While washing dishes at the kitchen sink, a man mused:
“What I hate about food is the way it sticks to stuff,”
(which put both his stomach and consciousness to thinking  [the latter about thoughts]).
 
 
 

There are numerous people who are fascinated by the idea of a great-conversion;
many men would like their automobile painted a different color, but no one wants to
pay for it, or do without the car for the time it has to be in the shop.
    (“It sure is easy to pick on people.”
          “I guess that’s why people do it.”)
 
 
 

Words have their own internal compass,
and speakers are not necessarily navigators.
 
 
 

“Pa pa: does verbally attacking people do them any benefit?”
    “Ask a sham sore at which you pick.”
“What the hell is a sham sore?”
    “What the hell are people?”
 
 
 

Names have their own external logic,
but those who mouth them are not required to be reasonable in their use.
 
 
 

The fear the caesars-of-consciousness have concerning the lean-and-hungry look
of cassius is not based on a physical threat.
   On a tricycle,
   the youngest wheel is by the others perceived to be always playing catch-up
   in an alarmingly vigorous fashion.
Being civilized and properly distracted has been a long journey,
but one whose completion occurs so instantaneously that
individual men are not ever aware of it.
(Sort of like death: you’re gone before you know what’s happened.)
 
 
 

(Although the following should not disturb normal night time slumber,
it might be best to keep this from the eyes of pre school neurons.)
The very worst monsters have never been named.
 
 
 

Conversation.
“Many people are waiting around for it.”
    “What d’ya mean, ‘many’ people?!”
“Okay: lots of people.”
    “LOTS?!”
“All right: everybody.”
     “Everybody?!  –  come on, you’re overdoing it now.”
“Many?”
     “Well-l-l.........I think you’re still exaggerating it.”
 
 
 

A cop directing traffic finds much of ordinary men’s intellectual activity as
reminiscent of awkward adolescent sexual moves in that:
“Many men try for penetration before they have their arms fully around the facts.”
 
 
 

At a sidewalk bistro, a guy (reputedly somehow connected to a travel agency) confided: “Everyone who goes there eventually returns with a......well, peculiar look.”
(His café companion asked if he was being serious  –  but he would say no more.)
 
 
 

For a number of years some men effortlessly dodge bullets:
this is known as: The-youth-of-the-body.
    (“Is there a similar set up with consciousness?”
           Dream on.)
 
 
 

A father said to a son:
“A true strangeness regarding our special family aim is that if what you're doing
puts you under additional stress, it's not really the attempt to wake up  --  and yet
there seems to be no way to avoid going through this to get there, which seems like
an impossible situation, but at least you could keep it in mind and see if doing so
won't have some effect on the affair.”
 
 
 

Today’s Religious News.
There are no dancing lessons in heaven.
 
 
 

Shopping.
Always get what you need when it’s on sale –
and when you reach the place where you need nothing,
pick up whatever is on sale.              (Or of course you can just stay home.)
    (“I gave my love a cherry  --  and she sent me a bill for pit removal.”)
 
 
 

One night a man reflected:
“My thoughts are like fiery comets  –  hurtling through the endless space of
my consciousness  –  except,” he further mused, “it’s like they’re eventually
going to burn up all of consciousness’ endlessness.”
Then & there he decided to set up his own internal, cosmological oversight agency;
(“Maybe I’ll call it NASA: The Neural Attempt to Stop Asininity.”)
 
 
 

As per man's so-labeled, spiritual realm:
someone who is a believer or a non believer  --  understands nothing.
He who rises in response to either’s call is shot through the heart before he stands.
 
 
 

This email just in:
“The eleventh or twelfth story you published today is undoubtedly the most offensive piece of reporting I have ever encountered in my entire life,
(and please say it ain't so).  Yours,” etc.
 
 
 

A son said to a father:
“An image suddenly came to me today:
that what we're trying to do is like a neurologist doing brain surgery on his self.”
    “Good one.”
 
 
 

Notes a guy in a smock:
“An artist has a choice: either paint scenes the public has never seen,
or paint ones they have never hungered to see.”
    “What is the difference?”  he was asked,
“Ask your own consciousness that,” he replied.
 
 
 

“Have you ever seen a day old colt frolic?”
    “Yes.”
“That’s how my consciousness  feels whenever I remember The Aim.”
 
 
 

And another email just arrived:
“I for one am not fooled by the so-called: communiqués you claim to receive from readers (which you have obviously written yourself) and if you continue with this charade I will be forced to actually write you one and call you on this matter.
Sincerely,” and so on.
 
 
 

One day local  --  huh!  --   another email's just come in: this one encouraging me
not to sweat the nit pickers and says I should ignore emails like the previous one  --
(even if I wrote it myself        ----        okay):
One day local reality invited a man to take a seat, then said to him:
“Tell me about yourself,” and the man shook his head, no, explaining:
“I do not do such: I am a nervous system revolutionist,” and the reality scoffed:
“You guys don’t fool me: the real reason you don’t want to tell about yourselves is that there is nothing about you TO tell.”
Moral: Realities  –  even local ones  –  weren’t born yesterday.
 
 

                                   Kings wear crowns,
                                   priests don robes,
                                   institutions inhabit imposing structures, and men have names --
                                   all for the same reason  –

While still alive, one man had his mind pickled (his explanation being):
“Well you should’ve seen what it was doing to ME!”