Maybe, Might and Perhaps

If you’re the instructor, you don’t HAVE to cut class.

Wanna’ know another reason for religion’s continuing popularity compared to some of the younger Turks like biology, chemistry, and physics?  Answer: Cause religion unabashedly deals in the terms “maybe,”  “might,” and “perhaps.”

Let me put it to you like this:

What could be cuter, funnier, and more dangerous, than City folks being deadly serious?

If you’re gonna talk loud, talk REAL LOUD.

My quiz of the month: fill in the blank in the following statement: “There AIN’T no blank.”

J.

Velvet Tux

In a land where the reporters become as important as the events they report, the experiences of the people MAY become as important as the means of their reporting.  “Hey, it’s a circular jungle out there, a place where hangmen often fly up through trap doors.”

Never trust a god who’s writing his memoirs.

Irony is anger in a velvet tux.

For a few, I offer the following as new, potential nourishment in a deep, personal relationship:

You don’t tell me your troubles,
and I won’t tell you mine.

Unless you’re embroiled in some weird, time-wasting contest, never waste your time calling the City a liar.

A wise father counseled his son thusly, “Look kid, life’s okay, but there’s no need to make a career out of it.”

J.

City Game Rules

Under City Game Rules, anything that “sees” itself, doesn’t like itself.

Talk about efficiency, how about how things are arranged for the dead to entertain the children?

At a dubious lecture in the City, one hot-haired Man suddenly leaped to someone’s feet and exclaimed,” The Ten Lost Tribes are not ALL lost, at least seven of them are in MY head!”

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words “inspired” and “insipid.”

One Man announced that he was going to sell his beautiful, successful merry-go-round, and one of his friends could scarcely believe it and attempted to question him on the matter, but was quickly told, “Oh, it’s not for the reason you THINK.”

J.

The Great In-Doors

There’s this other guy, who presently stays over in the Fourth Ward, who knows a story he’s never told anyone.

From a certain view, you could say that a Real Revolutionist is the only one with an “In-Doors” that is self-furnished.

Heard a City café-critic declare to his coffee-fed-comrades, “You know why they can’t decide who actually wrote Shakespeare’s stuff?  You wanna know why?  Huh? Huh…I’ll tell you why, cause NOBODY did, that’s why.”

Anyone who gets impressed deserves it…yeah, I know, needs it.

One chap confided to me that the reason we do not have more “fitting conclusions” now-a-days is because of a dearth of decent fitting rooms.

J.

Divine Light

Humanity seems generally inclined to historically remember best, those who have kicked it around.

One Man, marveling over what he called the “hidden mystical meaning in every day affairs,” challenged us thusly, “Do you realize that the term ‘Divine Light’ is contained in the word ‘compassion’ if you add a ‘d’, ‘v’, ‘l’, ‘g’, ‘h’ and a ‘t’?”

Upon assuming the position of outré orchestra leader, one Revolutionist immediately assured one and two, I mean all, that he would “take all requests,” but he proved to then ignore same, post haste.

In the City it’s still difficult for them to remember that, by their own definitions, laws, and principles, facts are derived from reality, not the other way around.

One Revolutionist-influenced fellow decided to open a school to teach intelligence; it seems so natural, so obvious, so correct; then, being relatively bright himself, he suddenly realized what a dumb idea it was.

J.

Mortal Talk

Much of mortal talk is an unrecognized form of adjusting oneself to the inevitable.

A would-be social critic once stated, “All aggression is taught,” but he failed to identify the extra-universal college from whence originates such instruction.

If reality and the truth had but one face, Man would be the genus, “genius.”

If it had but two faces, we would all go free;
but as it now stands, your passes are only good for Tuesday,
and that’s the very day the House of Mirrors is closed.

The many label as “miraculous” that which they don’t understand, while the Few do just the opposite.

One possible slogan for the Real Revolutionist would be, “Moderation is ultimately insufficient.” (The words could be also applied to the ordinary, if they were then understood to mean that “moderation” does not offer the necessary spark of motivational guilt.)

J.

One Step

You know, a fellow could make a fortune in the intellectual-office-place if he could develop a “white-IN.”

There’s this chap with a seven band equalizer, who lives near Kyoto, who says he knows of a certain undiscovered natural law that doesn’t seem to apply to anything.

If you “aim to please” you’ll hit ‘em in the knees.  (Heads up ya’ll.)

A Real Revolutionist would do ANYTHING for profit.  This sounds harsh and venal to those who don’t realize that the whole trick is in actually knowing what IS profit.

Remember, you can always take at least ONE step out of your way.

J.

Supersized

Conversation Delta-Y:

“May I help with your packages?”

“I have no packages.”

“May I get you some?”

Why be 8 ½-by-14
in a 8 ½-by-11 world?

While others in the City may continue to debate questions of morality, propriety, and proper conduct, let me ask you more specifically:  Can you see – can you even imagine seeing – conflict between “nature” and intelligence?  (In case you didn’t notice, that’s a wrap on that subject.)

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words “art” and “fart.”

Since everyone wants what’s in short supply, would it help to warn of a coming run on dumbness?

J.

More Sound Advice

Even if you don’t know THE secret, you can know A secret.  (And even if you don’t know A secret, you can pretend to know SOME thing.)

Even deep-fried theologians, after grueling hours of religious debate, will finally turn to politics and court gossip.

That without limits cannot by City minds be possessed.

Were it not for the continuing acquisition of new toys and trinkets, how would City folks even appear interesting.

P.S. All “sound” advice is much too loud.

J.

Sound Advice from the City

More sound advice from the City:

Never try to circumcise yourself while changing your oil.

Question:

Has anyone ever been aided by an “evil person”?  Hey, watch that stuff!

Nothing’s all THAT magnificent if they keep calling it so every time they mention it.

Almost ALL the world’s great minds had a tendency to put on weight.

The Free don’t need secrets.

J.

Lots of It

If you can BE seduced, you deserve to be seduced.

Why confuse staring for genius?

According to one City thinker, “Corruption comes not as a thief in the night, but rather as anxiety in designer jeans.”

In the City there ain’t no need to even GO looking.

From a nearby crowd, a voice deftly floated, “Well, whatever it is, there seems to be lots of it.”

J.

Polemic Produce

When it comes to polemic produce, even fresh IDEAS can eventually spoil.

They recently found a Man staggering around the bushy perimeter, gripping his temples and loudly moaning, “Wow, oh wow, me thinks I thought too much all at once!”

Only the ordinary continue to perceive of time as a phenomenon outside themselves.

The bigger the problem the smaller the Man:

Okay, Beta Variation: 
The bigger the problem the smaller the intelligence. 

Oh, alright Variation Gamma: 
Hey, there ain’t no third version.

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words “religion” and “pigeon.”

J.

A Path to Everywhere

Any place with boundaries, even Valhalla, Paris or Paradise, is a prison.

There’s at least one path to everywhere; some are worthwhile, some are not.

Only those phlegmatic playwrights must lean on a plot.  A day – nay, a life without a plot, is like an eternal third down.

Just over the unnamed ridge lies the wonderland…always just past the unnamed.

Hell is filled with other people’s whining…No it’s not, that’s a joke, of course, ‘cause everybody else’s is SO much worse than yours…right?  And that’s no joke.

J.

If the Solution Fits...

What IS KNOWN is not generally known.  That is, what is known by the Few, is not known by the Many.

What strange creatures may have avoided the captivity of words?

There IS no acceptable metaphor for a gun.

In the real Revolution, that which is TOO exact can be deadly.

If the solution fits – WEAR IT!

J.

A Paucity of Ears

If you WERE mind-readers, and brain-hearers, how often, do you suspect, you would discover, just as the train pulls away, many mulling about the station would suddenly think, “Ah, NOW I see!”

His intellectual progeny was such that it made you glad you lived in a singles complex.

A mother told her daughter never to read any 19th century poetry within an hour after eating.

The fall of an Adam and Eve from an original, pristine Garden-Of-Passion was not via an apple, but by an argument.  The original sin-passion is always in the first fight between the lovers.

Come on, do you think it’s actually a matter of “secret information,”,or a paucity of ears?

J.

Be Deliberate

On one blustery, mid-winter’s morning,
the man at the table asked,
“Is it cold, or is it me?” 
And the wife replied, “Both, you ninny.” 
“Ah,” he said;
said she, “Ah indeed.”

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words, “hope” and “dope.”

Whilst rambling through a book of City poetry, I rambled upon the following line,
“Where my heart will lie
I pray also will lie my brain.” 
I do sorta wish we would dig up and revive this bard, and ask him what he specifically perceived as an alternative possibility to the above.

As one City dude was oftimes wont to say, “After all the kissing and bloodshed has ceased, will Verdi still reign supreme?”  No one seems to have any idea why this person is oftimes wont to say this.

If you can find out how to do it, or even catch yourself in time to do so, here’s what you should do: 
Even in foolishness, be deliberate.

J.

The Real Causes

The real cause of most stuff IS something.

In City discussions, don’t be impressed if one side admits about the other, “Well, hey, they’ve got a point.”  In the City, EVERYbody’s got a point.

If anything IS actually out-of-place, we’re all goners…and I mean goners-for-good!

If it was the kind of secret revealed to just anybody, the few-of-you wouldn’t wanna know it.

Over in that free-leafed City park last weekend, I saw this one fellow who stormed and stomped around shaking his fist and demanding, “Okay, where’s the plot?  Where’s the plot?”

J.

Mind Blind (Holiday Edition)

The story of ordinary knowledge is the story of lags, gaps, and missing pieces.  In fact, if it’s NOT missing, it’s not worth knowing.

If it’s correctly noted that, “Local boy makes good,” the boy was much more than local.  The good, the success, does not follow if one is too local, too specialized.

I am disturbed by the similarity of the words, “mind’ and “blind.”

A man told his son: “Never write in a book unless YOU know more than the book…and if you do, why the hell are you bothering to read it in the first place?”

There was this guy who, in smug, apparent self-abasement, would periodically declare, “I’ve never looked at myself in the mirror!” And one listener, upon hearing this, rather than being impressed by the speaker’s humility thought, “Hell, the man’s just a coward.”

J.

The Real Colors

The real colors of the City spectrum are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, and dichotomy.

City artists, writers, and thinkers all BRAG about who “influenced” them, while a Revolutionist would be ashamed of such.

It’s all just “business as usual,” no matter the parade of calamities, celebrations, torments, and treats; the routine, exotic, mundane, and unexpected, it’s ALL just business as usual.

The following CAN’T be true, can it…or, why else would I bother to mention it:

If you have to think about what you’re going to say, you’re not going to have much to say.  (Come on now, what does that REALLY mean?)

Advice to apparent City Dwellers:
Make ‘em believe you DO have a “Code of Conduct.”

J.

The Narrow View

Most people succumb to being civilized via embarrassment.

Never enter into a binding contract with a book, until you’ve read it two years later.

The pretense of love IS love.  The reality of lust is, however, another catalog altogether.

In the City, absolute hopeless grief IS permissible.  Well, alllll-right!  But remember, it must be absolute and hopeless.

One properly urbanized bundle of talking-pater-molecules told his bundle of son ones, “In City affairs, it’s usually best to take the narrow view.”

J.