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Jan’s Posted Daily Fresh Real News
FEATHERS OF THE BIRD
QUIT STICKING TOGETHER AND BECOME INDIVIDUALLY IDENTIFIABLE — ONCE YOU GET ‘EM OUT IN THE LIGHT
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
June 19, 2002 © 2002: JAN COX
Through some transient battlefield anomaly, the ruler of the old kingdom
found himself the momentary captor of the younger, nervous system rebel,
from whom (via various threats and appeals) he undertook to get explanations
regarding certain of his restive ideas which baffled the ancien régime.
“I hear you are not given to saying much to those outside your own army,
so I will accept simple replies to my direct questions.
Is it correct that the Truth you say exists beyond the one I officially proclaim
is not something specific such as:
‘The Truth declared by the king is in total error and because of it,
the people are being misled and mistreated’?”
“Correct.”
“And yet do you not say that every single facet of what we here in the
established settlement accept as true-statements-of-reality are not so?”
“Correct.”
“But how can that be: how can the Truth about things that I decree,
be not the real truth, and yet not be in error?
Is the Truth you are referring to not a matter limited to individual examples
within my declared version?”
“Correct.”
“Is the Truth you note not even tied to any specific activity carried on in my realm?”
“Correct.”
“Is the Truth you point to not something we can even talk about?”
“Correct.”
“The only possible solution I see to this paradox is that
this non standard Truth contains the official one?”
“Add: ‘And every other one as well’.”
“All right, consider it added” — and he took the rebel’s smile as his reply.
The king fell silent as he paced left to right and back again several times,
pondering what the interrogation had thus far given him.
“Well then, another thing:
is it correct that throughout your rebellious activities you never speak ill of me?”
“Correct.”
“That you do not even speak of me?”
“Correct.”
“And is it correct that you do not tell the people that they are fools for following me?”
“Correct.”
“Then how do you ever expect to prevail?
How can a rebellion succeed if neither the authority of the status quo is attacked,
nor those under it criticized for their submission?
It must be that the goal of your unorthodox activities is not my actual overthrow,”
and the rebel nodded, tossing the king again into silent reflection,
coming out of which he said:
“The only feasible possibility then is that you intend to set up a separate kingdom of your own — correct?”
“Correct.”
“But mine already occupies all of the known world?
There is no place for you to establish such a parallel state,”
and the rebel again just pleasantly smiled.
Hands clasped behind royal back —
head bowed in regal contemplation —
the old king returned to his silent pacing in front of the temporarily held rebel,
and after a bit, turned back to his increasingly,
I-am-about-to-depart-this-place guest — and went for this,
once-in-a-ruler’s-lifetime-chance for a conclusive wrap up of,
baffling-questions-bubbling-up-from-unauthorized-neural-activities-
outside-the-officially-sanctioned-cortical-court.
“So — for all of these years that I have been receiving second hand reports of
your apparently seditious mental activities,
based on the assertion that the Truth about things which I proclaim —
and which everyone here in the old, established kingdom accepts —
is not the real Truth — and yet is not an error,
and that even though I do not see the real Truth — you find no fault with me,
nor the people for following me,
and that my version of the Truth — the one freely accepted here —
is so unacceptable to you that you wish to set up your own state,
totally separate from mine —
and that that alone would satisfy you — is that correct?” —
and with the reply: “Correct” — the rebel vanished.
* * *
A STORY
On one world there was a boy who had an imaginary friend.
The End.
A STORY
On one world there was a boy who had an imaginary friend
with whom he had so much in common, the pretend friend became his best friend.
The End
A STORY
On one world there was a boy who had an imaginary friend
to whom he grew so close he would often fail to distinguish himself from the friend. The End.
A STORY
On one world there was a boy who had an imaginary friend who he came to dislike,
(as much as a friend can be said to dislike a friend),
and sought to separate himself from the friend;
but they had so much in common (or so it seemed from a lifetime of being together),
and they had grown so close (or so constant proximity can make seem),
that actual separation proved to be impossible,
and after a considerable time of wrestling with the situation the boy finally saw that
not only the thing to do — but the only thing to do was to let the imaginary friend be — — slip away and become his own best, new imaginary friend.
Finding
This realization is the only thing remotely resembling an — answer, or solution
to any of the things ordinary men call — questions and problems.
J
Veteris vestigia flammae the old king mused on what he should have said:
“Forget the threats, I will give you anything I have if you will just answer this:
is there something quite specific you know about me that I don’t? — and never can?”