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Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
MEN FOUND FIT TO SWALLOW ANYTHING
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The Fantasy Filter For The Few Since 1332
November 21, 2003 © 2003: JAN COX
A man-who-knows has a non negotiable center of gravity;
the anchor of his intangible life lies not with the collective’s common core.
One guy’s theory is that men call the thing they sense in their head, “I”
because since they don’t know what it is,
why not name it something short and easy to spell.
And a passer-by stops long enough to inject:
“But if I don’t think of me as me — what then do I become?!”
(Guess he told us.)
“Everything that can go forward, can also go backwards.”
“You forgot about time.”
“I meant only things that move.”
The old does not grow – its job is just to BE old, that’s all.
The economics prevailing in man’s ordinary brain is such that it perceives all of its thinking to be focused on activities capable of being brought to a
satisfying conclusion, and with material matters (such as eating when hungry)
this perception is founded well,
but in all affairs not meeting this simple criteria,
the notion of there being possible a contenting termination is a whimsy.
Without they have a name: the wind blows in all directions without preference,
but once the four corners are verbally put in place — a schedule appears.
This refers not to a matter meteorological,
but one which to ordinary minds is incomprehensible.
Outre Academic Moral Regarding Investigations That Go Beyond
The Collective’s Conventional Fields Of Interest.
Real graduate studies are para, paradigmatic;
no example that makes sense to the herd reveals anything the rebel wants to know.
On another world,
a man walked belly-right-up to the bar,
lifted high his head,
banged his fist and declared:
“Give me a double shot of the inevitable!”
Story-telling is the chaser to routine men’s mental imbibing.
(“Give me a water-back-myth and I can stand anything!” says the herd.)
Ordinary men can avoid what their thoughts find unpleasant
by having a related fairy tale to go with it.
(There is no need for normal children and synapses to say:
“I don’t ever want to grow up.”)
Excerpts From A Protective Service Employee’s Manual.
The body is the building;
the brain, the monitors,
and consciousness, the security guards.
(Speaking obviously of a perfect world, I mean, mind, I mean, co-op.)
How Things Are More Connected Than The Ordinary Care To Think About.
The word coming from medical research on one world is that people over thirty should avoid if at all possible, any type of intrusive cardiac testing in three circumstances:
if they are: diabetic;
or want to have a healthy heart.
(A foot note to these findings says they have no pertinence whatsoever
to men looking into their thoughts to see how dumb they might be;
the guiding rule of thumb is:
Make only those inquiries which are good for you
[trouble is]: men do not know which these may be?!?
“What the hell nurse! — drain ‘em all, and let god decide which ones to fill back up.”)
None but twits long for the respect of twits.
(‘Course to those living solidly in the midst of twits, this is not how it seems.)
You are not justified in calling life a paradox until
your understand the full consequences of it being a dox.
When you think in that special way –
your mind is always on a spree.
Some Academic, Sporting News.
A historian in a seated position makes a much better target.
Collective-based programs for self-improvement in the city are for those who
don’t want to be improved, or changed, but don’t want to be seen as such.
The reason men are proverbially hectored not to engage in the patently ridiculous
act of carrying coals to Newcastle is because they are programmed to do that
very thing to distract attention from the fact that they couldn’t find their way there
with Magellan as a guide.
Threatening to hold your breath ‘til you die is a non dangerous threat to make —
yet by saying it — you have made a threat (so the deed does get done.
[Man’s ordinarily appearing thoughts do this constantly, but under other guises.])
City Financial Terms Explained.
Wealth: Twit talk.
One man says that through intense, extensive effort he has reached such an impasse with his own mind that he does not now know whether to trust what it has to say
on any matter — but he has stumbled:
this view is true only concerning matters which have no matter to them.
“But some things with no matter DO matter!”
And you sir, are safe from ever reaching such an impasse.
A man pondered: “Is it the cheapness of being a smart-ass
that accounts for its popularity?”
A man with “problems” that are untouchable,
goes to man’s common pond to fish for worms.
The collective is your friend — as long as you are not.
And thus it continues to be that: All grand adventures are solo affairs.
It requires gaggles of synapses to think like an ordinary man —
but just a certain one to set you free from such confinement.
He who looks for verbal contradictions is still imprisoned by words,
and oblivious to his condition.
(Is that not something!? — the mightiest force in the universe — the human mind —
held captive by things that do not exist [other than to say: “Boo!”])
Luck: What twits talk about when they have worn out the subject of wealth.
You can never understand the architecture of bio-buildings
until you realize that the security guards you hear from are never on the ground floor.
(“True: my finger may point in a direction that misleads me,
but my mind would never intentionally do such a thing.”
[Has there been a recent breakout from the Old Imbecile’s Home?])
Changing the way you think,
can show you how to think.
Only the heart, lungs, kidneys and other organs come from the factory
operating for maximum output (and almost none — above the adam’s apple).
Note: Even guards assigned to upper floors still eat meals prepared in the basement.
If you do only what is natural to you —
especially in the vocal area of your nervous system — you will forever remain amidst all that you naturally dislike about you and everyone else.
There is nothing more native to all creatures than self censure
(all the ones with thoughts, that is).
One man says that he has reached such an impasse with his routine thoughts
that they will often not even finish a sentence they start.
(And someone suggests we nickname him: Mr. Lucky.)
Life In Dwellings.
There is a particular spot on one man’s kitchen floor whereon,
whenever he there steps, it makes a sound almost like someone calling his name.