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Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
WORDS CAN DO MORE THAN TALK
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Communiqués In The Certain-Man’s Covert Language
AUGUST 22, 2005 © 2005 JAN COX
Ordinary brains do not ordinarily think, but rather serve as a passive outlet for
Life’s thinking, receiving one small part thereof (to be exact, one six billionth of whatever
Life is presently thinking [six billion being the world’s current population]);
the routine mind in routine men does not think –
not as a few uncommon men throughout history have discovered that theirs can:
in all discussions among men, and in each man’s private mental monologue,
the so-called thinking that issues automatically from their brain has, inter alia
these three (okay, four) features which distinguish it from real individual thinking:
(1) it only talks about what others are talking about;
(2) it always speaks in favor of some already known and established position regarding the subject at hand;
(3) it never introduces anything new to the discussion, and
(4) it can’t get itself wrapped completely around the subject,
but rather, incessantly and impotently, grasps at it, like a lumbering, clumsy frankenstein’s monster, his hands blindly outstretched, clutching at thin air;
what the few need employ is thinking-too-light-to-even-cast-a-shadow (that is):
thinking that does not keep returning to a matter previously thought about,
like the shadow of a man walking toward the sun that still touches the area behind him which he has already departed;
on the other hand, the real, individual thinking of the certain-man wraps completely around whatever subject it considers – comprehends, then abandons it.
To encourage his self in the way he wanted to go, every morning one man calls the office of a different physician with whom he is totally unfamiliar and says to whoever answers the phone: “Is there any need for me to come in today?”
One guy used to periodically look-in-on his old, regular mind – (‘til he caught on to
the danger involved.)
After seeing the proverb: “Give aid to a wounded scorpion at your own peril,”
a man with a hot muffin mused:
“Hell, that’s nothing: try picking up a hippo who’s fainted.”
There are behind-the-scenes dynamics between the danger of even minute amounts of poison, and the weight of overwhelming mass; would you prefer to be pecked to death by ten thousand noisy baby chicks, or be done in by a silent steamroller?
(“And I take it that even this story is supposed to have pertinence to the workings of
a man’s mind and how it might be affected by a special few? Phew! —
sometimes all these abstruse allegories try my mental patience,
[which I suppose also signifies something substantial concerning my mental operations.
You know: if I didn’t enjoy it so damn much, I’d stop reading your Daily News!”]
And a guy over in the corner suddenly remembered a recent story of a father who mentioned to a son that those to-this-extraordinary-thing-born can never get
completely away from it.
“And you know what – he’s right: I could stop reading Jan’s Daily News –
but I’ll never be able to stop thinking about that thing he writes about every day.
Oh well, if it weren’t this, it’d be golfing or drinking or something worse.”)
An email just in:
“Dear Sir: That last alleged quote was meant as a joke, right!?……………..RIGHT!?”
At times men have asked the gods for a steeling-of-the-backbone,
a thickening-of-the-blood, an explosion-of-strength in face of the challenges
ahead of them; now some of the gods are unemployed, due to changing times.
(Guaranteed: one thing you will never hear coming from your natural born mind is a request to retire.)
A man under a tree, contemplating what might be, inquired of his self:
“Do I want to be:
well off, or
Note: There’s always something cooking at the certain-man’s house.
One guy acutely conscious of neural fashion, fretted as he pondered his head
in a mirror:
“It’s not my overall looks that concern me as much as it is my receding brainline.”
(“What say ye Luke, if such a procedure were possible, would you avail yourself of
a brain transplant?”
“I reckon I already do – ever time I read or listen to somebody talk.”)
In the routine life of man, what can apparently be recovered is never exactly the same as it was before you seemingly lost it.
(Note: we are talking here about those many intangible matters so dear to mundane men.)
The police may be able to return your stolen car to you with no harm done thereto,
but no priest or counselor can restore your broken marriage.
There is no greater folly than trying to hold on to something in man’s second-reality;
ergo the man-who-knows could be surrounded by physical possessions,
yet be poverty stricken on the inside.
Knowing-The-Secret pushes everything else out of a man’s insides;
there is not room for both The Secret, and all the things that hide The Secret (that is: everything else in mankind’s normal mental world).
With what authority do they speak, those who bother to say: “It’s great to be alive,” when they have nothing to compare it to?
The single most important thing for a would-be rebel to have is:
The world wants a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, due to the congenital mind being binary in its outlook;
(the certain-man’s taste is for peanut butter and peanut butter, and jelly and jelly).
One of the perks of being city-famous is that people automatically believe you are smarter than you are.
(“Well hell then! – that alone makes it worthwhile! Doesn’t it!?”)
Word To The Wise And The Otherwise.
You can’t be – too careful! (Unless as always: You overdo it.)
(“Luke, you ever thunk about the fact that being-awake is the onliest thing a man can’t overdo!?”)
And after having five or six really neat, fresh ideas in a quick row, one guy reflected: “Jeeze! – if I didn’t know me better I’d think I was actually up to something.”
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