This is a most fruitful, ‘round the clock review
                        for the would be rebel to pursue,
wherein daily occurs the freakish confusing of facts for problems (more specifically):
where the facts-of-life are unprofitably mingled with the problems which
men feel/say they experience by BEING alive.
There are carnival sized distinctions that standard consciousness is clearly not programmed to note,
but which the certain man
with the uncommon genetic schematic
can not only see, but also employ as a probative tool in his private investigation of
this never ending internal sideshow.

For one thing: the facts-of-life are life’s exclusive business,
and about which man can do nothing:
the problems-of-man however are humanly conceived problems,
and can be humanly solved (or at least altered to human conception),
but the facts-of-life can never be solved, nor somehow reformed --
for they are not problems to begin with, but rather laws defining the order of our existence in this universe,
and confusing the two (which is the normal thing to do)
inclines you to diddle away emotional and neural energy that could be spent in
more interesting activity (such as getting backstage at the facts-of-life review).

For another thing: the facts-of-life are silent,
while the problems-of-man must be enunciated;
the facts have no need to verbally address man  --
he is at all times, acutely aware of their presence,
in fact one way to define “human-problems” is to say that they are:
the facts-of-life made verbal  --
always turned thereby into a different creature than they were
pre consciousness’ handling thereof.
The facts-of-life men do not much speak of directly, indeed they find nothing to say about them after simply noting their existence (what is there to add after a man
points out: “The fact is: jumping from a ten story building will kill you.”?)

And another: the facts-of-life are impersonal,
and men do not perceive them as otherwise  --  UNTIL their thoughts begin to
carelessly mix them in with their own unique creation: problems.
Some facts-of-life can in fact kill you, but men do not even see these as problems
until their consciousness begins to speak OF --  problems;
then it becomes a situation of a blind man wearing boxing gloves
throwing everything he can reach into a blender,
                   then pours out  --   a groan and a pout;
the elemental-inescapable once in man’s mouth turns into:
                        the faux-avoidable-via-complaining:
a ready example is man’s incessant babble about death  --
not about death cleanly and directly, but rather about the problems attendant thereto, such as: which are the proper measures to take now
in order to survive it in good shape for an afterlife,
or even talk about the problems of just illness --  not that it can lead to death,
but about the expense, inconvenience and uncertainty of treating same.

Whatever is an inevitable  --  fact-of-life  --  human consciousness
(manifesting its existence entirely in words)
will speak of far beyond objectively noting the fact’s existence,
and in terms centered around the speaker’s personal preference;
men do not speak or think at length about the bare bones of any fact-of-life itself,
but rather about what they say they feel and think about the effect that
the fact has had on their life  --  the problems it has caused,
although commonly does consciousness speak of and treat the problems as completely unconnected to their facts of origin.
 
 

The thoughts native to ordinary man’s consciousness de facto act as if
changing the name: facts-of-life into: problems-of-life
will make the immutable malleable  --  and from their view, it almost works  --
well, it works well enough to go constructively unchallenged among most --
only the certain man determined to get to the bottom of what keeps this: show-that-never-ends --  yet never gets anywhere either  --  going, questions it  --  looks into, and finally faces up to its childishly perspicuous reality:
the indigenous facts-of-life, and the mortally created, problems-of-man
are two entirely different things,
and but one only worthy of a conscious man’s attention;
a conscious man not only does not try to fly off of tall buildings,
but (believe-it-or-bite-a-buick)
he does not think about not being able to do so as a problem;
there is the cutting of your toe  --
and there is the worrying about the possible pain of stitches;
there is the concern over the likely discomfort of an illness  --
and there is the satisfaction of cutting off such crap by dying.
 

When you realize what is going on with life’s endless road show
(“Featuring  --   humans!   That’s right: live and in person:
six billion (count ‘em) --  six billion, living, breathing creatures with
(are you ready for this)  --  PROBLEMS!
Get your tickets while they’re hot.”) the entire affair changes entirely.
Looked at from the private tent of The Three Headed Man,
people with problems are idiots (for which of course,
there is always a place in a carnival);
a realized man does not need problems  --  the facts-of-life alone will keep his plate full nicely for his seventy years at the table (thank you very much)  --
might say such a man:
“I may bleed --  but I won’t bitch;
bleeding when cut is a fact-of-life;
complaining about the facts-of-life is the only problem possible for me,
and one which I now realize is illusory,
in the sense that not mentioning it  --   keeps it from existing”
to which the herd would reply:
“Hold on!  --   it is not THAT simple!”  (which is what man’s ordinary consciousness ALWAYS says when things are too obvious and simple);
were not things complex and difficult to comprehend,
men would still be squatting in caves, picking lice off one another for entertainment;
life would in no wise be as men now know it were not the facts-of-life
continually confused with the consciousness produced, problems-of-man.

An ordinary man could not live an ordinary life without he have
an endless supply of problems;
the would-be, runaway-from-the-show will never see fully what is going on
without he live clearly distinguishing ‘tween the facts-of-life and, human problems;
one exists as surely as does the five hundred pound, dog-faced, bearded lady
in tent number three,
while the other is the opinion of her  --  as held by her husband  --
who wed her by mail    --    sight unseen.

The certain man sleeps not with pigs in pokes,
nor does he even promise to --  call-them-some-time;
being alive and with a consciousness that can be made to do miracles
is all the challenge he requires;
problems are for peons (and those who truly need them................okay;

(P.S. you don’t sleep with pigs-in-pokes do you?  --
do you always take a real good look every night  at who you’re crawling in bed with?  --
yeah, that’s right: even though you DO live alone!)
 
 

A father said to a son: "There was a man who wrote stories & stuff about that matter of interest to us,
and some times he would sit down and write something from begining to end, all at once,
and other times he would begin a writing, leave it for years, then come back to it,
and after reading only the last line of what he had long ago previous written, finish it."
The boy pondered this for a bit --  then finally asked:
"So what's the point?  --    why are you telling me this?"
         "Just thought you might like to think about it the next time you try to think about your thinking."