Jan Cox Talk 2944


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Jan’s Posted Daily Fresh Real News

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Helping Even Eureka To Finally Get It

JANUARY 24, 2003 © 2003: JAN COX

A father said to a son:
“In the struggle to maintain the concentration appropriate for a man who has
seen what is going on, you must internally be harsh with yourself regarding much of your body’s normal life —
gentility and coddling is not here in order;
your attitude toward your nervous system’s routine anxious feelings,
and the perturbed thoughts that follow needs be one of blunt indifference,
and certainly with no show of sympathy;
in light of our special aim, that is the only way I know to profitably deal with
this normal feature of being human and being alive.

Compared to the challenges inherent in the pursuit of our private activity, everything else that goes on in life, and in ourselves is a case of: ‘I can’t be bothered with that’.
Harshness with the everyday manifestations of your own genetic temperament
is eternally necessary to sustain whatever you have gained.
A man who has miraculously seen for himself the reality of what is actually going on, ceases, in operational truth (the only kind there is) to be such a man if,
whenever his nervous system feels that by some incident, it has spiritually lost a leg, or been severely damaged, he allows that one part of his brain involved in our specialized activity to give commensurate notice there to, he instantly loses his concentration on the affairs of real importance to him.

Ordinary men have a line they thoughtlessly toss around: ‘It’s hard, but it’s fair’ — but, with us it is a matter of: if it is not hard — it is not fair to the goal.

Sympathy is what you express to others — not to yourself — not unless
you are content to spend half your time back in a slaughterhouse holding pen.
Harshness my boy — the key to instant relief.”

One man’s main sport with his mind was to periodically turn to it with a quizzical look and say: “Who invited you!”
And someone asked the Ask Me Man:
“If the mood of your hormones determines the mood of your neurons —
what determines your hormones’ moods?” and he gave this reply:
“When a ship filled with nauseating rotted meat begins to enter a harbor,
what reasonable man on the pier, before he flees, demands to see its log?! —
those who hear of the great goal, but have less than a full bore interest therein,
and no experience in the successful taste thereof, automatically believe that
there is some specific, right-way of pursuing same (as with every other activity in life),
but a man who sees this wondrous search through to completion gradually realizes,
via his own experience, that the only continuing useful method is:
‘What right now works — works!” — end of story — ’til the next time of a new now, and a new something that momentarily works.

Think of all the fun the ordinary miss saddled with the imposed belief that
in man’s mental realm — his other reality — one thing causes some other thing;
what a sad waste of thought.”

And our mail brings this: “After much reading about all your:
fathers-&-sons, cities, kings, herds, rebels, the-certain-man, and the-realization,
I’ve decided that it’s all pointing to the same thing,
and if you do not send me five hundred dollars I’m going to make my discovery public.
Yours,” etc.

Announcement: the grand prize in this year’s Intellectual Sack Race is that
the winner will be allowed to come out of the sack.

The only way to have a future that will differ from your present past
is to become a man with no past.

In rebel territory, the fact that a thing is not commented on is the pertinent fact.

“Son, if you do not talk about yourself, neither will others.”
“Is that really true?”
“Not totally — but close enough to sound good, huh?!”

Only ordinary city minds think that the road of life is becoming unseemly cluttered, dangerous or impassible;
if neurons could feel and thus laugh on their own,
they would feel mightily ticked over the specious problems
they normally perceive in life,
“Yeah — leave it to brain cells to never get things right (‘cept of course when they do — you know like when they help make my life more physically comfortable —
but, hey! — what they do the rest of the time — forget about it!
How can they think that having a recliner makes up for my fears of hurting my back,
or being attacked during the night by socialists?” )

“Pa pa, what is the most extraordinary thing in the universe —
novas, black holes, animated matter?”
“That your brain can direct your hands in the intricate task of shaving your face,
and at the same time think about something else entirely.”

To be intelligent in the sea-of-the-collective
is to be deemed so by other drifting debris from the ship wreck.
The independent thinker does not look for his future in anyplace known,
nor for support, nor sympathy for his present swimming.
Clarification Time.
A cow who dismisses another cow as being, intellectually-pretentious —
knows unwittingly, what it takes to catch one,
and a city-ite said to a rebel: “Do you mind if I tell you something?”
“As long as it’s nothing important.”
Standard ships never know the specific nature of their cargo,
and thus can dream they bear gold when it is slag, or even when their hull is empty.

“Ah! — the freedom of the sea!”

Some people seem to feel more than others —
some people do feel more than others,
and man the collective wonders why everybody doesn’t.

War News.
Even during cessations in the battle, many of the seeming combatants continued to moan and limp — shedding faux blood and tears.
More War News.
As befits their position: prisoners process information in a constricted fashion,
and one captive’s motto is: “Lots coming in — little making impact.”
More More War News.
The universe once had a headquarters — in the certain man’s head, it still does.

“Pa pa, why won’t a man who knows talk about himself:
is it because he knows too much, or maybe, not enough?”


Said a son to a father: “It must be sweet having someone (me) think that you know everything.”
“Not sure that, sweet is the word.”

Whenever one man would realize that he was doing something on which he was not concentrating, he would say to himself:
“May I have your autograph?”