One guy’s thoughts proved to be a perfect paradigm of his digestive activities,
giving once again, the physicians something to talk about on break,
and highlighting once again, the little communication between the Neurology,
and Gastroenterology departments.
Snapped a man’s synapses: “Forget all that fancy philosophical palaver:
his bunions ache and us registering the fact is the only therefore we need
to know that we exist.”
Sidebar: Many mourn the precipitous decline in major organ reflection;
though they do so via the brain which strips a bit of the sheen from their complaint.
Double Sidecar: The certain man’s thoughts are an exhibition of what
mental activity can accomplish in unrestricted, hand to hand combat with
other of the body’s operations.
 

After he became weary of Playboy, the most fun one man had in private was
shouting aloud: “Who the hell do you thinking you’re talking to!”
 

Standing slightly off Broadhead (near The Brillbrain Building) lurked a guy who says his pondering the possibility that nothing can be completely understood in the place where it is most talked about has brought to his mind a variation of a commonly used line from songs: “I Just Can’t Live Someplace Where I’m So Strongly Wanted.”
For the nervous-system-rebel: only one escape is of interest (quite a coincidence  --  since it is the only one possible) and that is  -- O! --  why bore you again
with the obvious prosaically –  let’s all raise our voices and sing it:
“The only place I want to leave is.....”
 

For reasons he never shared with anyone: one guy named his
ordinary self & state of mind: Bullet Hole.
 

The mayor of one city (obviously in the momentary grip of some non-urban force)
this morning admitted (regarding man’s multifaceted cultural world):
“All of our up-to-date activities are based entirely on out-of-date ideas.”
The always-present, latest-spokesman for all of mankind’s artistic, spiritual, and intellectual programs is allowed to say anything whatsoever in the promotion thereof  --  except for the one teensy item his honor noted.
The reason ordinary minds so extol the idea of: The Truth  --
specifically in the intangible areas outside of science -- is that in these spheres resides nothing by which to make such an identification.
People in Atlantis are smitten by the idea of bringing The World Fair to their city;
the real-deal-man (who lives in his own self developed part of the neural territory)
is more than content with having brought his self  there.
 As said a macaw at one end of a high swinging bridge to a frightened hippo
on the other: “It’s not a matter of being overcome, but of coming over.”
 

As the sage lay dying, one of his distraught followers dropped to his knees by the bed and wailed: “My life will be nothing without you!” and the guru raised his head up
long enough to say in dramatic challenge: “YOUR life won’t?!?”
 

Only a man who actually knows what is going on will never tell you  –  accidentally.
 

There was once a kid who, after discovering that he could repair something with
two fingers, used one, while under similar conditions his brother would use three;
their mother seemed relatively proud of the brood, and their father had plans
to lease them both out at competing rates just to see what the market would bear.
 

In an ordinary state of mind, you never know the real time.
 

When men (in regard to something they have done or said) are challenged to:
“Explain that!” --  they are as bewildered as everyone else.
On one world: simply not knowing where you’re going
doesn’t stop you from going there.
 

The ultimate purpose of being part of a neural herd is to lessen the impact of
not being an actual individual as one natural part of man believes.
 

Conversation.
“A man with three names has three chances.”
    “But you previously said that a man with three names can have three thoughts?!”
“What difference does it make  --  you don’t get it either way.”
    “Hey!” injected a passerby, “don’t waste your time complaining that life is
      unjust and uncaring, after all: everyone who says they wish they were dead,
      gets their wish.”
 

If you discover how to really travel: the last bus has always left.
 

Asked a rebel general, his son to consider:
“When it comes to non linear neural matters: how can a solid soldier believe he is adequately loaded unless he is OVER loaded?!”
Related Battle Note: City forces never recognize when they have been overwhelmed: the overwhelming from their perspective is merely the irrational.
  “See!  --  ordinary mental structures and institutions don’t stand on stupidity alone,
    but stupidity which men find quite reasonable under the circumstances."
“It seems somehow good for the city to have so many spirited spokespersons,
does it not?!”
 

There are sufficient examples in life to fit any theory a man might come up with.
(Let’s see one of its rivals match that!)
In the land of: Everything’s Clear Now (if there was such a place) do you imagine that what men call knowledge would still have its opposite counterpart?  --
consider: what would either of the two possible responses to this question
perforce imply then about such a place?
Only the real-deal-man can bear to live in a spot where part of the normal
mathematical vocabulary is missing.
“It’s the little things that count,” noted a rebel, “the ones no longer causing me
to believe that they’re actually there.”
 

Some Off Battlefield News.
If the average man had to actually: fight for what he believes  --
he wouldn’t believe so much.
 

“There is safety in numbers.”
    “I beg your pardon!”
“Okay: Comfort in numbers.”
    “Get real!”
“All right: cold comfort in numbers.”
    “That’s more like it.”
 

While people all around him  were changing their name  --  one man abandoned his.
 

Noted a fight promoter to his son:
“If folly is the foe  --  no need to suit up:
the bout’s over before the bell’s ever rung.”
Battling Your Way To The Side.
On the ladder to lateral achievement:
moving one rung at a time is quite adequate.
Related Bidtit: In city dressing rooms: everyone’s reflection is ugly.
In man's ordinary condition of consciousness:
there are some features of oneself best left unexamined.
    “But a comment unnecessary of articulation, is it not?!” muttered a cutman.
 

In the city: irony is the bugaboo that gobbles up everyone’s
image of their self.
 

One old jaded head said: “The greatest attraction of death is its purpose  --
which no one knows.”
 

Mystic’s Insider Gossip.
There is no such thing as an awakened man’s network,
since every person who awakens understands that no one else is.
(P.S. If you grasp this, you can start one.)
 

To himself, a man said:
“If people knew how much I hated gravity, they'd surely think I'm crazy.”
 

To be truly suave in the city you should destroy your garbage completely,
so that no one can tell what you eat.