Men believe that not uncommonly do they ask themselves the question:
“What is the meaning of life?” and not directed to their physical existence,
but at the life of man’s intangible world  --
which ordinary minds cannot see has no meaning,
other than to keep the pump of consciousness lubricated for its serious uses.
 
 
 
 

A man with no allegiances can feel the same about everyone  --
and not think about them;
a man with no allegiances save to himself,
can feel the same about himself no matter what
while not thinking about himself.
 
 
 
 

A city artiste notes:
“The down side of plagiarism is that you’re still having to constantly sweat
coming up with new material, but now you have to leave home to do so.”
(Either he has a surprising sense of humor, or else is even denser than the usual, huh?!)
 
 
 
 

Psychiatric News.
It’s easier to be sane,
with a standard issue brain.
 

Each morning, with the rise of the sun,
one father would leap from the tree house in his basement and shout:
             “Hey, hey,
               it’s another day,
               one more chance to explain it away.”
 

Once you realize that civilization is not the same as man’s physical life,
then you can ease up on it.
Relief is always just an insight away.
 
 
 
 
 

Bright one morn, said ye father to yon son:
“Okay, here’s a new split for you:
The world is divided into two groups:
 those who get their excitement from events outside themselves,
and the man who creates his own, inside himself."
 
 
 
 

One guy gauged: “A man trying-to-get-to-the-bottom-of-things is like someone who
is ill, and everyday/constantly in charge of looking after himself.
(Two things: the illness is not actually an illness, and no one can know about it.)"
 
 
 
 

A warrior who ponders odds,
weighs options,
and otherwise acknowledges potential outcomes,
has nothing to fear  --  since he is nothing but a pretender.
(Aka: a shamurai.)
 
 
 
 

One man proffers: “The herd’s collective intelligence
is like a friend who will laugh with you in good times, and lie to you in bad:
what more Isadore,  can we ask of those who know no more than we.”
 

Military Reminder.
A man-who-knows is aligned only with himself.
 

One way you might be able to spot a more conscious man would be
if he talks about human behavior and never specific humans
(a verb talker in other words  --  not a noun yacker).
 

If hormones and neurons could speak in a common language, one of their conversations could go like this:
Neurons: “The most important thing for a man is to live a serious life,”
and hormones would reply: “Get serious!”
 
 
 
 

When a particular truism of the collective neural network ceases to move mundane brains, the great broadcasting station will subtly cause men to reshape its intention.
Man’s idea of recycling is but a weak imitation of life’s self-fueling standard
of one hundred per cent efficiency,
a fact, if with which routine minds were faced, they’d exclaim:
“But ‘tis not possible!”  --  yes!  --  we all know that........but still  --   there it is.
Only in routine mind factories is it believed that ideas from the assembly line
can be dropped and broken, even destroyed.
                                          It comes and it goes,
                                          the world in the brain,
                                          arrives and departs,
                                          like a hell bent train.
How else local passenger, do you expect to ever get anywhere
in man’s intangible reality without forever staying-on-the-move.
(That should say: “staying-on-the-BUSY-move”  --  busy, as in: “busy work.”)
Who but the dullest of wits will exert himself to get somewhere
in an imaginary world.
(“Pa pa: that puts a brand fresh shudder to the picture of
traveling the yellow brick road in any  land of oz, huh?!
As you used to say: 'Either rumproll allegories or they’ll rumproll you.'”)
 
 
 
 

Why This Sort Of Activity Seems So Sneaky To City-ites.
Would a ship line ever direct their captain to tell passengers
that swimming might get them there faster?
 

A Curious Corner In Man’s Intangible World.
Those who undertake to expose the bunk of mysticism fear that what they expose may actually be true.
 

One man’s snoticism for the day:
“The stuff most people think ain’t worth the brains they’re thought with.”
 

Once he got grown (by ordinary definition) one guy changed his named to: Angry,
and not long after (when he realized where things were going from there)
he changed it again, to: REALLY Angry.
 

The ordinary enjoy allegories  --  a man-who-knows, writes them.
 
 
 
 

A man told that splinter potential of himself known as his son:
“If seeing the dumb act seriously doesn’t make your face smile warmly,
you still don’t have the full hang of it.”
(And the off shoot knew quite intimately who he meant by: “the dumb,”
[and how could fleas not recognize they’re in a kennel?!])