While the daughter was packing her neural valise to leave for the civil-wilds, her mother sat on the bed and said: “The best advice I can give you is never sleep with anyone as ugly as you are, don’t dine with the gluttonous, and never dance with anyone dumb enough to be your own kin.”
The label read:
“If advice had an ‘expiration date’
we’d all be expired.
For his “Brain Birthday” one man gave himself a choice of two gifts:
Either think some entirely “new thoughts” – or,
spend the night in a locked refrigerator.
Question: If they could, would kings be poets?
Answer: Yes, if they could still be king along with it.
(Once you understand this, you’ll realize why art is always so popular amongst the powerful; why it is so despised; why it sticks its tongue out toward the city, and has one in return stuck back. Comprehending this might also save you the trouble of ever trying to talk “creativity” to a banker, a bureaucrat, or any other philistine who might reside in your head.)
In the backyard – alone – EVERYONE is Demosthenes – (except Demosthenes, who’s reduced to crying out: “Who then am I?!”)
And a fan writes The News, asking:
“Where did all this start? And how in the world did it end up here?”