May
26, 200l.
A father said to a son:
”What do you make of the fact
that the most memorable event
in most people’s lives is them
discovering they have cancer?
And don’t say that it simply
shows how boring most people’s lives are,”
an admonition which snatched
the lad’s programmed reply,
and left him speechless,
apparently not surprising the
elder, who continued talking.
”It would be expected that a
matter of potential finality would
grab a person’s attention
-- but hold it for the rest of their life?! –
-- something more
is afoot in the underbrush-of-the-brain, Wayne,”
(although the boy’s name was
not Wayne).
“Those who do not soon die,
in popular and
medical parlance, are never called, ”cured,”
but merely, “survivors,”
and the victims themselves refer
to their continued state of
existence in temporary terms
not unlike ex-drunks:
'Hello, my name is Florence,
and I am a cancer survivor now
for five years,'
and it is said with a pleasure
that transcends the fact that the speaker is obviously happy to still be
among the quick.
No my boy, how the mind uses
its knowledge of death is,
in common minds, an unexamined
lesson on the nature of the
mind.
As evidenced in religions by
notions of an afterlife,
there is a endless, blanket
awareness of mortality,
but men’s minds visit this knowledge
with less frequency
than do their bodies, their
place of worship.
No, not at all do ordinary men’s
thoughts normally give much attention to the matter of their inevitable
physical death,
yet something excites the mind,
almost pleasurably,
to have the subject forcibly
brought before it,
(as in the cancer diagnosis).
Why?
Ask yourself: ‘Why?’ my boy.
From our family’s privileged
view
it has to do with something
mental -- not physical:
the positive effect the subject
of death seems to often have
is due to thoughts’ knowledge
not
of
man’s physical death,
and not of their
death
even,
(as you may have been expecting
me to say) -- nay!
It all has to do with the fact
that they have neither life nor
death.
They are an entity that by all
mental concepts,
have-a-life ---
yet: are not alive! ……and thus can never die.
Thoughts, my boy, are positively
fascinated by the idea of death
in that they can never experience
it -- AND --
they would dearly love to do
so.
’Hi, my name is Albert, and I
am a comment survivor now for ten years.’
Fulius nullis."
Thus did the father close his remarks.
* * *
The supreme verbal waste of life
is in talking about ills & emotions.
If you are going to spend time
in thought, do so on subjects wherein
there is the possibility of
it being useful;
the one subject being: thinking.
* * *
Talking to God is the nicest
thing an ordinary brain can do for itself;
it represents the mind struggling
to be in the best,
highest possible relationship
with its thoughts.
* * *
The mistake men make is in perceiving
the mind as being
something different from thoughts,
as though one is the container
of the other,
when in truth, all that the
mind is -- IS
thoughts;
there is no container
-- no mind-thing.
* * *
The Broker
Thought’s legitimate job is to
churn feeling’s account --
-- keeping ‘em always
excited, via imagination.
* * *
Noting the stupidity of man is
the closest thing there is to an act of actual stupidity.
* * *
Definition: A
moron: Someone
who learned from others.
Although everyone does have
friends, the privileged-&-wealthy
have a surplus of such,
who in truth, do them ill,
(understanding of course that
the reference is to cellular matters
occurring entirely in your head).
* * *
Those a man meets,
asleep in a ditch,
all curiously resemble him.
Life
will forget & forgive anything -- take a lesson.
* * *
To mundane minds it appears that
men earn/learn their neurons,
while they inherent their hormones,
yet to all the former do the
latter be parent.
Thus in vain do mental eyes
search for beginnings & ends,
but thus in vain, Wayne
-- thus in vain.
For all there really is -- IS
all the stuff crammed into the middle section, which routine I’s always
view via distorted sight,
resulting in what is essentially
-- blindness.
One man says:
"Had parker been verbally on
shakespeare,
and the bard been hip to the
bird,
together they could have sung:
'It’s all just playing
with symbols --
a pleasure in the head.'"
Rivers running high and low,
a’er the nervous system were shaped;
some men frolic in the flow,
where others never think to go.
And another guy says:
“Even if life is
a pain -- it is a shoddy man who will let on.”
(He later composed a verse):
When I was born I laughed -- no lie,
and with each passing day,
I now realize why.
J
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