Subsequent to meeting someone & thinking: “He takes himself too seriously by five,”
a man’s city mind rebuffed, protesting that it is not possible to make such a judgement after talking to a person for only a few moments, to which the man replied:
“Doesn’t matter: it’s true for everyone.”
 
 

In a condemnatory tone, neurons shouted to hormones regarding something
they had seemingly spurred: “Shame on you!   Bad boys!”
and in a self congratulatory voice added: “We’re the good guys!”
and all the hormones could do was stand silently --
in the full realization that beyond all notions of good & bad they ARE “the guys.”
 
 

A man tells of his personal neural procedure which he calls: The Vagabond Variation whereby whenever he has a really good thought  --  he leaves town.
 
 

Though for meaningless recreation, the-man-who-knows may some times hang with those of the city  --  he remains firmly on the side of the real guys.
 

On his chest one man carries this inscription:
“Numerous Attempts Have Recently Been Made.”
Another man, whenever he is confronted with information that he’s either
never heard before; doesn’t like, or can’t understand he always says:
“Well, that’s easy enough to check.”
(Which always sends his mind into praxsyzoms of laughter.)
 

A visitor to Earth had this to say afterwards to the folks back home:
“Things there are arranged so that in the catering of information,
the one offering to serve you same will drive you to distraction,
babbling on and on about the presentation platter he’s using.
Creatures there have an incessant habit of pointing to a roadway and saying: ‘Travel’ and though the two are related, it turns out, that’s not what they have in mind:
they are not identifying the road as something for the purpose OF travel
(you’re not going to believe this) but they truly mistake it FOR travel
(at least what we know as travel).
It is most peculiar,” and all who heard it agreed.
To an outsider: something can appear peculiar and still be doing no harm
to those involved,
“Try telling that to my city mind regarding what I’m trying to do over here
in rebel territory.”
No, here’s a better one: trying telling your natural born mind anything.
 
 

At the orbiting Welcome Station around one planet is a large billboard:
“If people didn’t pretend to be as smart as they do,
they couldn’t bear to be as dumb as they are.”
 
 

Regarding some of the stuff that goes on in city life, one man notes: “For instance:
It’s not so bad ‘being-overcome – it’s just being overcome so often.”
What is life in the city if not constant?!  Why do boobs and bovines enjoy living there?!
 
 

The mayor of one city has declared that for all routine, in-town purposes:
ill-grounded fears that you are coming-part are just as good as well-founded ones.

If you recognize the benefit: never mention it  --  that’s a large part of achieving it.
Lack of understanding always speaks  --
you figure from there where that puts, knowing.

If you are a rebel born: you don’t  want to live in a land where
the king is as noisy as the people.

Eschewing total suicide, one man nevertheless strangled his tongue.
(Note: You’ve really got to know what you’re doing to be a real-guy-law-breaker:
any city tort-head can act criminally, but only the certain man, rebellious
in a manner that leads to freedom  --  not additional captivity.)
 
 

A one time mental urban dweller reflected:
“Living the life of a city thinker is like being in a glorious and exhilarating war  --  without the glory or exhilaration.”
Only a swimming rat can take the adequate measure of a ship no longer there,
(could also be known as): Only when you’ve gotten to be non stupid
do you realize what being stupid is,
(and might likewise be called): The dumb can’t be taught  --
not as long as they’re being dumb,
(which per chance would explain the absence of real Rebel Schools).
The man to-this-kinda-thing-born thus can ultimately be told nothing   --
nothing of value to him  --
only he can do that  --
but for most of his life he is too dense to realize it.
“You know, I done finally figured what this, ‘waking-up’ stuff is all about:
it’s wantin’ to go from here-to-there
after convincing yourself that you don’t even know what here is.”
 
 

From some uncertain inspiration, the Forestry Department of one kingdom
tacked up this announcement: “Evergreens are just chicken.”
(Guess they meant: Afraid of death.)
“I would think: for who but a fool would persist when he doesn’t have to.” --
the aptly put sentiments of man’s city born mind.
 
 

In retaliation apparently for what previous transpired:
hormones issued this statement (well, they would have if they speak):
“From a most fundamental perspective: facts can be seen as euphemisms for acts.” (Needless to say: neurons were not amused.)
 
 

A man with a bloody axe is welcome in a surprising number of places.
(Neurons can say: “Don’t fuck with me!”  --
while hormones can actually make you sorry you did.)
 
 

Standing as close to the edge of his life as he could manage:
a man looked at into faraway space and said:
“I ask now but for one of two things for the story my life: either a
nullifying Introduction, or a neutralizing Epilogue.”

 A man from earlier says:
“Okay: I’ve thought about it some more, and I still see the wantin’ to wake-up thing as: wantin’ to go from here-to-there,
but it’s worse than my first impression: it involves not knowing where there is....no....wait…..
my original picture of it was worse…..yes, definitely worse.”
 
 
 
 
 
 

And this email just in: “How do I apply for a Real Guy Permit?”