To Find Fault in Someone’s POV Is to Take It Seriously
Summary = See below
Condensed News Items = See below
News Item Gallery = jcap 1991-07-01 -0902
Transcript = None
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Summary
#902 Dec 2, 1991 – 1:00
Notes by TK
Kyroot to :24. All “smart machines” function by self-reference, self-regulation. Smart machines, help man at the higher end of the Nervous System. Man is the ultimate self-referral machine, using opinions as fuel. A man’s opinions/POV’s are dependent on what he is; more revealing: being a man is dependent on having a Point of View. All POV’s, all opinions no matter their degree of idiocy are meant to be taken seriously by everybody. To find fault in any POV is to take it seriously.
The News
Local laws regarding justice and growth require that normally it is the lesser dancers who cry out — “Okay — Give us some room!”
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Ordinary thinking is like thinking with someone else’s brain.
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The autopsy at city hospital revealed that he had choked on an enigma …(“Hey, I’ve told you kids a thousand times not to jump off of high uncertainties.”)
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From a certain askewed view: Only real people can do what they can really do.
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One man asked, “Have you ever noticed that even ‘All Music Shows’ have some talk, and ‘All Visual Displays,’ a commentary? (He says he was going to ask — “What gives?” but that suddenly his brain rang, and he had to go answer it.)
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Having fleas doesn’t prove you’re a dog, but it proves you’re human.
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A train that keeps going through the same tunnel can hardly be expected to ever invent the airplane, and thus retire itself to Florida by way of self-execution.
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It is rumored that the reigning royal family in this one kingdom made their original fortune by running a Used Fiction lot.
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Then there was this other world that called its secondary reality, “Just A-Comin’ And A-Goin’.”
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After you’ve decided to be an archaeologist, you only find old stuff. (“Dear Advice Doctor: Does this last observation have any pertinence to the ordinary acquiescing to being so?”)
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The way one man handles the pressures of life: He simply says, “I’m going as fast as I can,” as fast as he can.
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Plagiarism and collective-wisdom are secondary versions of intellectual-freedom.
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Obviously having learned his city lessons well, one man over there begins all of his important sentences by saying, “Well, as a busy person myself, I can sure tell you…” (blah, blah, blah).
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When he got home from school, the kid said, “I heard a guy on the street say, ‘If it was easy anybody could do it.’ What does that mean?” And the old man replied, “Ahh, that is a splendid example of something that means just what it says, except what they really mean to mean is that if it was easy anybody could want to do it.”
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After trying to be a revolutionist for a while, one man said he got totally sick of “Thinking about other people;” and at least now feels like he’s received the boot camp “slash-and-burn” hair cut.
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A man with a whole lot of commandments can go home early if he wants to. (In fact many of them seem like they must.) …And a gent in the audience inquires: “Was that preceding statement a metaphor, a symbolism, or a parable of some kind? Whatever it is, for god’s sake at least tell me it’s not literal.”
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At the turn of the decade one man told himself: “If you’re really afraid of what you’re going to say in your will, you ought to go ahead and kill yourself now.”
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Everyone has three possible temperatures.
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There was once a warrior who had his valor made into a vest; then while dining with some respectable people, he spilled something on it.
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After much pleading and inquiring by the creatures, this one reality relented and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you: The affairs of thinking beings can be classified into thirty-four categories. And if you ask me again, it’ll be thirty-five.”
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Noted one human observer: “The thing about ‘growing spiritually’ is that if you DO — you grow OUT of it.” (A fellow who works in yards, upon hearing this said, “I should probably be pleased that there is no connection between what he calls ‘spirituality’ and the size of my mind. [I also do ornamental work in prunes.”])
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The sergeant told the Fourth Platoon: “If the flight attendant offers you ‘crash instructions’ — you on the wrong flight!”
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Sometimes when this one guy would get sort of “distant,” and uncommunicative to himself, he’d say to himself, “Look, I’m not trying to ‘teach you a lesson’ of some kind — I just wanted you to realize again how it’d be without me.”
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One fellow asked the fellow with him, “What can be more entertaining than seeing the ordinary?” And the fellow said, “Seeing the ordinary confident therein.” (After all, if it were not reassuring — why even be ordinary!)
One kid said, “I’m scared — I wanna go home.” “Shhh,” said the ole man, “we haven’t even left yet.” “But wait,” replied the kid, “I can’t let you have the last word in such a cheap fashion as that…”
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A slightly “different take” on the matter of “City Success:” “If you can already speak Yugoslavian there’s no need to go on and prove you can.”
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Using his own personal “defining sextant,” one man describes “respectable data” as “Stupidity-extender.”
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Ideas that wear a coat can certainly “come in from the cold,” and keep you meaningless company there inside. (A human once asked, “I like the idea of man being able to think in some sort of new way, so why don’t I do it? Is it because I don’t know how? Or because I am somehow frightened to actually do so? It would seem that one of these two would be the answer …And yet …If one could think anew, and fresh, surely other alternatives are about and possible.”)
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In his attempt to keep them a “little off-balance and on-their-toes,” this one reality, ofttimes, after times of great pleasure between him and his creatures, would call and tell them, “I think I’m pregnant.”
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The king’s High Priest would only eat ballistic-burgers and pickled beets on the night before a big-time ritual. …(One guy’s “Mondo-Mondo Motto” was: “Too many modifiers spoil the broth, the cooks, the kitchen, the owners, the waiters, and the customers, and change the original intent of a neural gourmet’s business license.”)
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In a move to further his own fortunes, a would-be city leader is proclaiming that not only does the Tower Of Babel still exist, but that he is selling “time shares” therein. (Knock-knock: “It’s easier to be dumb in a crowd.” Who’s there?: “Every body.”)
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Extolling certain “human emotions” is certainly one hobby available; (and it does appear relatively inexpensive at first glance.)
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Acting as his own agent, one guy advised himself, “If you write a book full of blank spaces and pages you can always go back later.” …(Several months later, now performing as his own personal P.R. man, he told himself, “Better yet, write a book and don’t put your name on it.”)
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{…Public Service Announcement: The Advice Doctor advises that he is not currently accepting any more inquiries regarding whether a person can give himself too MUCH advice.}
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Without intensity there is no revolution; there can be talk and thoughts of it, but n-o-o revolution.
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One fellow’s question: “If talent has nothing to do with intelligence — Where do we go from here?”
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Now for our Quote Of The Day, (guy says): “While the quality of my thought may be lacking, and even my quantity insufficient, it is more than compensated for by my exquisite taste in clothes.” (And you know what? As always, “H.B.R.” — He Be Right.)
One man even one time commented, “The BEST thing about not being a neural revolutionist is in not having to be one.”
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In the secondary world there is no truth outside viewpoint. In the secondary world there is no truth outside viewpoint; hence the necessity to tell what kinda guy you are.
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There are no hospitals for stupidity …Oh, all right, so there are. But they’ve all stayed full since the day they opened — so what’s the good in knowing about them?
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One ole man told the kid, “The revolutionist only has one hero — Tomorrow’s headlines.”
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In the city the dead continue to frighten the living. (If you live in the city — no need to think about it.)
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The rich don’t need proverbs.
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As a precautionary measure, this one somewhat timid guy adopted the motto, “Never speak ill of the living.” (He later found two problems with the axiom.)
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He calls what his mind produces, “nipper patties,” saying it would have been the normal waste matter of his own succeeding neural generation had he ever had one.
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The revolutionist’s purpose must always be the same — no known purpose.
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One man always had three escape routes planned whenever faced with the possibility of captivity. He found this personally amusing since he had long ago realized that there is but one captor who just keeps changing his disguise.
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Question: What is the secondary world’s equivalent of sex in the primary? Answer: Talk.
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Inasmuch as the real revolution is an individual and not a collective affair, you could say that it exists only by the grace of the fact that it doesn’t exist. …(W-e-l-l, come on now, can you really imagine a neural revolutionist claiming to be a part of any thing that everyone else has already heard of!! — Hey! come on now!)
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Everybody’s looking for the “Top Wolf”…Except those who want to BE him …And they’ll get et up same as everyone else.
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With properly refined and tweaked ears, a revolutionist can hear the joyful sound of combat even amidst collective silence. (Congenial Corollary: The neural rebellion was the original model for all forms of portable nourishment and entertainment.) Bottom Of This Page: When you can say, “Yes, I take me with me wherever I go,” and not be pleased, or displeased by this fact, not even care whether it’s true or not, not even care whether you actually said this or not — THEN, then, you might be able to truly take you around with you without unnecessarily “getting-in-your-own-way.”
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One afternoon while waiting for the machinery to cool down, one rambunctious insurrectionist suddenly thought of this kind of activity as “Intelligent insouciance.” …(“Oops — gotta run,” he said.)
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Those who claim themselves “Fatalists” are damn-near like captives, chained to the wall with stories about slavery. (Department Of Transportation Update: If there was a way out of the secondary world, there wouldn’t be a secondary world. …[“I don’t care what the Assistant Secretary says, I still want to be a revolutionist whether it’s possible or not.”])
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The Advice Doctor received the following letter: “Dear Doctor: Are some things really more serious that others?” (The good doctor ain’t no complete fool — he didn’t answer this one.)
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To ordinary thinking, those who do experiments are serious and scientific, while from a more complex view they’re simply amateurs flogging their hobby.
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The primary is seamless and distinct. The secondary, vague and fragmented.
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Finite driving tips that Mary never told the Lamb: You can go down that road quickly, or you can go down that road gracefully, but you can’t go down that road and come back. (Although this is true on all limited access thoroughfares, a revolutionist knows that highway signs can be misleading.)
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A man with nothing to hide can put his ideas right out front. (So too can a man who doesn’t know anything.)
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There was once a specific suspicion that a neural revolutionist would be a cream puff in a suit of armor — with an explosive filling.
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Only fleas are never surprised to find dogs attached to their feet. (Same for provincial thought and man.)
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Those who curse, or praise, Pontiacs will continue to drive Pontiacs. (And from a viewer, this note: “Such statements as the above still make me want to write you and ask — ‘Is there no way out?’ But I know damn well you’d say — ‘Sure,’ and probably let it go at that. So I don’t think I’ll ‘play’ — just now.”)
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Never buy microscopes, telescopes, or other investigatory instruments that bear a brand name.
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No matter what you originally called it, or how you dressed it up, if you finally take seriousness out of the revolution you’ve probably ruined it for most people. (But then “old-again-o”: It looks like men could handle this ’cause from another pretty ordinary view they know that only the “deadly serious” are deadly — and certifiably dumb.)
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The secondary world alone can apparently “run backwards.”
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After a l-o-n-g time in flight, this one guy said to himself, “Maybe someday I’ll tell you something — may-be.” …(A listener contributes: “Of all the kinds of stuff I don’t like about this, this is sort of my favorite kind.”)
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City Fable For Our Time, (unless it’s too late already): One man laughed at adversity — and it laughed back. He then scoffed at it — and it ignored him. Then he threw peanut shells at it, and it killed him. (“Hey,” said a city manager, “If a man won’t learn from lessons, he probably won’t learn from anything.”)
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{…and smelling a Scandinavian rodent — if not suspecting even worse — a correspondent counters with this clincher: “If you’re vague enough — anything can sound metaphorical.” (“Aughh!” cried the ole man, “I’m hit. I’ve been shot with an untreated tooth from the ungrateful mouth of an unregenerated child. Ah, what ironic fate; slain by the very fruit from the loins of my own mind. Ahhhh.”)}
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The ultimate self-referral machine is man. His optimum fuel, opinion.
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Instructive Dialogue from a certain Rebel’s Notebook: A man asks, “Can you explain the revolution in one word?” “Yes,” replies the rebel. “Then would you do so?” asks the man. “Alright,” responds the subversive, “but you must start all over and ask me again so that this time the answer I give you will be the ‘one-word-explanation’ of the revolution.” The man agrees, and asks him anew, “Can you explain the revolution in one word?” And the rebel says — “No.”
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Who but a revolutionist could be passionate about the purposefully vague, and unspecific?
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