Complex Time

As one mother advised her daughter, “Hey, if champagne didn’t have bubbles, it would be as clumsy as everyone else.”

Snippet of an overheard conversation:

“We don’t wanna be accused of shooting philosophers in a barrel.”

The father took up his serious sitting position and said, “Son, describing a thing just so you’ll know what it is, is like drawing a picture of a horse so’s you can take a ride…over to a place where they’re having a sale on corduroy.”  And the kid thought, “Is it possible that my very old man posed for the original pictorial definition of, ‘going too far’?”

After concluding one of his memorable bombasts in the speaker’s area of the City Park, this one sweaty chap stepped down from his high box and soap horse, and leering right past me and several other fine citizens exclaimed, “If you think I’m crazy now, you should have seen me tomorrow.”

Complex time is the supreme transportation system. in that it moves in all possible directions at once.

J.

For Your Eyes Only

With apparently few other possibilities looming, he decided to bestow the honors and recognition onto himself, so standing at his solitary table he pronounced the following:  “All that I have I give to thee.  It is now all yours, flourishing little brain cells, as far as the eye can see.”

The more reluctant factors accuse their liberal brothers of pursuing that which is “too new and untested,” and cannot see that their definition of their own position that, “conservatism is adherence to the old and tried,” translates into the “did and died.”

Private Court Advice; For Your Eyes Only:

Don’t let it bug you, the king’s always threatening to recall this or that minister.

A visitor to a certain world, upon discovering that their Supreme Idea and Operational Way To Go was embodied in the slogan, “It’s one thing to show a man his errors, but quite another to give him the truth,” decided that while some traveling is broadening, some is downright fattening.

On the final evening of the Intergalactic Scientific Conference, it was decided that he with the most awards, prizes, and honors would make the closing comments, and when the good doctor was led to the microphone he had the following to say,” Fuck the inevitable laws of nature.”

J.

Think More than You Have To

In that little uptown bistro over on the planet I once mentioned, a young chap standing next to me, after wiping the sweat and concern from his brow, shyly smiled and confided, “Wow – being vexed is so-o-o-o me hobby!”

You can’t be mad at something
without comparing it to something.

In certain matters, seen from certain views, the operational difference between the singular and its plural is not merely one of quantity.  (Yes, an “S” can be a most formidable addition.)

All criticism, be it learned or crude;
all criticism, be it externally based,
or self-directed;
all criticism is a cheap shot.

After all of the recent brim and pleasantness, this one chap has sought permission to use some of my ideas to construct his own personal motto, if not epithet.  If I agree he says it will thusly read, “If you think more than you have to, you won’t have to talk more than you must.”

J.

Folly at Home and Caprice Abroad

Insofar as certain psyche travel is concerned, one human noted, “Seeing the depraved, the mad, and the criminal, is only seeing a worse me.”

All misery contains some pleasure…(and if it does not, all misery has some pleasure in the recounting thereof).

Overheard from a sweaty crowd mulling about on that rapidly warming planet just to our south, a harried voice announced:  “The times and tides of chance may soothe and buffet us all, and fate may blindly deal us favorable hands today, or not, and though all of this be so, and unavoidable, I’ll still, Sir, be quite-well-damned if I’ll be pushed around by the likes of me.”

There still exists a blinding, though potentially liberating, difference between what the physical demands of human life make important, and what Life makes man’s brain say is important.

Folly at home and caprice abroad remain sufficiently distant as to keep travel agents and human imagination in business.

J.

Earth Alert

One chap who had spent a goodly portion of his life reading about and hanging around the edges of activities such as This, finally had his own day of reckoning, and he loudly announced, “The reason this kinda stuff seems so vague and hard to describe is quite simple – it doesn’t actually exist!”

I heard tell of this one old chap so rich, (and nervous, I presume), that he kept a whole other brain on retainer – just in case.

Earth Alert RF-16:

Progress always comes too late.

I heard this one man say that now that he was almost the kinda guy he always dreamed of being, he’d about stopped dreaming.  (He added that this was not actually as strange as it sounds, even to him.)

On this one planet, where on alternate days everything was either real and simple, or allegorical and complex, an unknown doctor at their medical convention introduced a proposal for the organization to privately commend, “Human Speech as Medicine’s Supreme Ally.”  He supported this idea by saying, “If man could not speak, we could not diagnose our patients’ ills.”  Some did agree with this, and some did not, so he pressed on by noting, “If we could not talk, our patients could not tell us what their problems are.”  There was more discussion, and some still agreed, and others did not, so the doctor added this, “If man did not have speech, billing would be impossible.”  There was no more discussion.

J.

The Doctor of Universal Spin

A recent rumor making the rounds has it that a certain deity once listed his occupation as
“Doctor of Universal Spin.”

There are people who are ordinary and who walk around in a fog; there are people who are ordinary who don’t; there are people who say they are “Doing This” who do not walk about in a fog; and there are people who say they are “Doing This” who…no, I just can’t bring myself to say it…

Making a futile attempt to put his arm around the old man, the kid said, “Pops, I’ve decided that some of the funny stuff you say ain’t really a joke.”  And the palpating pater was so pleased he almost didn’t kill him.

One of the applicants for the executioner’s position was amazed to learn that it paid a salary.  His brother-in-law was even more bewildered to find that priests likewise were paid, and very seldom brought to the guillotine.

Instead of simply and directly “going to new places,” there was this one sly guy who would first go there to SEE if he would later like to “go there.”

J.

Might vs. Insight

The State’s Enforcer was the man with the biggest stick in the territory, and one day whilst brashly buffeting a bewildered citizen he was asked, “What intellectual training did you undergo to become our police authority?”  And he replied, “When you’re holding the biggest stick, you don’t need no training.”  (With this comment and a sharp rap to the head, the subdued citizen was sorely enlightened.)

There are two kinds of health:  Health and extraordinary health.

In retaliation, (or due to imitation), a nearby planet passed an ordinance forbidding, on alternative Saturdays, the inevitable.

In the front of the room a hand was raised, a query proffered, “In the battle between might and insight, which will emerge triumphant?”  And the reply replied, “Let us hope that those who must ask such questions have lots of the former, since they have little of the latter.”

If you do plan to join in with me, it’s time you noted this: There is no profit in studying the individual man, only the species.

J.

Gimme A Break!

On a somewhat more some kinda note – (gimme a break) – an elder cautioned one of his young charges, “Least you stray off into believing in some perfect refuge, just take note of this:  no one’s safe, even the past is buffeted by the yet-to-be.”  (Look, even though I didn’t say it, I’m still responsible for bringing you the story, so let me remind you that the above notion is non sequential and impossible, and even beyond that, philosophically speaking – gimme a break).

The Redoubtable Cosmic Doctor sends this Medical Update:

“After a certain age, the intellect finds that each new day brings the possibility of a rottenness setting-in, so watch it!”  (This is easily understood when you realize that while some internal parts, like man within the overall body-of-life, may be incrementally dying, the host structure can still be quite healthy and growing, thank you.)

Over in the Spectrum Split Sector, one gent, with a far-away look in one eye, told me confidentially, “If it proves correct that a final day of reckoning will come whereby man’s picture of justice and retribution is fully executed, I fear, mon ami, that we’re all in for a hard eternity.”

Once the system had expanded to a certain point, Capital, (that is, the dominate powers), decided they needed an intermediary to deal directly with Labor, (that is the submissive), and once this middle-class managerial mouthpiece was constructed he was given his most important, in fact his only instructions:  To whatever any of the working subordinates ever said he was to immediately reply, “This will never do.”

The way things stand presently, the people in the front ranks can’t stand to contemplate the possibility…(do note, men call themselves “followers” of this god or that – followers – those who came AFTER the gods…) I don’t care if you are up front, think about it anyway.

J.

None are Saints

The only conclusive myth is a dead myth.

With more advice, (that may even transcend the need for same), one of the older creatures said to one of the less old, “Just ask yourself this:  Why go into debt when you know you’ll just eventually die?”

None are saints,
none are sinners,
all are diners,
all are dinners.

If it is natural for ordinary folk to have heroes, then a Revolutionist would want to be his hero’s hero.

The present ripens into the future with the kind assistance of the manure known as talk.

J.

Fuses by the Dozen

One somewhat diminished fellow described for me new heights to be scaled in living a life of little consequence, when, as he put it, you could commit suicide in a place most public, in a manner most extreme and the news accounts of your demise would fail to mention the “cause of death.”

In a strictly Revolutionist sense, even a blind man has TWO places to look.

Fuses by the dozen, fuses by the gross, such were the purchases by one awkward fellow who seemed to be forever “blowing them out” in minor household accidents. 
Then one day his wife, wearing clear eyes and a cold voice, confronted him by saying, “Being as inept as you are in certain regards, I do believe that you purposefully cause these shorts just so you can replace the fuses and thus appear to have some talents as a handyman.” 
After three to seven seconds of being startled, the man pulled close up, cupped his hand to her ear and said, “Okay, so you can tell, but I’ve been carrying this on so as to teach my son an important lesson,” which was a little curious as they were childless.

The closer you get to the end of the sentence, the more some people begin to suffer “period phobia.”

You can extend the essence of your existence by going faster, or going slower…(maintaining present speed will be forbidden to those in-the-future).

J.

Everything in Place

In some parts of some solar systems, lack of competence can be at least partially addressed by simply changing the description of resultant failures…(I did say in parts of some nervous systems, didn’t I?).

This one trial-size guy, whenever he wanted to make his dog happy, would take him for a ride.  And whenever he wanted to make his brain all happy and smiley would say to it, “I knew I could count on you!”

(The guy that did the following told me we should label it as, “A Pregnant Message From The Front,” and to this I for one will not add the ticking of the sarcasm meter; so here goes):

Once, after a temporary lull in the fight, a scout returned from a previous leaving and announced, “I have been here, and I have been there, I have looked high and I have looked low, and I am prepared to state unequivocally that everything is firmly in its place.”

Dig this, I was sitting next to this fellow in a far-away diner, and heard him say to his none-in-particular-partner that, “just having him along was almost like having him along.”  (Hey, with friends like that, who needs friends.)

One might ask if any information was truly new if it made any reference to past assumptions…(which may be as useless as the old question of “Why does the chicken cross his legs?”)

J.

The Three Doors

One chap, sporting many of the signs of a would-be-proverbial, recently proclaimed, “If help is to come, it will be at the last minute.”  And his less sporting voice suddenly spouted, “Well, big deal, ain’t that when needs arise anyway.”

At an impressive looking building, a sign above three separate doors announced the following lectures: 
“What To Do When There’s Nothing To Be Done”;
“What To Do When Something Must Be Done”; and
“What To Do When You Know that Whatever You Do Is A Waste Of Time.” 
All three doors led to the same lecture hall.

One little slightly misspelled lad loved to play reporter, and when doing so would sometimes hold a pretend microphone up to his brain, and in a low, but urgent voice say, “And now I’m going to try and speak to one of the survivors of that terrible crash…”

Being prepared for the ordinary is about the same as not BEING prepared.

Within my cosmic ear slot, I heard one guy refer, (fairly or not I cannot say), to his brother’s cultural cachet as being like-unto an undistinguished pair of boxer shorts.

J.

Brave Galaxy Theorem 18

Brave Galaxy Theorem Number Eighteen:
All rotten ideas started out as good ones…and the Theorem’s brother added,
“Yeah, but EVERYTHING started out as something else.”

This one side-layer, short gentleman, soundly said that his thinking was, “so important” that his brain had an unlisted number.  And his brother muttered that it didn’t matter cause nobody ever called him anyway.

The mystique of wars resides in the friends of the defeated, and it is failure that has the memory, tongue and inclination to chat up its ignominy.

Over near the foggy quarter sector, there’s this chap who several times a day exclaims, “We’re all in this together,” which may not sound too interesting until I tell you that when he shouts it he’s always by himself.

If you’re in-the-Revolution-with-the-Expedition, remember this:
No matter what space you take, no matter the prevailing time, just like Life itself, you’re always on the verge.

J.

You'll Never Walk Alone

A commercially bent kinda guy recently opined, “Going into business for yourself is like being married but without a partner.”  And a Revolutionist passing by his head heard this and thought, “Is he talking about me?”

Where there’s talk, there’s hope…
and if not hope exactly, at least possibility.

A Real Explorer can be by himself and not be alone…(of course, on a more simplistic level, this is so for everyone, but whenever they notice it, they are mostly annoyed by it).

This one guy gave his brain a cute nick-name…but it still wouldn’t come when he called it.

Everyone’s crippled in some personal way, except those who aren’t.  Oh, and P.S. by-the-by; such info as this is systemically encouraging, except of course, when it’s not.

J.

Words to the Wise (and Otherwise)

One guy, (who, by the by, used to be an “ole sorehead” in some of my stories, but has gotten better), says that one of the perks in being famous is that people automatically believe you’re smarter than you are.

Words To The Wise, (And Otherwise), Number Seventeen, (or is it Seven Hundred and Seventeen?), no matter, here it is anyway: 
“You can’t be too careful…unless as always, you overdo it.”

After having four or five real great ideas in a row, one guy thought, “Wow, if I didn’t know me better, I’d think I was up to something.”

Tripping up ain’t the end of the world, but laying there whining is enough to make you call your mamma.

Lots of folks “keep their powder dry” who ain’t even got a gun…(are we talking “wasted energy” here again, or some convoluted form of conservation?  Sometimes it’s just “hard to figure” when all you’ve got to go on is facts).

J.

The Single Most Important Thing

A Real Revolutionist would ask himself, “Do you want to be well known, well off, or well done?”

One little neutrally fashionable fellow observed, “It’s not so much my looks I’m concerned with, but I do fret over my receding brain-line.”

Regarding 3-D things and earth bound concepts, it can be helpful to note that what can be recovered will never be exactly as ‘twas before it was lost.

That cross-stitched, industrial ole sorehead I told you about had this more recent comment.  On an unexpected bright day, he said, “It’s almost enough to make you glad to be alive!  I said almost.”

Probably the single most important thing for a Revolutionist to have is not to HAVE a “single most important thing.”

 J.

The High Notes

On almost all three dimensional planets, you’re always coming in the middle of something or other…(and it often seems serious).

One guy asked his older brother, who happened to be visiting in the same head,
“Is repeating oneself a forceful means of emphasis, or a sign of flaccid intelligence?” 
And his brother said, “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

Don’t bother checking the past for accuracy, that’s not part of its responsibilities.

If you’ll sing
the high notes,
someone
will always pick up
the low ones.

On some worlds, Real Explorers don’t believe in colons, or dependent clauses.

J.

Self-Portraits

All cheap artists do self-portraits.

When you understand that the term, “Who cares?” is a benediction, you’re making progress.

Only two classes of people resent new information—men and women.

A reporter once asked a Cosmic Revolutionist, “I expect you’re you own severest critic,” which provoked such volcanic laughter from the rebel, that he was put on United Press’ list of unfriendly countries.

A man with one ear will never find solace in solitude.

J.

Those Holding Aces

Another Unspoken City Motto:
Complain and prosper.

If you can describe your intelligence, you ain’t really got enough to talk about.

All pompous ships of state are tended by little tug boats of crudeness and cupidity.

In a splendid moment, one chap sang out, “Oh bless our hearts and other parts!”

Those holding aces
don’t have to hold their breath.

J.

Little Foes

Just before a daybreak assault, one general declared, “A few good men are better than an omelet.”

Who but City folks
would aim their big guns at their little foes?
(Who else would even HAVE little foes?)

There is this hearty chap in the delta region of Bulgaria, who claims he single-handedly invented ethics, but has yet to receive a cent in royalties.

During a lipid lull in his birthday party, a young lad asked his grandfather, “Now that I am eight, may I safely expect the arrival of the future?”

You can know you’re serenely back in the good ole city when you discover that some of the professions seem to serve best who do so by neglect; whose best treatments are no treatments at all.

J.