On one world, local conditions have set aside one day a year in which
no one has to know what they are doing,
(and only an Earthling would expect this to be followed by a sarcastic comment).
Also (for your edification): temporary visas to such exotic realms
are getting harder to come by (due to the fact that places available only temporarily
are more exclusive than those humans perceive as accessible permanently,
[known amongst conventional minds as]:
stupidity seems more stable than understanding
[an impression to which only a planet-bound creature would succumb.])
 
 

To a son when young, a father said:
“Those given to talk, likely talk too much,”
and when older, the boy said to himself:
“And those who talk too much, talk WAY too much,”
which can be viewed also as a comment on the relationship between what collective humanity thinks of as, thinking, and the individualized variety of the certain man.

On another world: one man’s gain is everybody’s loss,
(and one young lad is getting much better at spotting when these stories are
actually about man’s mind rather than what they seem to be,
[indeed, one chap opines:
"Be a non technological story NOT about the mind  --  what real COULD it be about!"
‘Tis true that The Resurrection of Jesus may not have happened,
but the telling of the story does, and that’s all of any consequence to routine minds]).
And one kid said to another: “Man, its NEAT to know what is really going on!”
   “Why?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
....................“Say --  that IS neat!”
 
 

The “heart break of the story” (as some news outlets later referred to it)
was that after the authorities had finally  --  forcibly pried his fingers from the ledge, they discovered that the ledge was him!
(“The platform of his regular mind, you mean?!”)
And one guy’s whole approach is to  --  take no approach.
Your Exspirational Thought For The Day.
The mind is like a radio  --   that can never be turned off  --
but the son of a bitch can be TUNED!
Your Definition Of The Day.
A more perceptive mind: a receiver that is also its own broadcast source
(or: a mirror not unknown to provide its own objects of reflection).
 
 

The many and varied rituals in which men engage
are for the benefit of those who do not know what to make of life:
that is the bad news  --  it is of course also the good news for those who do.
“And escape,” mused one man, “Even from a make believe prison-of-fools,
is still SOME sort of progress!                                               (Isn’t it?!?!)"
More From The Daily News’ Dictionary.
Habit: A poor man’s ritual,
(All right already! – stop drooling like an expectant pup; here’s the other one:
Ritual: A fool’s ritual.)
Weird And Totally Overlooked Fact.
A sure way to recognize a man who has no idea of what is going on with life
is that what he says is always the expected:
the life of life is not predictable  --   only vainglorious stupidity is
(and that, never by the stupid).
Okay, question: in what way can the terminally dense always be identified?
They are too dense to know they are --  hell,
too dumb to even consider it within the realm of possibility  --
(’course that’s also precisely what it takes to be confidently civilized).
City folks want to grow up to be respected by their peers for their sophistication;
the certain man just wants to grow up.
How Fame Works.
Neurons can be impressed  --  hormones, only frightened,
“Pa pa: is this why the top wolf is always a mad man and not an intellectual?”
   “Well, I see you’ve been looking in on your natural mind again, young man.”
One fellow has the title ready for his next book:
“Time Is In Your Hat: Space Is In Your Pants”
(well, you do notice that in civilized greetings  --  men tip rather than unzip).
After screwing up pretty badly, one man admitted same,
rent his clothing, and declaimed to the god in charge of local affairs:
“Okay!  --  do your worst!  --  I deserve it!  --
either strangle me, or make me wear underwear!” and the small time deity wasn’t sure which ends of himself the man thought was which.
One way you could spot a man who knows (if they were visible) would be by the fact that, standing on his head, he looks the same as he does standing upright,
(and someone muses:
“Is that really referring to a man’s physical position, or his mental one?”)
Dialogue Number Fifty Two.
“Ordinary minds will break before they will expand.”
    “Don’t you mean that ordinary minds will break before they will bend ?!”
“Same thing.”
 
 
 

A rebel’s Fight Of The Century might be described as:
You (and your upstart neurons) vs. The Never Before Defeated Hormones (well,
at least never  whipped in public).
In the city, the most gruesome crimes go on in seclusion;
in the certain man’s mind, the most splendiferous of adventures
(aka): if other people can hear of what you have done, and it makes sense to them  --  you haven’t done anything worthwhile.
 
 
 

Concerning unconsidered facets of the parallel highways
running through city perceptions of life, one citizen puts forth this froth:
“Why waste your one-time opportunity of suicide when you are going to die anyway!”
How Being Civilized Can Colour Your Conceptions Of Your Interests
(as reflected in this definition):
Pervert: someone with whom you have not yet had sexual relations, and: Yes!  --
even before you ask: this can NOT be applied to the workings of the mind.
A nice feature of your relationship to those serious city affairs
is that life does not require you be sincere  --  only that you appear to be;
though hormones cannot fake orgasm  --  for neurons it’s a snap.
“Okay, but for thoughts  --  what is NOT a snap?!”               Very good!
 
 
 

An Inner Balance Men Ignore.
Ears only hear what ears say.
(Sometimes sung to the tune of:
“Only the gods believe in the justice of men  --  and they don't exist  --
which is why men invented them
so’s to have some sort of alleged backup to their ideas of justice.”)

Your Homily For The Day.
Never does one feel so out of place as when in the lobby of a fine hotel
into which one is not checked  --   and  --  No!  --  there is no need to inquire about
the suitability of taking this idea up to the room of your mental machinations,
and one nervous system trouble maker packed up his amorous attitude toward
his own cortical activity thus: “I don’t fuck NOBODY I already know!”
and as they walked, a son asked a father:
“Which can feel the most displaced and disoriented by life: hormones or neurons?”

One neuron’s parents finally said to him:
“We have decided that you are the strangest creature we have ever met!”
(They did wait to say this until he had been many years gone from home.
[Better to appear safe than the sorry sots you are, huh?!])