KEY TO SYMBOLISM:
the city: man's ordinary mind.
the plains (open plains): area of the brain outside the city.
the mayor, the tyrant, the 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, the warrior: a person struggling for
   freedom from the collective city mind (aka: mystic).
civilized: the brain being firmly under city control.
the father & son: man's on going, internal conversation: the
   brain's cortex both speaking and hearing itself speak,
   with the father representing a mind's rebel.
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The most basic requirement for an artist is being able to assume in advance
the position: “Fuck what other people think” --
in a sense the certain man is both an artist and a philistine
with his own consciousness filling the roles of both artist and other people.
 
 

Critics say of man’s relentless expansion:
“We take Nature apart without even understanding it”
and also without ordinary men being allowed to comprehend
that clearly thus does Nature want man to do.

The moral, social, religious, political and all otherwise complaints that ordinary men have with one another are all due to the fact that people are always either hungry,
or remembering what it is like to be so
(that is why, never reflecting on yesterday's kill, lions have no philosophy).
 

There is a clock in the belly and a calendar in the blood,
and in most men’s minds a vague sense of urgency.
 

Just because in a particular situation he is helpless
is no excuse for the certain man to think, feel and act as though he is.

In one land, the mightiest of the mental rebels
carried around, for no reason discernible to the villagers,
rabid beavers in their shorts.

Whatever the conditions  --   man’s body adapts,
his mind too, but curiously it resists acknowledging that it does;
mind’s adaptability is of great benefit to ordinary men  --
not so much so to the certain man.

What the ordinary call their knowledge of man’s inner life
is little more than the reaffirming of bruises.

Normal debate about man is the first step to cannibalism,
and no rebel’s intellect can live on man’s common, collectively-incestuous mental fare.
 

If you lived long enough, life would make everyone finally do everything at least once   --   except for one thing.

If the ordinary did not think that life was running wrong  --
it would not be running right.
Today’s Cheer-Up Call:
Even the dead are transforming energy and thus being useful
(how many living can so lay claim).

The doctor said, regarding symptoms pertinent to his diagnosis:
“The way you can tell is that you have brain seizures” and the patient asked:
“How can you tell that you are having brain seizures?”
 
 

One man who had spent much money attempting to improve-himself would constantly post little notes to himself reminding him to change his behavior in this-or-that instance
which he would later stop and read  --  ponder a moment , then say:
“Ah  --  that doesn’t apply to me”
(who would better know?!)

What ordinary men call being civilized
is just a cheap and easy imitation of being civilized.

What is it really about sitting still that the dog so dislikes:
the sitting itself, or its forcing him to look at whatever is in front of him
for more than a second or so like he normally does.

Mind is scarce constructed to think about something
without thinking something about it.

Long before anyone ever has any notions of becoming intellectually independent
they are already firmly wired into man’s worldwide neural network;
this cannot be avoided, and ‘tis from this position that everyone begins  --
the sole question is: “What now?”
The mind of man is not normally programmed to think about a thing
without thinking something personally pertinent about the thing (to wit):
“What does it mean to me?”  a query that gets a rebel no where.
 
 

When ordinary minds comment on the obvious it ceases to be obvious.
When the natural born surety of your thoughts start to become otherwise,
and all your uncertainties begin to seem moot,
you are finally wandering from the city and should be on the lookout for rebel camps (that is): for a place where you can establish one  --   one of your own  --
the only one there will ever be.

Meaning with, anti-meaning thrown into the middle of it
is what passes for meaning in the city.
(This by the way is why diners there, as they seat themselves at the collective table, wonder how long it will be before they are on the menu.
[yes, it is so that the certain man does engage in self-cannibalism  --  but:
he retains no memory of his swallowing.])

The mayor and all those in power favor order and stability
while artists sing the praises of The Truth;
the certain man must at one stage so mediate between his
natural born city mind and his nascent rebel camp that their
distinctions become operationally irrelevant and eventually are as unthought-about
as a bad meal one had twenty years ago.

Within the collective experience: a cry for help is the producing of help
(even the most efficient of human businessmen could a lesson from life when it comes to the delivery-of-services).
 
 

JAN'SDAILYFRESHREALNEWS