Definition.
City Existence: Standing in a train station, and not just not knowing if another train
will ever arrive, but not even being sure that the station itself is not moving.
The talking and listening-to-itself-talk parts of the brain are like a trapeze act:
“You toss and I’ll catch,”
while the certain man constantly tries to jump in between them.
“With WHAT?”
Ah!  --   there is the question, now aren’t it.
To those without the possibility of ever doing it  --  it can’t be described,
(also can’t be to those with;
you have to climb up there in the rigging and figure it out as you go.)
 
 
 
 

In his desire to raise-the-stakes, and increase the intensity of the battlefield,
one knight suddenly challenged the armies of both hormones and neurons, proclaiming privately his intention to, “beat his genetic swords into mental condoms.”
The only protection the true warrior needs is from himself  --  and even that’s a fraud.
 
 
 
 

A father made a solemn vow to a son:
“If I ever ask you how you feel about a particular thing  --  and you tell me  --
I’ll kill you.”
(Which caused the kid to adopt the view:
“In that case: if you gotta think  --  just as well to think about nothing.”)
 
 
 
 

When genes,
the stars, and the past of man begin to speak,
none but the truly heroic
can turn their ear away.
 
 
 
 

Other than maybe for somebody standing on your foot,
all criticism of what occurs in life is stupid.
(And even in the possible exception noted, you can still push the person off
without saying or thinking anything about the affair.)
If you want to be assured of never disturbing your eyes/I’s with too bright light,
just mutter about the darkness.
 
 

“Okay,” said the quizmaster, “The answer is: Few and far between’  --
now what is the question?”  --
and contestant number two said he didn’t even want to THINK about it!
 
 
 
 

Not only is any one who can make you mad  --  smarter than you are, so is any thing.
(How does that make you feel?  --  outfoxed even by inanimate objects.)
 
 
 
 

The Great Challenge Of City Existence.
Tell yourself: What could possibly be easier than gettin’ born  --  and then dyin’?!
(“A piece of kid’s cake!”)
 
 

From a correspondent comes this:
“Reality: A Poem.
    The deeper you look into it  --  the deeper it looks,
    then the shallower  --
    then the deeper  --
    then the shallower,
    and then the deeper.

    Reality!  --  what a poem;
    reality!   --  what a gas.”

When collective intelligence feels threatened by real
intelligence it will often respond by solicitously saying:
“Here  --  let me get someone to carry that to your car for you.”
In the grand new world of independent thinking,
any old thoughts who offer to still be your friend  --  ain’t and can’t be.
When you truly cross over  --  your back stays turned to everyone.
(Adam found out the hard way: You become stupid
by responding when somebody stupid calls out to you.
[And several brains complained at this remark,
also noting that they’d changed their name to Charles.])
 
 
 
 

One man’s plan to escape additional trouble after he dies is to not answer when his name is called to come forward and be judged;
what he doesn’t get is that his punishment is just in being there in the first place.
 
 
 
 

The constant rumble of the herd’s hooves as it stays forever on the move sends out a subtle coded message to all therein: “Why would you want to ever wander away!”
 
 
 
 

The speaker in city park declared that he came not to bring either:
"peace or a sword  --  but rather: metaphors and reading glasses."
One man says: “Some drugs are better than others,
but all of them are better than none!”
One city was so small that it couldn’t afford its own park and speakers,
so everyone had to be their own such arrangement,
(plus they had to furnish their own drugs.)
 
 
 
 

Individuals frighten the collective,
but not nearly as much as the collective frightens individuals.
(“Frighten” [in the latter case] is not really the proper word,
but you get the gist of what’s meant.)
 
 
 
 

One man’s brain yelled out: “Watch it!  --  for god’s sake;
there’re at least fourteen hamsters in here running the wheel!”
 

A man who will confess to any thing  --  will confess to every thing.
 

Truisms that make men feel good by making them feel bad
are like jelly filled doughnuts  --
except they’re stuffed with shit instead of sweets.