Whatever some human mind thinks is somewhere a fait accompli.
“Father, what does, somewhere actually mean?”
    “Son, for our special purposes:
      picture what your mind normally thinks, ‘somewhere’ means –
      then take it somewhere else.”
“Ah, pa pa !  --   you cause me to remember: that is what I am supposed to do with
all collective mental concepts so as to force their concealed reality out into the light  --  right?!”
     “Dead on, my boy  --  dead on.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

His latest book he titled:
“A World Of Words Is A World Of Endless Uncertainty”
which he would autograph with a lengthy, illegible signature
(and his publisher, Mr. Holland would periodically seek confirmation from his partner, Prof. Tunnel: “Still no way out, huh?!”)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“Hey!" exclaimed the eldest of the Hey Brothers,
“What’s the use in being concerned about what you think and say
  if they don’t mean pig shit anyway!”
      “Hey yeah!” cried another of the brothers,
      “And what’s the sense in trying to attend to your consciousness
        when it clearly doesn’t require your participation?!”
And a third brother, hearing this, and processing it in a totally unexpected way said: “Shut up! --  you’re suddenly making me depressed.”
In the world of herds, the notion of: “Use-it-or-lose-it” is entirely a dream concept,
as, in a reverse example: all of the cows can go: “Moo!”
and then collectively pretend that they did not.
There will be no incursion by outside truth to bring surcease to local illusions;
what goes on within the confines of the city mind is what goes on,
and any argument to the contrary is simply part of what goes on.
 

For a man born with that peculiar possibility,
the ultimate challenge is for him to somehow move his overall thought activity from the copy-cat, who’s-my-hero-today part of his mind, and find the place therein
of the individual him  --
which in the beginning is weak and tricky to locate,
but for the certain man the reward is worth whatever the effort;
indeed for him, there is nothing in life comparable.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In the middle of the conference a man suddenly stood and cried: “Stop!
Forget all your theories and speculation  --
I just now realized what is really going on in this matter we continually discuss,”
and the chairman quickly interrupted him by loudly banging his gavel and shouting: “Sir!  --  we are professionals here!   --   recognized as such by the populace  --
we do not, ‘suddenly-realize’ things.”
    And one man you never hear of anymore (if anyone ever did),
    constructed an entire philosophy of life on one word.
If the cookie-cutter part of the mind decides to look for The Great Secret
it believes that the more verbose and complex a possible source, the better --
while the man who has found the independent area of his thinking
gradually begins to suspect  --  to sense
the stark simplicity of what he is closing in on.
 

The only way that the certain man’s search makes any sense to ordinary minds
is for them to take it literally  --  which mutilates it beyond recognition.
Anything in man’s mental-only-realm that he takes seriously  --  he ruins
(see: religion, mythology, psychology, philosophy and the arts
[“ruins” that is, for any enlightening purpose.])
“So, pa pa  -- how can you tell if you are being unduly serious?”
      “That is an easy one  --   you are uncertain.
        Ordinary humor is rooted in aggression  --
         the only thing that makes the certain man smile
         is the recognition of what is really going on;
         his mirth does not require the duality of a set-up and a punch-line –
         for him, the realization of life’s unity tells it all.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

In his almost super human desire to, do-better  --  this one man somehow did!
(“Unbelievable!" said a bystander, himself interested in that special affair
about which we daily here speak:
“Absolutely --  unbelievable   --    but you know what?   I almost believe it   --
in my position, how can I not?!”)
Ordinary minds that say they can fly can never do so,
for they only say they can in imitation of what someone else has said;
eventually the certain man says nothing about the matter
(and even if he did, he would be too high in the sky for anyone to hear him).
                   Aeronautical Note: the sky is as high as you can think.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Now some temporal news:
one man says he is delighted to have been able to cancel his individual time zone, (notes he): “Stupidity only survives serially”
(perhaps this is why the certain man’s thoughts are so short?!?!)
And a father told a son:
“If you still think ordinary talk has any significance  --  just tune in to your own head.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A writer decided to do a book about a certain man whom he believed knew-what-was-going-on, and planned to title the work:
“The Man Behind The Public Persona We See” --  but the project fell through when
he discovered that there was nothing behind it.