Jan Cox Talk 2899


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Jan’s Posted Daily Fresh Real News

Turning Shaved Ice Into Igloos Since 1902
(For Some: Into Steel Buildings)
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October 2, 2002 © 2002: JAN COX

One man had toy trains running through his house:
he grew weary of them, but could not make them stop;
he tried to move to a new place, but they followed him;
he played loud music to drown out their noise,
but they increased theirs to match it,
(and in fact would often join in — singing along in the background);
he tried thinking about other things, but his mind always returned to the trains, almost as though they had his mind in a magic trance.

Everyone has toy trains running through their house,

the certain man may not be able to stop them,
but he can stop them from going any where
(hint: the transformer which controls the trains will freeze up if you glare at it incessantly).

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To be normal and standardly intellectualized is to be able to explain to yourself why anything you have ever done was acceptable — under-the-circumstances;

to be on the road to renewal ruin is to have no explanation for anything (particularly anything of an imaginary nature).

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Repetition: the salve — nay! — the camouflage of inanity.

Inanity: a nice word for: course-of-least-resistance.

Course-of-least-resistance: the thing the brain naturally takes
that so infuriates the certain man.

The certain man: repetition put to the test.

* * *

One man realized that closing his eyes made him instantly lazier;
the neural implications of this for the man who wants to see
are astounding in that it offers an introductory lesson in:

the-brain’s-conservation-of-energy-at-my-expense —
(this of course is relevant only for a man who has a real my —
which is to say, a self-produced my —
that is, a piece of personal art which any good sculptor knows comes from
the least possible amount of chiseling —
[something delightfully exemplary of: conservation-of-energy]).
The truly attractive and additive feature of commonly running consciousness is the lack of effort involved.

* * *

On an imaginary world,
an imaginary man told his imaginary mind:
“Do not try to help others in non physical matters,”
and it replied:
“But what if they say they want my help?”
and the man shook his head in the negative and said:
“No — that would just be me imagining that they did.”

The worlds on which homo sapiens reside are both comfortable and captious;
men’s bodies know where men are;
men’s minds imagine where they might be,
and the result of this mixture is the place internally
where the thoughts in your brain say that you are —
which determines your personal perspective on life, yourself and others.

On imaginary worlds, imaginary men are always in conversation:
on the unknown orb of the certain man —
everything is in cement blocks and silence;

there is nothing funny about being ordinary and in an imaginary inner world,
and there is certainly nothing funny about cement blocks.
(Secret Tip: cement blocks can replace transformers.)

* * *

Now for 3 facts which can: break your back, and — put out your eye — if
you pick them up and look at them in just the right way:
1: men only offer apologies and explanations for not being able to do things that they want to do;
2: men only privately berate themselves for not doing things that they want to do;
3: men engage in such only concerning non essential things they might do.

The brain is always thinking about and never speaking about — essential matters;
the mind is always thinking about and talking about matters which are
not essential;
some things the brain feels it must explain — even apologize for;

these things are the expendable toy trains in the house of the certain man.

Standing on the corner;
rocking back and forth; shifting from one foot to the other;
glassy-eyed, dazed and mentally distracted;
available to any one at any time at little or no cost –
it is the mind of man.

Once a whore — forever on the street.

Ordinary sculptors have a myriad of other mortal, creative-influences –
the certain man’s only one is air:
the pliable atmosphere surrounding the virgin stone before him,
and the secret voice within him which directs him:
“Focus! — but don’t touch — don’t touch.”


A cement block will not splinter and disorient you,
causing ice cubes to seem like bergs and cast you lonesome out to sea.

A great adventurer (you would think) moves-around a lot —
and in his early days, you would be correct;
but later, when he finds what he was looking for —
he becomes IMmovable.

Dreams are motion;
sight, stillness.