In the interest of: N’ing-the-O (nailing the obvious) one man publicly states
that most of his motivation comes from things he wants to do.
 
 

The ordinary give birth to physical children  --
the rebel gives a second birth to himself;
the legacy of cows is more cows  --
the heritage of a realized man is only recognized by his kin.
The energy of life is passed, transformed and passed again by the herds of life;
the information of life is processed in a more exclusive manner.
Everyone knows all they need to know   --   if collective life suits them;
no man driven to live internally for himself is naturally told by life
all that HE needs to know to pursue such a course;
thus in the certain man’s obscure family line:
at the upper end of his nervous system, every father becomes his own offspring.

To routine ears, this may sound abnormal --  but this is how it has always been done, and is the only way it can be done.
Those looking for a hand-up  have yet to understand what lies at the end of their arm;
the rebel does not have a two sided brain for no reason;
one hemisphere: pa pa, the other: pa pa’s potential progeny;
what those of the anomalous human blood line do with their neural sperm
would seem to be up to them;
you raise and nourish your own understanding  --  or: you adopt.
 
 

Additional Parenting News.
All herds have a collective conception of reality embedded by birth, which each cow is invisibly pressured to take in as though it is their own child.
 
 

When the time came proper,
a father gave a son these two directions:
“First: immediately upon awakening every morning:
determine to fix your mind for the day on an idea or question you have selected:
one that came entirely from your own mind, that you had never heard or read before:   one unnecessary to consider for a routine existence,
but one of incessant interest to you;
secondly: let me know when you can do this satisfactorily  --   so I can disown you.”
 
 

                                              A lad and his dad must one day part,
                                              where the sky touches land,
                                              where the city reaches woods;
                                              a single path divides,
                                              cells escape the mire,
                                              the circle is complete,
                                                            “At last, I can breathe.”
 
 

Only a man with no imaginary hunger left
can fairly cannibalize himself.
 
 

One small city college, unable to match the salaries of the larger universities,
still attracts the necessary faculty by allowing each professor to select for himself,
a super hero nickname.
 
 

A worm writes:
“Why does your publication continue to report only on the hegemony of cows, cats, birds and fish?   Why do you never  –  look down below your feet  --
beneath the level supporting the creatures you normally see?
Have none of you any understanding of my significance,”
(and he signed it using a name commonly identified with hormones).
 
 

Those who don’t know what they’re talking about always, “Welcome-your-comments.”
 
 
 
 

One man said to his own nascent son-self:
“Are you fully cognizant of how serious IS the matter of, seriousness? --
so much so for instance, that the ultimate goal of humorists is to be taken seriously?!” He nudged himself, smirked and added: “Do you realize where, on The Silly Scale,
this puts spiritual leaders and political pundits!   Hah!”  --
and his self added: “Not to mention us, huh?!”
“No! --  no, ‘us’  --   did you hear me say anything about, us?!”
                                                                       (Turn the page  --  turn the page quick!)
 
 

In what appears to have been a final act of desperation,
one man changed his name for the sole purpose of trying to hide from himself (although he denies it  --  Yeah!  --  now that he is safely deceased!)
 
 
 

One man pondered: “I wonder just how much a real father resembles a real son?”
Lions beget lions, and sheep, sheep;
what the certain man produces  --  only he can recognize.

The ordinary believe the highest possible goal is the discovery of The Truth;
the certain man knows it to be the creation thereof  --
                                                      the creation thereof  --
                                                      the creation thereof.

                                                      A son said to a father:
                                                     “Sometimes I feel like the game is stacked.”
                                                              “Of what value would it be were it not.”
 
 

A son then insisted to a father: “Sometimes I feel specifically that our family game is stacked.”
                                                          “What fun would we have in life were it otherwise.”