In the City, don’t pick up anything anyone else has handled.
While everyone else’s “wish-dreams” would be for the whole Macy’s catalog, the Revolutionist would be thinking, “Where would I store all that shit?”
From The List of Nevers:
Never invite someone ELSE’s god for the weekend.
The Revolutionist treats ordinary emotions as junk food…eat ‘n’ run…
Every Revolutionist should have a nickname, but he shouldn’t know what it is.
J.
A Revolutionist doesn’t simply agree that “anything’s possible,” he is part of the proof.
Everyone has a twin, but Life keeps him, or her, hidden.
A Real Revolutionist has memories of the future.
Beware, the lug bolts of the mind.
The Revolutionist can’t afford to be as “touchy” as even Life is.
J.
I hate to break the news to ‘em, but the closest City folks are going to get to building a “thinking machine” will be a computer whose memory can’t be reached, and which resists all forms of reprogramming.
To truly “act,” one must know that it’s ALL an act. (Action without knowledge that it’s “all an act” is merely RE-action.)
A Real Revolutionist might even make himself uneasy.
If a Revolutionist doesn’t appear to be doing much, it may be that there’s not much to do.
I guess the only bad thing about being a Revolutionist is that there is no longer anything, or anyone, to rebel against. (“I SAID I ‘guess’.”)
J.
Yet another sterling example that makes one so happy for the continued existence and support of City life: I heard one Man announce, “Yes, we’re open 24 hours,” AND ANOTHER ASKED, “You mean ‘a day’?”
If there were truly any serious sense of honor in the City, those who bungled an attempted suicide would be so humiliated that they would immediately kill themselves.
Never brag about anything before you have given it away. No possession is worthy of comment until you’ve been able to dispose of it.
Beware, the Mastercards of the mind.
J.
The past is the glue pot of officious obligations.
If they couldn’t talk about their lives, most people could hardly stand it.
Engines, AND people, have a “sweet spot” where they operate with maximum power, and optimal efficiency.
A Real Revolutionist doesn’t simply want to “get-well” – he wants to become unnaturally BETTER.
Don’t forget now: Talk has almost nothing to do with it.
J.
Out of a locker-room area in the City, I once heard this piece of a song arise, “Oh, I got a .22 caliber brain, and .38 caliber needs.”
Life probably pays the most attention to those who pay the most attention to it.
Once heard a guy in the City say that he had to hurry away from a brewing argument before a “fight broke out in his brain.”
In the City, solutions inevitably become part of the problem.
If you’re mad at something, it won’t speak to you…and tell you what it knows.
J.
The state, and apparent aims of City Institutions can never be achieved.
The Revolutionist’s life should be a kind of avant garde performance art.
To the Revolutionist,
sequential reality
is NO reality.
I heard a City person, in a real sincere voice, after describing a certain “problem” they had, ask, “Does this make any sense?” I wish I could have asked him the proper response, “Does ANY problem make any sense?”
No change ever occurs without the assistance of D-Force, drastic events. There be no such creature as a gradual, agreeable revolution.
J.
A boy once asked his father, "Might the difference between the ordinary and those-who-know-The-Secret be that, while one of them sees life as it is, the other one sees it turned inside out?" "What a damn fool question," he replied.
There are universal dimensions and local dimensions: universal dimensions are where we live, and local dimensions are where we believe we live. To function, the mind must always affix a point.
There was once a band of seekers who had a song they would sing, entitled:
"Oh, Consciousness Went A 'Roaming And, After It, Followed Man."
They sang this song only until they finally realized what it was saying, after that, they were silent on the matter.
Mental Health Tip: The "surefire method" for staying sick is to believe that it is events that make men sick.
(What might be of collateral interest is in how being a trained professional saves you from having to admit that you "believe in" anything when confronted with such an accusation, you merely point to your diploma.)
J.
A Real Revolutionist doesn’t deal much in nouns.
In the Revolution, it’s not “who you are,” but “what you do.”
In the City, most all “intellectual goods,” are knock-offs.
You must reconstruct
all of City Life
in your own
nervous system.
There was this one Revolutionist, who used to say that his greatest weapon was, “heat seeking consciousness.”
J.
Most everybody has a drug; most just haven’t been noted yet by the FDA.
Anything native to the City doesn’t count.
At the very LEAST, don’t be less than you already are.
If you gotta talk about “it” to make it feel right, you got no business doing it.
Always think of other possibilities not as sequential, but coeval.
J.
To roll consciousness up into the fetal position is to leave it staring at its own private parts. “WOW, what a treat.”
The Real Revolutionist, to use some City lingo, must be a “hip square”; hip enough to understand the apparent difference, and square enough not to care.
In the City, if you don’t know enough to talk real loud, you don’t know much.
Thinking is mostly a waste of time, (at least the way YOU do it).
Never honor the regressive, or salute the derivative. We are not here to celebrate the inferior.
J.
Don’t guess most of you’ve noticed, but, all human labor and activity is just rearranging other people’s stuff. Work never produces new stuff, simply new distributions.
With some in the City, if they’re not careful, their thinking-of-life-and-action-function will ultimately attempt to simply “phone their life in.”
The Past is where everything turns to nothing, and then back into something, (at least, something RESEMBLING something.)
It is difficult to codify proper Revolutionist behavior in a complacent, binary world.
Until Ralph Lauren or Bill Blass goes into the philosophy business, don’t believe anything you hear in the City. The “truth” is one thing, good taste, another.
J.
It could aid you someday for me to already point out that Life wastes as much time as anyone else. (Of course, Life does as much of ANY thing as anyone else.)
As he peruses the Daily Report, the Revolutionist is not obliged to make editorial comments.
The City notion of anthropomorphism IS one small step toward a more meaningful triad.
No matter where you go, what you order, or how much you pay, in the City you always get leftovers.
Extreme reversals are terrible things to waste.
J.
Only the Revolutionist, well after adulthood and despair, can be told to “grow up,” and fully understand what it means.
Tomorrow is the solution to all problems. Not “Tomorrow BRINGS the solution,” or, “CONTAINS the solution,” but is itself THE solution.
The Revolutionist has no duty to report dead bodies.
If a Real Revolutionist DID decide to talk to you, at least he wouldn’t waste his time and yours by actually telling you anything.
There is a certain way in which the Revolutionist can willfully use the feast-famine-feast-famine cycle.
J.
To a Real Revolutionist, EVERYTHING is fungible.
Don’t try to analyze a tyrant, and never dance with a dictator.
A dog once came upon a pile of horse shit, crossed himself and said, “Blessed Mother, God himself passed this way.”
All ordinary arguments are simply failure of the Dominant/Submissive Dynamic to find its proper level.
Although it’s of little consequence with others, a Revolutionist shouldn’t mistake losing for winning.
Beware, the hair balls of the mind.
J.
Don’t you just “love it” when City folks talk about the “threat of ignorance”? Talk about a PROVEN “hollow threat.”
The past is littered with the dead.
While I push speech to its metaphoric breaking point, you must learn to do likewise with your own Yellow Circuit activity; develop a kind of parallel thought process.
Paradox and irony are goods only visible to binary sight.
Read in a City book the following, “Nothing is more useless and unnatural than Man struggling against a Law of Nature,” except, I do add, that it is natural for Man to do so.
J.
Ofttimes
hand grenades
and placebos
have the same effect.
Another singular aspect of this kind of Revolutionist information is that it never has a moral to it.
Whilst traversing the long hallway of Life, I happened around a sudden curve in the truth…
A virtue named
is a virtue no more.
When you know enough, you no longer have to pretend to know more than you do.
J.
In the City, all “fields of knowledge” are either narrow and deep, or wide and shallow. The Revolutionist, however, needs a reservoir that is chartreuse – no, but you can fill in the blank, right?
Leftovers are a terrible thing to waste.
So-called “flaws” are one of the most important mediums of information in the system homo erectus.
In the City, ALL behavior is compulsive behavior.
Next to the question regarding, “windows” on the application, a Real Revolutionist might write in, “I don’t do reminisces, and I eat nostalgia for breakfast.”
J.
In all of the mortal City-States, they are divided into the pushers and the pushed; the takers and the taken, the cons and the suckers, and they are, one and all, the work-a-day products of Life. And I ask you: Is it possible to ascertain which of these binary groupings the manufacturer favors? And not only “can you tell,” but do you really want to know?
Everybody LOVES grandma after the fire; oh yeah, it was EVERYone’s favorite couch; and, “My late husband was a great American.” (Did you get it…well, did you?)
At certain unpredictable times, some people in the City momentarily feel as though they’re better than they are. A rather harmless, passing anomaly, I suppose.
The well done sailor’s only task
is to nail the coffin to the mast.
J.
Man is made up of just ordinary “stuff,” which explains MORE than a lot.
Yes, I know I seem to have this desk, but I assure you, I do not work here.
Any Real Revolutionist knows that you cannot do anything for the “general good.” Even the attempt can be disastrous. To try and help another human requires not the services of a swordsman, but of a micro-surgeon.
Sometime back, I heard a certain Revolutionist’s step-brother state, “What’s all this rot about the difficulty of ‘knowing yourself’? All you’ve got to do is just look at everybody else, and – there you are!”
If you still got “stuff” you had from before, at least don’t use it.
J.
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