First his liver exploded;
then his lungs collapsed;
his kidneys sprang a leak, and shortly after that his heart began skipping;
taking all of this in his frontal lobes said to themselves (as only they can do):
“We should get out of this place!”  --   see: they’re unique in man’s anatomy:
livers and hearts can’t sense themselves as entities separate from the whole,
and thus have no thoughts regarding their condition.
    “Question: does sensing yourself apart from the whole give you such thoughts,
      or does having such thoughts cause the sensation of being separate therefrom?”
Just as the leading cause of death is a cessation of life;
the grossest interference to living a comfortable, irritated mental life
is not being satisfied with it  --  like you’re s’posed to, dammit!
Graffito on a city building: “Stay on the beaten path  --  better yet!  --  BE a beaten path.”
How Mind Can Still Prime Itself Even When Nothing Else Is Going Right.
One music lover has started signing his name: Gary Guitar Mandelbaum  --
even though his name isn't Gary and he doesn't play the mandelbaum.
(Don’t forget the name of the main tune, maestro fleet fingers: The Beaten Path.)
Just as real men don’t fall in love;
and real warriors don’t stay down when felled,
so too, real people won’t stay in the ditch in which everyone’s consciousness is born.
To seem hip, prisoners commonly like to have a personal Theme Song,
one that someone else wrote and sings:
this is what they choose as their individual calling card  --  what could be more fitting.
And one man changed his name to: Ha Ha Farrentino for the simple reason that
he found nothing funny about life and sensed that it was killing him.
 

Here in a musical context are the possibilities of what a man can
mentally look forward to:
Either the expectation of hearing what you expect (from classical to pop),
or of that which you don’t (exemplified by jazz);
as soon as the first prepared notes are recognized: one of them immediately brings
the mind joy and allows it to slide down deep in its familiar comfy chair,
(like the appearance of an old aural friend),
while the other, as soon as its improvisational nature is realized,
puts the mind on edge: alertly awaiting to see how goes the real time attempt to compose even as you play.
Both have a place in the affairs of ordinary men,
(though they could get by with but one) while on the other hand:
only one of them is necessary listening for the uncommon affairs of the real-deal-man.
 

The reason that religion, mysticism and philosophy are in the shape they’re in today
is because when humans don’t  understand a piece of humor,
they will take what it says seriously.
 

If you’re going to be ordinary  --  somewhere in life you’ll punk out.
 

A man told a young boy at a bus stop that the most important thing to success in life
is to stare as much as possible.                       (He says the lad looked like he had a sense of humor.)
 

Conversation.
“Other than when seeking directions: all talk and thought is: talking to yourself.”
    “With thought, I don’t think that it’s me talking to me.”
“Okay then it’s something talking to yourself.”
   “.......Yeah-h-h......I can go with that.”
 

After putting in his quarter, a man asked the Sage Machine:
“What’s the sense in discovering what is going on if you can’t tell anybody?”
and the apparatus replied: “I can’t give you the answer to that;
when you do discover what is going on, you will then have the answer to
your question.”             (And the man tried to get the store clerk to give him his quarter back.)
 

Another curio in the life of man which seems undestined for ordinary ones to ever see is that it is only those who do not understand what is going on
who want to help other people.
(This is an alternate model of: Those who want to help-others
do so because they don’t know how to cure themselves.)
 

The mental responsibility of ordinary minds is to resist other minds  --  that’s all:
no original thinking on their own  --  just the resisting of other people’s thinking.
   (“Neat job, huh?!”)
 

Question.
Is there anything interesting, normally overlooked in this commonly played picture:
A Nobel prize winner in Mathematics, in his mind, sneers at the fame of
a fashion super model: “All she/he did was be born looking the way they do:
some achievement!”
Is there anything particularly revealing in this scene  --
something which even the most intelligent of men are made to ignore?
As the walnut said to its shell: “What the hell you call yourself doing?!”
And in the background, the woody choir softly began to sing:
    “Just like a tree that’s planted by the water  --
      I shall not be dry.”

When you hear an artist explaining his work,
you’re hearing a dog trying to explain his fleas.
 

Medical News.
If you don’t know the difference between being deranged and being awake,
you are definitely not one of the two.
As the green pecans hanging on the limb say:

Then there’s this guy:
The very sight of whom causes no one to swoon.
With a big heart  --  small everything else, but  --  a big heart.
Whose reputation preceded him (but not by much).
Who (as he puts it): "Offers advice to all  --  assistance to none.”
Whose memory and  truss often slips.
Who once declined an offer.
With no redeeming features  --  hell! --  with hardly any features at all.
Whose bark is worse than his smell.
Who has damned many a torpedo.
On whom the mantle does periodically: rest lightly.
With a mission! --  a foolish one, but  --  a mission nonetheless.
Who would admit to being anything in particular in only the most general of terms.
To whom fame meant nothing (which in his case was felicitous).
Who once: dared to be great!  --  but just once mind you.
Who left in a lurch.
Who never thought twice  --  but:  that’s all right.
Who's just about had it.
Who rushes in where angles fear to shop.
Who took tumbling lessons  --  then moved into a closet.
Whose face is nobody’s fortune.
To whom laughing at adversity is his aspired norm.
Who put on a: one man show  --  for which only one man showed.
Whose entire repertoire consists of  --  whistling Dixie.
To whom life is cheap, but a cheap suit, even cheaper.
With more tongues than ears.
Who, when he leaves home  --  REALLY leaves home.
To whom words are just words  --  and thoughts, merely thoughts.
 
 

And someone seemed  to ask: “Where precisely would I find this guy?”
(And some say humor is dead.)