City Truth is Weighted Contrast
There is 9 minutes of Kyroots being read in the beginning of the audio that is not on the video. If you open the Gallery below in a new browser window, you can read along while you listen.
#296 * Nov 19, 1987 * – 1:32
Notes by TK
Kyroot reading to :09.
The “Charlie and Umberto” story to :14.
The idea of a “soul”–a spark of divinity –and such ideas of “sin” etc. are true …in the City –but only for those who believe in them. Every/anything is true for those who believe in it, but this says nothing about whether it exists or not. “Man can have no knowledge beyond his experience” is patently false since knowing is an experience. Also, the injunction to frame no theory/hypothesis not based on personal experience/observation –but what is not personal experience/observation?
The Real Revolutionist can concoct any theory to operate with more effectively than any extant one whatever. Nobody knows anything but what another has told them –but nothing is important except what each tells themselves (although it is always attributed to another). Thus nobody in the City really observes anything –only the Real Revolutionist knows this, knows it was true of him as well until he found the bushes. Real Revolutionist motto: if it works—use it!! –the tricky part is: what is thus used will work!
Only the Real Revolutionist knows that the specifics/content of contrast are unimportant whereas the form only is significant–conflict, contrast. “The vessel is irreplaceable, the cargo is interchangeable”. The Real Revolutionist is one for whom the irrelevant and meaningful are the same. Is one who has the knowledge of one book any more advanced than one with no knowledge? Remember: one sample demands contrast, comparison. Is there ‘imaginary’ conflict?
Conflict is conflict. Imagination allows conflict; sets the stage. Example of the critic’s absolute need for samples of comparison in their critique. Only the Real Revolutionist could critique w/o reference to contrasting samples. He must implement that having no natural, internal model to himself; that not-having previous experience. That which has no contrast =new data. The more conflict, the more efficiency.
Don’t give up your dream.
All should daily thank Life for its gifts to you…that you were ‘in the Bushes born. ‘
And Kyroot Said…
Each day, the Real Revolutionist faces His duty anew, and
He must further refine his secret, inner maps, for each day this
is not done puts his charts and understanding another 24 hours
One view the Revolutionist can take of the apparent struggle
is that he does not expect any overnight, complete victory, but
rather, seeks to eventually bankrupt the opposition by
continually raising the costs of its successes.
In the City, is there really any difference between
“services promised,” and their actual delivery? Can discussions
regarding the lack of delivery become acceptable substitutes for
the services themselves? Can the People, in fact, deal with
their difficulties on a basis of, “Problems addressed are
problems solved”? Says one, “I am a terrible person, and should
change,” and the “addressing of the problem” becomes the needed
action. No further services required. Ah, the City…god, what
Don’t deal in left-overs…never carry-over any chemicals,
or emotions from one day to the next, they all spoil.
Heard it said in the City that “A loss unknown is no loss
at all,” and allow me to over-inflate just “this once,” just
“one more time”…To wit: The only lasting victory is one not
If you think it’s hard “pleasing” everybody, just try
Another potential off-the-bushes-revolutionist-motto: In
every worthy affair consider the effort required, the time
involved, and the apparent rewards, then proceed anyway.
If the Ruling Powers actually had any “defensive
intelligence” they would have long ago produced an aging/death
antidote, and developed an anti-tornado bomb.
Back in the City I once heard this option pondered and
proposed: “Is it better to know nothing of a matter than to
know only half?” and a feller fessed-up, “Half of everything I
know is correct, and half incorrect. Unfortunately, I don’t know
which half is which.” (I like these instances when I don’t have
to make up a punch line.)
Sailors tell tales of the sea, shepherds, of their flock.
What do you suppose gods would “chat” about. (…I guess one
possibility would be them pondering why Men spend so much time
wondering what gods would spend their time doing.)
If “habit” is not the answer, “hormones” is.
Common sense, reason, and proper judgement all reside in
the City, with the People: it is out-in-the-Bushes that new
data, insanity and madness thrive.
The People’s Credo (for Tuesday): Approve the lofty, follow
the base, and insist on strict prohibitions for all areas but
In affairs cosmopolitan, it could be said that one of the
giant steps in physics was in seeing that “matter itself
evolves,” continually building up into increasingly complex
structures, one atom at a time. Man can just barely begin to
hear the reality of this as regards his own consciousness.
The greatest hinderance to becoming a Real Revolutionist is
in just being common.
In the City, it seems that when Men hurt they either curse,
or compose poetry. Whata place…I just can’t get over it…
Sin does exist, but only for those who believe in it. Whata
place, whata place.
If Men truly “learned from their mistakes” they wouldn’t
The best thing any of you can do for your health is just to
get out of the City.
On a recent sojourn to the City I saw this ad that promised,
“Cerebral Lifts: Makes you almost 2 inches smarter.”
C and D, come and go, but E is forever.
I once heard a fellow say that “History wouldn’t be all that
impressive if it hadn’t happened so long ago.”
In the City it’s almost impossible to be completely naked.
“Yeah”, said the guy, “I know what you’re trying to do, and
it won’t work…unless of course, it already has and I just
didn’t notice it.”
Anything that seems to last beyond its initial flash is
In the wondrous place known as “the City,” people are
permitted to “flesh out” their own lean minds with the fat from
the thoughts of others.
Moderation is the illusionary pollutant in the stream of
foresight, or, put another way: Restraint is the moderator of
a game show with no prizes.
In the City they play everyone’s song.
And just before the mighty battle had begun, from the rear
ranks a voice was heard to exclaim, “Ready when you are, my
Liege; my tongue is loaded and primed for action.”
Just think, if you’d never been born how much you wouldn’t
Once upon a time, on a farm, I mean, universe, some 37
degrees from here at a green angle, there were two plantation
owners, no, I mean, gods, that’s right, gods, and these two gods,
named Uberzoplay and, Mister Charlie, were sitting on the front
veranda, sipping veranda style drinks, when Uberzo said, “How is
it that you seem to spend so little time in having to directly
oversee your workers? You’re always out playing golf, and
snoozing, and I have to spend almost all my time just seeing that
my hands stay on the job. How do you do it?”
Mister Charlie leaned back in his sipping chair, and smiled.
“Well, I’ll tell you. You are right, other than shippin ’em out
a flood, or some brimstone now and then, I got my people
operating almost entirely on their own without no proddin’ from
me, and I’ll tell you how I did it.”
“Back when I first made, I mean, invented, no, I mean,
hired, yeah, hired my workers, I made ’em into two separate
groups of “this-&-that”, least that’s what I call it, and this
made-up arrangement makes ever’ swingin’-dick-of-’em believe that
he, or she, is eternally in conflict with at least half of all
the other hands. And that’s all there is to it. I just breed
’em now so that they’re born feeling the experience of this
division into two conflicting groups of “this-&-that” or,
“us-or-them”, or anything you wanna call it, and now I don’t have
to always be standing over ’em with a whip, or stick; they got
this natural born irritation built right in ’em, so the friction
energy to work is always there, just as close, and natural as
their own sweet breath.”
“Wait a minute,” said Uberzo, “Just exactly what are the
things you’ve made them believe divides them, and makes the
conflict to keep them going?”
“Hell,” said Mister Charlie, “Ain’t no ‘exact-ness’ needed,
once I got the deal all arranged, and operating, they just
conflicts on almost anything that can cross a field hand’s mind,
Mister Charlie, right here, laughed real good, took a
swaller and continued, “They’ll conflict over the weather, the
time of day, how fast some ole mule’ll run, how fast a belief’ll
go. You just wouldn’t believe it; they keep themselves all
worked up all the time, over stuff that don’t mean spit, but
there it is. That’s how I done it, and I’m just as proud as warm
Uberzo was lookin’ kinda peeved, and Charlie said, “You’re
just mad you didn’t think of it.”