The ruler of one neural network told those who appeared to be closest to him:
“There is a difference between being my friend and being my enemy --
but not enough to make any difference.”
 
 

Hormones don’t make you mad,
hormones make you age, make you sick, and eventually kill you,
but they do not make you mad or cranky about it all – ‘tis neurons that do that  --
so thank or blame them  --  not stalwart, faithful hormones.
(If you are unnaturally alert and anxious, in the above, wherever appears the words: hormones, and, neurons you can replace them with the word, life,
and whereat shows the word, you  --  substitute, he-woke-up-and-left.)
 
 

What drugstore mystics don’t care for in the least is the fact that
the energy that drives vanity, greed, xenophobia and all the other yucky stuff
is the same one that fuels all the sympathetic emotions hostile thereto.
“Pa pa?”
     “Yes?”
“Why do most who start out, hungry for a transformation of their consciousness end up in religious settings?”
     “You forgot to add: ‘To no avail.’”
“But pa pa, it is to some avail,
since it gets them over actually trying to become neurally transcendent.”
     “Well bite-my-ass!  --  you sure got me on that one!”

Fact: It is quite difficult to insult the imaginary (aka):
A real troll takes nothing personally  (doing so takes too great a toll).
 
 

Cheap men always have preferences in their second reality possessions  --
since all of them are by essence, equally cheap;
all that causes Jack to triumph over the beanstalk Giant is the author’s and reader’s predilection therefor (as with Jesus over Death).
A man with a collection of gold nuggets has no favorite rock  --
the man with a mind that can sing on its own  --  enjoys its full repertoire.
 
 

“Pa pa?”
    “Si?”
“Is what you tell me  --  what is really going on?”
    “No --  it’s close, but it is not what is actually going on,
      if it were I either: wouldn’t be telling it to you --  or:
      you wouldn’t be hearing it.”
“Oh!     --      (I think?!?)”
 
 

A correspondent writes our Mr. Answer.
“After reading the DAILY NEWS for some time now,
it seems to me that what is being said is:
as a child, our interests are all in matters of the first, physical reality;
then when we become adults, our minds turn to affairs in man’s second,
mental based reality,
then when we reach the older years, our attention returns to primary concerns:
I find this most interesting, yet also frightening  --  or maybe, encouraging  --
I just don’t know  --  can you help me?”
   “First tell me: how old are you?”
 
 

Other than for the conveyance of technology, the remaining purpose of human speech is for the brain to hear what it sounds like.
 
 

Concerning The Correct Identification Of Consternations In The City.
No problem starts out under its own name.
“Then, dear pa pa: how can you know if you are on the right path of solving one?”
     “If you are on ANY path  --  you’re not.
       As long as you pursue the Golden Fleece --  it will remain out of reach.”
“But there is no such thing!?!”
     “And your point?”
Fact: A man without auto insurance doesn’t NEED a car.
Though obviously none are ever in the position to verify this:
at the exact instant of death, neurons drop the act, and face up to:
“Who’s your daddy?!”
Fact: A man without imbecilic children doesn’t HAVE to speak to them
(thus lowering himself to their level).
“But honorable pater: how can a person ever be less that what they are?”
     “Remember my boy: we are now talking about man’s mental- only,
       second reality wherein…”
“Okay --  got cha: wherein all things are possums.”
    “Exacto-supial!”
 
 

From our: Hardball Dictionary.
One way of looking at the difference between ordinary people and those who
want to get to the bottom of things is that ordinary people are too intelligent to try it.
(The full title by the way is: “The Hardball  --  No Refunds Dictionary.”)
 
 

There was once a king who insisted that all of his ecclesiastical advisors be
(shall we say): comfortably-corpulent –
“The better,” said His Grace, “To avoid them in the hallways of my mind.”
 
 

A man with a commanding and widely popular singing voice,
upon learning he was dying declared: “How unfair!  Out of the billions of ordinary men that someone of my extraordinary talent should be taken from life.  How unfair!” --
a feeling always shared by one.

One Man’s Proposed Scheme.
Since all forms of criticism will keep your consciousness torpidly tied to the floor,
and since it is not possible to feel critical about things you do not take seriously,
why not just hold a constant awareness of how UN serious indeed
is every affair of man’s second reality.
No one scoffs at hunger, and only fools at fashion.
Notes one man: “So what’s not  to like about the Holy Grail  --
it can be anything you want it to be”  --  and there is the key.
Once you cease being ticked off by stamp collectors, the Philately Monster
can no longer put you in a deeper hypnotic trance than you normally are.