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Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
AND SATIE SAID: “WHAT D’YA MEAN:
I MUST BE KIDDING ?!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
February 26, 2003 © 2003: JAN COX
Everyone who wants to sell you something first appears to want to help-you;
those who want to help you first want to frighten you —
get you as disturbed as they are — which is what drives them to want to help others.
(“Which is not the selfless act it sounds, huh Dad!”)
Taking apparently a cue from the highly successful soviet plans, one man installed in his struggle to reinvent his consciousness: A Seven Year Plan
which he believed would help facilitate the reaching of his goal,
giving each year its own pertinent description:
first year was titled: “The fewer words the better.”
Second year: “The fewer words the.”
Third year: “The fewer words,” and you see where it’s headed.
And after a lengthy period of pondering life from a certain angle,
one man finally asked himself: “Is reality alone — entertaining enough?”
or as the civilized would say: “It is the meaningless in life that makes life worthwhile.”
And a famous political commentator in one city says he only entered that field because of his inability to master welding.
And as soon as they had been introduced, the first man said complementarily to the second: “So — you’re Lawrence Whitcomb — I’ve heard a lot about you!”
at which instant Lawrence secretly glanced up to his brain and ruefully mused:
“So have I — so have I.”
The indigenously dense will profess to be heavily involved in pondering
very complex matters of far, far away,
so’s to cover up their hypnotizing fascination with the extra simple ones,
close, close at hand
(and civilization [along with its many highly regarded institutions] collectively groaned,
and rolled its eyes heavenly in a display of displeasure with that last comment,
[part of the responsibility is protecting the fragile sensibilities of its citizens]).
As regards: getting-the-rebel’s-job-done:
just knowing what to do is a hundred per cent of the problem.
Dousing a dog’s ass with flea spray will cause him to turn round and round more times than usual before finally sitting down –
same with attempts to deodorize a man’s mind.
Putting on his old man’s clothes, and playing around with playing, grown-up, one kid stood in front of a full length mirror, drew his imaginary guns and declared:
“Ain’t nobody running my mind outta town! What’s the sense in havin’ a thought if you ain’t gonna stick with it no matter what!
Bang! — you outsiders — you interferin’ suckers — BANG!”
And apparently fearing what death might do to his well established mind set, one man says he’s ‘bout decided just not to die
(and there is another guy who also threatens never to die, but for a different reason: he says he’s not going to run the risk that him doing so may give someone pleasure,
[then even stranger, there is the case of the certain man
who is constantly trying to decease himself]).
In the city: nothing helps and nothing hurts,
“Pardon me for intruding, but what you just said: is that why some people call it:
‘The Place That No One Built’?”
Ordinary men of automatically running intelligence are offended by thinking that conflicts with theirs, while the rebel could only be offended could he be
forcibly stopped from his purely independent thinking
(‘course this is entirely hypothetical: no one can stop him —
’cause no one is aware he’s doing it [that’s simple enough to understand:
a blind man can’t tell when wagner wanders far from standard harmony]).
So’s not to let it, rain-on-his-parade,
one man quit announcing his parade schedule,
(he is the brother of that other chap who ceased trying to distinguish between
when he was coming and when he was going [some things run in a family]
“Pa pa — when my thighs grow up — can I run?”
“If you are speaking in the proper metaphorical sense — certainly.”)
And just at the edge of town, in the weird woods, a band of merry neural pranksters looked back at the people in the city and sang:
“Oh, thieves, and harlots and bandits are we –
but never found out — since we are three.”
The definition of a really civilized city is one in which all mirrors are banned —
except obviously of course, the ones issued by the city to each child born there.
“So! — if everyone is born there — rebels included —
how do you ever get away from the place?” —
that’s what’s so interesting: it’s simplicity itself,
so much so that describing what’s involved sounds too foolish to be true,
“No! — go ahead — tell me.” —
okay: to get away from it — you merely have to see it,
“But surely I do see it! — as you just noted: we are all born there! —
how could I not see it?!”
“How-could-I-not-see-it?!” — that sentiment is all that is needed to keep you from it,
“Pardon me for interrupting again, but could you possibly rephrase that?” –
yes: no one knows what they’re talking about regarding the city,
and only by realizing that can you ever see the place — in your brain — for what it is.
One rebel has this reminder tattooed in a secret spot:
“If what you know, you didn’t make up —
how can you be sure you know it?!”
(A man fully faithful to his auto erotic relationship
plays mental stink-finger only with his self,
“I regret that I have but one me to give to me,” and a weather beaten area of his brain wearily said: “Naw — don’t worry about it.”)
And one man now admits: “Okay, mental-health is probably as good as anything else,”
but the rebel’s private position is: “Health isn’t good enough —
everyone in the city (part of the mind) is healthy;
if healthy was good enough I wouldn’t be out here in the open, exposed and alone, bustin’ my balls like I am!” — (the proceeding was of course,
just a meaningless bit of fictional fluff to break up the seriousness of the news).
“Pa pa — can you believe they said that?! — ‘the seriousness-of-the-news’?!”
“’Tis strange times in which we live, my boy.”
“Of course — not really — what’ave you: lost your fuckin’ mind?!”
And proudly displayed on the mayor’s arm,
the tattooed prescription for good city living: “At All Costs: Protect Thy Pretensions.”
Everyone who wants to sell you something
first presents their self as wanting to help you;
and everyone who presents their self as wanting to help you,
will immediately try to frighten you — get you as disturbed as they are —
which is what drives them to try to make others believe they need their help;
(aside from drowning, etc) — no one needs anybody else’s help;
life birthed you, and life will death you —
everything you can experience other than those two things will be,
mental entertainment — and not recognizing the full scope of what it is
is what threatens to drive the few to bonkersville,
and coming from the weird woods, a voice:
“O ye would-be rebels! — at all costs: abandon all mental pretensions!
(oh yeah, and in case you still haven’t realized it:
all the thoughts normal for city minds are pretentious).
Oooooooooooooo! abandon them now! — for the end is near!
(I always throw in a little bullshit like that just to cheer ‘em up).”