Cartograhical Impossibilities

Over in this somewhat circular, cellular state, there was a man who was “well respected,” and he one day admitted that he did not know why this was so, and then he was respected even more.

If you have relatives who won’t talk to you, rest easy – they’re not really relatives.

A short scene from the larger drama of, “Reason and Logic Are Alive and Well, Their Verbal Worth I Cannot Tell: 

As we join the action, a first actor speaks, “You cannot have a vacation until you have a job.”  And a second player responds, “But if you did not have a job, you would not need a vacation.”  And now we see the first actor think on this for a moment, then for an hour, then for a day, until he finally returns to the stage and says to his companion, “I now have a response to your last comment, it does, however, require that I first kill you.”

Cartographical impossibilities are often just the ticket for the Revolutionist.

Our final figure in today's News is a gentleman who sends word that he will be able to recognize a truly “advanced civilization” when he finds one that has replaced the word “ironic” with the word “inevitable.”

J.

Ordinary Pictures

While on some worlds poets are want to muse about “the heavens weeping for the suffering of the living creatures,” if a more complex truth be known, and the cosmos so anthropomorphized,  they would more likely be enthralled by the discovery of today’s local ‘conflict and destruction’ being verbal disguises for the joy and vigor of the universal tomorrow.

Over in this one area, there are two brothers in the psychiatric trade, and with a certain similarity in approach; when a patient appears to be running out of interest, money, or patience, the first doctor brother will counsel, “My dear Sir or Madam, my advice to you is that you should ‘clean up your act.'”  And under the same circumstance, the other brother is inclined to conclude, “And so, Mr. or Mrs. Patient, my suggestion is that you go and ‘clean up your room.’”  (Neither of these two practitioners are particularly well known – much less liked outside of my own imagination.)

Ordinary pictures of ordinary life are a patchwork.

Another traveler I met, (on my many sojourns), told me that his visits to other universes had taught him one thing in particular, which was that none of the gods anywhere seem to like being asked, “When are you having a sale?”

The beige section of one guy’s brain declared, “I am dazzled by my own brilliance.”
And the other area replied, “You got weak eyes.”

J.

The Muncie Theorem

I once met this guy who would take things he had to do, and do them at times other than when they actually had to be done, and on the other hand, (as you might suspect), he would take things he didn’t actually “have to do,” and not do them.

Real pilots
fly nude.

So’s not to waste any time, one push-ahead-father told his newly born son on the day he was delivered, “Kid, if you’ve got a past, you ain’t a Revolutionist.”

This guy told his cousin, who had just arrived from another planet, “Whenever they’re yackin’ at you and you’re stuck for a reply, just tell ‘em – ‘See my agent, see my agent.’”  And the émigré sez that he doesn’t have an agent, and the guy replies, “That’s what you think.”

While out of touch at yet another of those…those conventions, (don’t any of you wonder how I get invited to so many of these conclaves?)  Anyhow, in some of the side rooms some of us were treated to a presentation of the Muncie Theorem which states that, “If one theorem will do, Life will give you two.”  (Professor Muncie says he has a second one also, but that he prefers to save it for next year.)

J.

Nucleus

If the nucleus can’t grow – forget it.

After hearing of the new specializations of people becoming, not attorneys, but “legal assistants,” and not doctors, but “medical aids,” this one chap decided that the new height of his ambitions would be to become a “para-person.”

“Hey, Pop, inasmuch as you’ve already told me that ‘everything’s an indication of everything else,’ doesn’t it follow that ‘nothing’s an indication of anything else’?”  And the man called “Pop” was damn near overcome by cerebral carbonation.

After hearing his littler charge whine on about how all the great discoveries and inventions had already been done and used up, this one father offered his encouragement by saying, “But just think of all the grand things that have yet to be attempted verbally.”

All theories regarding sitting are derived from the act of walking.

J.

Things

Anything that only looks good at the expense of something else should probably be given a better second look (if it can bear it).

One recruit thanked the leader of his Revolutionist camp for, as he put it, “Never putting his wants before the welfare of the recruits.”  The older rebel winks, thinks, “Nice the way that works out since I got no wants of my own anyway.”

One up-to-date sire informed his genetic underling, “Remember, my boy, the syrup on the sundae, the cherry on the top, the icing on the cake is in the criticism.”  And the kid lost his appetite.

A thing separate from what it does is a thing no more.
(Anything else is too inconclusive.)

J.

Life in Blabberville

You can’t throw away glue…(and even if you can it wasn’t real good glue to start with.)

And now another exciting episode in the continuing day-time, and part-time drama of, “Life in Blabberville”:  Our hero, recalling the subversive idea regarding the “ultimate triumph of talk,” suddenly realizes the futility of being mechanically taciturn, but understands the benefit of remembering the above very, very, very, very often.

Can you see that in intellectual worlds wherein power is perceived to be divided between good, supreme gods, and evil, subordinate anti-gods, that men apparently serving the former are, perforce, unknowingly toiling for the lesser force.  (By now, some of you should clearly realize that such as this is indicative of worlds far beyond any ideas of irony, past any sense of justice, and outside the orbit even, of truth and reality.)

In a world of limited, that is, known, dimensions, no envelope can ever expand enough to hold itself.  Even as knowledge increases, man’s need equally expands, and thus the needs are never filled.

Whilst conversing with a neighbor, this one guy says, “Frogmyer, if indeed that is your real name, Frogmyer, there are three kinds of talk: motor, limbic and cerebral,”…and his son broke in saying, “You forgot liquor.”  And the ole man realized that he himself was at least ninety proof, proof of the kid’s observation.

J.

Face Lift

In some migrant affairs, there be a Simple Process, and a Complex Process:
The eyes can see and deliver an image to the brain,
or the brain can do it for itself.

Any example that contains the word, “exactly,” should be returned with a harsh demand for a full refund.

The Neural Subversive moves as from an older, unified and stable simplicity, to a more diversified, complex realm of apparently competing possibilities.

A face lift
won’t help
guilt.

Why does every area experience a “renaissance”? Why is not the old destroyed outright?

J.

Silly Rabbit

The first shot’s
always the loudest.

This one fellow attempted to describe the unusual expansion of his own intellect by calling the process:  “The Potemkinizing of His Own Neural Aborigines.”  (I say “attempted – he damn near succeeded.)

Regarding the perpetual question of, “Do you want me to come to your place or do you want to come to mine?” this one chap says his ideal universe will be one wherein the answer is always “Come on over here and we’ll discuss it.”

While this one guy, (with a better publicist), is remembered for saying, “Rituals are myths in action,” and his less known brother has said, “No, rituals are ignorance animated.”  (And moreover as their mother used to say, “P.R. means a lot when you ain’t GOT a lot.")

In a growing number of areas in this one galaxy the operative synonym for “attractive” is “silly.”

J.

Alligators

In the neural classroom, is it the student who will reform the teacher, or shall it be the other end of the stick?

In the ready arts, men have comedy to show the folly of life, and tragedy to show the uncertainty, but there must be subversive, third possibility…what might it be…what might it be called…should one look to his typewriter, or to his shoe leather?

One of the newer members I met at the last Ole Sorehead’s Conclave told a group of us standing around in the hall the preceding – I mean of course, the following: “I hear tell of some people saying they want to ‘feel better about themselves,’ and others saying they just ‘want to feel better,’ and I say if they can tell the difference, they never will.”

Is change most enchantingly executed when it is done through movement in time, or in space?

I would not be all that surprised to find that by now some of you doubt the whole validity of my travel tales, but here is one more that I assure you is as right as the fins on a Cadillac:  There’s a small planet, not too far from where you stand, whose creatures' best and brightest say that, “Nothing’s believed till it’s said.”  (I ask you – could I make up something like this?)

I leave you with this:  One of my relatives once described this kinda suff as, "trying to make alligators out of hand bags."

J.

The Impossibility Factor

In spite of what I’ve said, and of what you thought I said, (and any workable combination thereof) don’t forget, there IS such a thing as the “Impossibility Factor”…Don’t forget that…(don’t bother to remember it either).

A better view would be for you, as an entry point postulate, to take it to be that:
Effects are local,
Causes, universal.

While staying at someone else’s house at another locale, I found this note in their mailbox: “There is some hope for a man who cannot read his own handwriting; what exactly that hope is has yet to be defined.”

If you can get “free of the momen,t” you can find bargains everywhere.

Never underestimate the opposite of what you’re estimating.  (You might care to note that on some planets they tend to forget to estimate the opposite at…I’m telling you, there’s some weird places in this universe; [by weird I mean like flies living in the stomachs of elephants].)

J.

What Good is a Disguise to a Zebra

If we’re past Wednesday, and/or, you missed your stop, just ask yourself:  What good is a disguise to a zebra?

Every truth has its parallel, and every parallel has its right angle, and every right angle has a one-eyed card of validity up its own sleeve.  Now, dammit – deal ‘em!

On this one world, they erected a gigantic sign, visible for millions of miles, that reads: “Words Are Not Adequate.”  On a sister planet in the same system, they’ve set up their own celestial billboard which says:  “Words Are Totally Adequate.”  (Sometimes I visit one of the places, sometimes the other.)

Whatever would happen, this one little kid would always say, “Life put me up to it.”  He said this so many times that his father suddenly believed him.

Over at this one place I sometimes visit, at a very official looking function, a very official seeming fellow stood, and in a very “you-know-what” sounding voice proposed, “Let us re-write our language so as to better reflect our continuing state of ignorance.”  (He was applauded and beaten roundly, officially speaking, that is.)

J.

Two Realities

There are two realities, the verbal, and the other one…and the atmosphere and light is such on some planets that they appear to be twins…you can, of course, tell the difference by asking them…that’s it – SPEAK RIGHT UP!

If you really insist on stopping at every “bad accident,” and getting down on your knees, and getting up real close, you’re gonna always see you in the back seat.

A snatch of an overheard conversation somewhere:

“Only a fool would say that.”

(Second voice):  “Only a fool would HAVE to.”

One guy said he liked to go back and “cover his tracks,” and his brother asked, “Why?” and he said, “I don’t know,” which is a prime example of that operation in action.

To help place the proper ritualistic emphasis on the occasion, this one chap invited all of his old friends to watch him burn all of his old love letters, except he didn’t have any old friends, or love letters…(Other than that, the day went famously well.)

J.

A Really Good Virus

A really good virus thrives on inoculations.

As they ventured out into the backyard to check out the weather, the old man, attempting to wax philosophical, said, “The sun comes out when he wants to.”  And the kid thought, “So?  So do I.”

“Well, now that you ask,” said this one ole coot, “I’ll tell you: the worst thing about the everyday world is that one dimension keeps bumping into another one.”

“Oh Papa, let’s go see a parade.”
“No need to go anywhere my boy, you ARE one.”
“Ah hah, and Ahoy – may I be the first to congratulate you?"
“Yes.”

J.

Comparison, USA

Just beyond the city limits of Comparison is a little stretch known to some as, “Free Time.”

On this one funny little world I visited in April, they say that the difficulty in overcoming behavior is not in actually overcoming it, but in actually wanting to.  (There is also a splinter group who vigorously opposes the over use of the word “actually.”)

Later that same year, (July, I believe it was), I was traveling through this other parallel solar system when I discovered a man just outside their capital city, who had set up some sort of “retreat in the trees,” and above the main entry road had hung the following banner:

 “How To Be:  Rich without money,

                         Calm without depressants,

                         Alert without stimulants,

                         Healthy without medication,

                         Serene without religion,

                         Sane without analysis,

                         Safe without family,

                         Learned without degrees,

                         Beautiful without surgery,

                         Satisfied without recognition,

                         Successful without deception,

                         Victorious without violence, and…and…yes, and FREE FROM NOTHING.”

During his first years of relative peace and satisfaction, this one guy would oftimes sing to himself, “Oh, I’m so happy I could die,” but then after a certain exhilarating run on that fast part of the back stretch he changed the tune to, “I’m so happy you could die.”  (Now I can’t take the time to explain ALL of these to you Sunday-drivers.)

All stars, just seconds before they transverse that glorious supernova threshold, send out the message, “It’s all just a premise, all just a premise.”

J.

A Handle on the Handle

One of the younger rebels one day inquired of an older trooper, “I heard it said that ‘A Real Revolutionist is never comfortable with his clothes,’ so tell me, would he be more so with someone else’s clothes?”  The older subversive dragged his boot around in the campfire, and started picking around in his ear.  By the time his foot began to smoke he spoke, he said, “Kid, you see that tree over there…?”

I had an uncle, (he wasn’t really my uncle he paid me to say that), who would take all the important things he still had to do and put ‘em all off to the same uncertain day…so as, (as he put it), “To get a better handle on the handle.”

There’s no violence like old violence.
(If Stradivari had been a gunsmith we’d all be living in the hi-rise.)

In one Revolutionist camp I visited someplace else, while in the shower, I heard a dis-embodied voice softly floating atop the steam, gently singing, “Drowning, oh drowning in this, my sea of freedom…”

Upon hearing it stated quite dogmatically, most emphatically, and by, no less I guess, than an “expert” that, “Knowledge is but remembered experience,” this one warrior thought only to himself, “If it’s come to that then all the dings in my shield can be fixed and I’m no better off than before.”

J.

The New Madness

There are several known and willing names to describe eras of human activities, such as, the classical, romantic, neo-classical and modern, but there is another lesser know that’s always available, the New Madness.

The terminal
Greyhound
is a Timex.

There’s this little planet where the creatures think that the cutest thing about themselves IS themselves.

An absolute, Unconditional, Indubitable Universal Truth:

Nothing is as far away as some people think.
Corollary, Absolute, Unconditional, blah, blah Truth, etc:
Nothing is as near as some people think.

(Do note, as always how it all still “works out.”)

Several of the elders, so as to stay in touch, left this message in the nippers’ latrine: “A Philistine with a rubber band can do you more harm than good.”

J.

Heavy Space

There is a weary place where everyone goes, but no one knows its name. There is a place called “Heavy Space.” (Now you know.)

The human-life-thing is a matter of the future being fed by the mortal matter of “competing common interests.”

“Hey, there’s still a lot to be done over here.”

“I know, that’s why I moved to ‘over there.’”

Everyone’s familiar with the theatrical device of a “play within a play,” well, this kinda stuff is like the world’s only play OUTSIDE a play.  (Sure, go on, think about it.)

There is of course, sickness that makes you ill, but there is a lesser known illness that makes you well.

J.

Contract Killer

From a highly complex, aerial view: Everyone’s best friend has also been hired to kill you. (There’s a contract put out on you, and there’s nothing you can do about it because there’s nothing you want to do about it.)

In our solar sector, the most complex bio-molecular structure is the human brain, and it seeks the stability and continuity of its state as much as a somatic dynasty protects and cherishes its kingdom.

You’re right, there are some things that “take all the fun out,” but you don’t realize that they immediately put it into something else.

Least you think that everything old is dead, or that everything dead is useless, come over and look through this and consider:  Sports scores are a daily, renewable myth.

Those who live
by the sword
really get
an earful.

J.

Sharp Corners

In a voice most stern, the official warned, “We must all be alert, on guard and prepared; what we’re dealing with here is – ‘Outlaw Info.’”

A Fable For Somebody’s Time:

Once upon a space, Life thought, “I believe I’ll round off some of my sharp corners,” and decided to use man as the tool to do so, until it realized that man WAS its sharp corners.  The end…you may go back to sleep now.

Living with insults is no worse than hosting any other marauding in-laws.

Would be travelers might care to jot this down in the margins of your exotic brochure:  Time becomes your lost luggage that wasn’t needed in the first place.

One fellow, interested in inner remodeling, nailed this reminder over by the sink, just above his thalamus: “Is revision expansion?”

J.

Confirm, Confirm

Over in this other solar system, the creatures have begun receiving radio messages from the deep area of space wherein they think their gods are located, and it repeats over and over these words, “Confirm, confirm, please confirm.”

Over in the sixty-fourth-sector, at a recent social gathering, there was this one chap wandering about with a little sign nailed,(or perhaps, taped), to his forehead which said, “Part Brain: Celebrating Twenty Years In Business.”

Talking is the attempt to LEARN to talk.  (I could make some related comment regarding this thing, but by the time an ordinary man might benefit there from, his time would be up.)

A chap at a near-by table, surveying the extensive smorgasbord of experiences, sweet, sour, hot, mild, complimentary, and conflicting, waved away the menu and said, “I’ll just have whatever Life’s having.”

As long as you know what you’re talking about it’s a waste of time.

J.