The kid said to the ole timer:
“I’ve wasted my whole life listening to you.”
    “When you could have wasted it on something else?”
“Right!”
 
 

When you don’t fully understand what is going on you want others to be impressed with what you think you do know.
 
 

Proverb Correction.
Time is of the essence  --  IF:
    you have a mortgage payment due;
    it's your wedding day;
    you’re dying, or:
    you've proven terminally dense.
Truth Update.
The above is just harmless bullshit.
 
 

In an effort to make shopping more pleasurable (thus new purchases more likely)
the clothing industry has changed the size designation of women’s dress sizes
so that what was previously a 12 is now an 8,
and any who ridicule this have a quite insufficient appreciation of the human mind.
 
 

Partial Cantata For The City In E Sharp.
In some places: just being right isn’t enough.
 
 

One guy is so rich (and so something else) that he tips strangers:
other human beings for simply being alive and available.
    (“This guy  isn’t perhaps the commanding synapse in some guy’s brain is it?”)
 
 

Failure in the primary reality equals death,
in man’s second version: the closing of your show.
    “Worse than death!” cries a city artist.
In man’s mental-only cultural world a bad break is felt by no one
save him with the break;
the only orthopedist needed there is a psychiatrist  (or on weekends, a priest).
One ex artist’s favorite feduddling is:
    “What’re ya gonna do?  --
      where’re ya gonna go?
      who’re ya gonna call!  --
      when are you going to start thinking on your own?”
 
 

The Outlier’s Oblique Math.
Mine + Not-Mine = Everything;
Mind + Not-My-Mind = All Explanations Of Everything;
IndependentThinking eats them both alive.
 
 

One man’s accusation is that this sort of specialized inner activity (ChasingTheThing) talks mainly to itself.
(“Well, it damn sure is only heard by itself.”
He probably means to say: by only the sort who pursue it.)
 
 

There is a specific place in the universe from whence comes every idea and passion
of which you disapprove  --
but it wouldn't do you any good to know where it is --
you can’t even stop their flow at the outlets where you are now.
Note: Everybody could be Superman  --  IF they could just get to Smallville.
    “So says their semi gloss consciousness, you mean?”
Shazam!  --  billy boy.
                                                                         (“Hey  --  Fred's not dead.”
                                                                                                   “How can you tell?”
                                                                                            “Yeah  --  you're right.”)
 
 

Man lives in two overlapping worlds: The Silently Essential,
and The Verbally Potential,
(also thought of as: The Savage, and The Civilized Man).
“Of what interest is such to me?!” said a bee,
    “Easy for you to say,” countered a man from Bombay, “since you can’t speak.”
P.S. If you don’t get this: guess to which of those two you are most closely related.
On his most private of parts (and we’re talkin’ WAY private) one man has tattooed:
“To talk is to be civilized  (among other things).”
 
 

A chap supine under a bombay bee tree mused:
“While men continually complain of dreams not being realized,
why does no one note that many of them are clearly not intended to be?”
    “Pardon my intrusion, but I have an answer to that one:
      Why bother finding fault with Camelot when you’re never going there anyway?!”
 
 

 Sham artistic audiences love an artist who they can imagine has a hidden,
and dark sham side (firds of a beather and all that).
Of Passing Note: It’s always a matter of: and all that.
 
 

One man’s position on possessions: “Nothing requiring upkeep  -- (save that one activity).”
 
 

Conversation.
“If I were to walk funky I wonder if I’d start thinking funky?”
    “Well, look at the thinking of those who do.”
“Yeah, but you’re talking about those who do it naturally.”
Fact: What you do naturally doesn’t count in the rebel’s game.
 
 

When in the throes of a hollywood fit of wishful thinking,
one man will yell at the core of his natural synaptic pattern:
“I’ll see that you never work in this town again."
 
 

Concerning The Commerce Of Cognizance.
The ole timer said to the kid:
“Some of what I say to you may sound a bit abstruse,” and the lad interrupted:
“’Some of!  --  a bit abstruse!’ --  am I in the right universe?!”
and that out of his little system he allowed the elder to continue:
“But if you make the effort to see beyond such immediate encumbrances,
one matter should become quite symbolically if not literally clear (viz):
The cheaper you are  --  the harder it is to find a bargain.”
What the awakened man knows he didn’t get at someone else’s yard sale.
 
 

History records facts;
the memory of acts is kept in muscles;
the thing that clears up everything, the man who knows has embedded in every cell.
The song titled: “You Can Never Get Away” tried to get itself adopted as the official theme of the Enlightened Persons’ Society, and was laughed at for its trouble.
    “Pa pa: if laughter is involved  --  is anything actually trouble?”
“Not when you’re out of the dark.”
Breakout Bookkeeping Tip.
Anything you can file away  --  you don’t need;
all the things that actually help you awaken  --  you forget about.
(The, That Makes No Sense At All To Me Alliance extends a welcome to any who would like to
transfer their membership from the above mentioned organization.)
 
 

    He who makes two,
    sound like three,
    might take your mind,
    out on a spree;
    but he who makes two,
    sound like less than it is,
    shouldn’t be trusted with nuclear devices.
 The nervous-system-rebel never explodes anyone but himself.
 
 

Prisoners with the simplest minds have the most complex escape plans.
 
 

Q: How can the aims to be pursued in man’s secondary reality
be anything but secondary themselves.                  (Captain Obvious lands on your roof again!)
 
 

Toast for patrons of city neural taverns: “Drink to me only with thine familiarity.”
The outlier’s position is: “If I can identify it  --  I don’t want any of it.”
 
 

Life keeps a close grip on man’s collective thinking  --
not for reasons nefarious, but for the sake of orderly expansion.
 
 

Definition.
Prison: Exaggerated term for: being alive.
 
 

Some guys are hanging out on a street downtown and one of them says:
“Man! --  I get tired of being stared at,” and one of his buddies says:
“You’re never stared at,” and he replies: “Yeah  --  and I’m tired of that too!”
        Being a hit in the city is a fungible affair.
                A man-who-knows makes the Top 40 hit only on his own private list.

Finally Revealed: The Certain Man’s Secret Maneuver: If turning the nut to the left doesn't loosen it – go to the right.