Says one man:
“Have you noticed that several times a month the whole world gets on edge? --
and curiously it’s always on the same day that I am.
Whoa!  –  is everybody copying me!?”
 

Telling people how they should feel is indeed a high calling:
what could be more admirable than encouraging worms to fly
and tongues to lick themselves.
    (“I have no idea what you’re talking about  –
       but for some reason I feel better having heard it.”)
 

When one man tried to throw himself a rope,
and looked up to see who was on the other end, he exclaimed:
“What do you take me for: dumb as a hamster?!”
 

Once, through the study of your own,
you understand what’s going on with consciousness,
other people then become both spookier and  no longer spooky at all.
    (“Ain’t understandin’ grand!”)
 

The most important maneuver for the untalented to appear to have some
is for them to do a jam up imitation of someone who actually has some.
(And of course never forget: to become a popular song writer/singer,
always keep your tunes as close to a single note as possible.
[Under excruciating conditions a melody containing two or three notes can be tolerated.])
 

So’s not to underestimate human savvy,
consider how it’s been made to seem a semi-divine honor to die for the king.
 

How Mind Works (as noted by one guy):
“The best thing about tv infomercials is they’re not interrupted by commercials.”
 

More Tips For Success In The City.
The most critical cog in making people like you is to freely tell them about
all the things that really gripe you.
 

So’s not to overestimate human savvy,
consider how it's been made to seem a semi divine honor to die for the king.
 

In-House Misdemeanors.
One man considers the appearance of the thoughts that naturally occur in his head
to be a form of domestic violence.
 

After hearing a hermit described as: A secessionist amongst the walking-wounded,
a man mused: “So there is a distinction between the rebels you see,
and the real ones.”
Moral: From the city view: If you’re alive  --  you’re wounded.
Immoral Intown Corollary: If you admit that you are wounded then you are so
exemplarily quotidian that not only have your baby shoes been bronzed,
but with your feet still in them.
(“This is Morals & Corollaries: over and out.”
        [“Albert: did he say, coronaries?”])
 

City folks love to say that it was a long and winding road that brought them to
where they are today        (even if it’s nowhere).
 

The strength of man’s intangible city affairs is in their near constant chaos  –
not any disciplined order.
     (“Does this explain consciousness’ nature?”
Might the runner’s shoes account for the track’s texture?)
When ordinary minds put 2 and 2 together the result is always: ordinary minds.
Man’s unique incorporeal reality is kept running by the simple ploy of it
never stopping to examine whether it is actually going anywhere or not.
Hawks may soar the skies, but the doves of Jove fly through walls & predict the future: which would you choose?
    (“If I was of ordinary mind, you mean?!”)
 

 At the Ha Ha! –  Don’t You Just Love It mortuary, their slogan is:
“There’s Only One Thing Funnier Than Death.”
(The owner says if it doesn’t bring in a customer this year he may change it.)
 

One man has a different thought for every day of the week,
(and two for holidays when they fall on a Saturday.
[A regional god says there is a chance the man could become a permanent part of local reality.])
 

In the city: the opposite of anything is at best of no more significance than
the original thing.
     (“At least it simplifies things.......meaningless things.......but….nevertheless.......”)
 

The Super Über Logic Of It All.
A city with cows is still a city,
but a cow in the city is no longer a cow.
     (“Are you trying to tell me that there is something worse for a toaster
        than just browning bread!?” cried a coffee maker.)
The Facts.
Unlike can occur with the dreams men have in bed at night,
during the rest of their lives, sleepers cannot discern that they are asleep.
(Makes for a much more peaceful herd.)
    “Pa pa: when I grow up can I not be part of a peaceful herd?”
“Only if you let no one be aware of it.”
    “Why is that?”
“Because if they are, the herd is no longer peaceful.”
    “Pa pa?”
“Yes?”
    “We’re again actually talking about a man’s consciousness and its natural drive to
      obliterate itself in the thoughts the brain automatically provides, aren’t we?!”
“Most certainly not.”
 

Attacking another human by name is unwittingly identifying yourself publicly as
mental lint, totally devoid of any understanding.
 

One man has a different day for every day in the week  -- AND
a mood of consciousness to match.
    (“It will after all, be the fashionable who will be given the best seats in heaven.”
[“Yes it’s true: I still may not be awake, but at least I don’t have much longer to be asleep.     Do I?”])
 

(Concerning consciousness in prison, always remember):
It doesn’t matter what something is called  –  as long as it is called something.
 

Only the dim support the king;
only the dense denounce him publicly.
 

You could say that chess is a metaphor for DoingTheThing;
you could say that fencing is a metaphor for DoingTheThing,
you could even say that DoingTheThing is a metaphor for doing it.

The only stories of interest to the certain man concern the dogs' saliva glands spitting on the illusion of pavlov.