Definitions, Mystical

Men of war love to quote the dictum "divide and conquer" due to its simplistic usefulness.

If man's mind had a belligerent force seeking to overcome it, such an enemy could take no better action than to fragment the mind which (curiously enough) is its present condition.


What d'ya think? Is there something out there actually threatening the integrity of the Mind...are you certain there is or ever has been such a state?  If there is a natural unity and stability to the mind, then why cannot a man select a word ("unity" let's say) and hold it constantly in mind for (let's say) the next 90 minutes? The mind is a singularly talented instrument of observation, except in one area.


One day, while shaving his bike, a guy mused to himself, "Why do men speak of physically 'living in the fast lane' and 'burning the candle at both ends,' but never make such note regarding their mental life?"  And, as he lathered up the spokes, thought, "Guess they never see the need to."


There was once an ancient oak tree who, after decades of witnessing the many non-flora activities around it, said to itself, "If it weren't so funny, it'd really be funny."



One father told his son as the youngster headed off to explore new planets: "Never stay on a world in whose dictionary are any entries between the words 'meaningful' and 'pitiful.'"


One sign of the routinely civilized and the ordinary-minded is that they give most credit for man's progress to the presence of his so-called "human emotions,"and from a casual, effortless view this seems justified and appropriate, but it will not stand more careful scrutiny.



There were once some birds who had miraculous head feathers which gave them powers unique in the avian world, but, for some reason (perhaps because of the feathers' location above their field of vision), the birds never recognized the feathers as the source of their singularity.

There was once a building
whose upstairs tenants
dismissed those below
because of the repetitive
lives they lived.



                               Natural: Effortless.

                               Mystical: (I don't wanna go into it.)


Just Around the Corner

Only the rich do not battle with possessions.



Heard a fellow re-define “deep-sorrow” and “grave disappointment” thusly:

“Hearing of a fatal plane crash
full of “me’s”
with three empty seats.”



It was recently proposed somewhere that we have a holiday in honor of the “Genuine Spirit of Bedlam.”



The secret’s always on the last page – even if you read the book backwards. (No one EVER knows who “did it” till the very end.)



Never ask for your freedom until it’s certain you’re captive.



A Real Revolutionist is always just-around-the-corner.


What's Not Possible

A certain semi-thawed chap, whenever he was asked, (or whenever he imagined how it would be TO be asked), whether he thought a particular thing was true or not, or whether a certain thing might or might not occur, would imagine himself most pleasantly responding, “Ah, in today’s world, what’s NOT possible.”



You do by now realize that Life makes up history as it goes?



I am disturbed by the similarity of words “think” and “stink.”



A Revolutionist circus artist retires the beasts of His past, refuses delivery of tomorrow’s, and de-fangs those of the present.



There is no such Revolutionist word as “inopportune”…(at least there SHOULDN’T be).



There was this one guy whose self-proclaimed motto was, “If you DO gotta kiss Life, then give ‘er ten inches of tongue.”  “Choke the bitch,” his brother added.


Weekend Political Advice

My “New Intelligence” is like a fresh needle amidst the old compass of chaos.



Don’t encourage a dull candidate, and never vote for an exciting one.



Anyone who begins a sentence with the words, “The children now-a-days…” should be immediately slapped before they can go any further…again.



In the City, many worship in private what they abuse in public.  Comparatively speaking, a Revolutionist does neither.



A father asked his son, “Think on this, my little budding Berkley:  Would you take your chances with the cannibals, the critics, or the merely dumb?” 
And the kid thought, “What a choice, what a choice.”


One Thing Has Happened...

Remember this also:

In the City, one particular thing has happened to everybody.



Even if Life WERE a soap opera, must you be a sponsor?



A guy stood up at a history seminar and challenged, “I, for one, would like to know exactly what it was that went on during the Dark Ages.”  (A guy in the rear of the room thought, “I wonder does he mean ours or his?”)



Although pterodactyls may be extinct, dumbness still has wings.



New Logic And The Intolerable Syllogism:

The dumb hate to be called dumb. 
Everyone hates to be called dumb. 


In One In

“Hey,” this one guy cried out, “Where's the justice?  You can be born in only one way, but can die in several dozen.”



Some interests (if not loves) may best flourish in secret (if not in the dark).



If it's something you really want to keep, don't throw it away in words.



In one in,
and out one out,
that’s how things
get moved about. 

(How else, sweet Montague.)



There's this fellow, presently situated in the Shetland Islands, who sez he will “think on” any ideas you have, for a time, and then return them to you, “assuming you wish them returned.”


Personal Problems?



If you've got personal problems,
you GOT no personal.



The only history actually worth knowing is the stuff everyone forgot, (the stuff hiding between all those remembered words and stories).



One man told his son, “Don't EVER be led by anyone in any sort of uniform or costume.”



If necessary, you can “invite ‘em along,” but then always leave quietly ahead of schedule.



Noisy revolutions may be inevitable, but noisy Revolutionists are another matter.



A Real Revolutionist doesn’t listen to ANYbody…
well, okay to himself maybe,
but just a little.


Look at it this way then:

Anything actually beyond the ability of Man to know would be, perforce, mortally irrelevant. 
Feels much better, huh?



A Revolutionist should be an intellectual and emotional omnivore.



There’s a lanky fellow who sometimes stays near the northern Cambodian border, who sez he can “deal with most problems.” “Insofar,” he adds, “as any problem CAN, and should be dealt with.”



Only the weak repent.


Ordinary Ordinary

Isn’t it neat how ordinary, ordinary reality is.



I started to say that you shouldn’t do anything second handed, but everything they do in the City is second hand.



There might be some who could see from “here to there,” if it weren’t for all the distracting sights in between (or even think to that distant place, were it not for all the thoughts in between).



Has Life ever had Men call one of their poets a “serious, potent voice of his age,” who was not morbific, moss-coated, and as pessimistic as a banker on vacation?



Life goes on till the job gets done.


I've Told You All I Can

“I’ve told you all I can.” 
“It’s not enough.” 
“I know.”

….and to further clarify: 
“I’ve told you all I can.” 
“It doesn’t SEEM to be enough.”
“I know, I know.”



It is possible that your parents COULD “know best,” unless of course, they’re actually YOUR particular parents.



If it’s not a rude awakening
it’s NO awakening.



Hangnails don’t count in the lifeboat.



Anyone who believes that two heads are better than one, doesn’t even have one.


Trade Horse

A new-to-town-god, attempting to be up to date and with-it, hired a PR agency that presented him with the slogan, “I not only make ‘things,’ I make a difference,” and he loved it, just LOVED it.



While traveling in new, and perhaps rough terrain, in the attempt to expand your intelligence, do be careful not to damage your brain’s oil pan.



Someone who really cares for you, and who is smarter than you, will refrain from giving you advice when you can’t really use it, regardless of what you may say to the contrary.



When it comes right down to the operational bottom line regarding City based intelligence, it goes like this:  What you know is a trade horse for what you don’t.



Could it be knowledge hides out in ignorance…or even vice versa, maybe?  Giddy-up.


The Winds of Wars

Out in the barren area between the City limits and the Bushes, I heard a faceless voice raised in song thusly, “Oh, the winds of wars, ripped by drawers.”



A guy read, in reference to neurological rehabilitation, that, “After serious brain injury all mental efforts become a ‘big deal,’” and he mused off to himself, “Why did they wait until an accident to realize that?”



Look, I’ve told you once for the last time.



If you’re truly in a hurry for additional intelligence, don’t stop and ask an alligator; he gets HIS luggage.



Upon hearing new evidence that cast fresh doubt on some of the accepted history of a certain religion, one follower noted, “Anyone whose faith can be shaken by mere scholarship had little faith to begin with,” and a passerby, hearing this, thought, “If you substitute a few words here and there like “faith” and “scholarship” you’d have a pretty fair description of the City’s intellectual situation.


From the List of Nevers:

Never take a drug less intelligent than you are.



There’s a slick-haired man just outside of Nairobi, who claims to “know what time it is.”  “No, seriously,” he adds, “I mean what time it REALLY is.”



The long sought Alpha-&-Omega Law of Physics was unknowingly uttered may years before Newton, and far down the street from laboratories and classrooms, to wit, “The King can do no wrong.”  That’s all the scientific knowledge ever gleaned, or ever TO be gleaned.



One shined-up fellow declared that he was committed to “living in Eastern Standard Time and remembering it in Pacific.”



If you KNOW where you’re going, it doesn’t MATTER where you’re going.



Other day in a City gathering I heard the term, “sensory overload.”  Was that from the same guy who coined “compulsive behavior”?



In the City it’s ALL a ploy.



Everyone’s knowledge has an evil twin brother.



To the early-morning-informed, a shout is as good as a biscuit.



Anybody that’d worry over little things will worry over big ones, and, I might add,




In Training

“What's the difference between being blithely dumb, and at least suspecting you might could be otherwise?” 
“I don't know.” 
“That's just the point, now ain’t it?”



A Revolutionist heard that a serious City maxim was that, “You should never start a fight you can’t win,” and whilst being captive of irrepressible laughter, he fell down and ripped his trousers.



There was this one fellow who, first thing in the morning, would declare, “Ah hah! Since they haven't killed me yet, I'm in good shape for the rest of the day.”



I heard a guy say to his little nephew, who was always complaining of how dumb other people are, the following, “They may be, but rather than being upset, you should be happy to be smart enough to help make up for it.”



Under a variety of conditions, a Revolutionist should always be thinking, “Training, it’s training...I’m still in training...”


Side Door

Everyone has a garbage door; a side egress through which to dispatch stuff to the refuse heap.  And the door is named “talk”.



A young lad asked his grandfather about the nature of “disappointment,” and was told a story about a boy who sought the advice of a famous wise man regarding the same question, and was told to constantly look up into the depths of the heavens and ponder how “unimportant” he and his little disappointments were on the “great universal scale,” and after six or eight fruitless days of this pursuit, the boy suddenly thought, “Hey, regardless of all that philosophical stuff, I'm still important to ME.”  Afterwards, the grandson said, “So, that about wraps it up, eh Gramps?”  “Yeah kid, that about does it.”



I still kinda like this one guy's motto: 

He used to say, “Do all you can when you can, then later, perhaps, do nothing.”



As long as you see indignation safely passed off as intelligence and insight, rest easy, you're still in the City.



A Revolutionist has no return address.


Warm Weather Weekend Edition

In warm weather you don’t need advice.



It’s not really charity if it appears to be so.



One guy sez, that the benefit of living in the City, is that you get better at forgetting.

(In the Bushes the boon is in your increased ability to ignore.)



A Real Revolutionist has a secret handshake, except no one’s ever showed Him what it is.



If you’re gonna go on and tell anybody what it is, you might as well go ahead and break a circumference in two.


The True Purpose of Everything

The only way most People in the City can tell if they’re “getting anywhere,” is that they’re still breathing.



Be proud, be brave; don’t be a slovenly knave. 
Stand right up and say, “I’m not me, and I didn’t do it.”



There was this one guy who, whenever he would start to talk to himself, would say, “Look, I can’t talk just now.”



Once you are a full-fledged Trooper, and totally unemployed, at least you can’t be fired.



The true purpose of everything is something else.


The Fastest Train Running

Remember, weekend warriors:

In someone else’s game your scores never count as much as theirs. 

And, oh yeah, ALL games are someone else’s.



For a Revolutionist, the fastest train running hasn’t ever left yet.



This fleshy sort of City father noted to his anxious son, “Look, if I’ve told you ONCE, I’ve already lied to you.”



“Hey, let that be a lesson to you.” 
“That’s just the point.”



Just remember this:

When it’s four o’clock HERE, it’s five o’clock later.  (Disregard at your peril.)


A Dog Story

Those with an agenda will never hear the doorbell ring.



No gunfire is heard from the cemeteries.



A Man with a dictionary may still be a Man, but a pig with a clarinet is another matter altogether.



How is it that to a Revolutionist, a story can mean something, not mean something, and then mean something all over again?  Just for instance:  A guy who claimed to love his dog about as much as a human can love anything, always bought the same kind of food for his canine companion, and when asked about his insistence on this one particular brand of dog food, he said the he purchased it because it “looked yummy to him.”  And the questioner replied that such a reason was spurious inasmuch as a Man’s sense of the delicious was not necessarily the same as that of a dog, and even less so merely based on its visual appeal to the human, no matter HOW much he may cherish his pet.  And the dog’s master replied, “May be, but you missed the whole point,” which he had, didn’t and then some.  How is it, you reckon, that to a Revolutionist, life can oftimes mean something, not mean something, and then mean something all over again?



In the City, anyone who gives you personal advice of any kind, doesn’t know what they’re talking about.