If those generally agreeable to life in the city actually wanted to know anything interesting they would think along these lines:
“Okay --  if we are not controlled by the gods,
and we are not driven by the sins-of-our-fathers,
yet obviously cannot be in the state of total freedom my thoughts often present --
then what is going on around this neck of the universe that I do not presently see,
but might find germain?”
The mass of man is born not with a mind wired for such inquiry;
normal thoughts do not  desire real answers about their world –
thoughts only want to beget other thoughts;
the totality of man’s second reality is based on boot strapping  --
withal do the certain man’s most meaningful neural creations remain unseen  --   shown only in private in his secret gallery.
 
 
 

Lessons in the city are perforce based on the principal of: True or False,
whereas the true topography of life lies outside the scope of questions and answers, inasmuch as all such are constricted within the boundaries of the maps men’s minds symbolically construct to represent this omnipresent, tangible reality;
ergo is the struggle-to-believe compartment of the certain man’s brain vacant.
Only those who do not know, believe.
 
 
 

A man’s neural synapses are like:
water between fishes,
punctuation among words,
and uncertainly woven into the unstable fabric of truth-&-error.
(Where it is always open-season on similes, metaphors and wide mouth carp
you find that independent thinkers keep summer homes.
The certain man’s motto is: “If I cannot literally step on it  --  it is not worth stepping on.”)
 
 
 

For those seeking a way out of the city:
letting mental notions-of-you continue to run free in your brain
is carrying the concept of  juvenile-day-care a bit too far.
 
 
 

There is the strange case of one man who, when he arises from bed each morning, never knows whether he will be feeling snappy, or sappy
(he attributes this to the malady of, being-alive
[this is, howsomever, a non professional diagnosis
(also, you might note: knowing-what’s-going-on is the universe’s only really professional one)]).
 
 
 

Health Tip:
How You Know That You Are Dying: you don’t   --   unless you already are.
How You Know That You Do Not Know What Is Going On:
you want to convince people that you do  --  not least of all, yourself.
In the fields of life, the fully ripened melons are the ones which disappear;
everyone but the certain man will tell you why they are as they are;
life in man’s second reality is an endless game of:
attempted  --   presumed  --   rejected   --   attempted-again identification;
no one but the certain man is certain of anything, and him of but one:
the all white, black-hole of the city.
A certain man’s son sang a song:
“I shot an arrow into a thought, and all of the air turned back into air.”
(Science is a wonderful thing  --   if you don’t become poetic about it  --
that’s how the second reality got started in the first place  --
oh, it produced the inner urban landscape now so favored-by & beneficial-to man’s physical being,
and yet it is the place that runs would-be escapees ragged.)
 
 

Another sign you are not an independent thinker is that you still find yourself seriously thinking about the matters other people think about, and taking sides.
 
 
 

City men routinely enjoy proclaiming that:
“They have been swept away by the vicissitudes of history” --
one of the great uncredited expressions of mental hubris and silliness.
Ordinary men are important only to their mamma –
the certain man, only privately to himself................(on alternate Tuesdays).
 
 
 

Suspicions Validated! (for those who had them, and: Suspicions Supplied!  for those who did not):
untying one’s natural born neural connections can, in the beginning,
seem a matter quite tricky & complex,
but it is a Gordian knot held together only by the impression of its complexity;
and once, through your own initiative, you realize the source of Helen’s beauty,
her captivating charm is broken.
Thoughts are truly singular marvels of this universe,
but the certain man does not try to eat them or wear them.
 

While the collective’s descriptions of reality are the proper local depictions,
are you sure that the ears by which you hear same are the only ones available to you?
To the herd, life broadcasts a general program --
if it is to ever be broken down into more meaningful specifics,
the individual cow must do it.

If your thoughts make other cows nod their head knowingly, you are not an independent thinker, but  a homily hawker.
 
 
 

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