Jan Cox Talk 0899

All Struggles With Achieving “Freedom From…” Are Pointless

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Summary = See below
Condensed News Items = See below
News Item Gallery = jcap 1991-06-24 -0899
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Summary

#899 Nov 25, 1991 – 1:00+ 
Notes by TK

Kyroot to :30. Talk about freedom is not freedom; it is not change. There is only one place that is open to change in humans: the top of the Nervous System. There is no freedom to change at the PL/primary level. All “freedom from-s” are the same: Life. All struggle for freedom “from” is a struggle against Life.

Epilogue, 1:00 to 1:47: The Neural Revolutionist must set up an unyielding structure for himself that he adheres to w/o fail…and for no reason. Talking about it to yourself is sure failure. The Neural Revolutionist must be able to pretend/operate as if it weren’t true that there is no freedom in a finite world.


The News

The success of their endeavor was so surprising and exhilarating that some of the participants feared they’d have to stop.

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To better understand man’s unique, intellectual world, it might help you to know that men are still applying for jobs that were listed five thousand years ago.

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One guy’s sport: To go out “Baggin’ humbug.”

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One man had a particular way in which he could describe himself, but he wouldn’t tell anyone for fear that he might find out.

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This one god would sometimes say to the creatures in his vicinity, “If it wasn’t for me you guys couldn’t think.” And finally one of them replied, “Yeah, but if it wasn’t for us you couldn’t say that.” (Corollary From You-Don’t-Wanna-Know-Where: The only way out of a closet is through your nose. [Now while this is not true, the correct version is so upsetting that it’s best left at this.])

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At no additional cost, a revolutionist mind can see things going on when nothing is.

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City song of the ages: Those who undauntingly attempt to help their fellow man carry on a great mortal tradition. (Musical note: This is the only known tune that can be performed by the tone-deaf.)

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{…and Kyroot said, “Okay, let’s play one more time”:}
“The revolutionist mind can see things going on even when nothing is.” And from our audience comes this inquiry: “How can we, the interested viewer, be assured that at some other level there is no difference between “Seeing something going on,” and making something go on?”

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A man’s pledge to “do better” can turn out to be a knife that no one around him wants to touch.

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A man with a job says he’s going to have to stop watching our show; he says just being sane is hard enough already.

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Having dreams of a better tomorrow is almost an iron-clad guarantee.

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One guy named his stove, Franklin, and his mind, Willimena, so that he could cook on one of them.

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One guy dressed part of himself up as a kid, stood in front of a mirror and said, “Kicking other people around and treatin’ ’em like shit is one thing — but don’t be stepping on your own nervous system.”

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Sporting a brand new tattoo, the restroom wall proudly flexed its bicep, revealing this message, “Leave It To Those Of Limited Vision To Complain Of The Nearness Of The Horizon.”

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The Advice Doctor says he received a letter from a man who said: “I have a favorite shirt, a favorite song, a favorite food, and a favorite sport, but I don’t have a favorite thought. Am I ‘normal’………..perhaps even, SUPERnormal?”

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There is a second variation of everything.

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A historical landmark sure to be overlooked by everyone of any consequence: Men will seriously attempt to “pretend” doing almost any thing but this. (And the post office couldn’t hire enough men to carry the letters of people who’ll say — “I REALLY don’t get this one!”…[Well — Fake it, folks, just fake it.])

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Feeling bad, non-physically, is probably one of the worst things a revolutionist can do.

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A visitor to your fine planet once remarked that the face on the average mind looked like the door on a crypt.

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No primary argument can be won, nor a secondary defended.

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{…a rebel warrior is always benefited to know when to bleed and when to refrain.}

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A Short History Of Some Who “Run-Across” The Revolution: Those who don’t know what this is about, don’t know what it’s about.

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The ole, “Do What??”, two-step: 1: If you’re satisfied with what you’ve got, they won’t offer you more. 2: One guy called his thoughts, “They.”

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One man stated quite emphatically, “I did not come here to be made light-of, or be given the number eleven.”

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If you allow only domesticated thoughts into your closet, you can laugh at any questions regarding house-breaking and rabies.

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A religious man without a parable is like a nude — sans erotic interest.

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Near the downtown promenade a gent approached me and said many of his past suspicions had been delightfully reinforced by watching our program; that he had long believed that everyone was trying to drive everyone else crazy, and now, not only was he certain of it, but our show had brought him to the point that he was no longer bothered at all by the question of “why” people might be doing this to one another. (He seemed to sort of “Smile-me-a-‘thanks'” as he sauntered off.)

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One guy’s motto was, “It has long been my contention.”

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If you ask reality what time it is, and it reaches for a calendar, you’re probably in the wrong framework again.

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At the fake birthday celebration the ole man threw for himself once every eight years, he would line up all his kids in a small space and yell at them, “Where’s the proper place to ‘hang out,’ and ‘hide out’?” All the little nippers would scream back, “Out-in-the-open — Right out in the open.” (God, how he enjoyed these times.)

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Many complaints regarding a “Lack of interest” will result in the appearance of Captain Irony.

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On one world they have a tale that says if a man could move just ONE pebble from its original location on the beach that his own tide charts could be open to change. (Admit it!, isn’t it neat to have a typewriter so that you can turn out such helpful descriptions as, “On one world,” etc.?!!)

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{…would someone call nine-one-one, one-one: I think a man just spilled a hot metaphor on himself.}

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The Performing Arts portion of this month’s Ole Cynic’s Convention features a newly commissioned dance entitled, “Those Who Say, ‘Don’t Sweat-It,’ Are Usually Those With Limited Arm Pit Facilities.” …(And — Oh Yeah: The pro-tem President of the organization, ex parte noted that he’d been S-O-O mistreated by S-O-O many that it’s getting hard to tell the difference between those he doesn’t like, and those he REALLY doesn’t like.)

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Tip for those of you considering putting in a new, or rebuilt, transmission: You can’t believe in a conspiracy without being serious.

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Faux Density Test For The Day: Which is the greater cause of children — Sex, or Inconclusiveness? (Hint: There are primary children, and the secondary kind.)

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City sissy version of another revolutionist-type maxim: “That which doesn’t ‘Give me the blues’ — STRENGTHENS me.”

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In a certain neural city, a man opened a business which he immediately named, “Some Thoughts Are Dumber Than Others.” The next morning he was amazed to discover that a competitor had opened up just across the street from him. (Subversive Game Time: How would your perception of the above tale change if the man, in naming his new enterprise, had said some “‘MEN’ are dumber than others,” instead of some “thoughts?”) *Although humans cannot be separated from human activity, an intellect that can operationally distinguish between “Goods & services” may be able to see similarities, and distinctions, where none normally exist.*

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One man said, “I have no idea where my hormones are taking me, but it looks like I’m going there all the same.”

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Yes, you may take notes: One man’s trigonometry formula for an improved diet: “I may not be totally responsible for my present happiness, but I can take full credit for my lack thereof.” …(And from a crack in the floorboards, a hand slips out this note: “What could you call pleasure that is silent?”)

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Reminded the ole man to the squirt, “You can always whine tomorrow,” to which the kid countered, “Yeah, but what if there ain’t no tomorrow?!”

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On every sunny day, in every thriving city, there are two parades: One lead by a drum major of inadequacy, the other roused on by a band playing, “Stars And Seriousness Forever.”

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In city minds — everyone has a bill-of-sale, but no one knows what they bought.

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(More snapshots from the photo album, showing that life can dance with itself, while men, acting out the right and left foot parts, may perceive otherwise:) One man understood SO little about what is actually going on in life that he wrote a most-welcomed, best-seller, self-help book for those who don’t really understand what’s going on in life.

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One man says, “Only something weird and incomprehensible interests me.” (Would you care to venture a guess as to his prime interest?)

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{…and another man asks:} “Why do reflective devices so often appear in your stories and comments?”

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One man’s hypothesis for a Hursday was: “Any instructive story that can be told to me better than I could tell it to myself — I wouldn’t understand anyway.”

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“Remember,” proclaimed the greeting sign at one city’s outer limit, “If You Fear Being Thought Of As Dumb, You’re Already Of World-Class Caliber. Welcome; Live And Be Well.”

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Many streets in the city will accept the noise of the traffic as a sign of its intelligence. (The, “I Beg Your Pardon” variation: Certain lines in the human nervous system will credit the din of the communications carried therein as proof of its significance.)

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{…and by special request, the guest baritone stepped from amidst the choir, took center stage, and broke into that inspiring, limbic-doxical, intellectual hymn: “I May Not Know What I’m Saying, But By God, I Can Always Talk Louder.”}

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One guy had one attitude toward his stomach, and another toward his mind. (Sometimes they returned the favor.)

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A viewer asks: “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus; Am I making progress?”

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About two and a half weeks ago a man wrote to the Advice Doctor and asked him: “Is it possible to not talk about yourself too much?”

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{…some time last month, a chap wrote to his cousin and asked him to explain the continuing popularity of tinfoil and orlon.}

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If you don’t know what a reformed, non-union, neo-modern dentist looks like, you can speak of him with impunity.

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Peering — scrutinizing, even — deeply into his own thoughts, yet another mortal came to this historic conclusion — “Birds of a feather.” …(As the tried and tattered traveler stumbled through the door, his secret best friend welcomed him by saying — “Get lost!”)

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And a fellow asks, “But if you don’t talk about yourself, how will you ever know what kind of person you really are?”

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A certain ole man, who internally labored in his own right-to-work state, told his kid, “Without other humans there are no ‘human emotions’; thus ask yourself — can the desire for esteem and recognition be considered an un-rigged-game when the final score is predetermined to match the rules already in the hands of all the other players, (including who you used to think was you)?”

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{…and in rapid retaliation, before the ole agitated brain cells could cool, a viewer writes:} “Regarding that just read Kyrootian story about a certain ole man’s comment to his kid: Why is it — why is it, ask I, that in life we seem to be normally pushed in certain directions by our own mortally made society, and then from right within this structure also come voices that seem to bade us not to go off in these directions?!! I personally, speaking as one who continually mulls over such matters, remain extremely perplexed by this, and in fact, downright sick and tired of it. I had hoped to expect better of you and your program, but then again — what is life if not a series of tricky-trails and treacherous disappointments. Yours, A Faithful Viewer.” …and before you could catch your ole breath, another viewer writes: “Regarding the letter you just read: I am now most anxious to know if you are going to respond thereto via some insightful ‘after-thought,’ or ‘epilogue.’ or if you are going to be really annoying, (as is sometimes the case), and be silent, and just leave the comments ‘hangin’-out-there.’ I ask you, sir — which shall it be? Sincerely,” etc.

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To himself one guy thought, “If ‘all news is bad news,’ where am I to find a legitimate update?”

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To the neural revolutionist, the resolution of problems assumes various faces and forms, but they are all the same; they are all the The Pleasant Solution.

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One man saved, and bought a great book of proverbs; a lot of good it did him — the next week they came out with a new edition.

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The crowd sort of hushed as one of the park philosophers assumed the, “Philosopher’s Position” and said: “Far too much of what we hear today came from other people.” (He thanked them for their time and concluded by declaring, “Okay! — Everybody ‘spread ’em’.”

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And now for some more, “Bio-detachable’ — no, that’s a misprint, it should say, now for more “Bio-Determinable News You Can’t Help But Already Use”: Everyone needs someone else they can look down on, which is why men have what they think of as being their “environmentally-produced self.”

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All secondary activities are based on “Talking to yourself.”

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{…this seemed to spur a certain young chap to ask,} “If that be so, and if it also be so that all ‘human emotions’ are a secondary phenomena, then what….. then what might that…. then what, then never mind.”

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Contemporary Life Update: For several days it rained, and rained, and rained, and for several days men got wet, and wet, and wet. (This was taken from the pages of the “Farmer’s Infinite And On-Going Almanac: Good Wherever You Live, And For Whatever Ails You.” …[And a young visitor to the park pointed, and asked his ole man, “Pa Pa, in that kind of context, would what ‘Ails you’ be the rain?, or the getting-wet?”])

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Another item from our files of, “The Verbally-Obvious Can Hide Elephants In The Shorts Of The Ordinary”: Only those who know a way out will take a “way out.”

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{…in a real, weird land, far, far away, a man once asked his doctor, “But why should I take your damned old pill when I’m not even convinced that you know I’m sick?!!”}

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Whenever this one reality would come out with a new bombast, directive, or revelation, it would always add, “Some restrictions apply.”

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Off the bus and onto the plane; rigidity smells like cheap cologne.

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No ship can be said to be truly sunk so long as the captain is on the bridge singing.

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{…a chap with a dinghy wants to know if this has anything to do with the avoidance of non-physical suffering.}

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In strictest confidence, one revolutionist told a close bud that even as much uncharted fun as it was being pursuant to all this, that every time he could alter himself in just the teeniest way, he liked himself even better. …(Don’t you tell that I told you.)

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And yet — yet, another person writes to say: “What makes this stuff so much fun?” which was immediately followed by a telegram that said, “No, don’t tell me if it’d scare me.”

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One man immediately reduced his overhead by refusing to listen to anything he had to say.

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{…and Kyroot concluded his portion of the show with a favorite “Knock-knock” joke:} Knock-knock: The whole trick is to somehow “get in charge”; Who’s there?; If you’re in charge you don’t have to be serious.

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