Political Science Definition Update.
Seriousness: The opiate of the masses,
                         the fearful,
                         the weak,
                         the confused (but above all):
                         the stupid.
 
 

The History Of Certain Warfare (Up ‘Til Now).
The battle for men’s minds
succeeded the one for their behinds.
Related Matters In The Ballroom.
If they dance,
and the Artists began leading the Philistines,
the Philistines get  --  edgy  --  and wanna leave the party.
(“Do: Artists & Philistines somehow relate to the way you employ the terms:
neurons & hormones?  --  or is this a ladies-choice  --  everybody skate?”)
 
 
 

There is no perfect metaphor for: being alive
(other than for being alive a second time and not commenting on it.)
Brownie points for rebels are the ones you can’t see.
 
 
 

Intellectual Survival In The City.
If you don’t know what to eat  --  steal!
if you don’t know where to go  --  run!
if you don’t know what to say  --  quote!
 
 
 

Show Biz Bulletin.
A good entertainer plays to his audience;
the herd is a good entertainer;
the herd is an audience.
The Conventional Mind’s Motto: “When I speak  --  I listen!”
“Remember,” said a synapse to a son:
“You may not have much  --  but at least you have you,”
(which [though none want to face it] is all they can possibly have).
One chap’s query: “Where do you go when you’ve: gone-the-last-mile-of-the-way,
and there’s still some way left?”
While the popular proverb says: “You’ve made your bed  --  now lie in it,”
the certain man’s version would be: “You are the path  --  walk it.”
 
 
 

One man summed up one matter thus:
“The past sucks!
My past, your past, everyone’s past  --  THE past!”
and over his shoulder as he left he said:
“And if the past doesn’t like it  --  let it sue me!”
For purposes of public safety it should be here noted that without the past,
the city, all herds and civilization itself could not survive.
(“How far removed,” mused one sheep-dressed wolf as it glanced at itself,
and then the flock.)
 
 
 

Long before there were even words such as: Physicist and Cosmologist,
the certain man was already out there searching for the Theory Of Everything,
(“out there” being a figure of speech in that the search entirely took place
inside the seeker).
This is the difference between the ordinary and the rebel being away from home:
the former believes it entails him physically being in a new place,
while the latter means it as his consciousness being in a new place in him.
 
 
 

By-Play.
“Tell me old man: what is the grandest lie told on this planet?”
      “That our self image is established by others.”
 
 
 

For survival in the bio world: nothing is prohibited;
and in the neural, post survival: everything is permitted.
Nothing is too bizarro to help keep the culturemobile rollin’.
(Another view of why Philistines hate art  --  and life that’s overly lively.)
 
 
 

To assist him in keeping quiet, one man quietly adopted the approach:
“Don’t talk about the pitiful.”
(By the by: assuming he was able to be faithful to his idea:
what do you reckon would be his response if you tried to get him to tell you what-kinda-guy-he-is?)
The Unified City Slogan:
“I may not know me, but I know who I’m talking about when I talk about me.”
 
 

A sailor’s never home,
a soldier ne’er at peace,
and a nervous system knight’s
adventure never done.
“If I stopped now, there’s the possibility I might snap back to my original position.” (And even if that is not literally true, the potential is even worse.
“When you’ve once been you  --  it won’t do to again be the fake you.”)
The true rebel is never interested in what he seems to be,
and is never interested in being what he seems to be.
Two!  --  two lives in one!  --  simultaneously.
Once you’ve internally been just you  --  all alone  --
you’ve had the best life can deal.
(‘Course everyone has  --  but the rest of the table don’t see it that way  --
they just sit there a’bitchin’ ‘bout their hand.)
 
 
 

Definition.
Newly Converted Philistine: An Artist who’s received a large inheritance.
(In police jargon: Hormones who've been flipped.)
 
 
 

One day whilst hanging out and jawing, The Spirit Of Death
(actually he’s just Death, but he thinks that calling himself: The Spirit Of Death
makes him sound more impressive) said to his polar counterpart:
“These humans!  If they didn’t have death to fret about,
they’d just be worrying more about life.
Those poor little dears are like battered, tunnel-of-love boats:
they get it goin’ in and comin’ out.”
And overhearing this, a guy hiding behind the Geek Tent suddenly had the picture
of man as the court in a badminton match between hormones & neurons:
after holding it for a sec  --  he shook his head clear and said:
“Naw  --  surely I’m over doing it............................aren’t I!?!”
 
 
 

The tribal leader, one day said to the people of the village:
“A man is responsible for who his children turn out to be,
 in the same way he was for his parents,”
(and just as they had planned if he came up with any more stuff like this, they all packed up and moved some place else.
[P.S. Neurons would dearly love to do this to hormones.])