The Artist Assists the Move

One self-proclaimed “religious woman,” just over in that shaky spot, told me most emphatically that all she hoped for in a better afterlife was a tonic for her nerves and a daybed for her mind.

In a 3-D universe, where you are in space determines your time, but there is another level where time is not decided by space.

In what appeared to be an uncontrollable spasm, one chap suddenly blurted out, “When myths become superstitions, only the superstitious will have myths.”  (Thank you, Orpheus, and “get down” with your bad self…at least, as best you can.)

One little perceptive tyke said what he found cutest about adults was the way they talk.

It could be said that the ordinary artist assists the move from the visual to the conceptual, and then that the revolutionist completes the progression.

J.

"Visitors"

No one
ever
comes for
“just a visit.”
 

A fellow told me that he’s figured out why gifts are so neat; he says it’s not because you simply got something free, and it’s not because it proves the giver loves you; no, he says that you look at a real neat present, and while thinking how much you enjoy it, simultaneously realize you would have never gotten it yourself.  Now…no one would dare ever think of this in regards to the acquisition of new info – would they?

A Real Revolutionist: One who is hard on himself, and easy on others.

Second Version: One who is hard on himself, and hard on others.

Third Version: A real revolutionist.

In that garishly lit galaxy, one father who worked at a used space ship lot, while explaining some basic social matters to one of his daughters, drifted partially into his business jargon when he told her, “Sex is NOT an ‘add on.’”

What may be learned from the obvious, may later prove to have been all too obvious, or else not as obvious as was thought, and even later these two possibilities may prove to be indistinguishable.

J.

Episodic

In that excited voice of his, the guy gushed, “Big numbers, that’s what we’re dealing with here – big fucking numbers!”  And his cohort voice asked, “And just how big are we talking here?”  And he replied, “Ah, easily up to two.”

Episodic reality is the reality you see passing your train window.  (That alone is enough to make some riders wanna mug their ticket, and dip-stick the conductor.)

An elephant cannot initiate his own kind in pachydermian.

No matter how hard things got, one guy said he always “saved a special place in his heart for him.”

The epicenter of this one chap’s life seemed to have occurred when he got a job delivering goiters.

J.

The Glue is You

5-D artifacts left in a 3-D world will appear to be either ruins, or fantasy.

The glue
that holds it
all together
is YOU.

One scientist, attempting to study the Revolution, declared, “According to this data, time is not as far away as we thought.”

I know of this one place where everyone’s treated as though they were famous…its extremely quiet and peaceful…think about it.

A Revolutionist truly prepared to provide new energy and information, can’t really care if they’re ready for it, or not.

J.

Who Issued the Brains?

One son announced, “When I grow up, I wanna be a smart ass.”  And his father’s voice replied, “Why wait until the last minute?”

Don’t personalize your life in the retelling,
(Don’t use “I” of your own existence as an example of anything.)

In response, one guy says, “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to be sad.”  And another guy thought, “My gawd, that’s dangerously close to something, for indeed, if a person ‘had no time’ it’s true – they couldn’t be sad.”

Overheard from that densely packed area just over there: “Hey, who issued the brains anyway?”

One lad, led to say his prayers of thanks just before going to bed, once he was grown, moved them to the morning, immediately upon awakening, because , as he put it, “After I’ve seen if I actually made it through the night.”

J.

No Early Warning System

Science Update, Quantum 90:

The predicted lifetime
of the average pronoun
is now pegged at
two thousand years.

In systems of transitory dimensions, no “early warning system” is ever early enough.

In his backyard, near the edge of the world, this guy looks out and says, “Son, what we’re experiencing here is a ‘glut of reality.’”

While having a few cold ones over in the lateral zone, the guy standing next to me told his partner that he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he found a religion who used as their main hymn of supplication to god the song, “Don’t Be Cruel.”

One fine morning, a chap sharply sat up in bed and exclaimed, “Ah, what I like best about being home instead of in a hotel is that you don’t have to clean up you room.”

J.

Gallaxy Fluke

There’s this one galaxy where everything’s a fluke.

When a lieutenant reported that a recent battle was a “milepost” in the war, a deaf general exploded, “Fuck a mildpost – what I want is a HOTpost!”

One afternoon, while discussing things uncommon and tenuous, the old man used the word, “mythology,” and one son said, “Sure, a myth is something that’s not true,” and his brother, corrected him, “No, you’re thinking of facts.”  (And the old man was sorely pleased.)

There’s this group of creatures on that other planet over there, who may be on to something of transitory use, if not inverted ephemeral fun.  They present the idea that you should first think up a slogan and then figure out a business to go along with it.

One guy always would say, “No, please don’t ask me to sing – please don’t,” and they didn’t.

J.

Lead Time

In the middle of one bright afternoon, the guy announced, “My brain is like an electrical generator, and words are my power lines.”  And his brother thought, “I could surely tack on some smart ass comment here, but I’ve got a headache.”  (No one here’s an only child…you do understand that everyone is their own brother, sister, father, etc?)

In the matter of lesser systems within greater ones, (such as with 3-D worlds within 5-D ones), the defining and operational boundaries of the lesser ones consist of “transitory dimensions.”

There’s very little “lead time” available in the area of new thinking.

Who can put the correct value on one piece of a holograph?

Adjacent to that muddier time zone down the curve, one lad thought, “One thing at least I’ve learned from the old man, is that you’re not necessarily through with something just because you hate it.”

J.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, there was a tribe who lived in the deepest jungle.

Once upon a time, there was a people who lived on the highest mountain.

And once upon a time, there was a bunch of folks who lived in the ocean of clichés.

Hey, look at it this way:  If there WAS any chance you would receive “fair warning,” there wouldn’t be anything to be warned about.

Some people were discussing what an “afterlife” might be like, and one fellow says that he’s absolutely, positively sure that it’ll be “amazing, spectacular, and fascinating.” And another voice asked, “How can you be so sure?”  And the guy, with a wide wave of his hands, taking in all of their immediate surroundings replied, “Well, just look at what we’ve got here in this life already.”

The lad asked his old man, “In all these stories about fathers and sons, why does the father always have the punch line?”  And the elder replied, “That’s because these tales are so old,” but the kid resisted, “But most of them were just written a day or so ago.”  And the father replied, “That’s what I said, they’re old – real, real old.”

Over on this laterally futuristic planet, they have a most dynamic slogan, (which reads the same forward and backward), which declares and directs, “Accept no substitute for REAL substitution.”

J.

Conflict & Collusion

A man living a life based on ordinary economic concerns, cannot be a Revolutionist.

I have in hand another piece of correspondence, although it was apparently intended for Santa Claus, that is a most touching appeal wherein the person is asking but for one single item, he says all he wants is a “cruise control” for his brain.

Back when it was so hot, you remember, just over there, well this fellow just up and said, “Back when I was younger, one thing I really enjoyed was, real late at night, I’d slip up and ring my brain’s door bell, then run off real quick and leave an empty brown bag.”

That which is in conflict
is in collusion, and
those who battle
collaborate.

Believe-it-or-don’t, but yet another, for-a-limited-time-only, lower echelon deity, wants to get in on the act, and wants me to know quite specifically that what he “likes best about being a god is that everyone Naturally expects the worst of you.”

J.

On One Little Planet...

One day one son whined, “Why don’t you ever tell me any fairy tales, or bed-time stories?”

And the old man exploded, “What the hell you think I’ve been doing for the last thirty five years!”

On one planet, the creatures became so enamored of altering their brain chemistry via botanical means rather than verbally, or socially, that they decided they had a “drug problem,” and to counteract it, they attempted to eradicate all psychedelic plants from their world, which proved impossible.

On another planet, the beings also fell into what they too call a “drug problem,” and some of their leaders declared that the only possible solution was to make the use of such chemicals legal, and acceptable, but this proved to divide the people into conflicting camps of pro and con, and nothing was actually ever accomplished.

A third world, hearing of their neighbors’ similar problem, and failures to deal with it, conquered their “drug problem” by officially removing the word “problem” from their vocabulary.

(New Notions To Live By On One Little Planet:
“If you can’t spell a word – to hell with it.”)

In a more civilized future of the Revolutionist, if your neighbors are too noisy, or the least bit annoying – KILL ‘EM.

First brother says, “Poetry suggests metaphor.”

The second brother says, “Metaphor suggests potential.”

And the last brother says, “What this country needs is a good five cent suggestion box.”

J.

Sparks

In the attempt to make some point or the other, a father told his son, “Even electricians can’t tell you why you see sparks when you pull the plug out of a wall socket real quick,” he told the little nipper even though it wasn’t so.  And when the lad grew up, he made this statement to every electrician he met, until the day came that no electrician could tell you why you see sparks when you pull the plug out of a socket real quick.

In another locale I visited, a beggar near the central steps would accost passersby by asking for any “spare time you’ve got.”

A certain would-be Revolutionist read, “Transcendental awareness comes either through trials endured, or by illumination,” and in regard to his own leader he thought, “Hey, I’m all fixed up; what you’ve told me has indeed been illuminating, and just being around you has certainly been a trial.”

Although I have not personally verified the following, I have heard that over in that red-shift, anxious zone, that the latest thing is “fax sex.”

Hmmm…this chap runs, screaming from a store, “I can’t stand it – everything’s fifty percent less than everything else.”

J.

So What?! (Holiday Edition)

While there may be a difference between being completely trustworthy and totally impotent, under City lights and on holidays it's sometimes difficult to distinguish.

Never use another man’s holy book for toilet paper, unless you plan to marry his daughter. (You may have to think on this one a bit, and if you must, you’re probably not matrimonially inclined to begin with.)

This one chap stood right up to the edge of his universe, and shouted out into the apparent void, “You don’t fool me, the gods are all myths!” and the gods shouted back, “So what?!”

No one from
another planet
is ever
just a tourist.

Unfamiliar Query For Some Creatures’ Sabbath:
Is it a “free will offering” if they have to ask for it?

J.

Head Start

In his ofttimes breathless manner, one guy said, “You know, the more I talk, the more I want to talk,” and his tongue said, “Tell me about it.”

Even Sherlock Holmes can’t find an exit door in an abattoir.

One chap used to say, on at least every other day, “Count the days that I’m gone.”  And his partner finally blurted, “You keep saying that, but how can I count the days if you never leave?” And he replied, “I just want to give you time to get a head start on it.”

One real sly little ruler, so as to more efficiently wield power, sat up his dummy brother on the throne as king; a neighboring monarch quickly perceived the beauty of such an arrangement, and decided to do likewise – but then realized it was already too late to imitate.

There are no “economic hardships” in the poor house.

J.

A Unique Axis

A woolly seeming tailor I stood next to in a breakfast queue just around the corner, told me that about the only way he could get a straight answer from himself was to ask a crooked question.

Another out-of-town divinity sent me a card and said he’d heard of my recent collection of his peers’ sentiments, and in the same regard, he wanted to state that what he liked best about being a god is that you can whine and no one ever notices what you’re actually doing.

The first voice said: “There’s only one thing I am justified to hate – dumbness.”

And his friend’s voice, in a captious mood replied: “Okay, but who’s to decide what IS dumbness?"

And number one voice declared: “Why me, of course, I’m certainly qualified to do that, or I wouldn’t be smart enough to spot all the dumbness in the first place – Humph.”

And the other voice said: “Rats – foiled again!”

Over in the deep end of the pool, a lurking liquor sales man said to me, “I have but one fear in life and that is being misunderstood.”  And one of his parallel voices said, “Jeeze – talk about a half a problem”

In one yet flashing galaxy, there is a rather hard-nosed description of what many creatures consider metaphysical insight, and it says, “Each individual is a unique axis in their own unique wheel of no personal consequence.”

J.

A Man With A Gift

You can’t agree
to be ordinary…
(of course,
you don’t have to.)

While sitting in that oblique park near the orange zone connector, a chap talking to the pigeons turned his tongue to me for a moment and confessed, “After more than a few decades of life on this planet, I finally seem to have developed a precise, delicate balance that is just right for me…and what’s even more bouncy is that I have no idea what it is.”

A man with a gift
generally assures others
that his talent
s no “mere gift.”

Over on this pretty speedy, young planet, they have a tale exemplary of how varying, partial impressions will produce diverse, incomplete conceptions of the same thing.  It is in the telling of the story of “The Five Blind Men And The Computer.”

One more of these trans-mortal creatures slipped me his Olympian sentiments on the matter by saying that what he liked best about “being a divinity,” was that some of his grandchildren still mistook him for candy.

J.

Every Day's a Holiday

Things not necessary may be LESS than necessary.

One voice said, “When every day is a holiday all men will have their own party hat.” And a semi-parallel voice counterpointed, “If every man had his own personalized party hat, there would be no NEED for holidays.”

At the ceremony, upon receiving his award, the man stated, “I’d like to thank everyone who made this possible,” and then added, “My brother would also like to thank the same everyones who made this inevitable.”

No matter their intentions, whatever a man may do will be harmful to someone else; only the mythical can survive without causing injury, (and of course they cannot either, as soon as men believe in them).

A member of a private security force told me quite publicly, “Hey, they pay me to guard stuff, not take care of it.”

J.

Warn Me Once, Warn Me Twice

Any source that will warn you twice may not have your best interests inherent in its programming.

If you were to ever find yourself in a place where time was not on everyone’s side, then rest assured, it would be on NO one’s.

The Revolutionist’s graduate program is in recognizing that the forces that drive all of life “out there,” are the same ones that power all of his “in here.”

In the operational mythology of a here-D world, error keeps truth compact, and evil keeps good from flying apart.

A certain father, upon the second departure of his grown progeny, offered the following verbal, going-away-snack-lit-a-sack: “My genetic extension, if your concern over acquiring certain info is still on the basis of, ‘what good will it do me?’ then the good stuff I do know won’t do you any good.”

J.

The Alternative

During one of those periodic episodes of shared, philosophical introspection that often follows times of tragedy, the populous of one area engaged in a conversation thusly:

First village voice:  “All that keeps me going are my religious beliefs.”
And a Second voice contributed:  “What keeps me going are my many social and personal  responsibilities.”
And a Third voice-of-the-village added:  “The only thing that keeps me going is in considering the alternative.”
And a certain rebellious based voice near the outskirts noted:  “Ah, but what keeps the adventurous going is their awareness of the alternative to all alternatives.”

There is a place, over in a faster time zone, where a myth is not a noun.

One pleasantly grizzled gentleman, to me confided the following, “Whilst being a human here in this life, I must confess, I never truly grasped the nature of compassion until I was well into my sixties, and by then, I didn’t really gave a damn.”  (When your hearing is more complex, it sometimes surprises how dissonant the chorus can be from the verse.)

Ordinary thought is to This, as love is to lust, as foreplay is to the transcendental quiet of the death-nap afterwards.

In this one place, they have a saying that goes, “Society should serve man, not man society.”  Now what if you tripled the stakes, and changed the game so that instead of the units, “society” and “man,” you had “Life” and the “Revolutionist?”

J.

Wild Bill Chaos

One sturdy little cerebral cowpoke told me that he sometimes thinks of his personal involvement in all of this as, “riding dangerously close to the spread, and property lines, of Wild Bill Chaos.”

In a more
complex future,
time is a place.

Near the epicenter of a more condensed universe, there is an area where dimensional distinctions have lost some of their charm; for instance, one revered critic there, in reference to the musical arts, recently stated that “ninety percent of the new artists will fail and quickly be forgotten, since none of them sounded alike.”

Telling yourself, “how to look,” is not the same as HOW you look. (Warning:  Do not apply this to other parts of the body.)

Without the illusion
of freedom
there could be no
captivity.

J.