Man’s Grand Distraction is that there is an enemy within;
his ordinary consciousness gives him the unwavering sensation that
there is an opposition to him, inside of him: a satan, an evil one, a subconscious mind, suppressed psychological traumas, etc.
The consciousness men are born with comes with the feeling of a combative sibling: another version of itself which is in opposition to it:
this is man’s normal inner condition, and the one against which the few rail,
(whether it be so understood or nay.
Oh yeah: only those who do finally grasp this situation ever truly get free therefrom.)
 
 
 
 

When a machine doesn't know what to do about a problem it confronts, it always
does the obvious: it sees what other machines have to say about the matter.
    (“So who else's advice would a woodchuck seek save another woodchuck's;
       what could be more normal than having quite ordinary people all over the world
       wanting to enlighten all of the other ordinary people?!”
               [“Remember Big Joe: if it fumes, rattles & whines  --  it's one of us.”])
 
 
 

Accountability Update.
Men’s most acclaimed seers can’t even tell you what the books will look like
at the end of today’s business,   (much less, etc., etc.)
 
 
 
 

In the city's Busy District, a leading figure said to a neophyte:
“The sure way to determine that you are a serious person is that you have no room
for small talk, or small ideas,” and a mid level manager overhearing this mused:
“Yeah  –  ‘cause all your space is taken up by SUPER small ones.”
 
 
 
 

How To Get-Ahead In Prison.
Great news!  –  you don’t have to!
 
 
 
 

(An item you should not take personally [nor metaphorically].)
The rich always encourage pride in the poor  –   why?  –
because it costs them nothing.
(P.S. This has nothing whatsoever to do with consciousness
and the thoughts so abundantly provided for your use and pleasure.
     [“You know, now that I thunk on it: It’s nice as hell for beavers to take the time out of their busy lives to compliment men with wooden legs.”])
In one quarter of the city, ‘tis thought that suicide is the heroic act
for the faint of heart, while across town ‘tis believed that self-censure is
the wimpish way of the bold            (but  –   either way......)
 
 
 
 

Today’s Question.
How many Alexander The Greats throw private fits over a missing button
on their tunic?
Answer: You got it!
(We could up the stakes and play: Dirty Quiz, wherein you ponder why men so enjoy seeing man held up to satirical ridicule.
    “Why that’s what makes us better than all the other creatures:
     only humans point at one another and sneer.”
“That’s true, I’m a scientist and I can vouch for it:
rockets won’t fly if the fuel isn’t combustible.”
    “Oh! –  we’re combustible all right!      Case closed.”)
 
 
 
 

The man threw down his newspaper in disgust, turned to his cat and spat:
“Forget magicians!  –  institutions are the experts at misdirection,”
and the feline thought: “Uh oh  –  human hairball time again.”
 

                               As the jury walked away,
                                 they were heard to say:
                                   “Things are WAY
                                      too complicated to talk about.”
 
 
 
 

Maxim Update.
If you can count-your-blessings your math is unrealistically constricted.
 
 
 
 

From the Outlier’s Outline To Zestful Zoology:
“It is good that lambs have lion ideas not to lie with,
or else we would have no lamb ideas.”
(Note: In prison, the wimp-factor never comes into play  –
 it doesn’t have to  –   it IS the prison.)
 
 
 
 

All captives carry chains only they can break.
Linguistics Update.
Out of stark desperation did men invent the word, illusory.
 
 
 
 

News From The World Of Consciousness.
One of the curious quirks of life in the city is that anyone can call for a halt  --
once the game has started.
The thoughts inherently provided to each man to cover the natural starkness of
his consciousness are like a freight train running around on a circular track
with the end of the caboose connected to the front of the cab.
     (“Hey!  –  it doesn’t get any better than this.”)
 
 
 
 

One voice spoke to one ear just outside the door of surgery:
“If they offer you a pill  –   ask for a shot;
   if they offer you a shot  –   ask for  gas;
    if they offer you gas  –  demand a second opinion.”
        (Remember: If you can count your afflictions, you should fire your accountant.)
 
 
 
 

Songs Of The Structure.
A man who sings off key will always have plenty of room;
(same for he who can think off key [but it'll be on a different floor]).
 
 
 
 

In the grip of sudden celestial insight one star said to another:
“The fault dear Brumley, is not in our men  –  but in ourselves.”
     When cells and cosmos can sit down together  –
     then the certain man has something.
(Reminder: A man with three arms can’t fly any faster.
    “Ah yes,” moans a mundane mortal, “it always comes back to consciousness.”

The only mouth deemed worthy by the certain man is one that can swallow itself.
     “I take it this actually has to do with double entry bookkeeping?!”
Indubitably.