The City Looks After Its Own

A “retrospective” is almost as good as no spective at all.

After becoming famous, this one guy found that he even began to impress himself, but almost as soon as his initial surprise had subsided, himself said, “Wasn't that the point all along?”

There is no substitute for enthusiasm... (Well, there is one, but many states have now banned

semi-automatic weapons.)

The first kid said, “I've got a ladder,” and his brother replied, “I've got a roof.” 
The first one repeated, “No, I've got a REAL tall ladder,” to which his sibling insisted, “But I've got this REAL high roof.” 
And their mother came around the corner and counseled, “Now you kids quit squabbling.  You know you're gonna end up playing in the basement anyway,” and they both moaned, “Ah, Mom...”

Another episode in the continuing drama of, “The City Looks After Its Own (or at least Itself)” Scene 94: A certain musician who cannot improvise announces this as the “Latest development in jazz.”

J.

Damage Control

One guy was complimented regarding his several interesting facets, while another was likewise noted concerning his faucets:  One was more popular than the other during flash flood season.

In secondary surroundings, much of what is accredited as being “important spiritual and psychological information,” is but ad hoc instructions in damage control.

While sitting near this one chap in the park, up on the grassy knoll, he eventually stretched out full length and said, “It ain't so bad being poor so long's you stays poor.”

If you ever decide to “go back home,” do give 'em any advance warning – trust me – it’ll be best for everybody.

While down in the City last weekend, I wandered into the Convention Centre where was gathered a conclave dedicated, as their banners read, to, “Self-Improvement and the Full Human Potential,” and poking my head into a big banquet room I caught these concluding words from one of their featured speakers: “...and thus are but some of the beneficial aspects of the brevity of human life. Thank you.”

J.

The Voice of Your Molecules

Should a City politician ever accidentally say anything of significance, by all means hold your peace, and do not encourage him further.

All Men, even the Revolutionists, hear the voice of their molecules, but are you bound to heed their directions only?

In that faded City area where some yellow meets a certain shade of blue, it is continually taken as an achievement for a man, after fifty years of study and meditation, to declare that, “All religions are one.”  Yeah, but one WHAT?

From the Book of Nevers:
Never trust a god who’s ugly.

The only differences worth mentioning, aren’t worth mentioning.

J.

A Formidable Army

Even if you fall short of a majority, you will still have a formidable army if you can just attract all the fools to your side.

No need to study time tables; no reason to hang around the depot, watching, I can tell you now that eventually all extremes meet.  (It might be best if you personally were not the point of convergence.)

It is truly hard to succeed on a City team when no vacancies exist at your position.  (Or, when Life seems loathe to even recognize your league.)

In the City ‘tis been said that, “Were it not for his imagination, a man would be as thrilled in the arms of a chambermaid as with a duchess,” and as valid as that may seem, let me clarify it by adding, “Then again, maybe not.”  Hello, hello I say!  Is the fun-forum now taking calls from the lower, doing molecules, or is it speaking with the higher, more sophisticated thinking ones?

If mere talk is real encouragement, then we’re ALL Norman Vincent Peale’s grandmother.

J.

The Eternal Rest Stop

A reporter once said to a certain Revolutionist, “We would like to do your life story,” and thought he, “You know, I don’t HAVE a life story.”

In the City, most attempts at self examination result in a form of self immobilization.

The Past is the eternal rest stop for the useless.

For those in the City who periodically ask, “Is that all there IS?”  At that particular moment the answer is, “YES,…”  Well, you shouldn’t have asked.

Just because you “understand” something in the City, doesn’t mean it’ll do you any good.

J.

Severe Tire Damage

As City People use the Past as a weapon, they fail to notice it is a sword with a second blade for a handle.

Those who don’t keep their distance,
soon have none.

If asked why he did, or did not, do a particular thing, an enlistee’s safest bet is to reply, “I don’t know.”  (Don’t even THINK about the most truthful bet.)

When it gets down to certain important Revolutionary matters, if it’s not too late, then it’s too early.

To really speak ill of someone is akin to posting one of those parking lot notices that say, “Do not back up; severe tire damage possible.”

J.

The Noise of the Search

Have any of you yet begun to fathom that Mans’ concept of love is a continuing attempt to reconcile the conflicting, necessary contamination in the circuitry?

I once met a man who announced that he was going to walk all around the world, avoiding all food until the hungry were fed.  I heard he was making splendid progress just before he starved to death.

I once heard some men talking, and one said, “Sex is so much fun I can't believe they haven't outlawed it.”  A local politician also overheard the conversation...and, do I have to tell you the rest?

I once heard that there is a special place in hell for those who “break things,” and I naturally thought it referred to holy laws and commandments, but now I'm not so sure.

At a guru convention I heard one proudly announce that his followers had just bought him an expensive new stallion. Then another said that was nothing: his followers, said he, has just presented him with a team of such steeds along with a golden chariot.  Yet another one said, “Hah!  My followers just delivered to me a new Rolls Royce.”  I butted into the conversation and mentioned to them that some such men simply walked to work.  Well, boy, did they ever have a laugh over that.  They laughed and laughed.  (I laughed some later, because I didn't really know anyone like that.)

Not only is there a Song-of-Life,
but amidst this Great Journey
there is the Noise-of-The-Search. 
(And you sometimes wonder at the apparent chaos.)

J.

The Precarious Bridge

Ordinary Men are driven to believe in imaginary gods; also to believe in the power of words.

They even refer to their religious books as the “Word of God.”  But just between us, I ask you: to which circuit are such words addressed?

There is a precarious bridge over which all must pass.  It represents a delicate balance between wanting a something to worship from afar, and the hunger to reach out and take it by the hand.

One late night on the island of Shedapore, I entered a reknowned den of iniquity, and in a dark corner, surrounded by drink, drugs, and several comely nymphs, discovered a well known holy man.  I joined him for a bit, partaking, in part, of the available treats, and later commented that such activities certainly couldn't be condoned, nor tolerated with the public at large, and he smiled, “Oh, you're a priest too.”

The fears you have now are nothing but fear of the expected. They often appear to be fears of the unknown, such as in attempting new actions and apparently dreading unpredictable consequences.  But this is in error, for the results will be the expected.  There is a joyful fear far beyond the dull limits of this shaky universe...a place where fear laughs at its own shadow.

That which can't be digested should not be eaten, and that which can't be eaten should not be handled.  And that which shouldn't be handled should not be thought of, and no one, no one, I say, can digest the unthinkable.  So there!

If your forefathers were correct, and Man is paying off some debt to the gods, have you ever wondered about these unholy interest rates?

J.

The Song of Life

There is an unknown Song of Life. 
It has a rhythm, a melody, and words. 
Each of the three Circuits plays its part i
n the symbiotic symphony,
and the Few bathe in its glory.

A certain man once found himself with a wild beast which his neighbors said was untamable. But later they found the man apparently in control of the feral brut, but could not see how he affected his will over the ragging creature, and he told them, “Whatever I decide I want it to do, that very thing I do not tell it to do, and Voila! my friends, Voila!”  And his neighbors laughed and mocked him, saying, “Voila--Hah!”  And previously, unseen additional beasts suddenly leapt up and ate the neighbors.

Once you reach a certain place there are two new Rules:
The first one is:  There are no Rules. . .

Once a man asked me, "Wouldn't it be a good idea never to think the same thing twice?" and I said, “What?”  And he repeated, “Wouldn't it be a good idea never to think the same thing twice?”  And I laughed, danced, spat and sang; jumped in the ditch and rolled in the weeds.  And he said, “I think I see what you mean.”

If there appears conflict amongst the Few,
what is to be expected with the ordinary?

J.

A Closer Look

The valuable is not disturbed by a closer look;
only the ordinary fears scrutiny.

To Know and then not Do produces but a new form of imagination, (and quite ordinary fools dream of themselves as wise men of action).

If worry can make the ordinary lose weight, I tremble to ponder the consequences of happiness, should it ever get loose.

The Few do not evolve to some set pattern:
They are not only the road, but the destination as well.

Just as the alcoholic can never be truly cured, the established circuits can't be rehabilitated. The drunk must avoid the drink, and the Few must eschew the predictable.

J.

Dead Heroes

The Few see the necessary incompletion of everything:  it is always a matter of, “Yes,

I couldn’t agree with you more, BUT, dot, dot, dot...”

The ordinary want dead heroes and inaccessible ideas, not living dangers.

Man is not somehow at odds with Nature; he is but playing out his native part within the Great Living Machine, even while tongues swear they are in deadly conflict.

I have two new questions for the F.F.F. (the Fearless, Foolish Few):

Is consciousness worth the bother? and
Do dead people attract bullets?

The Land of the Hidden drowns in ideas of the obvious.
(Only the Few learn to inhale the waves.)

J.

Rituals and Ceremonies

What is it that I mean behind the words, “personality” and “imagination”?  
What is the blinding fog that engulfs man and keeps his eyes cloudy?  
What is this thing that seems to stand between man and reality? 
Ahhh, the impure likeness, of oneself.

In the correct usage of rituals and ceremonies, the emotions find speech and discover movement.

Is it barely possible that a more evolved man
would simply “do things” and “not do things”…
“because”…?

If you only strive to work on the present mind with the mind, how can you escape immense confusion?

It has been said that a man's state is not truly developed unless it is natural, and not the result of some extrinsic discipline.  But if this be so, “what to do?” when this “natural” state is out of town?

I once met a man who swore he was “truly religious.”  He said he was aware of the many philosophical arguments against such, and that he was familiar with logical dis-proofs.  But he said, “No matter; religious I am, and religious I shall always be!”  I expressed my interest in such an attitude and belief, and invited him to sit with me and persuasively explain the basis for his deep convictions.  He screwed up his face, looked at his watch, and said, “Ah, to hell with it.”

J.

A New Year: Greet New Experience!

A true sense of Duty can lead one closer to Real Emotions; that is, those emotions not supportive of the mechanical status quo.

This Activity can never be known through the written word; like the scribe who had to accompany all of his communiques and read them aloud because of his illegible handwriting, This must always be presented by its author.

It is as though all of humanity is trapped in a swimming pool, people pushing, shoving, grabbing, then releasing; attempting to somehow stay afloat and oriented.  A Group secretly separates from the mass and learns to objectively support one another as they learn to swim and navigate. Bearing no weight and causing no distraction to one another as they struggle to leave the pool and enter the ocean before death.

The Alert cannot join in celebrations-of-failure.

The only proper maps for the Few are ones which continually expand to greet new experience.

J.

Fake Hugs

Fake hugs cure only fake loneliness.  (The Alert might care for the “advanced version”:

Fake fucks cure only fake horniness.)

I think what the ordinary world now needs is a $495.00 mail order course in “How Not To Get Taken.”

A real form of living-meditation would be in releasing the mental barriers to direct experience.

Unexpected difficulties must be established to pursue This Thing; what appears to be the existing problems of life are inadequate in that life has already constructed you in such a way as to be able to mechanically deal with them...most inadequate.

To be identified is to consent.  Pay Caesar’s taxman with agreement—not consent.

J.

The Tiger

The Alert should not refer to the constant electrical activity at the upper end of the nervous system as, “I think,” but rather call it, “the-thinking.”

Ordinary men are forced to steadfastly embrace themselves, their I-image, while the Alert must embrace only Life.

Feeding the ordinary intellect
 is like feeding a tiger;
no matter what goes in,
it soon becomes just more tiger.

Just the opposite of what the ordinary believe:

To be a Real Mystic, would be to See clearly and distinctly,
not in vague visions, and distorted nightmares.

The Ultimate Foolishness: the Ultimate puzzle with the solution on the next page.

J.

Ordinary Cannot Forgive Ordinary

I am not here to turn you into a particular something; a Christian, Jew, or Buddhist, for to do so would stop your journey, and prove your death.

While ordinary life is involved in a gradual, mechanical growth, the Work is an abrupt break with lower level, Life-produced regions, and relatively independent of the old growth.

Once a man begins to See, he must be prepared to objectively embrace the ordinary appearances of Life, or else begin working for This as though tomorrow had already left the station.

The ordinary cannot forgive the ordinary; hence, men must look to gods and the dead for imagined relief.  (The Alert might also note that mans’ nervous-system-I cannot and need not be forgiven for being what it is.)  The notion to, “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s” is, in part, the lesson of apparently agreeing with ordinary life's passing necessities.  It is to give up silly struggles, square up useless debts, pay off the taxman-of-life.

I can't help but notice that some of the things I write for you cause laughter at times, in some, and in some, at times seem to cause a kind of fear.  Wait, I've got it:  Why don't the fearful laugh at the laughter and the laughing be fearful of the fear?  No, let the fearful fear the laughter, and the laughing be fearful of the laughter...no, let the laughing fearful be mindful of...

ah, to hell with it. Ha Ha Ha.

J.

Why Nothing Gets Done

In a certain sense, everything eventually resolves itself; forces rearrange and consume one another and the Alert soon learn this and do not remain passive, affixed to the passing parade of imaginary problems and illusionery outcomes.  There is simply no ultimate finality to the moves and turns of the processes of objective reality

There is a certain danger to which everyone should be alert, and that is the illusionary stability of words...(ah, I don't guess I should pick on words, they're as stable everything else).

Some ordinary men are wont to say that one particular occurrence is a sure sign of something else.  It’s not that they're wrong, just limited in their perception.  The whole story is that everything is a sign of everything else.  Are you aware of the fact that the Great Power Company In The Sky charges the same rate for a thousand watt bulb as they do for a ten watt?

I once offered to help a man and he said, “What if it’s a trick,” and I said, “Forget It,” and left. Sometime later I offered to help another man, and he said, “What if it turns out I don't like your help?”  And I said, “Forget it,” and left.  Some years later a man approached me and asked for my help, and I said, “What if this is a trick, and I give you my help and then you don't like it?” And he said, “Forget it,” and left.  You know, this is all real confusing, or else justice is back loose on the world.

(No wonder nothing ever gets done.)

J.

An Aurel Outlet

Within the secret, tri-anary dance, the Creative Force never criticizes the others, only devours them.  Thus, when you are critical, you are in the arms of a most dangerous partner.

There is a certain unrecognized danger that the Alert must avoid: it is in believing that that which appears to be happening to humanity is happening to you, personally.  (May I be so bold as to suggest that Seeing this correctly is, to say the least, a great relief.)

When a man carries two watches, he never knows the correct time; and a man with two masters is never sure of his duties.  (Could this have any pertinence to maps?)

The speech of ordinary men is but the noise of Life finding an aural outlet.  (Only those with no need to speak are worthy of hearing.)

The examination of a phenomenon changes it.  This can even be proven to an ordinary man as long, of course, as it doesn't apply to him.

J.

Things Can Only See Other Things

Within the secret, tri-anary dance, the Creative Force never criticizes the others, only devours them.  Thus, when you are critical, you are in the arms of a most dangerous partner.

There is a certain unrecognized danger that the Alert must avoid: it is in believing that that which appears to be happening to humanity is happening to you, personally.  (May I be so bold as to suggest that Seeing this correctly is, to say the least, a great relief.)

When a man carries two watches, he never knows the correct time; and a man with two masters is never sure of his duties.  (Could this have any pertinence to maps?)

The speech of ordinary men is but the noise of Life finding an aural outlet.  (Only those with no need to speak are worthy of hearing.)

The examination of a phenomenon changes it.  This can even be proven to an ordinary man as long, of course, as it doesn't apply to him.

J.

Real Change

Ordinary man's acceptance of, “Love being a hurting thing,” would, to the keen-of-eye, be further proof of his destiny to suffer, in that this “love,” which he proclaims to be his highest personal and spiritual aspiration, is itself a constant source of discomfort and tension.

Ordinary, nervous-system-man has been made to take his own physical existence as of extreme importance in the general scheme of Life on this level.  The belief in the sanctity and holiness of human life is a necessary background for Life's continued expansion and growth.  This belief is also tied to him accepting himself as a "thing," an identifiable, individual personality, distinct somehow from the apparently personalitiless remainder of creation.

Those who believe Life amiss
are themselves amiss.

Nothing in ordinary life is permitted to be totally satisfying; for if it were, it would be deadly.

The Real Change of This Thing has no connection with the individual's particular time and place,
although he must untangle himself from such to approach Real Change.

J.