March 23, 2003                                                                      © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 
 

When asked his opinion on some non essential/cultural matter one man said:
“If I were to respond, my reply would be twofold:
first: my regular mind has as many meaningless opinions as the next man,
and would freely give you one;
secondly: I would tell you in advance to ignore it as meaningless  --  as would I.”

A man who thinks his opinion on some intangible subject has any value
couldn’t be more common, or double D dense.

Instead of wrestling with the concept of an inner-self,
one man wore a tee shirt with his photograph and the words: “This Is Not Me”.

If you promote your ideas by comparing them superiorly
to someone else’s --  you have no ideas that really ARE yours   --   you have nothing.

When he was physically at rest, this one man’s mind would run wild,
and when he was active  --  it was even worse!
(He changed his stage name to: What Is A Poor Man To Do.)

There is a secret cabal among the various realities whereby
any who cannot handle all possibilities that may in them arise are asked to leave.

On one world they solved the vexation of rain-on-the-weekend by making that temporal period flexible enough that they can cause it to fall anywhere in the week they choose,
(and one man there did the same thing for himself, mental wise.
They don’t spell, Fate the same way everywhere you know).

“You know, son,” said a father to his sprout,
“Words and thoughts are just like modeling clay,” and the lad gleefully replied:
“Yes, you’re right  --  they’re both yucky and sticky, and after they get old and hard  you can throw them at wimps and nerds, and scare the bejesus out of them!”
(and one man did the same thing to himself, mental wise.
The rebel mapmaker knows we live in a fold-up reality).

One man says he’s almost afraid to have too much everyday  fun ‘cause he fears life will remember it and bring it up later to use against him,” and his mother injected: “You’re right, it’s called DEATH!”  --   and boy!, was he relieved!..........well.........sort of.

Whenever one man’s thoughts would mentally criticize or correct
what someone else was saying, he would glance at them surreptitiously and mutter:
“I really do appreciate you looking after me like this,”
once he realized they were too dumb to spot sarcasm and retaliate.
(Oh yeah, and this other guy got to be SO tight with his thoughts
that he tried to kiss ‘em on the lips;
don’t ever say that dedication doesn’t count for something…well,
unless you know better.)
The chap stopping pedestrians explained himself this way:
“I used to be a preacher in a religion  --  then decided to cut out the middle man;
now I just tell people directly to  --  go to hell!”

Facts can only predict acts in the physical world;
the facts in the inner realm can predict only one thing:
that there will always be more “facts” forthcoming.
(A world without the possibility of actual “acts” occurring
is a nice place for a soothsayer to set up camp
[guess the human mind knows a good location also when it sees it, huh?!])
 

Now: History With OUT A Historectomy.
One man had a mind like a meat grinder;
another, a body like a cattle herd;
they merged and became (you guessed it)  --  civilization!
 

“To Live”  --  A Child’s Verse.
To live:
to live  --  you have to eat what is right for you;
to live  --  you have to get the rest, proper for you;
to live  --  you have to have thoughts  --  but no one knows which ones are best for you.
(To live a civilized, normal life is trickier than appears  --
through eons of human experience ‘tis been found that plagiarism is the safest policy.)
 

Explains one fellow:
“My lack of intellectual recognition can be traced to the vow I made as a child
to never tell anyone any thought that came to my mind that I did not bring there.”
And another chap made his own stab at mental independence
by never reading the Introduction to any book,
“Bad enough,” noted he, “To go trailing after someone else’s thoughts in the first place without the added embarrassment of allowing them to
verbally brow beat you in advance and implant the belief that your arrival in
their desired destination is a fait accompli and well deserved."
(Later in life he expanded this to include the whole part of any book.)
 

One man says that despite his ever increasing experience and insight, he still can’t shake the feeling that his worst personal foe is --  gravity!
(And he adds that it has reached such a pitch that
he does not himself know whether he means this literally or figuratively.)
 
 

One man’s motto is: “Everyone is born with a cat in their closet  --
but that is not the only place to keep your canary.”
  “Pa pa?”
“That's right my boy  --
 there is every likelihood that he is speaking of things other than birds and cats.”