From the Book of Nevers

Never

be mad on a full stomach.

What makes a martyr: the way he lived, or the way he died?

Remember: A particular desert only has room for ONE Vegas.

A guy out near the Bushes last Wednesday said, “People’s gushy sentiments toward what they call ‘god’ is just their unfocused desire to gather up all of humanity’s genes and hug ‘em to death.”

At a particular dry-spot on their landscape, poets seem unwaveringly to begin searching for a rhyme for either “god, death, or melancholy.”  Oh give me a home, where the Browning’s don’t roam.

J.

Know Enough

Life periodically produces exceptional people simply because it can’t do any better.

Not to necessarily give-you-the-blues, (although if you stay where you’re standing, you might deserve ‘em), but it could be that all City activity is ultimately just “busy work.”

Can an ordinary Man be truly “smart,” unless at least one other person says he is?

A City poet declared, “Without melancholy there IS no Philosophy,” and a bemused passerby mused, “If true, that explains a lot, regarding, at least, Philosophy.”

He knows enough, who knows the king.

J.

Minimums & Maximums

One secretive Camp-follower reportedly once said that he was pretty well convinced that the only evil was indecisiveness.

If your City has established specific minimums and maximums, remember they’re wrong, and non-operational.

Is Samson remembered for his hair, or for his loss?

If you’re gonna’ stay long in the City, forget integrity…in fact, forget even the definition thereof…come to think of it, better, don’t even admit you ever heard the word.

If you won’t think I’m talking about literature or the theater, I’ll tell you something, okay? Okay:

Don’t be Romeo
if you ain’t got Juliette.

J.

What Happened?

One of the truly great, neat things about humans is like, if you keep one penned up for a while with pigs, he’ll begin to grunt.  (A singular, and potentially profitable trait, indeed.)

One fifth-right City father told his equally so son, “Son, never think while someone ELSE is talking.”

No need to berate, or perhaps even use, your own little memory, for what happened is whatever the king SAID happened.

Seeking help on the basis of appealing to another’s humanity doesn’t strike me as the best way to go about it.

Heard again, from that particular Claims Department I mentioned in the City, the following declaration: “Yes, I will admit that it IS a stalwart example of its type, but it’s still not mine.”

J.

The Ultimate Act

Let me clue you in again:

Whenever you hear of someone being “arrested without any resistance,”
no one was actually arrested.

The Revolutionist knows that all behavior’s simply an act.

In the City, ALL so-called proof is anecdotal.  (In trying to reveal 4-D stuff in 3-D circumstances, how could it be otherwise, eh Sherlock?)

Although there is no benefit to a Revolutionist being uncouth, in his spare time he might secretly be ANTI-couth.

At times in the City when you gotta’ park it for a bit, whenever possible, back in.

Remember, our motto is,
“We Ain’t Got No Motto.”

J.

Skip The Re-write

Any problem can be solved if you don’t ask for a solution.

A Real Revolutionist seldom re-writes.

No matter what else you may have heard or read on the subject, the only REAL freedom is in telling the king to “stuff it!” and benefiting there from.

If you, your government, or anybody else, has some particular claim about itself which includes the invitation to ,“come see for yourself,” don’t bother, it ain’t worth it.

Don’t be humming, “Twist And Shout,” at a hangman’s convention.

J.

Say What?...Say Less

A change-of-power does not tarry; conversions never stand still; just look at it this way – nothing lingers.

To be a critic, you run the risk of eventually choking on something you DO like.

There was this hefty in-town organization that had as its slogan, “We will take no umbrage before its time.”

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words, “”luck” and “schmuck.”

There’s a lot to be said for saying less.

J.

Being Famous

There’s a lot TO “being famous”…and somewhat less.

Only the rich don’t die destitute; the rest get promptly right over to the Pauper’s Polo Grounds.

You not only CAN, you WILL “take it with you.”

Oh, I finally got back to that City bookstore that puts the new, promising titles out in their window.  The predominant three I noticed this time by were, “The Duty of Being Alive,” “The Art Of Preserving Heads,” and “Naked Shingles In The Mind.”

(Be on the look-out.)

J.

One Little Thing

Never get into “playing the dozens” if you only count to ten.

Remember this, said the first, “The Man guarding the gate is NOT gate itself.”

“Yeah,” said number two, “but sometimes he might as WELL be.”

“Yeah, your ass,” came the coda.

A “load off your mind” just puts it on somebody else’s.

Why is it that all the world’s “Great Literature” seems to have already been written?  Has the past, in some way, been secretly acting as those dead dudes’ agent?

Don’t use your “legit” voice when sitting in with the Isley Brothers.

There is this “one little thing” that everyone has forgot.

J.

Make One Up!

I would like to nominate the following comment I recently heard for this year’s Safe Statement Award:
“Something must be left to chance.”

If there is no word for it, make one up;
 then don’t tell anyone about it;
then forget it.

A guy said, “I’ve been in love, in debt, and in the bottle, and I must confess, I DO have a preference.”

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words, “brain” and “pain.”

Never try and cash in the chips of your famousness unless you’re really, really ready to leave the game for good…by way, I might add, lethal disappointment.

J.

If It's on the News...

You KNOW you’ve safely arrived in a City, when you find the best known work of their most humorous poet is entitled, “Ode To A Dead Child.”

Through a mix-up in this machine I was trying out, I recently found myself in the staggering midst of some sort of City poetry festival, and before I could extricate myself I heard the following from two gents who seemed to have been engaged in verbal combat: 

                      “Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Blake,

                        What a dear soufflé they would make.

                         English words and thoughts so dear,

                         Waitress, bring another beer.”

And in return this bard received:

                        “Many’s a poet who at this hour,

                          Spreads sad seeds and plows so dour.

                          Stand back folks and let her bloom,

                          No one’s getting out of this room.”

(I did not stay for the announcement of a victor.)

Unless you’re just wastefully determined to use high test in a lawn mower, always take the easy way out, (assuming, of course, that you can properly spot the ole grassy way).

P.S. - If it’s on the news it can’t be used.

J.

The Wrong Side of the Day

In the City, there are none so short, but what dying won’t increase their stature.

Heard this feller say he felt like he “got up on the wrong side of the day.”

There IS a difference between a secret and simply not talking about something.

Remember this, Number 278:

A guy’s not necessarily famous just because you and he both THINK he is.

In a City emergency ward they recently admitted a Man with severely sprained lips; seems he heard then tried to sing the song, “I’m Gonna Live Until I Die,” but he was convinced the title was backwards.

J.

Definitions, Mystical

Men of war love to quote the dictum "divide and conquer" due to its simplistic usefulness.

If man's mind had a belligerent force seeking to overcome it, such an enemy could take no better action than to fragment the mind which (curiously enough) is its present condition.

What d'ya think? Is there something out there actually threatening the integrity of the Mind...are you certain there is or ever has been such a state?  If there is a natural unity and stability to the mind, then why cannot a man select a word ("unity" let's say) and hold it constantly in mind for (let's say) the next 90 minutes? The mind is a singularly talented instrument of observation, except in one area.

One day, while shaving his bike, a guy mused to himself, "Why do men speak of physically 'living in the fast lane' and 'burning the candle at both ends,' but never make such note regarding their mental life?"  And, as he lathered up the spokes, thought, "Guess they never see the need to."

There was once an ancient oak tree who, after decades of witnessing the many non-flora activities around it, said to itself, "If it weren't so funny, it'd really be funny."

One father told his son as the youngster headed off to explore new planets: "Never stay on a world in whose dictionary are any entries between the words 'meaningful' and 'pitiful.'"

One sign of the routinely civilized and the ordinary-minded is that they give most credit for man's progress to the presence of his so-called "human emotions,"and from a casual, effortless view this seems justified and appropriate, but it will not stand more careful scrutiny.

There were once some birds who had miraculous head feathers which gave them powers unique in the avian world, but, for some reason (perhaps because of the feathers' location above their field of vision), the birds never recognized the feathers as the source of their singularity.


There was once a building
whose upstairs tenants
dismissed those below
because of the repetitive
lives they lived.

                               Definitions

                               Natural: Effortless.

                               Mystical: (I don't wanna go into it.)

J.

Just Around the Corner

Only the rich do not battle with possessions.

Heard a fellow re-define “deep-sorrow” and “grave disappointment” thusly:

“Hearing of a fatal plane crash
full of “me’s”
with three empty seats.”

It was recently proposed somewhere that we have a holiday in honor of the “Genuine Spirit of Bedlam.”

The secret’s always on the last page – even if you read the book backwards. (No one EVER knows who “did it” till the very end.)

Never ask for your freedom until it’s certain you’re captive.

A Real Revolutionist is always just-around-the-corner.

J.

What's Not Possible

A certain semi-thawed chap, whenever he was asked, (or whenever he imagined how it would be TO be asked), whether he thought a particular thing was true or not, or whether a certain thing might or might not occur, would imagine himself most pleasantly responding, “Ah, in today’s world, what’s NOT possible.”

You do by now realize that Life makes up history as it goes?

I am disturbed by the similarity of words “think” and “stink.”

A Revolutionist circus artist retires the beasts of His past, refuses delivery of tomorrow’s, and de-fangs those of the present.

There is no such Revolutionist word as “inopportune”…(at least there SHOULDN’T be).

There was this one guy whose self-proclaimed motto was, “If you DO gotta kiss Life, then give ‘er ten inches of tongue.”  “Choke the bitch,” his brother added.

J.

Weekend Political Advice

My “New Intelligence” is like a fresh needle amidst the old compass of chaos.

Don’t encourage a dull candidate, and never vote for an exciting one.

Anyone who begins a sentence with the words, “The children now-a-days…” should be immediately slapped before they can go any further…again.

In the City, many worship in private what they abuse in public.  Comparatively speaking, a Revolutionist does neither.

A father asked his son, “Think on this, my little budding Berkley:  Would you take your chances with the cannibals, the critics, or the merely dumb?” 
And the kid thought, “What a choice, what a choice.”

J.

One Thing Has Happened...

Remember this also:

In the City, one particular thing has happened to everybody.

Even if Life WERE a soap opera, must you be a sponsor?

A guy stood up at a history seminar and challenged, “I, for one, would like to know exactly what it was that went on during the Dark Ages.”  (A guy in the rear of the room thought, “I wonder does he mean ours or his?”)

Although pterodactyls may be extinct, dumbness still has wings.

New Logic And The Intolerable Syllogism:

The dumb hate to be called dumb. 
Everyone hates to be called dumb. 
Therefore…

J.

In One In

“Hey,” this one guy cried out, “Where's the justice?  You can be born in only one way, but can die in several dozen.”

Some interests (if not loves) may best flourish in secret (if not in the dark).

If it's something you really want to keep, don't throw it away in words.

In one in,
and out one out,
that’s how things
get moved about. 

(How else, sweet Montague.)

There's this fellow, presently situated in the Shetland Islands, who sez he will “think on” any ideas you have, for a time, and then return them to you, “assuming you wish them returned.”

J.

Personal Problems?

If you've got personal problems,
you GOT no personal.

The only history actually worth knowing is the stuff everyone forgot, (the stuff hiding between all those remembered words and stories).

One man told his son, “Don't EVER be led by anyone in any sort of uniform or costume.”

If necessary, you can “invite ‘em along,” but then always leave quietly ahead of schedule.

Noisy revolutions may be inevitable, but noisy Revolutionists are another matter.

J.

Omnivorous

A Real Revolutionist doesn’t listen to ANYbody…
well, okay to himself maybe,
but just a little.

Look at it this way then:

Anything actually beyond the ability of Man to know would be, perforce, mortally irrelevant. 
Feels much better, huh?

A Revolutionist should be an intellectual and emotional omnivore.

There’s a lanky fellow who sometimes stays near the northern Cambodian border, who sez he can “deal with most problems.” “Insofar,” he adds, “as any problem CAN, and should be dealt with.”

Only the weak repent.

J.