If you need to seek verification for what you know  --  save your effort  --
you don’t need verification  --  you need to know something.
 
 
 

Professional city critics and other sophomoric smart asses believe that
making fun of something unworthy will make it go away  --
and yet they are not surprised each morning to find their reflection staring back at them in the bathroom mirror, wondering why they are still here.

Humor can be a useful weapon,
but not in the hands of those who feel they need one,
(aka): why doesn’t explaining, what-kind-of-guy-you-are send people into
world class fits of laughter.
One man responds to the non essential thoughts his nervous system
commonly sends to his mind the same way he answers his telephone:
“Yes, this is me, proceed  --   but don’t take the idea of ‘me’ personally.”
 
 
 

What ordinary people accept as man’s normal mental state,
mystics call his sleeping one,
and what mystics think of as man’s sleeping state
is what causes them to believe that it has a name.
In the land where minds are hip to what is really happening,
silence is the giveaway,
(aka): only when you have no desire to, nor can be enticed to, tell what you know,

The Social Life Of Ideas In The Ballroom Of The Mind.
In certain areas of the city, “RSVX” at the bottom of a card means
you were invited by accident.
The way you can tell you are acceptable amongst your peers is that you have any, (aka): if your mind finds an idea fits its requirements  --  throw the bum out of the party.
The way you can tell you are in a city shindig is that the host himself is there
by accident.
The one question a man’s mind never asks  --  the one that would radically change
its and your perception of everything is: “How’d I get here?”
 
 
 

Above the din of the city’s main gaming room, a voice announced:
“Attention players: anyone who is not playing with a full deck
is in the game whether they want to be or not."
For the rebel: a mind holding only the cards dealt it by the nervous system
has a losing hand;
if all you know is what is natural to your genetic temperament,
you are like a small patch of moss on a tree that can know no more about
the nature of life than the few millimeters of bark immediately beneath you  --
with no comprehension of rain, soil, sunshine and the carbon cycle,
“No wonder that what men call their metaphysical knowledge of life is so ragged,
and forlorn  --  it is an orphan  --  and worse still  --
they are completely without a suspicion of their position.”
Through what is referred to as education, do ordinary men attempt adoption,
while the certain man takes the tack of creating his own new child from scratch,
(aka): “Why rent when you can invent!”
Only those destined to never know nuthin’  --  learn from others.
“Pa pa: is that totally true?”
    “Again, sufficiently so to be ultimately most useful to the mostly alert man.”
 
 
 

Non Temporal Timely Update Re A Certain Matter.
Life thus far has kept point-blank reality from men’s minds primarily by
hiding it in religion and philosophy  --
which to most is sufficiently boring as to make them lose interest in the matter.
And this apparently moved one man to muse:
“Wow! --  if I was as smart as life, just think what I could be!  --
 Wow!  --  why I could BE life!   --     Jeeze!  --  if I’m not already!”

In the city, all groups have a public spokesperson  --  all but one.
(Okay, even if they did, what he might/could say would not be heard as intelligible
by the native residents.
“Hold it just an urban-blight minute there! --  so you're saying that even if one part
of my brain’s consciousness knew something useful and unknown to the other parts,  there is no way it could ever communicate it to them?”
If there was ever going to be a hurricane in the Sahara,
                                  wouldn’t it have happened by now.)
 
 
 

Once upon a time in another land, an outlier, information-based force
wanted to take over an already populated area, and rather than wage war
on its inhabitants it simply caused them to start taking entertainment for information.

In the beginning, the nervous system can’t talk  --
and after eventually igniting consciousness in its extreme end,
for the first time, it realizes that it can’t  --
so what does it do?  --   it makes consciousness talk as though it can.
“I’m sorry, but what you just said is not clear to me?!?”
Are you sure who you were listening to?  --   in city conditions it is almost impossible
to distinguish between street noise outside of you, and that inside of you.
To never catch on to what is going on requires that you be a faithful listener to
your personal radio  --  forever sitting there, right up next to it  --
blissfully tuned in and with never a notice of that specific spot whereat
the incoming broadcast waves physically meet your receiver.
Like all good children being tucked in safely again for the day:
men do not WANT to know where the fairy tales come from.
 
 
 

One man valued his mind so much that he referred to it as his:
“Fifty dollar pancake” (which no one seemed to fully grasp, least of all his own brain).
Question: how can you teach a dog tricks if you are a dog?
In the city, no man can answer this  --  yet it doesn’t crimp their trying;
in the open rebel plains outside of town, magic is possible,
such miracles occurring as a foot standing on itself  --

Every time it appears: many people call about the ad, but none know why.
“Pa Pa: how can you ever get to a particular destination
if you do not personally know what and where the destination is?
How can you even look for a ticket?”
     “Such are not required on carrousels.”
“You know, Dear Pater: you have an answer for everything.”
     “Did I not, I would be no better off than you.”
“Are all of the instant answers you have to all of my questions
unconditionally correct?”
    “Close enough in words to be the only things you can rely on  --

The Justice Throughout The Universe.
When it rains, even the rebel gets wet  --  except in verbal downpours.