September 23, 2003                                                                © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 

Busy, Busy: The Mind At Its Desk  --  The Mind AS A Desk.
One man can’t ever remember which drawer he keeps particular items in  --
but he says at least he can remember where he keeps his drawers.
Definition. Time Clocks: One form of physical support for the sensation of progress.
Good Advice For New Employees.
If you act busy  --  you are busy.
“Bruno, that is indeed a most splendid piece of information to have in our possession: pass it along quickly to all de union members.”
At the factory infirmary a guy walked in and said: “My willie hurts,”
and the doctor replied: “Well, drop your pants and let’s have a look,” and the man said: “No, ‘willie’ is what I call my brain,” and the doctor said: “No, you mean your mind  --  your brain doesn’t have any feeling and thus can’t hurt,” so the guy dropped his pants.
Motto: You treat what you can.
(As obvious and super rational as this sounds, only a man who fully understands
the operations of the plant and office in which he spends his life actually lives by it,
[is it any wonder there are so many job related injuries in being a human  --  alive,
(which also explains the impressive inroads unions have made with the deceased,
not unlike how commonly traded ideas find their greatest support among
cortical cells in terminal comas.)])
To tolerate a life spent working-for-the-company requires primarily:
watery attention and a leaky memory:
thankfully, attributes natural to most men’s consciousness.
“But I thought slave labor had been outlawed in all civilized parts of our world!”
Just renamed, my friend.

There was once a man who traveled around giving lectures on that certain matter
of interest to certain men, and commonly would he have slips of paper in hand
which he said were questions people had submitted for his response,
which he would often read aloud, then use as the basis of his comments.
One day he told his audience that there was nothing on these slips,
that he’d made it all up, and that no one had written to him with questions,
and the next day someone wrote him and said it didn’t matter.
The hog-in-the-ditch distinction between all the rest of the people in the world,
and the man who understands what’s really going on is that they have installed in
their mental programming, a dew claw sensibility of what matters.
Pigs consumed gradually can still run on three legs.
“Outta my way, you dude ranch wranglers  --  real cowboy comin’ through!”
(Note: People without a genetic affinity for what this kind of writing represents
cannot grasp its intent, or even make sense of it
[just in case you happen to be accidentally reading this,
and fear for a moment that you are finally going crazy, as opposed to this being.])

Everywhere he went, one man urged: “Don’t make such a fuss,”
and upon hearing this call to be less inflamed,
a gent who’d been actively annoyed at stuff all of his life asked the man:
“Where were you forty years ago when I could have really used this?” and he replied: “Making a fuss.”
With straight faces are men able to condemn the past  --  thanks to porous memory.
(Aka: Only neurons express regrets for past hormonal deeds:
hormones do what they do --   enjoy it  --  then forget about it.
The nervous system rebel takes an on going lesson from hormones,
[he being the only branch of the human tree who directly turns his mental ears
toward the little dears]).
 “It sometimes strikes me that man’s ancient idea of there being some sort of
Secret-Knowledge hidden around somewhere
is really a situation of there being something that normally goes unheard by men
that is going on continually amidst the familiar noise of everyday life.”      (No comment.)

In conversation one man mentioned that he considered his memory to be
his very best friend, and when someone noted:
“But you have a terrible memory!?”
and based on the pleased look that took his face  --   the man rested his case.
(A what some might find, interesting-feature to all of this is that numerous things
the rest of the world’s normal humans adjudge to be flaws in their makeup,
the certain man finds in him to be other-the-old-wise.)