That Which Seems Irrelevant

In the equation, “I + not-I = Everything,” some feel as though “I” is 90% of the equation, while others feel the “not-I” as being the major component.  This is the natural scheme with the ordinary, but the Few soon recognize that only everything = Everything.

It is said that when the universe was hot-with-the-breath-of-creation that all forms and forces were symmetrical, but as they cooled all became asymmetrical.  Man too, reaches maximum mechanical growth and cools, becoming asymmetrical, with muted and boosted energies.  Such is the unbalanced stability of ordinary Man.

Let me offer yet another hint:

Refuse to even think of Man as a responsible solid.

Another way to try and Consider Third Force:

Man’s attempt to deal with the unknown.

Okay, another way to approach old “E” Force:

That which seems irrelevant.

J.

Feel Yourself, Not Your Moods

Neural expansion is less complex and more direct than is possible for present consciousness to conceive.

You must recognize the true mystery and magic within yourself; the sham outer displays are always for the foolish.

Be it known:

There are lateral areas in your circuitry that are negative reflections of your mechanically activated ones.

You must learn to willfully center your consciousness; feel yourself, not your moods.

Once you see that “I” is not the enemy, your excuse supply is depleted.  You are then responsible and must assume control of the process that is this “I.”

J.

Duality = Conflict

Only the simple believe that life is a myth, a metaphor, an allegory; those who "know life" know that life is life.

And you could say "well, what else is there to know," and yet...it can take a lifetime for even the most attentive to fathom this. In the nonphysical realm:
Being well

has nothing to do with

wanting to be well.

(Anymore than does a real mystic to

those who say that they're a mystic.)

     A man noted, "I do not enjoy killing insects who set upon me, and neither is their biting of me motivated on their part by any search for 'enjoyment.’ They simply do as they must, under the circumstances, and I, no less."

                               Anywhere there is duality, there is conflict.  Anywhere!

J.

Swallow the Fire

Alright, another little hintie-poo:

Learn to swallow the fire.

There remains this god-awful belief that humans cause other humans to do certain things.  I would try and talk about this with some of them, but I can’t find a place to stick my finger in.

Everybody needs somebody, although everybody may not need their particular somebody.

Those in spinal-Alabama attempt to identify themselves through actions.  Those in General-hospital-of-the-spine struggle to identify through their words and papers, while the Few run through the fields, beat on the walls, pull on their beards and wonder who in the hell they might be after all.

Small habits are the strongest by being the easiest to overlook.  That which is smallest is the most mechanical.  Ordinary consciousness is the smallest possible expression of potential consciousness.  Kinda make you wonder, eh Bunky?

J.

Do Nouns Exist?

Nouns exist only for Man…but I guess that’s fair since he seems to be one.

Ordinary consciousness sees only incomplete equations.

Do you hear voices?  No, you say, well, who told you “no”?

You cannot truly predict the outcome of a game.  You would have to know how to participate and make your prediction come true.

Many cry out, “We’ll never forget,” but I tell you that the Few cannot be tied to the past under any circumstances.  A dependence and taste for the past is a sure sign of your labor for Second Force.  You cannot simply deny the past, but you must see its ordinary necessity and function and then abandon it.  Phew, I’m glad that’s over.

J.

That Which Is Necessary to You

Ordinary teachers and gurus do not, in fact, want their followers to “know the truth,” since they themselves do not know.

Life, too, struggles to evolve and the Few are its Line of Consciousness.

There is no sequential line of cause-and-effect in the Tri-axial world.

Feel that which proves necessary to you, but ignore that which is only mechanically required for existence.

That which now sounds strange and far away will one day be your own common, close condition.

J.

In No Certain Place

You must seek to become conscious in a sub-supra-atomic fashion; in no certain place with no particular movement.

To awaken to This Thing, you not only have “nothing to hide,” but you cannot even feel as though there is, or should be,   anything to hide.

Just between us, what I am really bringing to you is a new kind of religion; but not a religion of man-the-mass but of man-as-energy…(and you still fail to grasp the enormity of it all).

Forever and ever Mankind has proclaimed it their duty to “be themselves.”  All I want to know is “what’s stopping them”? (Or, do we overlook the obvious?)

And yet another rhyme from by bag of brine:

What can you say to a blind man?

What can you show the deaf?

The gods will only hurt those,

Who try and hurt themselves.

I think it would serve us well to periodically recall, repeat and ponder humanity’s motto:

Let us all stand,
with our hands over our mouths,
and recite together the pledge:

“IT’S NOT MY FAULT.”

 J.

The Truly Necessary

The idea of a motivating unconsciousness in Man is an unrecognized admission that he does not know why he does what he does.

All possible lateral areas below The Line must be activated for the proper support of vertical growth.

To properly pursue This Thing, one must learn to force their own private and willful finalities.

If, as humanity is wont to repeat, “Love is a hurting thing,” then all ordinary human behavior should be a continuing cause for celebration.

At the ordinary level, you must first recognize the truly necessary, then ignore it.

J.

Everything Resolves Itself

You do indeed, seem involved in a mighty battle, but it is ultimately a struggle with a foe illusionary, (although, only apparently so).

The trick of “not telling yourself what you’re doing,” is in keeping the new knowledge and effort just outside the reach of the ordinary awareness of the established circuitry.

Everything ultimately resolves itself, (whether you, my ole darling, see it or not).

Almost anything one can normally think, say, or do is a hindrance to This Thing you seek to establish.

The older you get in ordinary time, the more surely, each morning, does Second Force call your name during the work line-up.

J.

The Talking Road and other Stories

There was once a man known as Professor Turkay who was a skunk exorcist. He was known in many lands for being able to rid a community of unwanted skunks.  Whenever skunks would suddenly appear in a peaceful hamlet, the Professor was never far away or far behind, and the people were always sorely thankful for his coincidental proximity.  That is, until it was discovered that the professor carried around a small herd of skunks which he would let lose in villages, and then suddenly make himself available to exorcize the pungent little darlings.  After losing this profitable occupation, it didn't take long for the professor to get sick of honest, manual labor.  So he devised a new scheme.  He grew a beard, changed his name to, Dr. Thrustmore and traded in his skunks for a sack of evil spirits. He then proclaimed himself a “spirit exorcist,” pulling the same scam now with his demons, and this-time no one ever got wise.

There was once a young boy in Turning City who made friends with a road. The road was near his house, and he would go there often.  He would sit and talk with the road when no one was travelling thereon. The boy had never been down the entire length of the road, but the road assured him that it went more than five hundred miles in either direction.  The lad continually pressed the road to tell him of the many wonderful sights to be seen, in the far away locales which the road traversed. And with some prodding, the road would indeed tell marvelous tales of

places that the boy might never see.  One day the boy's grandfather discovered his friendship with the road, and heard of the wondrous tales the road had told the boy of the faraway places. The old man grunted, and said, “Boy, that road ain't seen all those places he’s been telling you about; he ain't been nowhere... he's just what other people use to get to those places.”  And suddenly, in spite of and hidden amongst his grandfather's discouragements, the young boy understood a great secret.  You can't separate a path from the places it may go.  A destination is not separate from the journey, and the path of travel itself already touches all possible destinations. The boy smiled and wondered what kind of gift he could give to a talking road.

Who can look up when the cry is “Down”?

Who can feel squares when the object is round?

Who can move back while staying ahead?

Who can taste yellow while seeing red?

Who can stay wet when all is dry?

Who can say “how” when the question is “why”?

 While all remains flat who can see depth?

And who knows a word to rhyme with depth?

(You know, you people now tend to laugh no matter whether you get the expected, OR

otherwise.)

J.

Irony is the Spice

There was once an old man who worked on horses. He traveled through several adjoining kingdoms accepting the animals for treatment no matter the complaint. The old man never had received any formal training in the care of horses, and in fact had no particular fondness for animals in general. Yet he pursued this trade for many years, and through many, many clients. He had a particular touch for this pursuit that I will mention. He long ago decided how much money he wanted for his efforts, and calculated the maximum that he thought anyone would be willing and able to pay for his service, and that became his price.

Once he arrived in a village, and someone brought their horse for his treatment, he would take the animal into a barn for a private examination, wait an appropriate length of time, then come from the barn and inform the owner that he could indeed treat the horse, and that the full price would be 147 Dolkirks and 29 Zins.  No matter the apparent malady of the horse, no matter what treatment if any was called for, the price was always 147 Dolkirks and 29 Zins.  (No one had ever noticed this fiscal facet but Moi.) 

Well, one day the old man entered a village he had not visited for many years, and once his presence was known a simple farmer came forth with his horse, and asked the old man to check him over for a reoccurring problem he described. The old man listened intently, led the horse into a nearby barn, returned in a bit, and informed the farmer that he could certainly treat the animal properly, and that his bill for services in this particular case would be 147 Dolkirks and 29 Zins. The farmer nodded his agreement, but as the old man walked backed toward the barn, the farmer called out “Wait a minute. You were here twelve years ago and treated my horse for an entirely different problem, and now I remember distinctly that the bill then was also for 147 Dolkirks and 29 Zins.”  The farmer waited with accusation-stained breath, but the old man didn't miss a beat as he smiled and said, “Isn't it good to know that at least MY prices haven't gone up?”

There was once a small man who dreamed of designing the world's first and only “absolutely, positively, fool-proof, fail-safe, burglar alarm system.”  Well, he spent several years in private just poring over the problems and possible solutions. Then he spent several more years in his basement constructing then discarding models of his proposed, possible systems.  He lost his job for being absent, and his wife took the children and left him. But on the toilet, when a lesser man would have surrendered to defeat, he was sure that he and only he alone had solved the problem of the “fool proof, burglar alarm system.”  Early the next morning the bank foreclosed on his unpaid mortgage and he was thrown into the empty streets, homeless.  But what the hell; irony is the spice of life.

There was once a young boy who made friends with an overcoat...(There's no further story to tell; I just thought it was interesting enough to mention.)

J.

Merry-Go-Round Monday

There was once a man who owned and operated a merry-go-round, and he was quite successful as children and adults came from miles about to enjoy the pleasant sensation of the circular ride on the wooden horses.  After some years, boredom, (or “ennui” as his Norwegian brother-in-law liked to call it), set in, and for new excitement the man began to run the merry-go-round backwards on some dull days.  Soon people began to ask to go backwards, and he arrived at a schedule whereby every other day the merry-go-round would go forward, and on the alternate days, backwards. 

He was soon more successful than ever, and all the children and adults appeared to enjoy themselves even more with this mixed running.  But soon, (as his brother-in-law had predicted), he grew bored again.  Then he decided on a new tack:  He would start the merry-go-round running in the posted direction for the day, and then suddenly he would slam the gears into the opposite direction.  First getting it going good in the forward direction, then, “Bam!” whip ‘er into reverse as quick as possible; children screaming, adults cursing, bodies flying and falling every-which-a-way. And, “boy-oh-boy” did the man laugh.  This was the most fun he had had since he bought the whirling machine. 

He sure wasn't bored now, as he watched the helpless people flail about, laughing so hard he cried and almost choked.  Boy-oh-boy did he ever enjoy himelf.  But the riders didn't, and they beat the holy shit out of him. 

*** END OF STORY***

A young boy once told his mother that an invisible voice had been talking to him; telling him wonderful stories about all the exciting things that would happen to him when he got older.

His mother told him to “Shut up about such nonsense”; she said there were no such things as “invisible voices, and that he was crazy.”  Later, when the little boy was a grown, older man, and his mother was older still, he told her that an invisible voice had began to speak to him, and it spoke of nothing but doom, and discouragement.  His mother nodded now in knowing agreement.  *** WELCOME TO THE BIG TIME, SONNY BOY ***

There was once a young boy with musical interests, and as he dreamed of his grown up future as a happy musician, he came to the conclusion that there was a “missing note” in the known musical scale, and he turned his energies to discovering this note so as to better assure his reputation and future fortunes.  Meanwhile, unknown to all involved, there were two other lads dreaming of their happy futures in different fields. One had decided that there was a “missing letter” in the known alphabet, and he directed his efforts to being the first to discover this “missing letter.”  The third boy had come to a personal determination that there was a “missing number” amidst all of the numbers now known, or suspected, and he began his search for this number.  After some years of search, research and struggle, these three lads and their quests became well known, and they were unanimously labeled as “crackpots, kooks, and decidedly weird.”  Not only did they not become famous in their chosen fields, but they could not, in fact, even gain minimal employment.  (That is until they secured non-existent positions on an invisible project whose purpose was totally “missing.”)

J.

Through Ordinary Eyes

Through ordinary eyes, it does appear that individual efforts can produce specific results, but what does not ordinarily appear is the fact that the results were a product of an equation in which you were not the sole factor.  There is even the lesser apparent aspect of named “results” being further effects in a right-angled-reality, and the fact that effects are what are produced by results.

(This is all hard indeed to fit into words, and I have no idea what its effect may be on random listeners.)

A man from Siam said,
“I don't give a damn,”
and a man from Wheeling said,
“That still shows his feelings.” 

But the man from Siam said,
“I don't give a damn,”
and a man from Berne said,
“You've expressed your concern.” 

And the man from Siam said,
“Look, I really don't give a good god damn,
and this includes your comments as well.” 
And a woman from Woodstock proclaimed, “Extreme Gridlock.”

A simple young lad from Redland once took a trip to that illustrious metropolis of the Yellow Apple, and returned some weeks later looking quite worse for the wear.  After having a fresh drink, and rearranging his tattered clothing, he sat with his friends and made these comments regarding his adventure.  He said that the Yellow-Big-Time was interesting at first, but that everyone there seemed totally engaged in constant yapping and endless debate over the smallest of matters.  He said that they weren't bad people, just boring, and frustrating.  But, returning home became his real problem; passing through the elusive area of Unincorporated Bluefield.

He said that he seemed to understand the people there a little better than he did those in the Golden Apple, and yet, he said, “They moved about like puffs of smoke; like frightened or frightening shadows.  They would whine in one ear, and shout in my other; they badgered me with moans and threats, cried on my shoulders till my new suit melted at the seams, and before I could leave, they stole my shoes, and shrank my soul.”  All his friends nodded, and agreed, “It’s always good to be home.”

When I speak of “kingdoms” who can feel the people move within; when I speak of Man, who can sense Life stirring about.

There was once a land where no one ruled, and an adjoining land where no one obeyed.  The priests and philosophers of the two lands got together and decided that if the two peoples would simply swap places all would be fixed.  (And again the voice in back pleaded, “I asked you to gimme a break.”)

J.

The Simple Explanation

On earth, I was observing a political type gathering, wherein numerous Men were addressing the audience, seeking their favor to gain the available seats of power.  One of the candidates devoted most of his speech to a personal attack on one of his rivals seated on the platform, a “Dr. Flew.” The speaker denounced the Doctor as a “bastardly cur” and a “worthless thief.”   But each time he would mention the Doctor by name I noticed the Doctor would immediately look to the audience and smile and wave no matter the degree of slander being directed towards him.  His opponent wrapped up his speech by calling the Doctor every despicable name in their language, and concluded by describing Dr. Flew as an “illiterate sub-human, deviate, scum-faced son of pig devils.”  As the good doctor continued to smile, and wave to the assembled throng, I later discovered the two opponents behind the platform, and heard the Doctor say, “Great delivery, what a dynamic voice you have.  But do tell me what it is you really think of me.”

There is a difference between habit and a halibut...although repetition does have a fishy aroma.

Under optimum conditions, sex could be noted as the ultimate energy exchange among the weary foot soldiers.  (It makes you wonder what transpires at the officer's club.)

Everything signifies something true and pertinent, even foolish ideas, and incorrect predictions. How else can you explain the continuing public occupations of economic and weather forecasters?

In the land of Various Designs, a certain man once sought election to that nation’s highest seat of power and specifically enlisted the aid of a well known and respected thinker, who, although without wealth or position, exerted a significant influence on the hearts and minds of the people. The candidate met privately with the thinker, and after soliciting his active support, made certain specific promises to him regarding noble plans that would be initiated after the election, and which the thinker would direct.  Since the politician's plans were so in line with the kinds of changes that the thinker had so long dreamed of, and the total purpose appeared so pristine and decorous, the thinker agreed, and became one of the candidate’s most active and profitable supporters.  The candidate was successful in his quest, but after taking power many months passed as the thinker courteously awaited his summons from the new leader, a call that never came.  The thinker then, after much frustrating effort, finally arranged an appointment with the newly elected leader, and as he arrived at the official building he discovered the leader about to depart.  He managed to reach him, and gently touched his sleeve, “Sir, it’s me. I’ve been awaiting your call.  Don't you remember our grand plans, and my assistance?”  The leader halted his stride momentarily, smiled and said, “Why certainly I remember you.  You're wondering why I haven't contacted you about the promise I made.  Well there's a very simple explanation for that, I lied to you.”  And off he went.

J.

Indecision Not

Indecision IS a decision.  And the other side of every verbal coin has its own unrecognized like value.  (All of which could change your mind regarding the inherent worth of mortal collectables.)

Don’t react to the oppressive movements of Life in an immediate fashion as if you are a blameless party in the injustice.  For in the overall Grid you've already been made an unknowing participant just by being what you are, and by being at that particular location.  The only possible question of fairness for the Few resides in the blinding potential of personally affecting that sort of illusionary time before it exerts itself through the pulsating fabric of time-tied consciousness. In other words, it’s too late to do anything once it has happened, other than find a black hole and crawl in it.

Man's word and idea of “destructive” can be seen as a misnomer for a certain aspect of D Force’s responsibilities to make preparations for coming change.  Man’s fascination with the horrible and inhumane is but an unrecognized interest and participation in this area of D's domain.  Blood and guts make splendid fertilizer, be it physical, or otherwise.

As disturbing and confusing as it may still seem, I remind you again that “Revolution IS the name of this game.”  It does, most assuredly, require a working familiarity with the present power structure, and a functional knowledge of explosives, and short cuts out of town.  Still, no matter your degree of proficiency and impartiality, someone is certain to get hurt and pissed.

I once heard a mortal king questioned about the widespread hunger amongst his people, and he responded by noting that it seemed to be a quite ancient habit of theirs, and a cultural precedent in which he saw no need to meddle.

J.

Thursday Re-Mix

At odd moments Men are driven to note that circumstances are not always a justifiable explanation for individual behavior.  Such as in noting that even though a dangerous person came from a particularly unsavory background, not everyone else from those same circumstances behaves likewise.  This may verbally sound meaningful and specifically reasonable, but it unknowingly speaks of two other matters:  One, being a reference to how everyone should apparently be working for “C,” and secondly, it notes the objective danger should everyone be allowed to even momentarily work for “D.”

When scientists and psychologists often state, “We do not yet know if these new effects we are observing are real, or whether they just seem to be real.”  From the back of the room, a would-be-scientist says, “Gimme a break.”

A certain king once found his domain under the threat of immediate invasion, and although he had heard rumors of the enemy’s inferior training and weaponry, he sent forth a young scout to survey the amassed army and to deliver a firsthand report.  The young man returned and gave the king the exact number of the enemy troops down to the last foot soldier, but the king screamed, “I do not want these raw numbers; I want a detailed description of the men, their leaders, their weaponry; how they look, how they speak. I must be familiar with the enemy as people.”  He sent the scout out again, and when he returned he informed the king that his original count of the enemy was indeed accurate.  The king was ablaze with anger.  “You fool, you dolt; I want an eye witness surveillance and description of mine enemy in human terms so that I can rightly plan to deal with them should the need actually arise.”  And whilst he screamed and berated the scout, the enemy forces, although frecklessly and pitifully equipped, overran the kingdom by their sheer number.

The apparent power of extrinsically based “truth” is in that it is the ONLY power available to ordinary consciousness. It is information/energy distilled over much time and over large areas of the Grid.  Only the Few can ever distill and re-mix their own energies

For now, you must simply forget that which cries out from ordinary mind-memory. Everything it remembers happened below the Line, and consciousness perceives this source as the proverbial lake of fire, folly and damnation.  The river Styx can only accommodate those who remember its existence.

J.

Midweek Story

“C” doesn't have to announce itself. (Yet note how everyone else demands lengthy, lengthy introductions).

What ordinary consciousness thinks and says is of almost no personal importance.  (And ultimately, the consequences of its behavior, even become problematic).

Man is driven to continually cry “Doom” because Life’s life is forever in the process of breaking up old patterns, habits, and structures, and since the upcoming new patterns and structures are always yet to be fully formed and realized, ordinary consciousness senses only a continuing scenario of upheaval and impending “Doom.”

Once Upon a Time…

In the land of Green-and-Grey, a young hungry-what once started a revolt against the reigning tyrant.   As his activities increased, he was joined by much of the populous, including a well known member of the established priesthood.  The people did indeed have many grievances against the harsh and barbaric rule of the sitting despot, and with the priest always near his side, offering counsel and encouraging the people to believe in the righteousness of their struggle, the day came when the young revolutionary seized the temporal powers in his own anxious hands.

But it soon came to pass that the new, revolutionary leader proved as power hungry, and dictatorial as his predecessor, and the people who had so valiantly fought for “better days” found themselves once again oppressed by the single-minded greed of one man.  After a time, the priest came to visit his old comrade and brought with him the many concerns, fears and complaints of the people.  The revolutionary leader listened passionately, and said nothing.  The priest then began to denounce his friend, and reminded him of the high ideals for which they had originally fought.  He pointedly accused the new leader of betraying not only the helpless followers, but the priest’s faith and trust as well.  The priest’s sense of anger began to rise dramatically as he screamed at the new leader about “betrayal of authority and misuse of power.” 

Finally his old revolutionary friend stirred.  He took the priest by the collar, pulled his face up to his, and whispered, “My old comrade, you spent many years before you met me doing apparent battle in the garb and name of supernatural gods.  You knew the purpose, and taste of power while I was yet a babe.  Do not ever speak of such matters again, or old friend, I will have your bloody head hung beneath my picture in the square.”  He released the priest, who stepped back, stroked his serious beard, and noted, “Yes I can see your point.”

J.

The Necessary Constant

Man's continuing “self-doubts” are a further hint regarding the confrontational forces necessary to keep him a functional growth outlet.

Human consciousness is the necessary-constant, while the pictures and voices on the screen of consciousness are the continuing-variables.

Why is it, one should ask, that Man’s so-called “creative arts” appear to know and use only the D-medium.  One might later question the possibility that C-materials may be too quick and slippery.

I once heard a man tell his grandfather that he should not go about “talking to himself,” and the old man said, “Oh yeah, who told you to tell me that?”

The ceaseless, internal, flow of conflicting energies, are a frictional device necessary for new circuitry growth.  Until higher areas are activated, being emotionally and intellectually disturbed simply comes with the human territory.

J.

Let's Make A Deal

Life arranges itself, and is arranged throughout the Human Grid, in such a way as to make ordinary consciousness believe that it is always reacting to the occurrence-of-the-immediacy, whereas the innumerable “causes,” that is, the environmental alterations since the initial heredity impact, could more properly be considered no more than an unrecognized pattern of stable chaos, with all tri-axial notions of immediate causes being forever lost in a vertical-angled land of no-time-at-all.  (Only the ordinary curse a chair after stubbing their toe…the more lively would curse every fucking part of every universe and be done with it.)

All peoples, cultures, and religions have a tale regarding Man being somehow removed from his original habitat, and forever being in search of a “mystical, lost homeland.”  But those with some idea of Man’s true position understand that you can exile yourself.

If it be true that all artists suffer, and if it still be so that 2 and 3 equals 5, and also that 3 and 2 equals 5, then are not all who suffer artists in some remote fashion?  If the above were to somehow prove correct, I could then better appreciate the sentiment of Men when they say, “I may not know art, but I know bad news when I see it.”

The mortal tale of Man’s fall-from-paradise is unknowingly a recounting of his eternal upward fall; an upward, vertical plunge from the mute certainty of a Red Circuit existence into a more complex world of noisy and inspecific purposes.  So now, rather than beating his fellow man across the head, and likewise being beaten, civilized Man sits and broods over his failure to bash his neighbor, and sinks in the fear that his own thrashing is but a matter of time.  (It’s probably just as well that Man has no choice in this affair, or else Life would be one continuous game of, “Let’s Make A Deal.”)

Words can explain everything but themselves.  Like unto timber used to construct exemplary models of their intent, yet materials, about which the Yellow Circuit can offer no clue regarding their own origins.

J.

The First Time

If you will but take careful note, you will find that the ordinary consciousness of Man conceives of his life as a Horizontal happening, and the missing dimension in the tri-axial universe is not seen because it rests at right angles to present I-sight.  (Even better would be to note that it rests at Vertical-angles to present sight.)

Although ball players say, “You can’t steal first base,” and it sounds like both a physical comment on a sporting event and an allegorical note on human existence, why not again seek a first before the apparent first of ordinary awareness?  Why not forage for profit in the dark areas even before the initiation of the game?  Why not steal the scoreboard?

One can note the continuing powerful mute force of the Red Circuit in the fact that guns do indeed speak for themselves, and bullets make a particular fashion statement.

Slow music takes longer than faster music, (but this is neither as obvious, nor correct as you might first believe).

Have you yet to consider that it is not merely me continuing to pull rabbits out of hats that is so astounding, but that I pull rabbits out of hats that don’t even exist yet?

A final note: 
Never do anything for the first time. 

And if that’s a conceptual overload, try it this way: 
Always do everything for the first time

J.