A chap was exposed to this and said: “Brief ideas are TOO Brief for ME.”
And the Rebel Chaplin added: “Hey, ‘expose` this – trout mouth!”
And a subscriber writes: “I don’t think I’ll even bother to write and object to this one.”
And scratching his noodle, one chap mused: “What the hell happened?! We started out talking about BREVITY?!!”
P.S. If you think and talk about other people,
they’ll come to live with you.
Immediately after lightning had struck the roadhouse for the third straight time, the jukebox began to flicker and then play this song which had not previously been there:
“The word, the word, the secret word;
From those who knew it, nothing is heard.
(It flashed one more time, and then resumed its normal operations.)
When it came to creative thinking, one man’s mind had two speeds: Good and REAL Good.
Local ignorance laughed at the small size of the man’s weapon. And the neural warrior retorted: “You look in a mirror lately?!”
A man must come to realize that: “I am part OF the answer.”
Nothing that men do makes any difference – but if they didn’t do it, everything would be different.
And now…no “wrap”:
A rebel’s got to have some mojo – even if he doesn’t have any.
And even if none exists – he’s still got to have some.
If they told of such things in revolutionist camp, this would be one of the things they might tell about: One man progressed from, “Not asking for Mercy,” to not asking for anything.
A reader informs us:
“I have applied a personal, ‘mathematical formula’ to all of the Daily News.”
The primary world has no stop signs –
the secondary, no brakes.
A certain successful city father went to see a famous spiritual teacher and guru. The man said to him, “My boy wants to come study with you, and there seems no talking him out of it. And I will allow this, and will pay you the outrageous tuition you require, but in return I want one assurance, (and that is), after its all said and done, you will not end up by telling him that: ‘A man-of-understanding, understands but one thing – and that is that no one truly understands anything.’ Will you give me such an assurance?” And the holy one replied with his own question: “Will you be paying in CASH?” (Moral: The only reason local life permits men to criticize, scoff or scorn it, is because it doesn’t give a damn what men think about it.)
If, you’re alive and not excited about having a mind, you’re not completely alive.
And since you hadn’t asked, this now confirmed:
It is more difficult to tell when time is running out on a rebel mind.
(And History asked, “Is that why I’m so reliable?”)
And for the Post-Graduate neurons, this update:
Metaphors: Symbols with an “escape clause.”
Each morning, as part of his hygiene-routine over the bathroom sink, this one man would conclude by throwing open his skull, holding his exposed brains up close to the mirror and loudly proclaiming, “Hog butcher to the world!”
One man sharpened his tongue
to help it get to the point.
Whatever you’re having – life’ll “pick up the check.” (Which is kinda fair, inasmuch, as you’ll be having whatever life WANTS you to have.)
Every man IS an island – and everybody else, his beaches.
At least once a year, all local realities send out this coded message:
“Don’t pick on ME – and I won’t pick on you.”
A kid asked his ole man:
“Since everybody seems to realize that the basis of knowledge is ignorance, how come they don’t apply this in thinking about sanity?” (“And now for all you passengers in First Class, as we await the Sky Caps to present the wine, and as we circle Newark, let’s play a game. Now someone tell me what did the ole man reply? And the first one to correctly guess gets to jump out of the plane at no additional charge!”)
And as some other “court business” was going on, the King leaned over to his Prime Minister and whispered, “Is there some way we could tax people for talking-to-themselves?”
Never before revealed “Cosmic Pillow-Talk”:
The primary whispered: “Forever is a long-g-g time.”
And the secondary replied: “Not-t-t long enough!”
Having a pet: The supreme, “domination trip.”
One by one, as they are born, the city installs in all of the dense – I mean, the ordinary – the following “Secret Message” in their brain:
“You can trust a man with glasses;
You can trust a man with a hearing aid;
You can trust a man on crutches;
And you can trust everyone who notices
Everyone else’s condition,
But other than them, forget it!”
(A good Mother City doesn’t want her “little-ones” wandering off into the woods, to be possibly eaten up by “god-only-knows-what” – What!)
After spending all day in the car driving together, a man turned to his uncle and said: “My theory is that a revolutionist would be mad at anybody he knew who got sick; which sounds pretty rotten – but I further bet that he’d get mad at himself if he did.”
“Dear Miss Etiquette:
Every time I get too close to my mind I begin to ‘smell funny.’”
The Resident Thinker-cum-Historian down at The Ole Sorehead’s Bar, lays this latest one on us all: “Kings always build these giant, humongous tombs for themselves, cause they know that along with all-l-l people – they sure ain’t comin back!”
And on your combined screens flashes this short subject:
Whenever he’d think about life as ‘tis normally lived,
this one man would feel bad.
So he quit thinking about it.
A factional force controlling one neighborhood in the city told all under its hand:
“You should all be tolerant and respectful of other men’s feelings and beliefs, unless the other men are someone other than yourself.”
Everyone enjoys being pushed around by an uncle…or a grandmother…or some other hormonally connected hit-man.
And a loud voice injected itself right here and announced: “Even plain-wrapped idiots who might disagree with this ‘Fact’ will still get up and dance that weird Boog-a-loo whenever the reed section begins to sing, ‘Oh you can’t get away from DNA; Oh you can’t get away unless you WANT-T-T to.’”
Our mailman makes this request:
“Please do not write to here and say that you ‘don’t understand’ some particular news item. If your motivation is the fact that you don’t understand it! Please, ladies and gentle – please, do not. Thank you.”
The ole city Wise-man-in-the-park, pulled his blankets a wee bit tighter around him and said: “Life has hidden many secrets – but it didn’t hide ‘em REAL hard.”
Interesting Aspect of Prevailing Socio-Politico Dynamics:
Kings only award pensions to DEAD satirists.
Just before the salad, a young girl sitting left of the king said:
“Though my mind is my own – my ass belongs to daddy.”
And the Duchess noted:
“Aren’t children sweet at that age – when they don’t know anything?”
And the Baron next to her, (as he reached for the salt), asked:
“And at what age is that, My Lady?”
And she replied: “Well…well…well…you know.”
The people in the basement decided: “Let us enjoy the baser pleasures while we may! For who knows what uncertainties the installation of elevators may bring.”
One man says that while he was out foolin’ around in his backyard, he “thinks” he may have slipped and fell in the septic tank. (But he says the way his mind’s been going lately – it’s really hard to be sure.)
Another “Good News Example of Civilization Being, ‘Up to Speed (by god)’ and then some”: Instead of a dictionary, one man began to consult the yellow pages.
A man asked his garage: “What I don’t understand is how can almost EVERY thing can be contagious except intelligence?!”
Once you understand that, comparably, the secondary world is “made up,” there’s then little left to rile you as regards man’s various pretentions therein.
Near a bus stop, a man bent down and said to a pigeon:
“To say that some aspect of man’s intellectual world are ‘imaginary’ is like saying shit stinks.”
And the bird said, “Right on, bro!”
And from the Bunsen and Hedges Burner secret lab comes this hot fresh item of “Sub-Atomic Facts From A Science Not Yet Extant”: It is actually impossible to commit suicide in a closed system, inasmuch as everything is going to each – one way or the other. (“Quick, someone call Doctor Nobel, and when he answers say: ‘What the hell?!’”)
A kid and an ole man were talking and the latter said:
“A book with a sufficiently long introduction need never be writ.”
And the former inquired:
“And what kind of book might that be, Pa Pa?”
And the ole man replied:
The book of secondary life, my boy.”
And thus is yet another story brought to a satisfying conclusion, and safely docked at the pier; careful as you off-board. (“Ah, life,” sighed the Moral. “The Eternal Ferry Boat – Back And Forth, Back And Forth; such a pleasant journey – forever going nowhere. Ah, life,” it sighed.) Hey! Watch it!
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?”