Universal Spin

A recent rumor making the rounds has it that a certain deity once listed his occupation as “Doctor of Universal Spin”.

There are people who are ordinary and who walk around in a fog; there are people who are ordinary who don’t; there are people who say they are “doing This,” who do not walk about in a fog; and there are people who say they are “doing This,” who…no, I just can’t bring myself to say it…

Making a futile attempt to put his arm around the old man, the kid said, “Pops, I’ve decided that some of the funny stuff you say ain’t really a joke.”  And the palpitating pater was so pleased he almost didn’t kill him.”

One of the applicants for the executioner’s position was amazed to learn that it paid a salary…his brother-in-law was even more bewildered to find that priests likewise were paid AND very seldom brought to the guillotine.

Instead of simply and directly “going to new places,” there was this one sly guy who would first go to see if he would later like to “go there.”

Always remember this:
No matter how
it’s described,
that’s still
not the point.

J.

Tuesday Ordinance

The state’s enforcer was the man with the biggest stick in the territory, and one day whilst brashly buffeting a bewildered citizen he was asked:  “What intellectual training did you undergo to become our police authority?”  And the man replied, “When you’re holding the biggest stick, you don’t need no training.”  (With this comment and a sharp rap to the head, the subdued citizen was sorely enlightened.)

There are two kinds of health: Health and extraordinary heath.

In retaliation (or due imitation), another nearby planet passed an ordinance forbidding, on alternate Tuesdays, the inevitable.)

In the front of the room a hand was raised, a query proffered, “In the battle between might and insight, which will emerge triumphant?”  And the reply replied, “Let us hope that those who must ask such questions have lots of the former, since they have little of the latter.”

If you do plan to join in with me, it’s time you noted this: There is no profit in studying the individual man, only the species.

J.

Myths for a Monday

The only
conclusive
myth is a
dead myth.

With more advice (that may even transcend the need of same), one of the older creatures said to one of the less old, “Just ask yourself this:  Why go into debt when you know you’ll just eventually die?”

None are saints,
none are sinners,
all are diners,
all are dinner.

If it is natural for ordinary folk to have heroes, then a revolutionist would want to be his hero’s hero.

The present ripens into the future with the kind assistance of the manure known as "talk."

J.

Gimme a Break!

On a somewhat more solemn note – (gimme a break) – an elder cautioned one of his young charges, “Lest you stray off into believing in some perfect refuge, just take note of this:  No one’s safe, even the past is buffeted by the yet-to-be.”  (Look, even though I didn’t say it, I’m still responsible for bringing you the story, so let me remind you that the above notion is non-sequential and impossible, and even beyond that, philosophically speaking – "gimme a break.")

The Redoubtable Cosmic Doctor sends this Medical Update:

“After a certain age, the intellect finds that each new day brings the possibility of a rottenness setting in, so watch it!”  (This is easily understood when you realize that while some internal parts, like man, within the overall body of life may be incrementally dying, the host structure can still be quite healthy and growing, thank you.)

Over in the Spectrum Split Sector, one gent with a faraway look in his eye told me confidentially, “If it proves correct that a final day of reckoning will come whereby man’s picture of justice and retribution is fully executed, I fear, mon ami, that we’re all in for a hard eternity."

Once the system had expanded to a certain point, capital (that is, the dominant powers) decided they needed an intermediary to deal directly with labor (that is, the submissive) and once this middle class, managerial mouthpiece was constructed, he was given his most important – in fact his only – instructions:  To whatever any of the working subordinates ever say, he is to immediately reply, “This will never do.”

The way things stand presently, the people in the front ranks can’t stand to contemplate the possibility…(Do note, men call themselves “followers” of this god or that – followers – those who came after the gods…I don’t care if you are up front, think about it anyway.)

J.

Milky Way Thinking

I ask you, my friends, fellow creatures and other voters, just what kind of world and state would we have if it finally comes down but to two parties – those who pray for rain and those who pray for umbrellas?

There is only one thing more foolish than trying to tell other men how to live, and that is in trying to tell them how foolish it is.

No need to concern yourself with questions as to what cuisine is in, or what styles are hot, ‘cause year in and year out, to a lion, a Rembrandt is just another meal.

In partial counterpoint to Milky Way thinking, one galaxy holds with the following definitions:  "Art:  Recognition of the inevitable;  Science:  Wishful Thinking.”

Only tomorrow
is better than you.

J.

The Silly Gods

Longevity
favors
the silly gods.

One day the Leading Voice told the Trailing one, “You may find – if not the inside track - at least a dry, level one, if you finally discover that no one else is ever going to think that you’re as exceptionally bright as you know you to be…and this be so no matter who, when or where.”

In a bounding fit of hurried optimism, the creatures of that one young planet to our east have just ratified an amendment outlawing fate.

“Dear Papa, just what is the difference between those men who never give any particular thought to their existence and those who seem consumed by such?”  And the old man replied, “Well, for one thing, the former never ask such questions as this and beyond that…well, I’ll have to get back with you on it.”

Grey Matter Graffiti To Remember (if you want to):

If a revolutionist hears an idea he doesn’t like, he should have someone at camp, qualified with a sharp knife, check his hearing.

J.

Sequenced

With a wide sweep of his arms, the richly endowed elder said, “All of this, my lad, is what we call ‘life’ and we’re all in it together.”  And his less empowered listener said, “But some more than others.”

After being confronted yet again (for the four thousandth time, by his reckoning) with the ballyhooed glitz and glamour of celebrities' lives, this one chap muttered that, at times, his own seemed to be no more than “stock footage.”

One purpose of memory and history is to get sequence in proper order.

On a certain vaguely familiar, if not redoubtable world, their term, “to make new friends,” means to “beat up strangers.”  (But it’s beyond me why you call it “vaguely familiar.”)

One somewhat large little fellow, who had recently come to believe that he was “held by the heady grip of love,” discovered that he was wearing his shorts too tight.

J.

Flawed Reality

Apparently by way of some encouragement, if not correction, one father told a daughter, “Just remember, you can ‘sing’ the blues without having the blues,” and she was suddenly struck, “What a joy it is to live in a flawed reality.”

It’s only since humans became involved that “Justification” got a bad name.

On this one planet
they always let
everyone else do
the “ground work.” 

In this one, I’ll admit, unusual state, the king each morning, immediately upon arising, would gleefully proclaim, “The king is dead, I know he’s dead, long live the king.”

One little feller was so intrigued by the activities of his own brain that he gave it its own little Latin name:  Ubiquitous Non Sequitur.

J.

A Brief Madness

One small group with a quite wide view has as their in-house graffiti, this phrase:  “Being ordinary is but a brief madness.”

The mythic god (or at least the archetype) of the human tongue one evening confided to me thusly, “’Tis when I attempt to be inclusive and conclusive that I become mangled and unintelligible.”  He paused, took another drink, and added, “This is strange even for a hero.”

When it comes to this-kinda-stuff, there are no serious alternatives.

A silly
continent
is a safe
continent.

One other little person told me that, despite his numerous attempts to “encourage reason,” reason has never returned the favor.

A sheepish thought, standing before the newly discovered carnivorous den, although lacking any details regarding this unusual mental lair was sure of one thing – there are many more tracks leading in than were coming out.

J.

The Statistics

The first voice says, “The statistics – they’ve got the statistics – we’re done for, they’ve got the statistics, and we’ve got nothing.”  His partner says, “Yeah, but never mind the statistics, we both know that what they’re claiming is not so,” and the first voice then replies, “Yeah, but don’t you understand – they’ve got the statistics.”

One armchair (or maybe he was an end table) psychologist said quite loudly that he believed the only reason Beethoven went deaf was that he simply reached a place of having no more music to compose, and a couple of dead guys nearby, hearing this, went into a severe funk.

Just in case you or your brother have ever wondered, NO, there is no place in this universe where we’re not “all in this together…”  (Now, relax.)

There was this one human whose most fun in life was explaining things to others, but he spoiled it all when one day he accidentally listened to what he said.  Ouch!

Although epilogues and introductions may create stormy marriages, indeed, the bodies of their prodgenies may calmly proceed…  (Without the comfortable extremes of a heaven and a hell, Dante and Beatrice could have never given birth to one another; without the support of a capital letter at one end and a final punctuation mark at the other, no sentences could stand.)

J.

Balloon Logic

As a balloon is being blow up, different areas on the surface begin to live in differing time zones, and to calculate their ages from diverse calendars; but from an outsider’s view, their creation, existence, and decay is universally coeval.

A certain precocious child decided to do his Primary School Exit Thesis on the question:

“What IS The Difference Between A Curse and A Supplication?”  And the neighborhood myth privately expressed “great displeasure with the little fucker.”

Some limbic graffiti:

“Yeah I know, they all look like ‘sure things,’ but I’d be careful about betting away my very last suffering on it.”

The difference between a myth and a demi-myth is not unlike the slight variance ‘twixt “perception” and “deception.”

This one lesser know god is approached by a band of mortals who just discovered him and who want to make him their own personal deity; well, he is no doubt flattered and all that, but questions them quite specifically regarding how they intend to worship him, what sacrifices they will make, what will be the required value of their offerings to him, what structures will be erected in his honor, and by what public displays will they prove their submission?  (You know, just all the usual things like that.)  Well, it turns out that they have absolutely no such plans or intentions, and not one decent response to any of his questions; so he thinks about all of this for a moment, then exclaims, “Well, al-l-l-right!”

J.

Ancestors

Once you begin to grasp the mythic nature of the less complex gods who have gone before us, you might see “ancestor worship” as a faulty attempt to express a more proper attitude, that of, shall we say, “ancestor compassion.”

Some smell an overwhelming stench of destruction, while a few others enjoy the fragrance of a universally uplifting potpourri.

“Okay, listen up kid,” said the kindly old gruff voice, “’Cause I’m only gonna say this a few times:  Those who talk a lot, know a lot,” and the kid, rather than being more-confused-than-ever, was SIMPLY more-confused-than-ever.

A captain without as ship can be a captain anywhere – even in places where they’ve never even heard of water.

No matter the passion of the battle, never mind the righteousness of the cause – never take yourself prisoner.

J.

Mis-Informed

An intelligent looking chap I met late one night last month over in that hazy area just laterally north of us, spoke to me in a tone, though hushed, that was indeed most emphatic; he said that he has personally seen irrefutable evidence that clearly indicates that “all of humanity’s historic and continuing problems are a direct result of biological MIS-information being deliberately fed to man.”

There is a certain intersection in the human nervous system wherein all traffic laws are in suspension.

“I have a question…”  “Yes?”  “Just how does one experience an extraordinary adventure?”  “First, by having an extraordinary sense of adventure.”

Even on this rather routine world, there is a more complex level of perception possible whereby one may discover that amidst the continuing cacophony of all the other broadcasts, they’re yet always “playing our song.”

A chap last Monday I believe it was, said that he didn’t so much mind having to stay in this universe, if he could just ever get a call through to Room Service.

J.

Why Personalize A Myth?

The individual adventure of each revolutionist renders all prior gods archaic.

Another cogent, currently unclassified, Future Law Of Physics:
The less a thing
is understood,
the more it
will be talked about.
 

Lateral Spin, Variant One:
The usefully obvious
should be
generally overlooked.

Okay, let’s be fair.  How about an Un-temporalized Theorem from The Social Sciences:
The power of history
is in its retelling.

It’s pretty risky to be laughing at other people’s names until you find out what your real one is.

If you do manage to “personalize “your own myth, you’ve destroyed it.

J.

Stark!

A shortish fellow with mostly colorful hair, sitting in an adjacent chair, leaned over and honored me with this notion, “On real good days when I can see roughly just how life operates, it makes me clearly aware that we are all living under extremely cheap tensions.”

Don’t forget to write home, now, and remind ‘em that all of life’s competing interests are common interests.

When you reach that area of the solar system wherein you begin to find one person’s story to be as good as the next, your appreciation of fiction (and reality) will increase mightily.

A grandfatherly (he assures me that where he comes from may be an adverb, anyhow) a grandfatherly guy out on loan, in attempting to describe to a kid the sublime intricacies of revolutionist thought, and the labyrinth complexity of new-intelligence, ultimately wrapped it up in the explanation, “Stark!”

Those who most faithfully pursue the dictum of “pick up the pieces,” will most likely end up with the best collection of pieces.

J.

Better Light

After hanging around some of the adult ideas, one kid off and mused to his little self, “If it is true that ‘Everything looks better in better light,’ would it not perhaps behoove a kid to bypass the obvious entanglements and go directly to trying to make the light better by which he sees things?”

Pondering the wonderful world of criticism, one guy mused, “It’s not fair, you can write about art and music, but you can’t paint and perform about literature, it’s just not fair,” and a critic nearby thought, “Fair…fair, my what a curious concept.”

“Nepotism!” cried out the accusing voice, “Nepotism, nepotism, nepotism; that’s all it is, clear and simple nepotism,” and the reply came, “But none of us are related in the least,” (a pause, then the accuser marvels), “God, what a clever ruse!”

One excitable chap, caught up in his personal discoveries of this-and-that, ofttimes resembling that-and-this, said to a friend, “If you’ll go a month or so without washing your hair, it’ll almost look like a toupee.”

Words Of Wisdom from a not-so-hot-planet:
“Trying to piss
on another’s foot
while you’re running
is perhaps an
oxymoronical
endeavor.”

J.

There's Nothing Simple About It

Whines one guy, “Simply this, simply that, simply, simply, simply…sometimes that’s all I hear and, by god, there’s nothing ‘simply’ about it.”

A recent poll on that recuperating planet, reveals that sixty-eight percent of nouns and things, and eighty-three percent of verbs and actions, would be willing, under certain conditions, to be metaphors.

A sturdy looking haberdasher once asked a revolutionist, “Is your kind of activity to relieve stress or to induce it?’  And the rebel responded, “Do you know the difference?”  And the guy says he does.  “Okay, that is the difference.”

If you don’t clearly see the irrelevant, you’re of no use to the revolution.

Even if local authorities officially proclaim that beyond all doubt, without question, you are a bona fide living “expert” in some particular field, unless it is your intention to be so, remember – you’re not.

J.

Personalization

“Kid, I’ll tell you something parabolically significant, and privately useful, if you’ll promise not to let it throw you in the ordinary physical world…okay?”  “Okay,” came the reply, and the voice continued, “Then dig:  Once you can see it, everyone and everything’s a tough act to follow.”  (“Including ones self.”)

He adjusted the microphone, cleared his throat, and with all the muster he could dignify, addressed the crowd, “After attentively heeding the previous speakers, I do not believe I can confidently speak for many of us here when I say that the latest proposal is almost as good as the original one, other than the fact that it’s not.”

One nearby revolutionist once noted that, per his reckoning at least, “By the time you get to where you really know what you’re doing in a particular area, you almost immediately forget about it.”

No matter what was said, this one chap would always nod his head agreeably, pause for several moments, and while still appearing in accord with the comment would ask, “And what is the alternative?”

In a more complex future, one seething synonym for death is “personalization.”

J.

Earthbound

After all the hugs, tears and goodbyes, just as the kid was about to depart for his life on Earth, his father whispered, “At times, if you feel like you don’t know what you’re talking about – don’t sweat it.”

One reason a revolutionist doesn’t look back, is that it generally requires that you loosen your head from your other nerve endings.

“Look,” said the first guy, “You’re my very best friend, and I wanna tell you a close, personal secret.”  And his companion nodded to proceed, so the guy continues, “If it weren’t for feeling ‘bad’ I don’t think I’d feel at all.”  And his friend snorted, “I thought you were gonna tell me a secret!”

Regarding such earthbound comments as, “It’s just your imagination,” do take intergalactic note that there is no such thing as “just” anything.  (Never?  Never.  Never, ever?  You heard me.)

This one little, not-so-little, lad has a borrowed uncle who sometimes would say to him, “Kid, if I may call you, ‘Kid’ - Kid, the secondary pursuit of health is no fit hobby for man nor beast”...(and I do believe you fit one of those categories.)

J.

You Ain't Really Got the Blues

Last Thursday on Talent Night at that little club over on the hot planet, one young sorehead moseyed up the mike with his fairly trusty guitar and announced, “I’d like to sing this little number I just recently writ.  I call it, ‘You Ain’t Really Got The Blues ‘Til You’ve Run Out Of Bad Luck!’”

(And then he said, “It goes like this” – and he was right.)

In several ways, on many days, some people hold their bank balance as their myth.

If direction is irrelevant, what does that say about the pertinence of dimensions?  And he added:  Is there nowhere to turn to?  Yes.  Is there no place to go?  Certainly.  Is there no one to cling to?  Why sure – but don’t stand so close…

One concerned parent found it necessary to constantly reassure her child that, “the humidity has nothing to do with one’s I.Q.,” when he knew it was a damn lie.

A freelance jester at one revolutionist camp, one evening danced the following rhyme:

    “Why be a fanatic

      In matters somatic?

      Also, OTHER wise,

      As you might surmise.”

…Oh yeah, a few weeks later, when he was feeling greater, he offered up this one (in what seems to be self-referral-meter):

     “When poetry turns to prose,

      I always hold my nose.

      The offense I hope to quell

      To my verbal sense of smell.

      The special made mundane,

      Inclines me to brain pain.

      And while my rhymes are hot,

      I think right here I’ll discontinue them.”

If you have any tendencies to be ugly, getting in a human hurry only exacerbates them.

J.