August 24, 2003                                                                   © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 
 

Once upon a time in another land a game was concocted
wherein, from those who either claimed to, or were assumed to know
what is actually going on in life, three contestants were selected,
and the people had to figure out which one really did,
and what they had to go on was as follows:
the first man would not answer questions in a direct manner;
the second man would respond to them only by smiling,
and the third man didn’t even show up.
 
 
 
 

Staring And Seeing To The Bottom Of Things.
One man’s slogan is: “You gotta look-around  to get-down.”
(And the tourism departments of several historically perceived mystical locales
are threatening legal action against those promoting the idea that
all a man needs to know is right around him in his own home town.)
It’s okay to flirt with God as long as it doesn’t impact Caesar's bottom line.
“Could that not also be translated into the relationship between
a man’s hormones and his neurons?”
You might further note that caesar never forgets,
and the gods never stop talking about it,
in an arrangement  similar to that ‘twixt farmers and agricultural critics.
“Why in all of these stories regarding various conflicts
does the participant of a certain type always come out looking the worst?”
What do you really expect in a spitting contest between a whale and a carp.
“Ah!  --  the whale being substantial reality,
and the smaller fish, man’s carping thereabout.”
Besides figuring how to rearrange the physical environment to better suit man, neurons' other job is to ride herd on hormones via such cultural inventions as religion, through which they (with proffered metaphysical authority)
criticize certain features of hormones' life style,
(the complete set up looks like this):
hormones' job is to survive the physical conditions;
neurons’ job is to find fault with the conditions;
hormones’ job is thus --  to do, and neurons’ is to find fault therewith.
“Look Ma! --  I’ve learned to ride a bicycle!”    “Yeah, but you ain’t doin’ it right.”
Ordinary men do not live by breath alone  --  but by the whines carried thereby.
The free health check via self-inquiry always available:
“Do I allow my consciousness to be continually taken over completely by
the automatic feeling that something is always wrong with life?”
All in all: How do you know you’re well?       “I’m convinced I’m ill?”
What a life.
 
 
 
 
 

After recovering from a bout of being out of sorts, a man thought:
“Phew!  I’m finally feeling like myself again,”  and one of his other selfs said:
“Are you bragging or complaining?”
 
 
 
 
 

One chap notes:
“Splendidly exemplary of man’s spiritual, cultural and intellectual reality is the fact that: If you are dying of starvation --  it ceases to exist.”
And local conditions spoke up:
“That’s some pretty rough stuff you’re throwing around there!” --
and the man did not respond  --
then local conditions said: “Hey! --  I’m talking to you!”
and the man not only did not respond, but seemed to have no interest.
In the city: bridges-over-troubled-waters will not be themselves, worry free.
There are no actual firemen to retrieve you from corners into which
your neurons have painted you;
one man’s private health plan: “If you’re gonna be sick  --  die!  -- or else never mind.”
And one man began running around wildly as he exclaimed:
“I know too much!   I know too much!”  --  but, Hah!  --
who’s going to fall for a conspiratorial distraction as transparent as that!
The audience for bad news is also its reporters.
Legend tells of a forgotten school devoted to realizing The Great Bit Of Info
whose approach was to separate further than is natural,
the distance between consciousness’ tongue and ears.
The audience for good news is limited to one man
(who is also its only possible source).
 
 
 
 

Once, in one of his numerous humorous moments, a man mused:
"In the realm of the conditions in which I find myself,
as opposed to the conditions I find in me:
it's funny how I can get-ahead --   yet can't make a head."
 
 
 
 

Reexamined: The Bilateral Underpinnings Of All Urban Structures.
In the city, being political rather than religious is not true progress, in that
even if you have no Lucifer, liberals have conservatives and conservatives, liberals.
Sorry, but the real residency news is: If you are sufficiently city fried: no matter where you move  --  you don’t actually go anywhere.
 
 

When asked what kind of cancer he had, one man replied: “Megalomania,”
and someone said: “You mean melanoma,”
and his doctor said: “Listen to the man  --  he knows what’s he’s saying.”
 
 
 
 

Everyone wants their own radio show which
is why they have been given a mouth and allowed to be self sponsored.
 
 
 
 

The Impression Of Planting Success In The City.
Says one man: If it weren’t for skid row, I’d have no row to hoe.”
What people appear to accomplish in man’s mental-only, second reality
isn’t worth a quart of guatemalan squat turnips.
 
 

A father noted to a son:
“While a man-who-knows-what’s-going-on can mentally eat everyone alive --
he has no appetite for such things.”
 
 
 
 

Ethics News From Far Away.
There is no honor in Eden  --  merely demand & supply.
If snakes were smart enough to speak to men
they’d be intelligent enough to realize that men are too dumb to converse with.
And a man from that area, previously known as: Warm & Charming
has changed his name to: Cold, Yet In A Way  --  Charming.