The Polyester of the Mind

Would it be worse to be what you actually are, or what you pretend you are? No, wait…Would it be worse to be what you actually are, OR what you FEAR you are?

Beware,
the polyester
of the mind.

When the people, you know, the “People” back in the City, when the people say that something is “impossible,” are they saying they lack the needed “means,” or the necessary ”resolve’?  (Sounds like a pretty weighty question, eh what, unless I further note that out-in-the-bushes it don’t make a damn bit of difference.)

In the City, in the City; oh what a pity to live in the City…Pardon me, carried away again…what I was GOING to say was, in the City I’ve heard men ask themselves this questions:  “Is jealousy a form of love, or self-love?”  And I wonder why they just don’t get on with it and ask themselves whether LOVE is a form of love, or just self-love.

Ohhhh, I gotta tell you about this one: There was this one little town so backward, and so unaggressive, that their strongest curse was, “May your grandfather take a nap.”

And pleased may you be to remember: A Revolutionist is just like everyone else only a whole lot more so.

J.

3D Trivia

You wanna hear some more how things work in the City?  Well, one place was having a devil of a time with kids spray painting cartoons and slogans on their public transportation vehicles, and the City finally offered a prize to anyone who could solve the problem “permanently.”  And although City leaders failed to notice it, a pleasant enough chap with fairly average size feet, submitted a true winner.  He suggested that they paint all the trains and buses graffiti colored.  (Such “de-cosmo” ideas themselves, of course, of course, end up writ in invisible ink.)

It is well to remember that in the City, as in parts of “real life,” the dead are a dead give-away.

And while everyone else was either fleeing in panic, or dropping dead like door nails, the Revolutionist’s old grandfather just stood by and said, “A shame, it’s a damn shame.”

In times of apparent peace, the People will inherently, genetically, feel themselves to either be at war with the Ruling Powers, or with themselves.

Three-Dee Trivia Question #12:

What is the absolutely, easiest thing in the world to know, (all together now), “How others should behave.”  Great! Give your selves a hand…No, I DON’T mean applause.

J.

Conflict

When lost, the ordinary might “retrace their footprints,” while under similar circumstances, the Revolutionist might set fire to his.

Long before modern City times ‘twas said that, “He who knows the passions of the gods, knows the destiny of Man,” but it turns out this is a pile of shit.

In the City, People live in each other’s face.
The Revolutionist can’t even stand to live in his OWN face.
(Remember, you recruits, always step back, for a decent view.)

Any conflict that can be resolved wasn’t much of a fuckin’ conflict.

The less is the apparent external pressure of the “tacit reality,” the greater becomes the importance of the inner, verbal one, AND, may I add, vicey versy.  (In the City they speak of a choice ‘tween “bread and bullets,” but how about between “status concern and third degree cognition burns.”)

J.

Sparks & Storms

Advice for a Friday: Don’t let chemical sparks turn into electrical storms.

In the sense that, what Men tell themselves is the most important information they receive, we could then say there are two known worlds to Man: his world of reality, and his world of verbal reality.  Thus, things may exist, or they may VERBALLY exist.

P.S.:  I just had a curious notion give me a glancing blow:  What if verbal-reality equals the true, and tacit reality equals the correct.

P.P.S:  I guess a “glancing blow” could turn into a “dancing blow.”

In the City, some biologists now say they believe that “Human evolution works by threats, not promises,” and that “Change comes about because of the increasing conditions.”  May I again pick the pickle-brain-pockets of the City and add a version of this for us:  The Revolution works by threats, not promises, and it comes about because of the increasing inadequacies, etc., etc., etc.

Although you truly gotta have the general population, the unruly crowds, and the mobs-of-the-majority, do remember that it is always a minority that “causes” history to happen.  (Sometimes it even seems like just one person, but I don’t want to go into that just now.)

Since no one, and I mean NO ONE, (including you), likes a reformer, you might just as well go whole-hog and shoot for actual “change.”  (In the long run, I mean, in the fast-lane, it doesn’t cost any more.)

J.

Smile :)

Trans-axial Trivia Question #54:

What is humanity’s most widely practiced pastime?  Pretending to be a monarchy – everybody does it.

Don’t forget your rule:

Smile just before speaking.
And , oh yeah, don’t forget the other part:
Always smile just before thinking anything.
:)

Appearances are the refuge of the gutless.

The revolutionary, and redeeming quality of my “words map,” is that they are entirely self-invented, willfully forged specifically for this purpose, and thusly I can continually exert immediate quality control.  You are thereby not limited to, nor subject to, mere truth, but are privy to the correct.

The Real Revolutionist can be satisfied with nothing.  Yet, from another, ground level, City view, he doesn’t give a general goddamn.

J.

Greed

He knows little who can tell you all he knows.

He knows even less who WILL tell you all he knows.

So-called “greed” is little more than the City exuberance, an extension of Man’s genetic drive to be a collector.

Although much of his esteem seems now faded, I would like to revive the name of a certain City-wide Trojan philosopher for the sake of this, a most memorable quote.  From the pen of Ephilibus:  “Of several humors of power, some are in our control, some are not.  Under our control are our thoughts, our spoken words, and the will to get laid.”

One of the several glittering bourgeois traits of the People is their belief that thinking and talking about something exciting, dangerous, and revolutionary is almost the same as actually doing it.  (This might surprise you, but sometimes I almost envy those suckers – I said, almost.)

Would one be worthy of the name “Revolutionist,” who would act differently in a palace than in the bushes?

J.

Vices & Virtues

After a not particularly hard day in the Bush, one Revolutionist told some of his enlistees, “This is quite sticky to first see, but I assure you, you cannot be made a captive of another unless you are already a slave to you own illusion of you.”

Tis’ said that the “noble lion does not stalk mice,” nor “the mighty eagle hunt baloney,” but all this shows is the great distance such brutes must cover to ever reach the level of man.

Still another guy, out near the bushes who I assume was involved in some non-routine affairs, told a group of listeners, “If it’s of any significance, it can be told in 3 minutes.”  (I’m just telling you what I heard.)

The only “vices” to which the ordinary do not succumb are those they don’t consider vices.  And the only “virtues” they can imagine are those they can never hold.  (Is justice “on a roll,” or what?”)

Be pregnant, or make pregnant.

Beware, the arm pits of the mind.

J.

Win Some, Lose Some

There was, at an earlier juncture, a rather squat Revolutionist who reputedly told some of his enlistees that it was safe for them to just “assume that anyone who apparently knows more than you is enemy.”  (Weird, but quotable.)

While he may appear obstinate and single-minded, when it gets right down to the nitty and the gritty, and the ferocious funk, the Real Revolutionist is capable of splitting almost endless differences, since he understands all differences to be the same.

A Real Revolutionist is the sort of side-winder who, after ringing himself up, might suddenly hang up in mid-sentence.

The Revolutionist soon learns that most of the People can be kept unkempt, unfed, and unloved so long as they receive periodic inspiring proclamations from the Ruling Powers.  (Necessary Re-joiner #84:  This has absolutely no inner application to anyone, praise be to Caesar, etc.)

The enlistee must be made to realize that it is NOT simply whether you “win or lose”… it’s not simply ANYTHING.

In our religious corner, I have this tidbit I wanted to pass along, the name of this little priest I met, who will surely go places, “Father Along.”  (I know I should apologize; I guess it’s hanging about in the City for too long.)

J.

Plans vs. Schemes

One semi-fine morning, the King stood up tall and proclaimed, “We must fight, and prepare to fight, our present northern neighbors, as our eternal mortal enemy…until something better comes along.”

No matter what dilettantes, followers, or even the troops may think, the Real Revolutionist KNOWS that the Rebellion is something to DO, not something to believe in.

Ordinary consciousness is the Great Divider, separating the subject from the object, and apparently dividing the knower from what he knows.

Although they never seem to take any particular note of it in the City, I find that all low-level, would-be rebellions and play-act revolutions spend most of their time involved with their ostensible leader discussing the relationship between him and his followers, and since you ask, I’ll tell you why:  He is absolutely fascinated with the affair in that he has no idea how it works, and fears it may cease at any minute.

While the Government “plans,” the Revolutionist “schemes.”

Another thing I LOVE about the City and its little city-ites, is that they seem to find uncertainty and imprecision quite acceptable.  Just recently on a placard on the front of the prestigious symphony hall, announcing the premier performance of a new work by a well known composer, the work was entitled, “Concerto For 4, or 5 Horns, I Forget Which.”

J.

Your Ole Bad Noun Self

Does a perceptive man ask his purse, or his wants, what he should buy?

You could also look upon the Revolution in a musical fashion; not unlike the progression from tonal to polytonal to atonal, with the apparent loss of a stable aural center, and comforting key…

Another definition of a true City conservative would be: A Man who returns a paper weight, because it came with no instructions.

Speaking of singing, there was this other Revolutionist I used to spot sometimes who, when he thought no one was watching, would do this little James Brown step, and holler out this one same line, “Go on with your ole, bad, noun self…”

Although Life allows many Men to dream and rhapsodize about rebellion, it would only be his gods that could actually become Revolutionists, (and of course, a few defrocked thinkers and disbarred artists, who hang out around the Olympus Bushes).

Just about the time I think I’ve heard it all, some City dude comes up with a new one, (and don’t you just love it), and the latest is from a certain psychiatrist who has developed what he calls, “Grouper Therapy,” wherein the psychologically uncomfortable sit in a circle and fondle fish.

J.

Symptoms

I could grant you this: What ordinary Men call “symptoms” are like 3-D aspects of 4-D causes.

The first word in the Revolutionist’s vocabulary is “no,” and his premier term is, “Why, yes, it would be desirable for you to be up against the wall, mother-fucker.”

If you absolutely, positively just can’t, “do something,” then at least do something personal.

Out in the bush one day, I heard a Revolutionist, after offering due apologies to McKinley Morganfield, sing out:  “Got my molecules working, but they just won’t work on you.”

There was this unemployed intellectual, who took up begging with the come-on-line, “Mister, can you spare an opinion?”

J.

Superior

Just between me, and you, (or anybody else), I gotta admit, it’s easier to write these things, than it is to eat them.

To the intellectual revolutionist, all new thoughts have a certain “class.”

At the north edge of the park, over near a funny looking, (or maybe just funny) bush, I heard a chap pronounce that it was “A far better thing than he had ever done than he does now.”  (What a bush, what a guy.)

Categories are misinformation just waiting to happen.

Real means don’t have to justify themselves to ANYbody – (much less to ends.)

It is for the superior, to be superior; for man, to be useful and successful.

J.

Theories are for Wimps

…that’s right, all theories, and all wimps!

Over in that gassy constellation near H-Sector, I hear there are plans afoot to open a “school for would-be gods,” and a memo floating about offers some insight into the present thinking regarding a potential curriculum.  Thus far, proposed courses include, “Speech Training” (with a minor in Proclamations); “Threats and Curses 101”; and on the post graduate level, “Silly Promises.”  (Oh yeah, in case you’re personally interested, the scuttle-butt further has it that you can forget any ideas of scholarships, and financial aid.)

Hey, don’t let all the ole sore heads discourage you, I say just living in the City, is cause enough to write your book.

In a certain solar system smaller than yours, but not near so far or near, there was a band of would-be cranial bandits who developed an “evolutionary spur” technique which they liked to call, “The Ouch Method,” which consisted of them going about always saying, “Ouch, Ouch!”

Outside of City affairs, anyone who would tell you all they know, would have done you no service, (and harmed your hearing in the process.)

One really ruffed-up revolutionist, just as he sat down to the day’s evening feast, would always first shoot himself.

J

That's Entertainment

If it ain’t survival intensive, it’s entertainment.

In many cities, what the people want is a religion or philosophy, that can disassemble, and then reassemble, man in three minutes, or less, and with a certain fashionable flair.

Don’t look
to the script
for help.

If they’ve got to tell you to, “Get off the train,” you ain’t ready TO get off the train.

Critics have no flaws.

J.

The Grandest Aid

One little turbo-charged kid remarked, “How bad can your memory be, if you can remember to complain about it.”

There are no trivial answers, only trivial questions.  (Can you believe it, in one galaxy they thought I had this backwards – can you believe it?)

The grandest aid
to repentance,
is inconvenience.

Only the dominate are free.  (And of course they aren’t free of the submissive.)

In the window of that alleged bookstore over near the park entrance, is a display promoting the release of a new book, whose title is, “The Possibility Of Multiple Personalities As An Aid To Increased Productivity.”

The stirrings in Life and man, require deeds and attempts, as well as plots and plans.

J.

Meaningful Maps

Proper Revolutionary data is neither too local, nor too infinite to preclude making from it meaningful maps of one’s own experience.

From a certain 3-D-view, thinking-of-action can apparently prevail over action itself, past and future, but not of the moment.

If I were you, I would not concern myself too seriously with any “self-improvement” system which seems centered around the ability to hypnotize a Presbyterian.

In the City, bona-fide cosmopolitanites seem able to partially avoid boredom through endless talking about themselves.

J.

Everything Everywhere

Everywhere
you’ve ever
heard of
is actually
someplace else.

All months
are the same
to the
sun burned.

Pathology is an illusionary occupation, since nothing is ever entirely dead around these parts.

The real stuff doesn’t happen in the City’s version of “real time.”

Everything
causes
an intersection.

J.

Originality

If the Intellectual Revolution was any more secretive, even those involved wouldn’t know about it.

People with perfect pitch don’t have to sing to themselves.

After careful consideration of all his alternatives, one fellow realized he had none.  Another guy, after a thorough study of all his options, discovered he had none.  And another chap, riding by on a saw horse, recognized that in regards to the question of “alternatives vs options,” the answer, surprisingly, is always a prime number.

Everything responds to a treatment of originality.

J.

It Gets Later

In some places, it gets later before it gets any earlier.

As one littler feller so aptly announced, “Any friend of me, is no friend of mine.”

Immediately after awakening, he would silently slip down the hall to the dark bathroom, carefully creep up to the medicine cabinet, then suddenly throw on the lights, leap up to the mirror, put his finger firmly on the reflected image of his nose, and exclaim, “Okay you, hold it right-t-t-t there!”

A man who “knows” his place, will certainly always have a place…(if that’s any tepid consolation.)

No matter where you are in the City, a ghetto is nearby.

J.

Natural Resources

Any time you make a six-G move in five-G conditions, you make noise.

Down over in that direction was a guy who concocted himself a watch that shaved a minute off every hour…(he was shortly forced to seek larger quarters so as to store all the shavings.)

I guess one of the neat things about being a revolutionist is that you can rip your coat and split your pants more than once.

The marquee listed the current feature as a movie entitled, “It Came From Hell.” An ole sorehead saw it and muttered, “Hell, what didn’t.”

Any resource is always something else turned inside out.

J.