Dream World Grows as Distance Increases From External Demands
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Notes by TK
Our lives are driven by desire. And thinking is the best modus of consciousness to fulfill those desires—prime among them being the desire to survive. Thinking always involves physical objects; dreaming/believing does not. The farther one is from the demands of the external world, the more important is the dream world.
Men do not recognize that they live mostly in a dream world where feeling is doing its best to replace thinking. Chief among these feelings is: “I don’t want to die”. It molds all of man’s other desires and culture. Being asleep is failing to see we are run much of the time by pure feeling/desire; it is quite subtle, but recognizing it will wake you up. (38:42) #3244
Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
THE FUN’S FOREVER JUST BEGINNING FOR THE FEW
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Tracking The Complete Lack Of A Let-Up
DECEMBER 31, 2004 © 2004: JAN COX
More Regarding The Mores Of The City
One guy still hears other people’s dialogue even after he is out of the scene;
(he complained to the Screen Actor’s Guild – a lot of good that did!)
For a rebel youth’s purpose, a doting parent can dote too well.
Don’t let part of your brain overwhelm other parts (unless of course it is the right part).
“But how can you learn to recognize the true head of your family?”
You can’t – that’s the beauty of it.
And a passing tradesman mentally percolates: “If the unbridled use of a thing is not
its proper use – then what the hell kind of use would be!”
On one world’s promotional literature, where it urges:
“Send For Additional Information” – the address given is actually for
a neighboring planet.
Some say this was a printing error – others claim it was intentional –
what do you reckon?
Medical Update (Maybe On The Malicious Side).
Talk is the morphine for the pain of stupidity.
And one volcano muttered: “Stand back dammit, and give me room to operate.”
One kid remained his father’s son only during daylight hours;
(thus accounting for the skewed curfew in certain neural neighborhoods).
As he swung by his legs from a low limb, one of those city park philosophers
called out to a passing policeman: “If he handles it right:
a man who won’t deal with the small stuff in life may eventually have none.”
As he strolled, the cop began to sing to himself that tune so popular with the few:
“If you let hormones run your mind,
what you seek, you’ll never find.”
He who would be King should never run for elected office.
(Check with the neurons in the backroom about this.)
Sitting on the porch of an old folks home was a chap who confided:
“Chatting with myself for all these years has been quite the experience.”
Says one man: “Inasmuch as I have yet to commit suicide,
I look upon everything I do for me as acts of kindness far above any act of duty.”
(And seems quite impressed thereby.
[“It’s nice for a man to have such friends.”])
A chap in a white lab coat dispenses this:
“No use in feeling bad unless you’re gonna feel R-E-A-L-L-Y bad.”
A local god in one reality found that whenever (in response to inquiries)
he would try to explain the reason behind this-or-that creation of his –
it would begin to collapse.
(Related item: The deities’ union in one universe now forbids members from
doing interviews of any kind.)
A certain judge in one city court concludes all sessions by declaring:
“’Tis better to have RE-dress than wear a red dress.”
(This from a man in a robe — with lace trim on the sleeves.)
Poets, critics, and other smart asses sneer at traditional human values
for the same reason that ordinary men make them up. The lesson here is:
Never tell a duck a pig tale and expect him to get the moral on his own.
And this e-mail just in: “I have been reading your Daily News for some time now,
and do not understand what it is that you are talking about;
I feel confident however that even if I did – I would not like it nor approve of it.
A sign posted discretely by the maitre d’s stand offers this encouragement:
“Don’t worry if you feel-out-of-place: your time will be up soon enough
and you will most assuredly be so informed.”
On a tour of the palace, some school children unexpectedly bumped into the King,
who stopped for a moment to chat, and one little nipper asked him how the employment prospects looked in his line of work, and the monarch bent down,
smiled and said: “One thing for sure in the ruling game my boy:
There’s always room at the bottom” – then patted his head and was gone.
(Later at home, the boy experienced a severe chill of the hypothalamus.)
“There is, I suppose,” says a chap, “a certain sort of justice in the
mortal concept of justice, after all: who thinks worse of humans than humans.”
A complaint without sweat is not worth considering.
When a visitor to a foreign planet commenced his first conversation there
with the words: “What if…” he was immediately interrupted and informed:
“Here, we don’t DO: ‘What if’s’.”
(You’d have to assume they face an uncertain future, huh?!)
In one land: if you say you’re feeling-bad – you have to prove-it.
In the midst of a civic address the mayor said: “Irony is well known as perhaps
the most livable neighborhood in our fair city, wait! – not Irony – Oak Grove…”
A correction without sweat is not worth making.
A man who had given advice to damn near everyone on the planet finally decided it was time to dish out some to his self, so he said to his self that he would undertake
a full and unbiased survey of all his faults and blind spots – then almost immediately snorted: “HA! – gotcha! – I was just jokin’.”
Sarcasm with sweat is far too slimy.
After much grumbling, moaning and unrest by the creatures of one world,
the local god called them together and said: “Look – just being alive is trouble enough, all these other problems you think you have are just in your mind,”
and even those who heard and believed him – didn’t believe him.
A man standing out on the parade ground tells us:
”I have but one – unconditional rule I live by – and,” he added proudly,
“I don’t even live by that one.”
One man laid out a complete plan for his life –
it didn’t work –
he didn’t care –
‘cause he didn’t notice.
The statues of man that men stand in public places of honor
do not attract, but rather produce pigeons.
(That’s how life in the city goes; how many more centuries ‘til they get hip and quit whining?)
The leader of the activities said:
“Everyone who is helpless and aware of it – raise your hand –
wait a minute: did any of you who did have a choice?”
The city explained one conundrum: “Men don’t know their correct home address
for a very good reason: no one lives where they think they do.”
Several claiming to be the late King’s sons tried in vain to grasp what it was that constituted his legacy – tried in utter futility.
As real rulers know: When you’re dead – you’re outta here Jack! — totally gone.
(Course you first got to realize that in your life.
[“And a pretty sneaky requirement that is, I’d say,” said someone.])