Middle Ground

Local ears hear jazz and complain, “Where’s the melody?  Where’s the familiar?”



Under true and useful “hostile conditions,” the Revolutionist should know that if he sees a “middle ground,” he is experiencing a mirage.




Some can realize the conspiracy between all dancers, the collusion twixt audience and actors, but can you grab-a-peek at the nebulous nexus that binds the local and universal?

I think that I shall never see:
A poem lovely as a knee,
A link ‘tween thighs and toes below,
A bridge that follows the rivers’s flow.

Could we not now have a moment of reverence for those things that move while remaining, and stay whilst departing, but only do so when you remember, or forget to watch.




One more-than-adult sorehead, standing by his own father’s grave, rubbing together his hands, was overheard to intone, “Based on the way things have gone thus far, I can hardly wait to get really old so that without conditions and with no restraints or exceptions, I can be thoroughly wholly and sublimely pissed.”




Most books aren’t written for any particular purpose, and that’s why publishers must get someone to write an introduction for them all to say otherwise.


Two Eyes

Training and education are local, Secondary versions of a new level, Primary intelligence.



The Revolution
never starts.



In some world, (mostly internal), a man who can write axioms can write his own ticket.



Two eyes always have a paradoxical look.



The purpose of the Revolution is not the overthrow of power, nor a change in direction; the true intent of this kind of revolution is simply that the Revolution always continue.


Local Conditions 2

All Localized descriptiosn impose Localized restrictions, and are disadvantageous to a Universal view.



(Earlier times still exist.)



The Rules of the Revolution are always changing.



In ordinary life, a man is not an operational actor in a scene until his peers and environment acknowledge and him as such.  There is no such soothing luck in the Revolution; there are no titles, no established positions, or ranks.  And not only does your ordinary environment not know there is a revolution under way, they certainly do not recognize you as a participant.  (If you wanna’ get right downright down, dirty and gritty, you could surmise that the way to tell if you’re a real, real, REAL Revolutionist, is that no one, (outside of camp), knows you are one, but you…and of course, that no one knows you know but you.)



All achievements are dead.


Local Conditions

Those who don’t “learn from the past,” can then perhaps learn from some place more relevant.



Only the Revolutionist sees the past as unfinished, and the future as its proper reflection.



Under local conditions, many people who can think, begin to think they’re Noah.



If the Revolution had a predictable outcome, it would not be the Revolution.



Local conditions are only serious to the locals…



To be, “put to use,”
Be close to being, “put to death”.



“Okay, sergeant, hand out the larger weapons to the men without pillows.”



There was this one king who gave each of his offspring names that no one in the kingdom could pronounce.  (In some further times, at different junctures, this would, by itself, qualify one for inclusion in the “Father Of The Century Contest”.)



In an apparent attempt at some sort of self liberation, this one chap put on his best suit, oiled and brushed his hair, then confronted himself in a full length mirror and announced, “From here onward – do as you’re told, but think as you want.”  (After the obligatory double cheek kiss, handshake and salute, he was dismissed to carry on his normal duties.)



Most real good revolutionist information is improvised.


Contrived, Controlled Crisis

One traveling thinker told his stay-at-home-son, “Almost all streets in three dimensional settings are one way; thus, guilt has no guilt.”  (He confided to me later that, just in case this message didn’t produce the desired effect, he has left instructions for a card to be sent to his son on the offspring’s nineteenth birthday telling him to “chill out.”)


If our speech did not reflect our correct chemistry, we’d all be on spring break.



At times of real stagnation, there’s always the gambit of the, “Contrived, Controlled Crisis.”



Yesterday I received a letter from a fellow on a not too distant world, who told me that some time back he had taken my idea of “fake it ‘til you make it” so much to heart that only recently had he realized that he was no longer operationally aware of his fakery, to quote him, “I can’t tell any more whether I’m actually faking it or not.”  (Now, now, sir, no need to thank me.)



The Revolutionist doesn’t hate the opposition, the established powers, but is in eternal resistance to local conditions – whatever they are – in him.



“Ah,” spake the poet, “There is this one land wherein ‘tis only after action has commenced, that a purpose is placed thereon.”  And his Falstaff replied, “Ah, what a strange kingdom that must be, me lord.”  And the liege agreed, “How strange indeed.”  (I fell wont to tell you that I am not all that convinced of the sincerity of the bard’s final comment…I did want to get this in since it is directly tied to my original purpose in bringing you the brief scene.)


That Which the Tongue Creates...

The speaker declaimed, “Tis’ hard to be old and be an optimist.”  And from the crowd came a response, “Hell, it’s hard to be old.”  The speaker clapped his hands together, gave a little leap and shouted, “I rest my case!”



That which the tongue creates, can by the tongue be destroyed.



All things
that can grow,
will grow.



A guy asked me to pass this along, says he, “Anything you gotta talk about, other than this, ain’t worth the fucking effort.”  (I’ve been sitting on this until a slow news day.)



An ordinary city dweller once asked an Intellectual Revolutionist how long this kinda stuff had been going on, and the subversive replied, “I don’t know, and if I did I’d probably lose all interest.”


It's Obvious

The message from one thinker on, (I’m sure you’ll be glad to know), another planet, asks me to relay to you the following:  “It can be a great relief to realize that absolutely no one knows what they’re talking about, and that it makes not the slightest bit of difference to anyone.”  (Is there an unconditional certainty that I should be passing along messages such as this?)



There is much more
to the obvious
than is obvious.



The harm we do ourselves is not the real harm done.



I never told anyone this, (and I still may not), but I once had a real upset fellow tell me that as far as he was concerned, this kinda stuff was “just getting someone else to think for you.”



Those who don’t talk about their troubles, don’t have no troubles.


When in Doubt...

One guy’s guiding principle was:

The further you are away from home,
The less often you should call.



This month’s figures are finally in, and the galaxy’s most popular published work is, “The Book Of Symptoms.”



The left-overs of anger can be as noxious as the meal.



In the midst of this one other world,

In the inner middle of a certain philosophical group,

They passed along this wisdom, one to another:

“So long as you think man a deed ill-done, you’ve got it made.”



The Irrelevant

Once, in a time not given in your history books, two worlds went to war over their dispute regarding man.  The first said that his uniqueness was his intellect, and the other claimed that man’s singularity was in his sense of morality.  A passing comet, observing all of this on the run, mused how the second notion was simply growing pains of the first one.



Graffiti heard near a bush in the park, just after dark:

“Anarchies make little progress, but they pay no taxes.”



When pressed, this one guy would admit it…(which didn’t help much once he returned to his wrinkled state).



Just because things are irrelevant doesn’t mean they HAVE to be irrelevant.



Here’s the latest good one I heard over in the speaker’s area of the park:

“If ‘having something on your mind’ is proof that you’ve got a mind, then a dirty diaper would be voting proxy at Proctor & Gamble’s stockholders meeting.”


Making Sense

When fording the boundaries of prejudice, be sure and roll your knickers up.



Though it is not taught at this level, there is an area of learning best called, “The Mathematics Of History, which could be useful for a keen, neat and subversive student-of-the-strident, for a for instance apply your little brain maggots to this:  Your founding fathers did not found anything, but were themselves found thereby.”



After reading, or hearing again the line, “Life is as tedious as a twice told tale,” this one out of towner thought, “Is it just me, or has anyone ever considered that even a ‘twice told tale’ wouldn’t be tedious if they didn’t tell it for a second time?”  (Shortly thereafter he figured it was time to go back home.)



How can things “make sense,” and then “not make sense”? Or how can they almost make sense, and then suddenly not do so in some way you can’t quite grasp…ah, forget it, let’s go on to something else:  On this one world, the hot new dance going all around is the “Edna,” although the chap who invented it tells me that he’s received so much flack about the name that he hasn’t had time to actually develop the dance.



Sports Tip: As quickly as possible; find out if you can get your opponent to whine.



P.S. - Remember how they hated you in Pittsburg.


Primary or Secondary?

This one sweet little child, (he wasn’t, actually, but his mother bribed me to throw that in), asked, “Is the Revolution a Primary or Secondary activity?”  And his mother replied, “Guess that all depends on whether you’re asking from a local, or a universal view.”  (Later the lad asks, “Does even that much matter?”  “No kid, not much.”)



The youngest son seemed unable to go even a few hours without becoming entangled in heated arguments with his elder siblings, so one morning the father took the lad out behind the croquet course and delivered the following words:  “My boy, the tensions apparent inherent in many human relationship are not necessarily improved statements of your conflicting position; let me give you an example.”


Often when recalling his former self, this one person would softly murmur, “Your absence means more to me than I can say.”



I heard another father tell his “younger companion,” (his heir I presumed), “Kid, a father that wouldn’t give his son useless advice is no father of mine.”



Over in the thorny bushes in the park, a chap was stamping about, waving his arms and muttering, “Compromise, compromise, gads, how I hate that word – zounds, you despicable concept!”  And a wiener vendor passing by thought, “Wow, he’s gonna just love death.”


Strong Men and Cabbage

A strong man makes a particular, funny kinda noise when he falls apart.



As many intellectual fields have been scourged by cabbage, as by mis-information.



Along his verbal way the speaker mentioned: “It would be my opinion that a Real Revolutionist would no longer discuss his plans.”  And in the crowd he addressed was a kid who tugged on his ole man’s sleeve and asked, “Pa pa, would that be because a Revolutionist has no plans, or no discuss?”



A guy who’d been hanging around a certain Revolutionist for awhile, listening to his talk, considering his analysis, and attempting to actively pursue some of his maps, one day, apparently contemplating a move, asked the Rebel, “Could I continue this work without you?”  And the response said, “Better yet, look at it this way; can you do it even WITH me?”



This one chap over in the Vector Sector, who I had not seen in quite a while, (at least by Vector reckoning), after warm salutations and the expected asking-about-the-health-of-my-planets, told me that even though he was moralistically and economically opposed to them, that if he ever did adopt a personal motto it would be, “Nothing is lacking till said ‘tis lacking.”


Spare Yourselves

A certain ruler called to him, his molecules – I mean his people, and said to them, “No longer will I grant clemency, nor will I issue pardons, henceforth it will be thus – People, you must spare yourselves.”  (A disturbed little fellow in the rear of the crowd muttered, “Sire, we are not amused.”)



Under institutional conditions,
in ordinary, secondary affairs:

When you talk about,

What you know about,

And you don’t know,

What you’re talking about,

it’s okay.



One day, around two-fifteen in the afternoon, while they were standing out by a stream just spittin’ and standin’, the ole man looked off into the distance, (which wasn’t that hard to do as close as they were to it already), and said to his younger companion, “It’s good to know that, ‘All things are possible,’ and even better yet, that some things are more possible than others, like for instance…if your name is Peewee Pigsbreath you don’t hardly have a worry at all being chosen for king.”


Look Somewhere Else

Although ordinary language doesn’t cover it all, it covers all that is ordinarily required.



On this one young, developing world, as things began to separate into conflicting factions, such as the categories of “religion and science,” “faith and fact,” and the like, one group declared that they should all resist this inclination, and after a bit they did realize some success in their efforts, but also began to lose the ability to talk.



A man who doesn’t look ahead, or backwards, can, of course, always look somewhere else.



For those who say the worst is yet to come – the worst is yet to come.



If you ever wondered who stood the better chance of becoming famous and admired, an intelligent, strong person, or a weak whiney one, wonder no more.



Drawn by the light of our camp fire last year, and after hearing some of our affairs discussed, a visitor said to me, “Is this not like a search to find that too dear to use?”


A Head Start

Over in the park I heard one speaker argue thusly, said he, “If there is any true justice and equanimity, then is ‘being behind in your debts’ the same as ‘being ahead in your credits’?”



If you can learn or benefit from some else’s mistake, they didn’t do it right.



Peering over his beer at me in that laterally spun sonic bar I told you I sometimes visit, this one chatty fellow told me that he tries to always get up an hour or so before his brain does every morning…”So’s to get a head start on the little sucker.”



If they’re not checking I.D.’s when you enter, who cares when you leave.



A man with a gem clip,
can be a friend to anyone.


A Time for Serious

“Remember, son,” said the superbly shammed-up, apparent wise father, “When in doubt, brag about your ancestors.”  (Oh yeah, as the kid got older to this direction he added his own codicil, “Or whine about yesterday,” which as he might discover, is the same thing.)



Whilst sitting and sipping in this little hip bistro over in the Goatee Galaxy, I overheard this snippet from an adjoining table; this one guy says, “The reason ordinary people don’t like jazz is that they don’t know what’s coming next.”  And his buddy rubs his nose, looks at the window, and says, “You know, Clyde, I just suddenly realized something about being alive.”



There is a time
to be serious,
but it’s not
right now.



One ole hairy grandfather called all of his little grandnippers to gather round him, and spoke to them thusly, “By the time most people think of something for the first time on their own, it’s (let’s say it all together now), ‘Too late’.”



After some pondering of the matter, the gentleman expressed himself in this verbal fashion, “It may BE a good thing that everyone can’t dance, or else these chairs would go to waste.”


Light Thoughts

This one “other worldly philosopher” confided to me that his greatest pleasure came by, “Thoughts too light, to even shadows cast.”



I heard this one chap tell a friend, over in another zone, “I just can’t take it seriously, if everyone else has to.



“Ah”, said Voice Number One, “Tragedy makes philosophers of us all.”
“Ah Hah”, added Voice Number Two, “And puts florist near the undertakers.”



The physics of things
may make them work,
but the physics
do not explain.



Proverbial based graffiti almost written on a wall, over there someplace, “Losing your ticket, is a most minor of inconveniences.”


A Way Out

No information is particularly useful unless it has an escape clause.  (Add this:  Okay, you can also try it this way:  Not even “the truth” is beneficial unless it has a way out.)



The infantile eye says, “Fate ruled my parents; chance, me.”



Those who still claim to be seriously worried over “man’s attempt to play god,” sure don’t have much to worry about.



The mythology of this one group, (no longer as extant as they once were), tells that even though Life’s primary business is change, that the constant disruptions inherent in such pursuits were resulting in inordinate stress, migraines, and the threat of ulcers…but Life found a way out, it made man and turned the job over to him.



In the ordinary conditions of the City:  Don’t pity the poor, for if you think you’re not one of them, you’re both poor and stupid.



The older planet told his satellite son, “Whenever you wonder whether a beckoning activity is truly essential or not for you personally, the way to always tell is that only the non-essential comes with instructions.”


Full Employment

Only a Real Revolutionist can listen to almost anything without losing his temper;  There are some things a Revolutionist will not listen to.



One low-level sore-head muttered as follows, “I’ve looked at life, and I’ve looked at the alternatives, and I’ll say this – I’d like to look around some more.”



Then he told me that he already had the title for his next book, (it would actually be his first one, but he wanted me to call it his “next book”), and it is:  “The Expansive Power And Limiting Factors Of Talk.”



A Real Revolutionist is whatever he says he is…(the beauty of it is that if he says what he is he’s no longer a Revolutionist.)



As he was leaving, he slapped one of the other gods on the back and said, “As long as seriousness passes for intelligence we’ve got a job.”