those instances that it might be inconvenient or uncomfortable.)

 

 

While I was hanging around the bus station over in another state, this young geezer strolls up and tells me, “Regardless of what the laws say and morality demand, incest is alive and neurally flourishing in my own brain.”

 

 

There’s this one future that will “talk-about-yo-mama.”  (Oh yeah, there’s this past that will do likewise.)

 

 

One thing the health and environmental “scare-of-the-day” does accomplish is in making those who boast such beliefs feel superior to those who don’t.

J.

No Alterations

One earthbound intellectual and would-be celebrity, after some months on the media road promoting his new book, says that he has come to find interviews like being thrown into a den of writhing slippery clichés and being asked to skin them in twenty words or less.

 

 

After years of careful consideration of contemporary concerns, this one self-appointed critic and social observer summed up his finding thusly, “In the matter of ‘current events,’ I find it to be more a matter of ‘current’ than of ‘events.’”

 

 

You can misspell gun,
you can mispronounce pistol,
but in the northern hemisphere,
bullets will still kill you.

 

 

While passing a newly noted planet the other evening, I noticed a large lighted sign that proclaimed, “Our God Doesn’t Do Alterations,” and dropping down for a closer look, I discovered that everyone was the spitting image of everyone else.

 

 

In a firmly establishment voice, a father told his offspring, “Look, let’s get this clear, I’m not saying I’m superior to everyone else, just that I’m superior to YOU.”  (And the rapidly expanding kid was not particularly amused.)

J.

Nothing to be Said

This one chap stopped by to tell me that he is not currently prepared to undertake any new efforts to expand his intellectual horizons until he has a good, up-to-the-minute aerial photo of the lay of his present mental land.

 

 

There are times
when there is
“nothing to be said”;
such times have
not reached this planet.

 

 

Over on the Great University’s park, I overheard a couple of older gents talking about their future and their time of retirement, and one of them said that what he’d like to do, after his final days of work, is to take out his brain, and carrying it in his hands, begin to walk off in no particular direction, but to just keep going until he came to a place where the people look at the glob in his hands and ask, “What is that?’  And there is where he would stop and stay.

 

 

Holding him briskly by the ears, a father said to his son, “My own blessed father often told me, ‘The philosopher who sups with a king dilutes his own wine.’”  And the lad replied, “Isn’t dear grandfather now for several years dead?”  And the elder nodded, and the kid continued, “Then, precious Papa, may we not begin to ignore the rantings of the old fart?”  And suddenly the father beamed with bemused and thirsty enlightenment.

 

 

Hey look, for the revolutionist, it’s not a matter of, “the time for excuses being over” – hey, it never happened.

J.

A Man with a Gun

After this one god’s accountant advised him as to certain “financial difficulties” he was having, he announced, “Well, we’ll just have to start opening up life an hour earlier for a while.”

 

 

On this one world, men learn to say “One,” not because of its significance, but only so that they may later say, “Two.”

 

 

Advising his son on earthly matters, one father said, “When the investment is cheap, the upkeep is dear, and when the former is otherwise, the situation still ain’t much better.”

 

 

A man with a gun can diagnose himself.

 

 

What’s to become of a man who outlives all those he wanted to impress.

J.

Future Talk

All would-be prognosticators might note this: The future does give some warning of its approach, in that it is always gabbing.

 

 

From the head of the Fantasmological Food and Drug Administration comes this bulletin:

“Many ideas, once verbalized, begin a process of immediate decay.”  “Hey Pop, did he say ‘many’?”  “Yeah kid, ‘many’ like in most… ‘many’ like in all… ‘many’ like in don’t-talk-about-it.”

 

 

According to that downtown bookstore over on that supplemental world, this season’s best seller is a little number entitled “The Making Of A Saint:  How To Deplete Your Testosterone Level.”

 

 

All profit-and-loss transactions are basically humorous, and if you find one that’s not, you may rest assured it would cost you dearly.

 

 

One history waved its arm in dismissal and scoffed, “Myths – Hah!  Just let me at ‘em.”

J.

Universal Spin

A recent rumor making the rounds has it that a certain deity once listed his occupation as “Doctor of Universal Spin”.

 

 

There are people who are ordinary and who walk around in a fog; there are people who are ordinary who don’t; there are people who say they are “doing This,” who do not walk about in a fog; and there are people who say they are “doing This,” who…no, I just can’t bring myself to say it…

 

 

Making a futile attempt to put his arm around the old man, the kid said, “Pops, I’ve decided that some of the funny stuff you say ain’t really a joke.”  And the palpitating pater was so pleased he almost didn’t kill him.”

 

 

One of the applicants for the executioner’s position was amazed to learn that it paid a salary…his brother-in-law was even more bewildered to find that priests likewise were paid AND very seldom brought to the guillotine.

 

 

Instead of simply and directly “going to new places,” there was this one sly guy who would first go to see if he would later like to “go there.”

 

 

Always remember this:
No matter how
it’s described,
that’s still
not the point.

J.

Tuesday Ordinance

The state’s enforcer was the man with the biggest stick in the territory, and one day whilst brashly buffeting a bewildered citizen he was asked:  “What intellectual training did you undergo to become our police authority?”  And the man replied, “When you’re holding the biggest stick, you don’t need no training.”  (With this comment and a sharp rap to the head, the subdued citizen was sorely enlightened.)

 

 

There are two kinds of health: Health and extraordinary heath.

 

 

In retaliation (or due imitation), another nearby planet passed an ordinance forbidding, on alternate Tuesdays, the inevitable.)

 

 

In the front of the room a hand was raised, a query proffered, “In the battle between might and insight, which will emerge triumphant?”  And the reply replied, “Let us hope that those who must ask such questions have lots of the former, since they have little of the latter.”

 

 

If you do plan to join in with me, it’s time you noted this: There is no profit in studying the individual man, only the species.

J.

Myths for a Monday

The only
conclusive
myth is a
dead myth.

 

 

With more advice (that may even transcend the need of same), one of the older creatures said to one of the less old, “Just ask yourself this:  Why go into debt when you know you’ll just eventually die?”

 

 

None are saints,
none are sinners,
all are diners,
all are dinner.

 

 

If it is natural for ordinary folk to have heroes, then a revolutionist would want to be his hero’s hero.

 

 

The present ripens into the future with the kind assistance of the manure known as "talk."

J.

Gimme a Break!

On a somewhat more solemn note – (gimme a break) – an elder cautioned one of his young charges, “Lest you stray off into believing in some perfect refuge, just take note of this:  No one’s safe, even the past is buffeted by the yet-to-be.”  (Look, even though I didn’t say it, I’m still responsible for bringing you the story, so let me remind you that the above notion is non-sequential and impossible, and even beyond that, philosophically speaking – "gimme a break.")

 

 

The Redoubtable Cosmic Doctor sends this Medical Update:

“After a certain age, the intellect finds that each new day brings the possibility of a rottenness setting in, so watch it!”  (This is easily understood when you realize that while some internal parts, like man, within the overall body of life may be incrementally dying, the host structure can still be quite healthy and growing, thank you.)

 

 

Over in the Spectrum Split Sector, one gent with a faraway look in his eye told me confidentially, “If it proves correct that a final day of reckoning will come whereby man’s picture of justice and retribution is fully executed, I fear, mon ami, that we’re all in for a hard eternity."

 

 

Once the system had expanded to a certain point, capital (that is, the dominant powers) decided they needed an intermediary to deal directly with labor (that is, the submissive) and once this middle class, managerial mouthpiece was constructed, he was given his most important – in fact his only – instructions:  To whatever any of the working subordinates ever say, he is to immediately reply, “This will never do.”

 

 

The way things stand presently, the people in the front ranks can’t stand to contemplate the possibility…(Do note, men call themselves “followers” of this god or that – followers – those who came after the gods…I don’t care if you are up front, think about it anyway.)

J.

Milky Way Thinking

I ask you, my friends, fellow creatures and other voters, just what kind of world and state would we have if it finally comes down but to two parties – those who pray for rain and those who pray for umbrellas?

 

 

There is only one thing more foolish than trying to tell other men how to live, and that is in trying to tell them how foolish it is.

 

 

No need to concern yourself with questions as to what cuisine is in, or what styles are hot, ‘cause year in and year out, to a lion, a Rembrandt is just another meal.

 

 

In partial counterpoint to Milky Way thinking, one galaxy holds with the following definitions:  "Art:  Recognition of the inevitable;  Science:  Wishful Thinking.”

 

 

Only tomorrow
is better than you.

J.

The Silly Gods

Longevity
favors
the silly gods.

 

 

One day the Leading Voice told the Trailing one, “You may find – if not the inside track - at least a dry, level one, if you finally discover that no one else is ever going to think that you’re as exceptionally bright as you know you to be…and this be so no matter who, when or where.”

 

 

In a bounding fit of hurried optimism, the creatures of that one young planet to our east have just ratified an amendment outlawing fate.

 

 

“Dear Papa, just what is the difference between those men who never give any particular thought to their existence and those who seem consumed by such?”  And the old man replied, “Well, for one thing, the former never ask such questions as this and beyond that…well, I’ll have to get back with you on it.”

 

 

Grey Matter Graffiti To Remember (if you want to):

If a revolutionist hears an idea he doesn’t like, he should have someone at camp, qualified with a sharp knife, check his hearing.

J.

Sequenced

With a wide sweep of his arms, the richly endowed elder said, “All of this, my lad, is what we call ‘life’ and we’re all in it together.”  And his less empowered listener said, “But some more than others.”

 

 

After being confronted yet again (for the four thousandth time, by his reckoning) with the ballyhooed glitz and glamour of celebrities' lives, this one chap muttered that, at times, his own seemed to be no more than “stock footage.”

 

 

One purpose of memory and history is to get sequence in proper order.

 

 

On a certain vaguely familiar, if not redoubtable world, their term, “to make new friends,” means to “beat up strangers.”  (But it’s beyond me why you call it “vaguely familiar.”)

 

 

One somewhat large little fellow, who had recently come to believe that he was “held by the heady grip of love,” discovered that he was wearing his shorts too tight.

J.

Flawed Reality

Apparently by way of some encouragement, if not correction, one father told a daughter, “Just remember, you can ‘sing’ the blues without having the blues,” and she was suddenly struck, “What a joy it is to live in a flawed reality.”

 

 

It’s only since humans became involved that “Justification” got a bad name.

 

 

On this one planet
they always let
everyone else do
the “ground work.” 

 

 

In this one, I’ll admit, unusual state, the king each morning, immediately upon arising, would gleefully proclaim, “The king is dead, I know he’s dead, long live the king.”

 

 

One little feller was so intrigued by the activities of his own brain that he gave it its own little Latin name:  Ubiquitous Non Sequitur.

J.

A Brief Madness

One small group with a quite wide view has as their in-house graffiti, this phrase:  “Being ordinary is but a brief madness.”

 

 

The mythic god (or at least the archetype) of the human tongue one evening confided to me thusly, “’Tis when I attempt to be inclusive and conclusive that I become mangled and unintelligible.”  He paused, took another drink, and added, “This is strange even for a hero.”

 

 

When it comes to this-kinda-stuff, there are no serious alternatives.

 

 

A silly
continent
is a safe
continent.

 

 

One other little person told me that, despite his numerous attempts to “encourage reason,” reason has never returned the favor.

 

 

A sheepish thought, standing before the newly discovered carnivorous den, although lacking any details regarding this unusual mental lair was sure of one thing – there are many more tracks leading in than were coming out.

J.