Just as the healthy dislike the sick, and the learned the ignorant,
so too do those who do not realize what is going on resent any they suspect do.
(It works out nice that the certain man finds himself acceptable,
and thus has at least one person who likes him.)
 
 
 

Many soap operas, movies and novels are fashioned after real life.
(Captive minds find comments like this totally un funny, and not all all enlightening.)
The thing about ordinary thought is that it never feels with absolute certainty
that it is looking in the proper end of any particular idea.
The certain man’s mind is as ambidextrous as the world the collective’s has spawned;
to one who knows  --    everything in the second reality
makes as much sense turned this way as it does turned that
(which is why the realization doesn’t shake your hand, but tickles you under the chin).
 
 
 
 

Those civilized but once always feel that to be so is in part to suffer;
such is the life of those who live where hormones and neurons do public battle.
All of the certain man’s conflicts occur in private.
  “Huh!   I always figured he didn’t have any.”                              Same thing.

Second reality matters that you can totally hide  --  cease to be
(deals don’t come no better’an that).
And yet  --   life in the city makes bitter tastes a devil to give up.
(This is where the existence of equally operational, dual ends to every idea
proves so handy.)
 
 
 
 

One of independent mental means would be as an ex smoker
who loses a lung to cancer yet never thinks of his previous pastime,
(or a man who awaknes and ceases to think about how asleep other people are).
If, through words, you can make a man feel guilty, defensive, or sad
you can be certain that he is not the certain man.
Corollary: when circumstances warrant: the certain man will try to make
everyone with whom he is in momentary contact,
feel completely at ease being what they think they are.
Only deeds jolt the real, physical world,
and only the vaporous, man's verbal domain.
 
 
 
 

Never tell anyone your schedule  --  and if you do  --  change it  --
and if you don’t have one  --    change it too.
More cows die each year from seriousness than all other second reality ills combined.
The trick of the city game is knowing when to pick up the ball,
and when to leave it lay
(a tactic totally foreign to the mind).
 
 
 
 

To remain in an area of conflict is to eventually become a belligerent partisan yourself,
which is why the certain man lets his mental feet do all his in town talking.
 
 
 
 

If what ordinary  men call thinking were sex
it would be like:
doing it in the dark with your eyes closed,
wearing three overcoats and six rubbers.
Moral: who needs a moral after THAT?!
 
 
 

For those seeking independence of thought,
the serious minded can be of no assistance;
those seeking aid from gods, the learned, experts and other assorted inmates
are still confused regarding the components of prison walls mortar.
 
 
 

The, miracle-of-life is not in your being born,
but in the possibility of you resurrecting yourself mentally from the grave that is
the herd’s sign of maturity.
 
 
 

Making verbal light of morality
is one way ordinary men reaffirm their submission thereto.
 
 
 

Shock proof synaptic bridges represent sanity in the city,
which accounts for the popularity amongst the few of the song:
“I Wanna Move To The Outskirts Of Town.”
Nothing more pleases the herd than to march in perfect lockstep;
the certain man (in his independence of thought) is not a rebel for the sake of being a rebel,
but stays out of mental cadence because of the cracks it opens up in man’s
collective consciousness
which give him access to information normally sealed off from the mortal mind.
The secret will not be found anywhere in the landing of the foot fall in:
“Hup, two, three, four,”
but rather when it is up in the air between steps.
 
 
 

In allegorical wolf packs,
clever would-be leaders can gain dominance by slyly attacking the very concept of leadership & submission;
now you might think that even a wolf would be too smart to fall for this,
but in creatures lacking thought, even the obvious can trip you right up
even in broad-open, high-noon daylight.
   "So how come can what you just described fool men  --  who can think?!"
Hold up a sec  --   what was the last part of that sentence?
Some of you might like to consider this further  --  and some of you not.
The City's Uncodified Motto:
"Just because something does not mentally, feel-right
is no justification for not supporting it if everyone else is."
(When you ponder such as this,
have you really any question as to why life keeps so much hidden from man?)
When both the audience and performer feel moved to get up and leave the theatre --
the show may have some real merit.
 
 
 

Eventually life will kill everybody --
but why let it repetitiously rattle you to the distraction resembling death
every day before then.
One man blames his hormones;
another, his neurons  --  and both be wrong;
the certain man silently attributes the whole thing to the Big Bang
(the one that occurred in man’s brain and ushered in consciousness.)
  “Hey Adam!   --  can you hear me now?
    Adam, Homer, Gilgamesh  --  can anybody hear me yet?”
 
 

Legend tells of a forgotten ancient city:
a legend lying mute reveals that the city had no foundation   --   'til it poured its own.
   "Zarathustra  --   are you receiving me now?!"
 
 

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