It doesn’t matter what you do unless you know what you’re thinking.

Consciousness has two abilities: to describe the physical world (man’s first reality) and to weave tales (his second reality);
indiscriminately intermingling the two is its normal state, but also the one that so infuriates the few and causes them to say such things as:
“To a great extent, man lives in a dream world,” and makes them want to
awaken therefrom.

If you have a question about it  –  there’s your answer.

What you do doesn’t count unless you know what you’re doing  –
even if you do something that works.

If you have any doubt about it  –  you’re correct.

When you’re dealing with real change  –  even a little bit will do.

If you’re smart enough to trick yourself  –  you don’t have to trick yourself.

A man who is angered by the art of his day feels that civilization has passed him by.
A savage can be a cultural artifact  –  as long as he doesn’t say anything about the matter.
    (“Does this imply that I could be less stupid if I tried less to seem intelligent?
       And would you explain to me again exactly how that works.”)

The less you understand, the more likely you are to talk-to-god
(which is an unwitting attempt to make your brain get smarter).

So wondered a fellow: “Does asthma move to locations where the climate is
more conducive to the presence of humans?”

How Life Is Compared Ever-So Slightly To How Mind Often Talks As Though It Is.
In interviewing an author about his latest work, a reporter inquisitively noted:
“This is the first time you’ve written about your wife’s suicide?!”
     “Yes – It was the first time she’d done it.”

At least once a day one man randomly dials a phone number and asks whoever answers if he can speak to whoever randomly happens to be there –
and then tells them he is doing this as a metaphorical satire of man’s normal relationship to his thoughts (which no one he’s yet called has found to be even
mildly interesting.)

If you fear people knowing too much about your personal life  –
you’re just toying with yourself: you know you don't have one.

In spite of widespread urging, one man refused to title his autobiography:
“Portrait Of A Madman,” (although he could offer no rational reason why).

There is no knowledge available of a system outside that system,
and that which seems to exist inside of it is specious.
    “Did you say, useless?”
Yes.

The second reality has nothing to live on but itself,
    “Did you say, but-consciousness?”
Yes.

Facts are for children;
acts are for everybody.

All that one man could talk about was his illness,
and all it could talk about was trying to get away from him and his whining.

Facts are for children;
the facts about facts are only for the few who can take it.

Processes don’t stop just because thinking does.

If you tell someone a fact and they laugh  –  you’ve got problems.

You can’t talk about something you can’t think about.

Why would a knight settle for finding the holy grail when he could continue
looking for it forever.

In the second reality: no words  –  no growth.
On some worlds, growth is an illusion, but no matter: some worlds are an illusion.

Ordinary knowledge is the temporary cessation of thinking.

To the consciousness of the certain-man there is no such thing as an acceptable, “No.”
In the land of the special private-eye/I --  it’s always yes o’clock.

When means become ends, the investigation has been put on hold.

That which is local strikes men as the most serious.
(Facts are worse than acts, hades more frightening than hoboken.)

The revolution will never occur as the result of an election.

Life on city highways is sixty-five years of fuming at the car in front of you  –
which you are also driving.
When they can’t pass the vehicle ahead  --  men will pass judgment.

There is no truth in human behavior  –  not as truth is perceived to be
by ordinary minds.

The answer to paris is the answer to france, and explaining the step,
explains the dance.

In the real-deal-land: those who want power must just take it.

Established thinking will never vote itself out of office.

A mythical warrior’s ire should be confined to murder.

“I don’t get it” could just be the point.

Just because it makes you laugh doesn’t mean it’s a joke.

In the standard kingdom it is not possible for the wrong person to be on the throne.
When the gods are on olympus and the trolls under the bridge,
no one’s words can prove that they’re not.
Once you’ve stopped in at minsk, you can then never say that you haven’t.
    “Yes you can: I don’t get it.”
 Okay: You can then never say that you haven’t, and your mind believe it, tolerate it, accept it, ever understand that everything in its world came from nothing,
and to nothing it cannot return.
(Only the certain-man’s strange consciousness can do that).

The mind’s proper response to all questions concerning human behavior is:
“I don’t know,”  (or at least): “I don’t want to know.......not if it involves me having to personally think about it.”

One man’s self confrontation: “How dare me stop me from thinking!”

In the world of the standard man: there’s no such thing as a good audience.

The great thing about life in man's second reality is that you’re always correct  –
even when you’re wrong.

An author whose favorite writer is not his self is not an author.

Survival In The City.
By injecting him daily with a few milligrams of new stupidity were they able to
keep him alive indefinitely.

If what you’re fooling with requires the judgment of an audience,
it’s just the same old stuff.

There are worse things than being misled.

For the rebel performer: it’s always  –  show-time!

Consciousness’ creation of god came from the hair-pulling frustration it experienced when it initially attempted to investigate itself directly.

You are still captive, asleep and in the dark if the concept of freedom has any
meaning for you whatsoever.

Anyone who can listen to ordinary men talk and believe they actually think,
is as bad off as they are.

If you have any doubt: You are asleep in a dream if you allow any of man's
normal intangibles to register on your nervous-system.

And always on the good foot, the godfather shouted as he shimmied across the stage of consciousness:

 
 
 
 
 
 

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