(A key to some of the home grown symbolism herein employed can be found in the News Archives: December 10.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The fact that initially mind can directly see plain, unadorned  walls
is what made it able to develop colored paints, decoration, architecture,
and all of the man made condiments that make human life so uniquely enjoyable;
the fact that ordinary men cannot retrieve the original state,
and indeed have no desire to do so is what distinguishes the life of the certain man from theirs.
Fun-is-fun, but the big time version entails more than just
fascination with twinkling trinkets.
(And one man’s private, patriotically phrased aphorism:
“I regret that I have but one foolish sense of seriousness to give to the cause.”)
The secret fun of the certain man is not based on: fun-is-as-fun-does, but rather: fun-is-in-what-you-know
(“Profanely know,” adds the man with the motto).
 
 

In the early stages, the incipient independent mind speaks to itself in metaphor;
as its understanding of the nature of man’s mentally-based, other reality ripens, its messages to itself become less coded, and more pointed:

The World’s Safest Statement: “It takes one to know one”
without whose reality ministers would have no subjects to preach on with passion,
and ordinary men could not captiously carp at one another.
A favorite game among some is for one man to ask another:
“What is the difference between human advice and bird droppings?”
and the second man will reply: “Birds can fly”
(and if any ordinary people overhear it, they can participate by not finding it funny).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Another of the apparent city paradoxes:
those who think the worst of man are held up by other men
to be the best and most insightful among them.
(To keep the routine playing field level –  life does not admit the entry of bumpy information.)
 

When a man who is trying to think for himself gets disgusted enough at how thought generally works in humanity as a whole to say: “Damn!” he is actually saying: “I”
and identifying himself as the answer to the eternally posed question:
“Who here is not thinking for their self.”
 

Question: What is perhaps the only mental thing an independent thinker could do that is even remotely dangerous?  --
take credit for much of anything.
 

A Hollywood mystic mused:
“Most of the movies that are men’s mental life consist of fishbacks.”
   “You mean, flashbacks?”
“Yeah, them too.”
 
 
 
 
 

Local thinking’s allegiance is forever pledged to local forces;
this serves the dual purpose of protecting it, and keeping it at home where it belongs.
One man privately conceived of his normal, unrefined thinking as:
“The New Whores Of Babylon,”
and what he had mentally discovered on his own as: “The Pimp Of Freedom.”
The thinking of the rebel is a finger always pointing away from man’s collective mind.
Some believe that the word, supporter sounds better and is different from, toady –
but if your thinking is confined to that of man-the-collective,
                                             that is what you are nevertheless.
 

One man reflected: “As long as I’m alive, I know that life is still alive.”
The harsher the conditions, the more a rebel pretends not to notice;
all toes get mashed (of panthers, petunias and planets) --
whining turns the discomfort into cancer, and blinds the sight of the certain man
(and when such occurs, life says: “Got cha!” [just a little humor]).
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Collective’s Psychology Explanations:
Believing their captivity was caused by chaotic conditions
relieves men from considering the possibility of a systematic escape plan.
(Once you can see this, go on to the advanced, turn-it-around-the-other-way version.)
The collective never has a universal view –
only a local, fragmented one, in as many pieces as there are cows in the herd.
Announcement: This week’s Stupidity Tests have been moved from Thursday.
 

The reason there are no serious city books without prologues or epilogues
is because such might too strongly remind men’s minds of the time when they could directly confront the point-blank, unadorned walls of their own original nature.
The ordinary thinking of man adheres to the working principle of the stage magician:
“Tell the audience the trick you are going to perform  --   do it  --
and then tell them that you have done it.”
Without this ever present, all encompassing framework, man’s routine thinking,
and the whole other reality it creates in his head could not survive.
Only he who knows does not dwell his mind on the tricks being
constantly performed   --  they are entertainment for the herd  --
the certain man is privately engaged in a neural legerdemain of which
the ordinary cannot begin to imagine;
as opposed to the norm, the act he presents in his mind to himself is not at all
subtle, or based on misdirection, but rather is brutal and in-your-face.
    In the city are the streets serpentine  --
    out on the plains do the rebels walk a straight path.
        Man’s collective mind is to metaphor as
        an imaginary sheep flock is to the reality of a woolen jock strap.
        Announcement: The city is the land of plenty  --
                                        if you consider 2 plenty.
 
 
 

The way thinking about man’s intangible world appears to progress and expand amongst the herd is akin to a field & track situation wherein for every new runner who gains widespread recognition, an older one is shot in the foot
(and curiously enough, whilst we’re in the area of pedal digits:
as has been previously noted: man’s other, mental reality is sustained solely by boot-strapping).

The certain man is alone on this planet in his private efforts to
strip his brain’s inherent dreams of their after market add-ons;
    his independent thinking is the only procedure known whereby a man can
    kill himself without injuring himself;
          he throws out the brain’s imaginary bath water
          while ignoring mankind’s illusory mental baby.
 
 

                                                                                                                     All prisons are local  --