The roof of The Real Revolutionist’s universe is the top of his skull. It’s true for everyone, but he alone admits it.
The ordinary say they are looking for The Prize, but they are only dancing in the secondary ballroom, while constantly looking around in there to see who is looking at them.
In a strange land where The Secret was also called The Mind, they claimed that things which cannot see themselves are forced into trying to get other things which also cannot see themselves to tell them what they look like. (And the son of that curious place grabbed these words and shoved them into the useful crack in his head from whence they fell in the first place.)
And The Delicious Detective said: “Yeah, I know all about that thing. It’ll never rat on itself. I beat the sucker for years, but with no results, and the weirdness was that it wanted to confess and just couldn’t.” He shook his head in wonder: “Think about it. It wanted to talk, but couldn’t! Oh, it could talk alright, just not about itself.” And a rookie standing nearby interjected, “But Sarge, remember, it did talk about itself.” “Yeah, but do you remember what a crock it all was?” (And the rookie remembered…the rookie was it.)
The tricky thing about the mind’s plagiarism is that when it is plagiarizing someone else’s ideas for the first time, it can feel it is doing something original.
J.