In The City  --  With The Simple.
Among the trivial: pettiness, posing and pouting passes for meaningful criticism,
and with them: criticism is an acceptable substitute for having no talent.
Note: In the city  --  in that natural born part of every man’s mind  --
everything always --  works out.

At certain times it was a surety where all of the fools, dolts and dwarfs
of the neural castle would be;
their location would be conspicuous by their carping at the main gate
whenever a knight was setting off on a new adventure.
While legend says that Superman came from Smallville,
only large twits come from Twitville.
See how it all works out!
“I may not understand what’s going on,
but I’m human enough to find fault with it nonetheless.”
Note: Were it not for the mental concept of: nonetheless,
most of what men believe to be "the"  --   would not be.
Axiom Update: Exceptions don’t prove the rule  --  they...
(your insight shan't be insulted by permitting this to proceed any further).

Another way to spot a man-who-knows is that his address is unknown.

While the city bus was wedged sideways in the tunnel,
a couple of passengers played a question & answer game as they waited
(the first one asked):
“What is the difference between a man with talent who is pissed,
and one with talent who is not?”
and the other immobile traveler rubbed his chin in a memorable display of pondering --  then finally replied:
“How long you figure we’ll be stuck here?”
and the first one instantly wondered whether he intended that to be  --
understood that to be  --  a valid response to the question.

The race-of-culture does not go necessarily to the swift  --
nor to the slow  --  nor for that matter  --  to anybody;
what occurs in man’s intangible realm simply occurs there, and that’s that!  --
to everyone but the nervous system running outside the collective track.
(By the way: There is a good, unrecognized reason that the security guards
protecting the natural born integrity of structures in the city are called: flat foots.
“Torpids don’t run.”
      “Don’t you mean: tapirs?”
“Buzz off buster  --  I know the creature I’m referring to!")

Definition.
Reality (In The City): A synonym for: expectations.
Were it not for thoughts of a morrow  --
in ordinary minds there would not  be the sensation of now.

The first thing the electricity in men’s brains says when it begins to talk is:
“Looking back....”
(You might care to note that Gotterdamerung never falls on the weekend.)

One man (just before he’d go for a walk)
would warm up by taking a stroll.
(Hey! --  don’t get testy  --  you’re just mad you didn’t think of it.)

From Our Science Thesaurus.
The Law Governing Everything Mind Can Think About: Consciousness.

The basis of all mental fear and sorrow is the pre neural knowledge that we’re all:  somebody’s dinner.
“But then would not the solution be for consciousness to consume thought?”
Nice try  --  but press on: how can this be a nice try and yet be impossible?
Lips that can swallow themselves will see.

Another chap (with a diploma, some books and magazines) offers his assertion that
it is no mere coincidence that the top of the world is so far away from the bottom.
(His working motto is: “Geography is as geography does  --
and I’m talking brain terrain here folks!”)

In a wood near the city one day a father and his several sons were together
when one of them asked:
“If we cannot change life, then what is our purpose in living?”
and one of his siblings offered: “Is it not Pa Pa, that we therefore must:
Do the best we can?!” and another brother added his view:
“No, it is simply that we must: Do what we must do!” and yet a third one countered: “Are we not like birds in a headwind, against which we cannot prevail,
yet: fly we must?!” --
and the old man picked up a pine cone and  threw it back toward the tree
from which it came.

As one security guard was lounging on an upper floor balcony
he suddenly realized  the true nature of his forefathers’ gods, they are in fact:
stomachs, furnaces, lungs, garbage disposals and electrical systems.

Definition.
Religion: Myth taken indoors.
When the initial message of a myth is made into a ritual  --
the marrow is sucked from its bones,
and when a living, futuristic model of consciousness is given a name,
and systematic structure, it begins an inevitable slide toward the past.
Thus it be that the only knights known to the people are knights deceased.
 
 

A father’s parting advice: “If you really can’t: say-what-you-mean  --
you don’t mean nuthin’ and would be better served keeping your trap shut.”