At one of their irregular get togethers, some local gods were having a few,
and playing a bit of verbal grab-ass when one of them stood,
raised high his glass and declared:  “Here’s to us!
Only in our lands can progress that doesn’t actually go anywhere, still be, progress!”
“Here, here!’ they all cried between guffaws.
 
 
 
 

There are two nice features of not knowing where you’re going:
first is that you can postpone forever the disappointment of not reaching a destination, and two: your life’s not disturbed by an awareness that you should be struggling to
go some place other than where you’re headed.
 
 
 
 

A father noted to a son:
“Patients think their doctor worries constantly about whether they will live or not,
and doctors think their patients worry constantly about paying their bill,
and the rebel worries that the part of his nervous system that can cure what
ails his consciousness won’t live long enough to pay off what it owes him.”
    “I don’t get that last part about the rebel.”
“Me either  --  but I like the sound of it.”
 
 

When he heard an archeologist condemn the building of a certain dam,
saying that it will: “Flood, cover and destroy the past” --
one man began looking around for who could construct such a thing in his mind.
 
 
 
 

He thus explained his unfamiliarity with popular novels people often mention:
“I don’t care for fiction  --  hell!  --  I can barely stand non fiction.”
    (“Pa pa: is he really talking about books, or aspects of himself?”)
 
 
 
 

Overheard: “If it wasn’t for damn cells  --  I wouldn’t be in a dream!
(‘course without ‘em, I also would not be aware that I am).”
 
 
 
 

There are two neat things about being conscious:
one is that you are aware that your brain is having thoughts,
and second is that the thoughts are almost entirely about you.
                                           (What a pleasant surprise!)
 
 

Keeping contemporary with his times:
one man installed in his mind a Refresh icon he can click on.

“Errors are made to be corrected” says the city;
a true rebel listens to no such foolishness.

On the urban station: everyone’s favorite song is always being played.
(Only the man-who-gets-it understands what is going on when someone says that they: “don’t-get-it.”
Question: Does that imply that only the fully ignorant can ever know what is going on, or that only the fully informed can be truly ignorant?
And the All City Chorus intoned: “W-e-e-e-e don’t --  get it.”)
 
 
 
 

Quote For The Day.
“No son is worthy of being called such whose father did not spend his life
struggling to awaken.”
    (Pst!  --  who do you think said that: a father or a son?)
 
 

How To Never Go Wrong In The City:
When in doubt  --  act enthused;
and the deeper your doubt  --  the more enthused you should seem.
Discovering chlorine can be done dead pan, but not Pester John’s unlisted number.
“Daddy dearest: is this why the dumber people are the more passionately they…”
    “Yes.”
Children: do not try this at home (that is):
do not apply what has just been talked about to affairs in your own neural household.
 
 
 
 

In a spot just on the edge of the city,
a man showed up who began to talk about things the people there had never heard,
or thought about before;
many initially came to listen and found it interesting –
but rather quickly, most said they would not be coming back unless he told them
what the point was.

The neat feature of not knowing what the point is  --  is that
you won’t get your eye/I put out while you’re looking for it.
         (Yes, that’s correct kiddies: the urban adults still don’t get it.)
 
 
 
 

A man with a terminal disease mused:
“Is it less disturbing, or more upsetting to have minor illnesses when you’re in this condition?......and, Hey!  --
more annoying or less, not to be awake when you’re stupid and asleep?”

In man’s second reality there is, for every human on this planet,
an unlimited supply of self-protection devices.
“Hold up! --  devices for the protection of humans?  --
or for the protection of the second reality?”
 
 

Outside of town, on that vast chemical plain where lightning is forever striking, stood a solitary eatery with this sign in the door: