No Collection of Cells in Brain for This Thing, Only “One”
AKS/News Items = See Below
AKS/News Gallery = jcap 1989-11-10 (0633)
Summary = See below
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Transcript = None
Summary
#633 Apr 11, 1990 – 1:08
Notes by TK
Kyroot to :08. A sub-possible creation myth: men are born in the thistles and brambles (bushes, out of the City) but upon learning language are drawn down into the City (where local views and conditions are taken to be the full statement of reality) to live out their days as a person. Yet some potential Real Revolutionists long for something other than the City; they grow tired of City awards and celebrations. They long not to return to the past, the brambles of birth, but to venture out of the City to the unknown “thickets” (bushes) away from the City. These Real Revolutionists are not concerned about proof of the existence of a Real Revolutionist Camp, for they are content in knowing an apparent trail leads thereto.
In the City individuals with common interests are drawn into groups, and thus begin to exercise influence in life. It is only as a group that individuals can participate in changing life. It is only collections of cells in the brain that can have effective interest in some hobby. The collection is always composed of various competing factions with overlapping, aligned, but not identical motivating interest, or the hobby is not possible. There is no collection of cells in the brain that are interested in This Thing; only a single cell, without support.
The greatest progress in the soft sciences of man has come via the study of “malfunctions”—e.g., study of clinical madness in psychology/brain science. What if the greatest progress in the hard sciences, too, came with observations of what are malfunctions, because observable (connection to life only allows man views of the inconsequential). These anomalies then become the “laws” of science which command consensus. Then new discoveries of malfunctioning of the present paradigm become the new laws… and so men proceed.
drawing of city in valley.
AKS
At a “cast party” after opening night in one small galaxy, I fell into conversation w1th a bushy moustache with a tall man who confided to me that he was some sort of ”self-driven private detective about to crack the biggest mystery in and of all creation,” and when asked exactly what that was, he, (the moustache, not the man), smiled–no, leered–and replied, “Ahhh, but that would telling, now wouldn’t it?”
(I have observed that in certain parts of this universe some parties that end too quickly didn’t start soon enough to begin with.)
On another bright little burgeoning planet I found a new local religion the creatures were using, and which went by the surprising name of, “No Need to Call Ahead.”
In one future, a dining companion noted to me, “In much earlier times it was said that, ‘An erudite fool is a greater fool than an ignorant fool.'” (He ate a bite and continued) “then in more recent times someone said that, ‘An erudite fool is a greater danger than an ignorant
one,’ but I think our modern technology has reached the point where this should be again up-dated.” (He sipped up his wine glass, and concluded), “We could now say, ‘An erudite fool is more wearisome than a routine one.'” And with that he paid his bill and took a nap.
If what ordinary men call the “gods,” did answer what ordinary men call
“prayer,” then ordinary men would no longer be ordinary in that local time would have been thrown into reverse, and their own genetic ancestors plunged into a state of inoperative chaos.
The only way to “know for sure” you’re in the Revolution is to be in the Revolution.
At some sort of meeting or other a speaker proclaimed, “A life well spent would be reflected in the fact that once deceased one would no longer trouble the living.” And a woman in back thought, “Very well, but then that opens up the implication that history led a scandalous existence.”
“…and in conclusion may I say” (and he did), “A man who would read while on a voyage should either not take a book along, or else not sail.…or, of course, he could also ignore
my comments.”
One guy, who admits that some of his family “worries about him,” told
me that almost every night, just before he falls asleep, his brain, quite distinctly thank you, says to him, “Is it safe to come out now?”
When others disagreed and wanted to argue with him, this one guy would try to walk away by saying (at least to himself) that, “It’s not worth it.”
…(he did this for such a length of time that it became as though it were so.)
On that attractive orange planet just over there, on their beautiful resort island of St. Soothy, tourism was being severely damaged by the irrepressible presence of rats; the continuing complaint of irate visitors was always the same, “Rats, rats, and more rats,” they said, and then a local had a minor mental downpour and solved the problem of the rats from stem to stern– they renamed the little critters, “St. Soothy Squirrels,” and now all goes well.
…(By the by: in your daily naming and renaming process, how goes it with you?)
Anything that’s true at the cost of something else being false is not true.
One guy approached me in the park with a pretty well discouraged look and hat on and finally told me that for years, one of his “true pleasures in life” was “talking to himself,” that is, until he suddenly realized how dumb he was!
It has come to our attention that some relatively consistent statistical proof exists showing a home field advantage in favor of Life.
A guy hiding in a bush over in the park whispered as I passed, “Aggravation is the only sure evidence of life.”… (Perhaps that bush is thistled.)
Over on this one planet that had a fluctuating number of days in its
week, a representative of their world’s religious institution was making a public speech wherein he noted the necessity of all peo0le to confirm to the sacred teachings and rituals by stating that, “A man who is virtuous simply by his own nature has no future reward awaiting,” and a pretty decent and upright gent right up front leaped up,
ripped off his coat, threw it in the dirt, began jumping up and down on it and hollered, “Well in
that case–Fuck it! Just fuck it.”
Now for some scores: Tornados 12, Humans 0.
Since Life has failed to mention it on your Dance Card, you might care to make an individual note of the fact that She has, for Her dominate forward dancers and Her more submissive ones (who glide backwards) provided two different schemes of morality.
Over on that little “secret” planet I’ve mentioned to you before, where I sometimes stop and refresh myself at Plato’s Bistro and Bar II, a fellow on the next stool to me (after a few of
his own form of “refreshments”) intoned with a certain manual flourish, “What need have I of books and universities? My opponents are my own beloved instructors.”
A Poem:
Every dog has its day,
Every woman has her way,
But every man who merely thinks,
Well…I’ll have to get back with you on this line…
At exactly seven and a half minutes before legal sundown, one bright kid
asked his fading father, ”If just thinking about something
won’t make it so, will something being so
make you think about it?” And along with that fiery
orb, the old man sank.
One subversive I met told me he had a motto, one he had gotten from
Life Itself. It goes: “Everything, everywhere, at all times is exactly
as it should be … almost.”