A clever king and an eight-cylinder Revolutionist might both oftimes announce that their last change will BE their last change.
Those who do not know the joke are doomed to repeat it.
Outrageous people have outrageous cells.
Every statement that pleases one, disturbs another. (And believe-it-or-don’t, there are People in the City who don’t like the outcomes and conclusions of addition and subtraction. Go figure, eh what.)
A one legged Man NEEDS a ritual.
J.
If it weren’t for the possibilities of the number two, the human intellect couldn’t be started. Were it not for the limitations of two, consciousness couldn’t be stopped.
Heard one guy in town declare, “You don’t have to be a dope or be human to live in the City, but it darn sure doesn’t do any real harm, either.”
Let’s be-wonder the children amongst us by telling of the ferocious dog-king who proclaimed, “Although I do not sweat, I cause others to do so.”
Trying to be “foreign” is an awfully cheap way out.
If Life REALLY had Man’s best interest at heart there would be many, MANY, more adjectives.
J.
In the City things tend to become a “big deal,” (even stuff that’s really a little deal).
Hell is full of footnotes.
They’ll let you vote, even criticize the king, but get out of debt – never.
Everything’s taken, nothing is sacrificed.
Yet another City motto:
Accept all substitutes.
Wanna think about something REALLY weird? What if a REAL Revolutionist is EXACTLY like you think he is?
J.
Sometimes too-tight, Human lineal-reason falls upon the City like a damp wool blanket, like a certain anxious businessman who tells all new employees to, “Be here on time the first Monday of each week.”
Ordinary expectations are like cold tomato paste left over from tomorrow.
So what IS the Revolutionist’s overall task…to make the Bushes a fit place to live, or perhaps to make the City an unnaturally fit place for heroes to live?
Heard a pretty famous City philosopher recently state, “The only dignity of Man, lies in his ability to despise himself.” If that guy ever opens a dry cleaners, go somewhere else.
There was once a king who spent most of his time in doubt over his plans and duties, and his Prime Minister finally asked, “My Liege, are we to spend the rest of our lives in this quagmire of indecision, or shall we put it behind us and move on as a rightful ruler should?” And the king said, “So, shall we continue thusly, or shall we not – that is the question, eh, Prime Minister?” “Yeah,” said the P.M., “that is the question indeed.” “And, ah hah, replied the king, “that is, perhaps is it not, also the answer?” “Yeah, my Lord, it is the answer also, indeed.”
J.
There was this one ole dude in the City that I used to enjoy, who would periodically declare, “You know, life is kinda like a metaphor for baseball.”
At precisely what moment should a Man living in the dark use his one match?
Ain’t no doubt that many People, for a long time, have hinted that they THOUGHT they were capable of better things.
To a Revolutionist under the proper, necessary pressures, hints can be like jelly filled bullets.
Religion, psychiatry and historical analysis of all sorts, are a hopeless waste on the dead, and those who won’t talk.
One ole City sorehead stated most emphatically, “The onliest Men that can’t be bought are those already doing the buying.”
J.
No great thing was ever discovered without gestures.
The production of what you need is not the same as the acquisition of wealth. The labored production of what you need is also not the same as the creative acquisition of that which you cherish and enjoy.
There is no secret until you think there is.
Okay, let’s have it this way:
There is no secret until you think there is, or, HEAR there is.
An exceptionally macho rebel would be he who might say to himself, “Hey, don’t get subtle with me!”
J.
A Revolutionist should not be a run-of-the-mill consumer.
At an overlapping intersection where two ideas crossed, the City posted this sign, “Don’t even THINK About Thinking This.”
First this, then that, then this, then that again; this and that over and over, this and that’s where we all came in.
From a certain view around the corner, well away from the 3-D world, the Revolutionist must be stable, but not immobile.
Remember: EVERYthing’s self-serving it it’s alive, (and done right).
J.
If it seems Life offers to “spot you a couple of points,” ask for four; if it agrees, leave the game.
Everything’s inconclusive.
It’s all a matter of housing. The Revolutionist simply has a room with a better view.
About the only SURE way to “shut ‘em up,” is to tape ‘em, and then edit ‘em out.
The title of a brand new City best seller: “Bitch and Grow Rich.”
J.
Those who cannot laugh at the past are doomed to go there – FAST!
A Real Revolutionist never leaves dead, inedible scraps around the campsite.
No matter the apparent wrappings, ordinary men are always fully “being themselves,” even whilst passionately pleading that they’re not. (As those illustrious Windy City savants were wont to say, “Justice on the hoof.”)
Those in the City-sense who “know too much,” commit surprise party suicide; a bladeless
hari-kari.
From City tongues I have heard of “Respect for life,” “Devotion to love,” even of “Homage to power,” but how come I never hear about the ultimate – Reverence for The Ridiculous?
J.
Be as absolutely inconclusive as possible.
I’ll tell about REAL justice:
he Man who discovered history
is long forgotten.
Okay, let me tell you about super-duper, real justice:
The cat who invented memory
immediately forgot about it.
“It just goes to show you,” said one Man.
“No,” replied another, “It ALL goes to show you.”
Those adverse to conflict are either against growth, or else don’t need it.
Internally, a Revolutionist camp is more like a midway than anything else.
J.
One guy pretty well figured he was approaching a significant juncture when he absolutely lost all taste for any food considered in any way healthy and good for you.
Rule: The rest of the world eats with a limp.
Everyone still has their original mind, even after enlightenment, Buddha still had his pre-Buddha mind, but just because there's a knife in your pocket doesn't mean that you have to cut yourself with it.
Everyone talks to themselves, but only a few ever wonder for what purpose.
After concluding the course Chemistry Of The Brain, one man then wanted to take up the geography of the beast.
And in another history of the Work, a more conscious man is shown as a tightrope walker.
The ultimate sacrifice of the mystical warrior is in his giving up of surrendering to events.
The experienced, knowledgeable traveler carries with him:
in one pocket -- a reminder
and in the other -- a motivator.
What more does he need?
To try and explain in great detail any mystical practice is to destroy it.
J.
Although it can at first sound like a too complex, pain-in-the-City-ass-approach, a Revolutionist should soon realize that whenever he finds himself with a desire for someone else to change, it is ultimately much more efficient to see if there isn’t some related alteration he can make in himself instead.
Overheard this guy say, “Fate is surely a most arduous foe,” and my own wonderment has always been, if you COULD defeat fate would you then BE fate?
Take Note: Your yesterday is someone’s tomorrow, (and don’t forget to vicy-the-old-versy).
Don’t carelessly attempt to re-heat Revolutionary grub.
If it ain’t kinda funny you don’t REALLY understand it.
J.
Ordinary memory is like a drunken accountant from another planet.
No case has ever been officially recorded of a Revolutionist congratulating himself…well, except for that ONE instance, (and then the dude exploded).
Where do all these people come from who continually carp about, “If we would just apply ourselves, we could make a much better life for us all.” Do they bus ‘em in just for this purpose?
There was this bunny, whose ears were so long as to almost incapacitate him, and someone noted, “Ofttimes inbred attributes can themselves become a hindrance; not at all uncommon amongst royalty.” And a human hearing this thought, “Then I must be a pretender to some throne, for my brain nearly incapacitates me.”
Now don’t any of you leave home and go back into the City without remembering how to properly use the ole Bit-Town-One-Two-Punch: First tell ‘em, “That’s NOT what I said,” and when they offer irrefutable proof to the contrary counter with, “Okay, but that’s NOT what I meant.”
J.
Looked at from a certain Revolutionist balcony seat, history is nothing but a never ending preview of “Coming Attractions.”
“Now for our ultimate feature bout, we have in the far-near corner, weighing in at all the weight possible, the once, future, and forever champ – existence ITSELF.”
Anytime you’re regretting you ain’t revoluting.
Then there was this guy who challenged himself each morning by staring himself dead in the eye in the mirror, and saying, “Okay, guess what I’m thinking.”
In the City, they’re all hanging around just WAITING for it to happen.
J.
Those who routinely think of the past, and have their eyes filled with tears, are gonna have their sockets blown out by the future.
All talk is a form of insanity.
Okay, all talk is also a form of insecurity. But then you gotta face the fact that all talk is a form of insane insecurity.
The theme song of most Cities is, “Someone’s to blame.”
Near one City’s artsy district, two young women were talking and the first one said, “When I grow up I wanna be a Broadway singer,” and a kid standing nearby who had no idea what they were talking about thought to himself, “When I grow up I wanna be BROADWAY!”
J.
I heard it said by one City scribe, “There is a right way of saying something, and a wrong way of saying something,” but I gotta tell you, there’s NO way of saying something.
Yes, yet another tantalizing description of the City: A place where everyone demands answers, while no one has the slightest notion what the goddamned questions are.
As you know, I try and maintain some hope for the City, and of late, I have received a modicum of encouragement by my exposure to several local enterprises, and their mottos, to wit: A church whose logo stated, “Fuck you,” and the travel agency which simply said, “Go to hell.”
“History,”
“current events,” and
“the news,”
are some of Life’s more astounding, breathtaking nom de guerre.
Don’t give ‘em anything to go on.
J.
There used to be this one chap over in the North Sector City Park, who would stand on a small boy and yell at passersby, “Beware of an orthodox that ain’t YOUR dox!”
Sure, sure,
shift the blame,
that’s what blame’s for.
A noun is just a verb that’s feeling bad. And if all YOU see are nouns, YOU’RE not feeling so hot yourself.
In the 3-D world, the truth is simply the contour between what you like and don’t like.
Men still mull about wondering, “What’s going on,” when it’s THEM that’s going on.
J.
All City sentences
are incomplete,
and all City ideas
are inconclusive.
Remember:
It’s never too late to get a rash.
Don’t waste your time, energy, eye sight, or shoe leather going OUT looking for your enemies.
A few years, or maybe it was a few yards, from here, one Revolutionist used to tell his troops each morning, “Let us be passionately impartial.”
The best strategy of all is, of course, the one we can’t talk about.
J.
Never hold an opinion without coevally holding its opposite. Fair’s fair.
The only severe deviations Life can allow are those you keep to yourself.
The past ultimately always speaks in the language of regrets.
There are certain laws governing education in the City that are yet unknown, for instance:
You can’t learn nothing there.
Heard it said in the City that, “Enthusiasm is NOT success,” bur with a Revolutionist it just might be otherwise.
J.
Another short scene indicative of, if not downright explanatory of, City life and thought:
A Man standing in the street, half of his arm asunder, proclaiming, “Yeah, I know you told me to be careful, but you didn’t say I had to be REAL careful.”
People who worry about their health eventually have reason to.
If water was really such a “big deal” they could get more for it than they do.
First verse:
Be kind to your molecules
and they’ll be kind to you.
Second verse:
If your molecules are kind to you,
then you can be kind to them.
Third, and repeating verse:
Be kind to your molecules
and they’ll be kind to you.
Now don’t drop your song book
and forget when you came in.
In conclusion, may I be so kind as to remind you all that EVERY thing’s just the tip of the ole you-know-what. Dig it, troops, until next time.
J.
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