(Though no one understands the operation):
a walking woman's ass knows when a man is watching it and will begin to
move in ways not physically possible under other circumstances;
the certain man's consciousness does something similar when he watches it.
 
 
 

Men of routinely balanced mental facilities cannot even conceive of the game
without the concept of taking-sides;
and there is no: Hi Ho! –  and off-to-work-we-go unless you have a favorite dwarf;
and no religious meaning to existence without you back either allah’s,
or the evil one’s team.
    “Pa pa: how can you follow the rebels’ sports activity?”
“Simple: just look for the box scores that list no scores
(not that routine reporters can discern).”
In the city, mental streets that take you to a pre selected destination
are the ones considered travel worthy,
while in rebel areas, neural movement is more subtle  --  complex  --  and interesting.
 
 
 

Action can only be analyzed post-op.
    “Does this include both the physical and intangible realms?”
Yes, though in one of the cases analyzation is meaningless.
    “Meaningless?  –   truly meaningless?!”
Save for the fact that it plays an integral part in sustaining that world.
An old song entitled: “Don’t Talk About Me When I’m Gone,” was close,
but to be dead on it would read:
“Don’t Talk About Me And I WILL Be Gone  –  Vanished!  –  Vamoosed!”

The speaker declared:
“What goes up  –  must come down,”
and an aviator in the crowd suddenly looked skyward and screamed:
“My god!  – Newton’s been hit!”
 
 
 

One man counted his blessings on the fingers of his right hand,
and his matching burdens on his left.
From the normal sight of the living, you go into the grave  –   finally well-balanced.
(The idea of: better-late-than-doo-dah is in no form a part of the certain man’s m.o.)
 
 
 

In prison: everyone else is a part of your mind;
to themselves: sheep only know they exist by their reflection in the eyes of
their neighbors.
    (“I rub intangible shoulders, ergo I know that I am.”)
The awakening and freeing of consciousness is the act of a renegade,
not a good comforter and social contributor.
    (“My hair I gladly give for the right to be part of the flock.”)
 
 
 

The conscious part of one man’s brain had the thought:
“It‘s like there's a world wide conspiracy to keep me from doing what I want to do.”
 
 
 

On one world gender title was determined thus:
you were technically a man if you were the penetrating partner,
regardless of who you penetrated.
(And upon hearing this, the conscious part of one man's brain said: “That’s it  – I’m outta here!”)
 
 
 

If life didn’t seem so serious -- it wouldn’t be so funny.
 
 
 

Giving your personal thoughts on the sounds made by mental canyons
is still reacting to echoes.
(And the conscious part of one man's brain said: “Gimmie a break!”)
 
 
 

If being alive weren’t so inherently humorous
ordinary men wouldn’t be forced to take it so seriously.
 
 
 

The conscious part of man's brain (when not engaged in non routine activity)
is like a dog which instinctively runs into traffic seeking to be endlessly bumped.
 
 
 

In the city it’s: stoke the furnace  –  turn up the heat, and see that the penthouse library is always at baking temperature.
Pertinent thereto: The nervous system outlier does not necessarily live where
                                he resides.
 
 
 

The conscious part of one man’s brain had the thought:
“It‘s like there's a great conspiracy to keep me doing precisely as I don’t want to do.”
 
 
 

The kid said to the ole man:
“I'll feel satisfied if I know that in some small way I have helped you to slay-yourself,
burn your fields, destroy your home and lose all your possessions,”
and the elder was pleased to hear this, aware that the younger spoke not of suicide,
nor  physical property.
 
 
 

One man says he was forced to the sad conclusion:
“The name of my ordinary consciousness’ primary game is: ‘Waste My Time.’ ”
 
 
 

Tart taken from lemons,
lockjaw removed from rusty nails,
and wet from rain on dress-up days:
all such would intrude on the lives of ordinary men  -- if they had
the inner experiences of the nervous system rebel.
    (“Oh-h-h!  --  god have mercy on us,” cried the richly imprisoned,
       and their local one responded: “Let nuts crack themselves.”)

Never let your guard down for a moment  –   oh, okay: but just for a moment.

Never in a rough-&-tumble bar order a drink that is cuter than you are.

Never try to lead the crowd in chanting: “Two, four, six, eight:
who do we appreciate?” while in line at Lenin’s Tomb.

Never carry home brand new squirrels in your front pockets.

Never volunteer to disappear  –   not without additional specifics.

Never call up the Tax Commissioner for no reason in the middle of the night.

Never while exploring the Parthenon offer to bend over and tie the tour guide’s shoe.

Never save the wrapping paper from a holy man’s blessing.

Never let a mirror see you cry, a dog see you sweat, or a rubber tree see you coming.

Never eat your mail without opening it first.

Never pay a child for his opinion.

Never study Philosophy with a man named Fuzzy.

Never watch television with both eyes.

Never write your name on anything that might later explode.

Never allow your child to join a club named: Fascist Virgin Busters.

Never laugh-at-another-man’s-religion  –   not unless it's really ridiculous.

Never leave a forwarding-address with a death squad (or a financial advisor).

Never ask a dinner companion to pass-the-bread if they have just been
rhapsodizing over the joys of sexual acts involving less than two people.

Never in an attempt to establish some personal-space, shout in a crowded restroom: “Man overboard!”

Never dance the tango with a surgeon named Brutus.

Never point-and-laugh at a military installation.

Never when reading a book that has god as the hero,
expect much in the way of a surprise ending.

Never pay to have your car neutered or your cousin towed-away.

Never attend a public-gathering if anyone other than you will be there.

Never eat-and-run, unless you’re having ballistic-newtons.

Never sneak up on a fat man.

Never visit a country that has no mailing address.

Never turn over your social-calendar to someone you just met on a bus.

Never chase-rainbows  --  unless you're getting paid by the color (or the mile).

Never carry a card that identifies you as being “a member.”

Never take money out  of an account (except when it's someone else's account).

Never call another person’s sex organ by a cute nick name.     (And):