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Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
A MILLION STORIES IN THE NEURAL CITY,
ALL GHOSTED BY HORMONES
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July 4, 2003 © 2003: JAN COX
Some men encourage others to do it as a way of forgetting to do it themselves.
Festivities On The Freeway Out Of The City.
The really big and glorious blowouts usually hold off ‘til you’re doing at least 110,
(if you’re part of the Fortunate Family).
When the time comes: a man with a mind full of the right ideas
won’t need exact change.
The Public Importance Of It All.
Were a plane load of more conscious men to crash,
the news would take a back seat to the sports scores.
(Amateur mystics find such as this quite deplorable,
while real ones think it slightly humorous.)
Some humans have a negative attitude toward life —
some, a positive —
a few, neither — sit next to them.
(if they don’t have a watermelon wrapped in a baby blanket filling the seat).
“Perceptive” is spelled with a P, but not as in: partisan, and: o-Pinionated.
Legend says that in another, superior reality,
the man who here keeps your Morality Account,
there keeps track of how often you chuckle when circumstances change.
A certain sage taught those who sought his counsel certain (what he called) psychological tricks,
and to keep them from being consumed by the effects of such things,
he fooled their minds by calling them tricks.
One chap mused: “If people did know where their thoughts actually come from,
I wonder if they would still be pleased to have them?!?”
One fellow announced: “My efforts in the vineyards of the arts
will likely find their true audience only in eternity,”
and life yelled back: “Good! — then I’ll always pay you tomorrow.”
Under long and wearying siege, one city slipped out a message
to a neighboring urbanity: “In dire need; conditions desperate;
running out of sarcasm and cliches; send help quick!”
According to a recent article in a well known professional journal,
there is now evidence showing that it is much more difficult than previously believed to house break an economist.
Only around dying cities do you hear the faint sound of peace breaking out.
On one world, the original icon of the thought filled creatures was a wall,
and you had your choice of either seeing it as an obstacle or an invitation.
Myths understood aright are not about dragons to be slayed — but to be ridden.
To a son advised a father: “A word of caution (nineteen actually):
In this life few things are truly impossible,
but one is that you cannot be spiritually stupid or smart.”
To those sans comfortable comprehension of man’s complete physicality,
his metaphysical realm is a wall WITH no possibilities but that of a concealing barrier.
Men with no native insight are encouraged by circumstances to always be looking, “Far, far away” (inside their own head that is):
to cuddle thoughts about things as far removed from their reality as possible.
(The lens of the rebel’s up-close examining apparatus consists solely of self-ground, non partisan ideas.)
The Commercial Question Of The Day In The Urban Area Of The Mind.
Is knowledge a product, or service?
Morality in the city is the ongoing effort to alter behavior
to compensate for lack of understanding;
“When the nature of the beast eludes you — kick the son of a bitch!”
One king, with an inordinate faith in the power of civilization, would,
when one of his neighboring kingdoms began making war like noises,
send to their common border a string quartet to play Bach,
and other assorted Baroque composers.
(You might be interested to know that this monarch is on his ninety eighth birthday, fourteenth wife, and twenty seventh string quartet, and edgy neighbor.)
Remember: In the rapacious battle between hormones and neurons – what?! —
are you still nutty enough to fall for that old come-on?!
In all reasonably sophisticated settings,
a modicum of literate cynicism can always pass for insight –
it cannot however, in the mind of a truly perceptive man.
On one planet (every thousand years or so)
the thinking creatures are given their choice anew:
to either: be forgiven for their sins — or:
be forgiven for being thinking creatures.
In their own unappreciated way: all epitaphs are shameful —
only those who do not comprehend — applaud the dead.
In the city: things don’t seem as foggy to men as they do out in rebel territory —
but neither are they so exhilarating.