KEY TO SYMBOLISM:
the city: man's ordinary mind.
the mayor, warlord: the principal spokesman & manifestation of a man's ordinary mind.
the king: the non ordinary part of man's mind  --   the people: the rest.
the collective, the herd: ordinary humanity mentally (non pejorative)
the rebel, the certain man: a person struggling for freedom from the collective mind (aka: mystic).
the father & son: man's on going, internal conversation: the brain's cortex both speaking and hearing itself speak,
                              and the father representing a mind's attempt to produce a rebel.
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Just like: no matter how healthy you live  --  you’re still gonna die,
so too: no matter how much you learn  --  you’re still gonna stupid;
this info should not strike you as a downer  --  but if it does,
then it’s too late for you anyway.
 

How Mind Works, Part 87:
In that every time he saw a sick person he also saw a physician,
one man concluded that doctors cause illness.
In the all encompassing mental concept of: cause-&-effect,
men’s minds are the &:
the eternal bridge from nowhere and back
(only the certain man realizes when to get off that pony).
 

The certain man’s desire to understand what is going on
is initially like his mind being filled with numerous squirming worms;
the realization of what is actually going on is like them all being swallowed in an instant by an unseen fish  --   and for a time, all is now peaceful and well  --  but then,
(if he is the real certain man) the fish that swallowed his mind begins to squirm,
and he then awaits (or seeks) an even larger fish to swallow up the first one;
and so  --  on goes his life
(unless he weakens and settles for staying in the belly of the latest fish he is in:

The ever alive certain man knows there is no edge to mind,
no end to knowing;
big fish swallow smaller fish ad infinitum.

[withal, the certain man was the inspiration for a song of the same genre:
“I’ll Sail My Ship Alone.”])
Cattle in one place have their own collective view of such mental goings on
which they have put into rhyme:

Being born to city people automatically civilizes a man once for a collective existence;
those who willfully civilized themselves for a private, second time become like, undercover-recluses even while amidst the many
(and those above the cover say: “We don’t get it?!?”)

From the certain man‘s view: being civilized is not what the civilized believe it is;
there is an enormous collective game,
but the only scoring that ultimately matters is done individually.
 
 

The weak support the strong;
the weak support the weak;
the strong support the strong,
and the strong support the weak,
and twice a day in each man’s head they get together and shout: “Mooo!”
A man’s mental larder is not really his if he did not stock it;
question: who would put the dumb things they have in their mind, in their mind?
 

How It Is:
the collective is its own best friend:
the collective is its own worst foe;
the collective is its own zip code;
the collective is whatever life makes it think it is
(and 'long about here, the certain man says: “Check, please.”)
 
 
 

One man waited for a call  --  no –
one man waited for THE call;
he waited –
and he waited  --
and he waited,
which wouldn't'ave been that big a deal ‘cept for the fact that
all during the waitin’ he was thinking ‘bout
how he was a’ waitin’.
Being scheduled for execution this Saturday is not the problem  --  knowing about it is,
therefore when it comes to fully realized reality (the inevitable),
the certain man keeps himself in the dark (that is to say, one part of himself).
 
 
 

You cannot pretend to be in control of your residence when the dog is out of the yard;
those who define, DoingTheThing will step on ants and shoot down blimps
(in the grand land of Neural Goobydust).

Rest for the intellect means: ceasing to be the intellect.
(Does your liver ever ask for some time-off?)
 
 
 

One man was sorely disappointed that there was no world wide, Editor For Letters
to whom he could address insightful, literate, witty and well founded
critiques of human behavior  --
and just then, his mind nudged him and winked.
 
 

The collective minded are in for one final, unsuspected treat:
for right up until their very end, they think life is some sort of test.

The independent thinker’s mind is the only creature who can thrive by feeding on itself
(to the certain man: what to eat is not a trial  --
what to see, not a challenge).

If men did not discuss men's behavior on the basis of morality,
men would have a whole lot less to discuss about men.
When the collective hobbyists ran out of things to say about the runnings of their model trains on their tracks,
they began to talk about them as though they should be able to fly
(and the real thinker thinks: “Hell --  they DO fly” [only he understand what this means]).
When cows miss their train, they’ll say:
“Ah, shoot!  I didn’t really wanna go anywhere anyway!”

Sexual Symbolism Stretched Quite A Way:
the independent thinker --  in bed alone  --  just him and his mind --
is still a menage à trois.
A mind that has been created twice (once by the city, once by the man) is never alone  --  even when it is alone
(only among the collective is:” One plus one” limited to Two
[the certain man is not mathematically illiterate  --  just flexible]).
 
 

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