November 13, 2003                                                                  © 2003: JAN COX

(Notice: All stories reported herein are trick stories.)
 
 

 
Those with talent never speak of their influences,
while those with none, do little but.
 
 
 
 

(For those who don’t get it): The herd is ordinariness  --
....with which there is nothing wrong  --
     ....if having an ordinary mind doesn’t bother you.

Much of most people’s talk is like a radio station’s promos: self congratulatory  --  which is okay  --  if you have anything to congratulate yourself for.
(Still, for the certain man --  it’s not okay,
and if you must be told why it’s not okay, you won’t understand.)
 
 
 
 

By-play.
“What is more pathetic than a person who understands nothing
believing they have great insights?!”
    “Commenting on them?”
 
 
 
 

So pleased was one man with the program he installed that blocks all incoming email containing the word: “you” that he is now trying to adopt it to “I” and his mind.
“That’s all well and good to talk about, but if a man didn’t think of himself  --
what would he have to think about?”
Only ordinary people can’t answer that.
 
 
 
 

One man pondered:
“If being asleep is like suffering from brain-drain,
then is being awake like an overflow of neural juices?”
 
 
 
 

Beyond their awareness, the simple speak of hormones and sports,
while the sophisticated talk of neurons and the arts,
and all the while, the cattle go ‘round and ‘round; the cattle go ‘round and ‘round.
The fair (you know) is in town year ‘round,
with all the rides, freak shows, and sucker games,
and O what fun they be; O what fun you be.
 
 
 
 

A man who sometimes gave public commentaries regarding that CertainMatter,
one day asked his listeners:
“Would you be more impressed with what I say if I told you I was a direct descendent of some world famous mystic?”
and they replied, yes, and he shook his head: “You still don’t get it.”
 
 
 
 

Everybody likes to talk  --  but the independent minded like to talk independently.
 

The most startling conspiracy theory is the one nobody ever thinks about.
 

This Kinda Thing Defined Once Again: This Time From A Winter Sport Perspective.
DoingTheThing: Extreme skiing for the mind.
 
 
 
 

A cow with personal bovine awareness is nothing but a cow:
a quite normal cow with all talents native to a cow,
but one with neurons that stop and look at what they are being driven to do
is another creature altogether:
he still looks like a cow, and may moo when around the herd,
but what he is really thinking, is never heard.
 
 
 
 

A carbon-fiber description of: “being more conscious” could be simply:
the effort to be more conscious.
(“That surely entails the tacit: ‘constant’ right before: ‘effort’  --   no?!”
The really cob-rough rebel to: ‘constant’ prefers: ‘relentless’  --
it just sounds nastier and more defiant.)
“Dear Dr. Exacto: Does how an idea sounds actually have anything to do
with the usefulness of the idea?”
    “More so normally than what it says.”
“I assume you mean: for those with that CertainHunger?!”
    “So who else would be asking such a question.”
 
 
 
 

Some Vet News.
The longer a cow is in the herd, the further apart his eyes/I’s get.
The cultural/spiritual life of the collective, to hold cohesively,
requires that the intangible inner life of its participants be fragmented.
Two and two cannot be taken to equal five if the twos are too close together,
(aka: A good city-ite never looks a horse directly in the face,
[doing so does not to the ordinary, gifts bring]).
Axiom Update.
In the land of the blind, the one eyed man says: “I b’lieve I’ll mosey along to somewhere else.”
It takes the exceptional sight of the certain man to recognize when: there-is-nothing-for-me-here:
the normal life of the herd prohibits them being able to make such a distinction:
when the grass you consume is imaginary  --  then everywhere you look:
there’s grass.
Not either a planter, or a sower be  --  but both  --  you gotta be both.
“I am proud to have one part of my mind capable of informing the other parts.
Give me me, or give me death!” (A safe proclamation.)