Ordinary people go to an amusement park to have fun;
the certain man creates one in his own consciousness.
    (“Yeah, but does his have cotton candy and a House Of Mirrors?..............okay, cotton candy?”)
 
 
 

When one man was accused of: living-in-a-fool’s-paradise,
he could find nothing amiss with the comment, “Considering that I AM mostly a fool.”
 
 
 

When asked which he preferred: the carrousel or the roller coaster, one chap replied: “It doesn’t matter; just as long as I end up back where I started.”
     (And a forward-looking synapse snapped: “Cotton candy my ass!”)
 
 
 

One man was so angry at dropping a hammer on his foot
that he cut off the hand that did it.
  (“Hey! –  you didn’t designate whether you were talking about the man
      or his consciousness.                                             Did I really just say that?”)
 
 
 

Whenever trouble arises, after identifying his self as an official spokesman
for his self, one man will frequently issue the following statement:
“My client is not a well man.”
 
 
 

One man says if he raises his consciousness too quickly, he gets the mental bends.
    (“It’s a thrill-a-minute, ain’t it?” said the guy putting the tacks in the cotton candy.)
 
 
 

Everyone has their own spokesperson   –   even non celebrities without press agents.
    (“Is this a great galaxy or what!”)
 
 
 

Recently the consciousness in one man said: “You’ve got to stop lying to me,”
just to see who (if anything) would respond.
(“A guy has simply GOT to keep an eye on his self,” it offered by way of explanation     apparently?!)
 
 
 

One guy nick named his consciousness, Dog Biscuits,
(“So’s hopefully, it’ll learn to go fetch.”)
 
 
 

Looking down into a freshly dug grave, one part of a man’s brain said to the rest:
“Okay bitch!  --  who’s gonna be your daddy when we go there?”
 
 
 

One consciousness said: “Listening to other people's thoughts is like
voluntarily turning over your children for kidnapping.”
 
 
 

A poet with a rhyming dictionary and a chain saw
can garner more attention to his work than one with just a dictionary.
 
 
 

One man gave the special favorite part of his consciousness a secret code name
which he didn’t reveal to the rest of his mind -- so that it couldn’t contact the special
part and screw it up –  but which made it impossible for him to get in touch with
that part when he was in the ordinary state of consciousness.
    (“Quite the conundrum,” thought he, “least it probably would be if I knew what conundrum meant.”)
 
 
 

A man lowered the newspaper he was reading, turned to his dog and said:
“I have decided to cease picking on economists and theologians:
I have come to the conclusion that NOBODY knows what they are talking about.”
 
 
 

The special part of one guy’s consciousness has a stock response to all criticisms the rest of it levels at the cultural and spiritual manifestations of other men’s consciousness: “It’s all show business my man  –   simply show biz.”
 
 
 

The outlier camp doctor said to a young trooper who came to him one day feeling ill:
“In strict metaphysical terms: What you have with an inner-rebel who is sick,
is a sick inner-rebel.        (Though you may have been hoping for more.)”
 
 
 

Suddenly one day it hit a guy:
“My normal consciousness doesn’t have a doppelganger –   it IS a doppelganger!”
    (And life muttered: “Watch it, wise ass!”)
 
 
 

One man who was not affected by compliments did not hesitate to bestow them
on others who did appreciate them.
    (“Or maybe it was just his understanding that did it?!”       You think!)
          One chap was: captain-of-his-ship                    (and also its bilge).

Men like to clutch their parts in their hand;
  the rebel likes to clutch his private parts;
    ordinary men have no private parts.
 
 
 

A tip was proffered:
“There’s one sure way to never have your heart broken”  --
this was pondered – followed by a question: “Will it also work for consciousness?”
 
 
 

A voice in a head said: “One nice feature of having no self is that
there is no possible problem of low-self-esteem.”
 
 
 

Putting it all together is fun of a sort never known by those in the demolition trade.
 
 

One guy does his own weather forecasting: “Some today  –  more tomorrow.” (And that’s for inside his head.)