Just as a real man will blame his illness on the physician treating him for the ill,
so too does a rebel hold his snoring responsible for his sleep,
(snoring equaling symptoms).
    (“While this makes no more sense to me than many of your other items
       I did nevertheless feel something stir in me while reading it  --  which is probably
      some sort of nervous system message trying to get through to me, huh?!”)
With a malady that cannot be physically examined, or measured,
what is there available to incriminate save the symptoms,
and just because this causes a stroke in routine reason doesn’t mean it is invalid for hyper diagnoses.                      (In fact Dr. Flintstone: what else would you expect?!)
 

Update Regarding Contemporary Psychological Diagnoses.
Everyone still depending on the nervous system they were born with will have issues.
 

While passing through city park, looking up at limbs a man thought:
“If life is not a parable for something other than itself,
 then why are graves dug down and not up?”  (a puzzler he himself could not answer).
Symbolism that speaks to the few will slap you in the mouth ‘til you drop to your knees and sing: “Mammy!”
In this life there is an end to everything  --  except the journey of the certain man.  (Okay: except the journey of the eternally viable certain man.)
 

A Fill-In-The-Blank  For City Dwellers.
The fashion in mental hair styles this season is_____________.
 

From: The Aquatic Oblique Spotter’s Guide (Chapter Three:
Sure Means Of Instant Identification: third paragraph, second sentence):
“A civilized fish is one who blames it all on the water.”
Shifted to land and humans: a similar outlook defines a man-in-a-dream;
consciousness that perceives itself apart from its environment has something other than itself to hold responsible for itself;
it is a go-nowhere-position, but one normal to ordinary minds;
who does the man-who-knows-what's-going-on count liable for his condition?   --
if you believe: anyone  --   there’s full proof you’re not one.
One guy wanted to start a club of: Those Who Don’t Get It  --
but no one would join if to do so required they admit it.
    “DearProf. Profundo: Does it matter if you don’t get-it?”
“Dear Sir: Why should it.”
One on world: all chickens who can fly, fly just like chickens  --
and no one finds fault with this situation  --
except a couple of uncommon chickens who don’t admit that any chickens fly.
The way to assure your residency in LaLaLand and guarantee a degree of inner peace (or at least, torpidity) in your life,
is by never letting anyone drag your mind into a discussion of Santa’s parentage:
talk about any other feature of the jolly one’s existence  --  but not this.
In that land where the preeminent creature is a rhino with a parrot on its back,
the one subject the bird will not discuss is the existence of the bird;
it will converse with you about the grasslands and ponds, and about the rhino
for as long as you like, but one matter is, by its nature  --  off limits to the parrot.
(And before anyone says that they don’t get it, ponder this:
Who in you will say that: the rhino or the parrot?
    “But pa pa: could not the grasslands be acting as a ventriloquist
      to both the bird and the rhino?”
“EdgarBullseyeBergen  my boy.”
 

The Significance Of Name.
If you know what you’re doing  --  you don’t care what you’re called.
 

Definition.
Civilization (internally: the city part of the mind):
A train that, within an individual's lifetime, goes nowhere;
whose schedule is continually announced:
canceled;
re-announced;
re-scheduled;
canceled and announced again,
and endlessly argued over by would-be passengers.
    Only the wheel making no noise, rolls.
Since he flies (and on an unscheduled air line at that),
the rebel is not much concerned with the collective's land travel arrangements.
(Aka: Being faux-civilized-on-the-run.)
 

Minds that take -- nay: embrace -- a lot of crap
commonly assert: “I don’t take a lot of crap!”
    (“It’s funny how that sort of thing works out.”
       It’s funny how everything works out  --  once you see it.)
 

A certain unknown warrior king’s opening gambit for every new war
was to ride up to the foremost edge of his front line,
look to his left,
glance to his right,
stare out straight ahead toward the enemy  --  and if by then he had not been shot, would turn his steed around and declare: “I ain’t got time for this penny ante shit!”

Additional Paradigms Of Justice And Symmetry
(If Not: Mind Maddening Maps Of Unexpected Movement).
On tall ships; life boats are stored up high,
while on submarines, escape is in the other direction.
Note: Do not let your upper circuits think this refers to anything besides
maritime matters, and above all, do not allow your lower ones to be aware that you have even thought about it.   (Upper: parrots  --  lower: rhinos).
    “Dear Prof. Profundo: Can a real-deal-man have any secrets from himself?”
“Dear Sir: Just one  --  same as life does.”
And a chap laying in the flowers in city park, gazing at clouds, cognitively cruised:
“Might the rhino and the grasslands be doing the same dance as
life and the universe?”  --  and heard a quick statement in his brain
made by a piece of its consciousness that plays planet to cosmos.
    Pebbles beside the road can rhapsodize  --
    but the nature of passing trucks they will never grasp.
The man/mind that catches on to what is going on is a rock that gets up and walks:
yes  --  this statement is clearly irrational and the act impossible  --  but there it is.
Via the presence of man: the planet Earth may be said alive,
and though the consciousness of man: life may be aware of the universe,
but the parrot's comments on the fields and the rhino’s existence therein,
while describabley, two separate things,
belie the fact that they are not: that it is all fully within the life of life,
which the man-who-knows has been able to personally translate into
an understanding that everything man thinks collectively exists also in
his nervous system so that nothing life thinks about is alien to him,
and all of it combined puts his mind on a front line ahead of man collectively.
 

 The Mullet Masher’s Motto.
“If you’re not out front of yourself  --
you’re bringing up the rear of the train to nowhere.”
(Aka: “If you don’t get smarter than you can be  --  you’re in a terminal dream.”)