Intellectual Life In The City:
pygmies long to find giants on whose shoulders to stand  --  they do not however,
let such interest keep them in the meantime from climbing atop other pygmies.
Coronary corollary: a pissed midget is a happy midget  –  or:
cows who never leave the herd at all
have no idea whether their lot in life be happy or not.
 

A prairie dog who will volunteer to do charitable work amongst a cow herd
has the makings of a saint......................................or a smooshed prairie dog.
Only man’s hands & feet are dumb enough to go wherever their brain tells ‘em to go
when it’s them  --  and not the brain  –  who’ll be getting’ all sweaty and dusty.
And let all bow and pay homage to that splendiferous cranial organ
who writes and directs all of that singular music  --
music which it has not to perform.  Mighty, mighty talented  --  and:
mighty, mighty slick.
“Salaam!  O you great one!” shouted one man:
“Felicitations, you scintillating scaramouch!” he muttered, and the mind smiled sweetly and waved its hand benedictorily in his direction, which gave him pause to wonder: “Which is the easier to fool: me or my mind?”
 

If a man approaches you from the direction of the collective, dressed in a silly outfit you may be assured that his business with you is deadly serious.
Affairs of the city are not always exactly upside down --
no, some times they are turned inside out  --  they have to be to make ‘em fit.
 

When the cry was heard: “We’re all individual neurons in life’s brain!’
one man looked around him and thought:
"Then some of these guys are strokes just waiting to happen.”
 

An institution with more than two real individuals is a fake institution.
 

Name one way to become, collectively-significant  --   die!
Name a way to become individually so  --  intellectually live!
(Note: one is harder on cows than the udder.)
 

Those flung furthest from the city shipwreck care least whether they drown or not,
just as do thoughts furthermost from any relevance.
Sitting alone in a wood, a man mused:
“Why is the process never reversed with animals feeling sorry for me!’
A man who thinks and never understands what thinking is
may live to think another day  --  or: may never live to think at all.
In childhood the ordinary play, cops & robbers, cowboys & indians
while the independent minded amuse themselves with the game of me & me.
A man truly civilized, that is: beyond perfunctory city standards,
would be an invisible man.
At local levels, all reality is local reality.
Fame Update: One man rode himself into history.
 

Anything one mind can construct another can destroy;
anything one mind can create another must criticize.
And one man thought: “I just love it when life is fair”
and left immediately so’s not to have to contemplate the alternative.
(Thus does culture-in-the-city bop right along.)
 
 

A mind that can look itself dead-in-the-eye and not either blink in disbelief, or laugh uproariously has got to be looking at someone else’s mind............(don’t you reckon?!)
 
 

Outside the neural city, a man not dead by his own hand is not truly dead.
 
 

There is nothing funny about serious matters –
so it is fortunate for the certain man that there are none.
 
 

Amongst cattle there is little contest ‘twix habit and thinking
(which, according to one man, is why cows live longer).
 

Looking internally at his furnace, a man mused:
“I can afford the heat  --  but can I afford the cold?!”
Allegories that men instantly believe make sense are like three day old bread --  wait, correction: allegories that make sense are like three day old bread
(whose expiration date on useful data ranges from ten seconds to five thousand years,
depending on the mental blood type of the consumer).

Within the intelligence of the collective:
what is called the “imitation” of a thing is in fact as good as the thing.
Fact In The Straightforward Mind:

Outside the neural city, a man not dead by his own hand is not truly dead.
An independent thinker is like a cow with a pocket calculator.............’cept
he doesn’t have a pocket.
To distinguish himself from all the other self-proclaimed, independent thinkers
one began referring to himself as, THE independent-thinker
(‘til all the other cows sat on him).
Advice From The Heart Of The Collective:
“If you want to remain sane after the age of maturity  –  resist at all cost,
anything new.”
All cortical cities are built on the bedrock of the two R’s: Repetition & Regularity (known to those outside the city as: Mootness & Monotony).
All human history could be writ under the title: “When Cows Go Bad.”
“The philosophy of the collective, and of man’s mental city is:
  A man can not look after himself.”
   “Is that meant as an accusation?”
“Do you think it should be?”
 

When cattle do not want to hear the ingredients of one of their favorite foods
impartially described they will say:
“Well it’s easy to be critical!”
To live peacefully in the mental city, ‘tis best not to pay much attention to
what you eat.
One man's private theme song:

Question: where do cows go after they die?
Response: how the hell can they tell when they’re dead?!
What was originally in the jungle, a friendly purr,
in the city has become humor (which is the camouflage for criticism).