When ordinary men refer to someone as being deep, or complex what they are unwittingly saying is that he is mentally asleep, and distracted to an unusual degree.
Even though he has none, if an enlightened man had a single striking characteristic
it would be shallowness, but of such a nature as to be unrealized by routine minds,
in that the essence of their apparent substance is based on faux complexity,
(which is to say): complexity without a point.
Conventional thinking about the affairs of man is entangled
simply to give the impression of profundity;
the certain man’s conscious mental veneer is just thick enough
for him to pass as civil.
Nothing stands in the way of enlightened sight
like stupidly standing in front of yourself.
(“Is that like saying that nothing keeps you from being smart
like your present ignorance which thinks itself smart?”)
 
 

In the grand totality that is the human-experience,
it is possible for a man to teach others about that which he does not know,
and cannot himself do  --  with one glaring exception!
(Well, what should be glaring to the few interested in the special matter,
and simply ignored by the rest of the world.)
“It’s good to know there is at least one matter about which I can’t be fooled!
(And exactly what is that matter you’re referring to?)”
 
 

One metaphysically inclined man says he has disturbing visions,
and frightening premonitions
(he also notes that in a previous life he had corns and blisters,
and thus views his present state as a definite [however small] move forward.)
 
 

T. & A. Time (Sorry: Q. & A. Time).
Question: What is worse, worse and double worse than being stupid?
Answer: Being a critic of stupidity.
(Withal: the ordinary feel that man is never more godlike than when passing
righteous, indignant  judgment. [Any wonder they suffer so many headaches?!])
 
 

Last Thursday at the College Of Consciousness, Professor Bentfield said to his class:
“A more alert man’s relationship to the thoughts that just appear in his mind
would be reflective (I suggest) of Dr. Johnson’s to the words of his day
prior to his collecting, organizing and definitively defining them.”
 
 

Symbolic Logic As Taught At No University You Ever Heard Of.
Noofess: All choice is  --  possibility.
Dorkle: There is no such thing as choice.
 
 

More About The Mind And Its Grasp Of Itself.
A cat that fights and plays with its own tail
has the right makings for being a hooman being in another life.
“I thought you said this was going to be about the mind!”
 
 

Everything has a real name, and once you know the real name of something,
you can move on to something else.
(Okay already, hold your boswells --  the real name of most stuff is: connected-to.)
 
 

The Unusual Logic Revisited.
Noofess: All possibility is a matter of  --  choice.
Dorkle: Life is nothing BUT --  possibility.
 
 

As he fumbled in trying to grasp some new technology,
a man was encouraged with the words:
“Well, at least such challenges are good for one’s intellectual humility,”
and he quietly mused: “As though I need such!”
 
 

One man had pains in his muscles;
another man had pains in his organs;
another man had pains in his emotions,
and a fourth man had pains in a place which the other three don’t even know about.
(Okay: "Which they pretend to be unaware of."
    “You should not end a sentence with a preposition!”
Okay: "Which they pretend to be unaware of, dammit!")
 
 

That Unconventional Logic Reexamined Once More.
Noofess: All mental confusion comes from ignorance.
Dorkle:  All of man’s knowledge of himself is ignorance.
(Zort-Zort: What course would that conclusion lead a smart man to pursue?)
 
 

One man’s professed position is:
anything he hears that he does not like  --  he believes someone simply made up.
 
 

Definition of ordinary intelligence:
the still photo of ignorance turned into what passes for a special effects movie.
 
 

The king of one land would never finish his sentences  --
he was king  --  he didn’t HAVE to (dammit!)
Ignorance interrupted is ignorance denied  --
unless of course you fall for its old trick (when uncovered) of instantly joining you in
its denunciation and offering to assist in a fresh search for replacement intelligence.
 
 

A Succinct History Of Man: The Great Nervous System Of Life.
The beginning-of-the-end  (from the minority view) commenced when the first man
to have consciousness said: “Hey, where is the beginning of this thing?”
the certain man’s private task now is to find (okay): create his own end to it.
 
 

Definition: The Circumstances Of One’s Life: everyone’s drug-of-choice.
(Always available, cheap, and legal in all fifty realities.)
 
 

One chap (as he studied the cities-of-man) pondered the question:
“Are the dominant wolves life selects to lead our civilized packs
chosen for their intelligence, their aggressiveness,
or for their exceptional submission to life and stupidity?”
He constantly reminded himself that such ponderings ran dangerously close to
The Three Layered Swamp wherein one can fall and thrash about,
endlessly reflecting on whether human existence might be either a
willful, intelligent conspiracy, or an automatic stupid one,
(and can even cause a person engaged in such speculation
to constitute a whole new category of pseudo perceptional complexity).
 
 

At night, one guy always tries to do a bed-check regarding his mind,
(even though he is not sure what that means  --  it still seems right).
 
 

There is a single source of all stress in the city, but even were it identified by name  --
none of its solid citizens would benefit.
 
 

For his birthday, the charges of one god gave him a bullhorn,
and a book of inspirational verse  --
which he smilingly gazed upon with the sarcasm only a deity can muster.
One man’s motto was: “Sarcasm is as sarcasm does”  --  until his brother suggested: “Sarcasm is as conditions demand” --  which he ran with until his uncle insisted: “Sarcasm is just the irony of the lower brows” --  which he adopted until a cousin pointed out that there are no brows lower than those who think there can be any
lower than them;
he finally settled on simply realizing that the desire to preach to others
is just a harmless little joke life plays on man, deserving no cynicism,
(it also makes the wind howl and nobody finds that objectionable).
 
 

One fellow says:
“Why bother to listen to you talk to yourself
unless you are smarter than you already are?!  --  and if you were that smart:
why would you even bother to talk to you in the first place!”
(He’s jolly-well jammed up the exit doors for some, huh?!)
 
 

In the ever shifting world of the knight,
old familiar faculties can become over used again simply by them BEING used again.
Villagers imagine they daily slay stupidity  –
trusting in its never ending resurrection;
the rebel webster has wrapped up the question of:
waiting-for-the-end-of-the-carrousel-to appear.
 
 

The Shore Re-Charted For The Exceptional Sailor.
Thought is a focused flashlight  --  fully lit consciousness, a sweeping light house.
 
 

Every morning, another guy forces his mind to get out of bed when he does.
 
 

         The Hormonal/Neural Matter Surveyed From Yet Another Angle.
               If sex organs could talk  --  what the hell would be left for anyone to say!

More Re Resurrection: the knight expects only one thing to rise-again  --
                                             his daily flight above his own temperament.