ing wrongly to it, or in other less plangent provisions of language, men are exceeding the original adaptation, that is, instead of misinterpreting, they’re exploiting its local, indisputable interpretation.

Sirs and Messrs, I am not a prude; it is basically a reevaluation of rationality, of what all is rational and what all is superficial; the irrational is an explicit term, and I’d be boasting if I use it here, so another time, another article. What we have now is, observe, ‘Overt Civilization’.

It has exceeded its necessity, its aim, intention, and most vitally, it has exceeded its purpose. It was there to convey a decent, prim decorum, a standard for human relations, and from a not-so-pregnant subject, it has been meaninglessly exalted as an obligation, a prerequisite, a stipulation to pose as lucrative. If a man can understand the commonest of human instincts, he can tame it, and if he can tame it, he can control it. Many of these human remote-controls are the hapless sons-of-whores behind intransigent alloy bars with striped cloth basking on their skin like sunlight peeking on a man in a bathroom. It has evolved to a standard that doesn’t ask for a bare minimum, but a s

Civilization is not the world. It is not the grotesquely obese Mr. Green Globe in space. It is also not the insurmountable ambushing hoi-polloi proverbial as humanity; yes, humanity does, to all intents and purposes, represent it, like a frown represents scorn or a scowl represents loathing, but a scowl is just a goddam mark, so is a frown, and so is our hotshot humanity. Representations are mere footprints tapped into sand, they insinuate and dog an identity, but are not by the saddest shot ever, the identity itself. Get it?

Civilization, since it bears representatives and a government in theory, is a standard. That means, bozo, that it is a bar-line, like the one you’re gauged against when you turn dipso, trespass on a Joint and ask for booze. The next question, perhaps, in tow is: what defines and what is defined by civilization? Civilization is not the sunny dress you bought cheap at a sale, nor is it the deodorant that came along; civilization as a standard defines the understandable behavior of a man, its adaptability, stability and proclivity to remain so, its height, length, extent being contingent on the intensity of the demarcation of preference. To some scope, it is inherent in men, the way disaster is inherent in scandalous dynamites even before they’re scrambled together. Civilization, if you’re still all ears, matures in the sense of one’s personal realization, and by soft degrees, it turns into a social norm. Why would a person prefer clothes to nudity when every being has a proper sympathetic understanding of the human body? Civilization is the ‘limit’ to one’s evolvement; if comprehended sitting on a moon-beam tangent, for the sake of those scoffing, pseudo-(undersea-scum, scourge-of-the-sentient-universe)-intellectual few who would beg to differ and yet remain strangely noncommittal, civilization is also the ‘scope’ of one’s evolvement.

The Evolving is perforce neither physical, nor mental, it is a dependant development based on even as little as a speck of psychological pollution. All men are civilized, but the sums duly vary from man to man, grooming to grooming, ambience to ambience, and likewise. After a stringent process of unimpeachable building up, like acne, the process stops and it is a realm reached, a horizon becoming, breached and vanquished. Men, edifices of insufficiency and discontent, can labor against their own strengths of the available quart of ‘civilization’, indelibly importunate for an increase, but no one can strife against a mentality long enough without drawing out the closure of inflicted confusion and flustering, a conflict of identity or the justified madness that all men are liberally allowed.

Now, the times are a changing. The theory could have taken a recliner, hunkered over popcorn, a tub o’ cola and a Richard Bachman a century back, but now, baby, Titanic’s sunk, George Bush is running the world and some klutz busted up the Ozone layer. Try not to tip over to the doomed empire of sleep for this is going to bore your Johnson stiff, but bear with me and as nude-assed Jesus is my witness, I swear this is heading somewhere…

Concepts are natural. They are not man-made; they’re man-adapted. Remember, the golden word is Perspective. If you look from the sluggard Past, there’s a thing called invention, very seemingly viable and very seemingly plausible, but if you sprint up to Father Christmas some doggone season in the future, there’s only one word that sounds surer, final and saner: discovery. The telephone was invented by the Bell guy. However, since its means exist now and will only be intensified in the pacing years, poor Mr. Bell only discovered the telephone. Its need existed; need might be the mother of ‘invention’ but is the closest extant practical synonym to ‘discovery’. The dastardly point is that concepts aren’t invented and so they can’t modulate. A Line was a Line when the early man waddled all gung-ho on earth, it was a Line when Hitler tangoed through the biggie War, and it’ll be a line when potty children will badger their parents for a picnic on Saturn. Perhaps, man’s adaptability to a line would change, perhaps it would be called linus or linic, but not its concept, the thing that yields and delineates its function, will be as eternal and unblemished as its infancy has been. The mother-of-god, champion conclusion: Civilization is a concept. Ho-hum, you’d say. And I’d say to that: either take a hike or look close. Civilization is a concept and for the prerogative it holds, it cannot be reinvented or rediscovered or bent or breached, the lone thing that can occur is that it can be wrongly adapted to. Eureka! Bravo! (Applause in the audience) Oh please, you’re so kind (kiss, kiss).

That is what’s actually happening. Men are lamentably adapting wrongly to it, or in other less plangent provisions of language, men are exceeding the original adaptation, that is, instead of misinterpreting, they’re exploiting its local, indisputable interpretation.

Sirs and Messrs, I am not a prude; it is basically a reevaluation of rationality, of what all is rational and what all is superficial; the irrational is an explicit term, and I’d be boasting if I use it here, so another time, another article. What we have now is, observe, ‘Overt Civilization’.

It has exceeded its necessity, its aim, intention, and most vitally, it has exceeded its purpose. It was there to convey a decent, prim decorum, a standard for human relations, and from a not-so-pregnant subject, it has been meaninglessly exalted as an obligation, a prerequisite, a stipulation to pose as lucrative. If a man can understand the commonest of human instincts, he can tame it, and if he can tame it, he can control it. Many of these human remote-controls are the hapless sons-of-whores behind intransigent alloy bars with striped cloth basking on their skin like sunlight peeking on a man in a bathroom. It has evolved to a standard that doesn’t ask for a bare minimum, but a st

rent in men, the way disaster is inherent in scandalous dynamites even before they’re scrambled together. Civilization, if you’re still all ears, matures in the sense of one’s personal realization, and by soft degrees, it turns into a social norm. Why would a person prefer clothes to nudity when every being has a proper sympathetic understanding of the human body? Civilization is the ‘limit’ to one’s evolvement; if comprehended sitting on a moon-beam tangent, for the sake of those scoffing, pseudo-(undersea-scum, scourge-of-the-sentient-universe)-intellectual few who would beg to differ and yet remain strangely noncommittal, civilization is also the ‘scope’ of one’s evolvement.

The Evolving is perforce neither physical, nor mental, it is a dependant development based on even as little as a speck of psychological pollution. All men are civilized, but the sums duly vary from man to man, grooming to grooming, ambience to ambience, and likewise. After a stringent process of unimpeachable building up, like acne, the process stops and it is a realm reached, a horizon becoming, breached and vanquished. Men, edifices of insufficiency and discontent, can labor against their own strengths of the available quart of ‘civilization’, indelibly importunate for an increase, but no one can strife against a mentality long enough without drawing out the closure of inflicted confusion and flustering, a conflict of identity or the justified madness that all men are liberally allowed.

Now, the times are a changing. The theory could have taken a recliner, hunkered over popcorn, a tub o’ cola and a Richard Bachman a century back, but now, baby, Titanic’s sunk, George Bush is running the world and some klutz busted up the Ozone layer. Try not to tip over to the doomed empire of sleep for this is going to bore your Johnson stiff, but bear with me and as nude-assed Jesus is my witness, I swear this is heading somewhere…

Concepts are natural. They are not man-made; they’re man-adapted. Remember, the golden word is Perspective. If you look from the sluggard Past, there’s a thing called invention, very seemingly viable and very seemingly plausible, but if you sprint up to Father Christmas some doggone season in the future, there’s only one word that sounds surer, final and saner: discovery. The telephone was invented by the Bell guy. However, since its means exist now and will only be intensified in the pacing years, poor Mr. Bell only discovered the telephone. Its need existed; need might be the mother of ‘invention’ but is the closest extant practical synonym to ‘discovery’. The dastardly point is that concepts aren’t invented and so they can’t modulate. A Line was a Line when the early man waddled all gung-ho on earth, it was a Line when Hitler tangoed through the biggie War, and it’ll be a line when potty children will badger their parents for a picnic on Saturn. Perhaps, man’s adaptability to a line would change, perhaps it would be called linus or linic, but not its concept, the thing that yields and delineates its function, will be as eternal and unblemished as its infancy has been. The mother-of-god, champion conclusion: Civilization is a concept. Ho-hum, you’d say. And I’d say to that: either take a hike or look close. Civilization is a concept and for the prerogative it holds, it cannot be reinvented or rediscovered or bent or breached, the lone thing that can occur is that it can be wrongly adapted to. Eureka! Bravo! (Applause in the audience) Oh please, you’re so kind (kiss, kiss).

That is what’s actually happening. Men are lamentably adapting wrongly to it, or in other less plangent provisions of language, men are exceeding the original adaptation, that is, instead of misinterpreting, they’re exploiting its local, indisputable interpretation.

Sirs and Messrs, I am not a prude; it is basically a reevaluation of rationality, of what all is rational and what all is superficial; the irrational is an explicit term, and I’d be boasting if I use it here, so another time, another article. What we have now is, observe, ‘Overt Civilization’.

It has exceeded its necessity, its aim, intention, and most vitally, it has exceeded its purpose. It was there to convey a decent, prim decorum, a standard for human relations, and from a not-so-pregnant subject, it has been meaninglessly exalted as an obligation, a prerequisite, a stipulation to pose as lucrative. If a man can understand the commonest of human instincts, he can tame it, and if he can tame it, he can control it. Many of these human remote-controls are the hapless sons-of-whores behind intransigent alloy bars with striped cloth basking on their skin like sunlight peeking on a man in a bathroom. It has evolved to a standard that doesn’t ask for a bare minimum, but a s

of the available quart of ‘civilization’, indelibly importunate for an increase, but no one can strife against a mentality long enough without drawing out the closure of inflicted confusion and flustering, a conflict of identity or the justified madness that all men are liberally allowed.

Now, the times are a changing. The theory could have taken a recliner, hunkered over popcorn, a tub o’ cola and a Richard Bachman a century back, but now, baby, Titanic’s sunk, George Bush is running the world and some klutz busted up the Ozone layer. Try not to tip over to the doomed empire of sleep for this is going to bore your Johnson stiff, but bear with me and as nude-assed Jesus is my witness, I swear this is heading somewhere…

Concepts are natural. They are not man-made; they’re man-adapted. Remember, the golden word is Perspective. If you look from the sluggard Past, there’s a thing called invention, very seemingly viable and very seemingly plausible, but if you sprint up to Father Christmas some doggone season in the future, there’s only one word that sounds surer, final and saner: discovery. The telephone was invented by the Bell guy. However, since its means exist now and will only be intensified in the pacing years, poor Mr. Bell only discovered the telephone. Its need existed; need might be the mother of ‘invention’ but is the closest extant practical synonym to ‘discovery’. The dastardly point is that concepts aren’t invented and so they can’t modulate. A Line was a Line when the early man waddled all gung-ho on earth, it was a Line when Hitler tangoed through the biggie War, and it’ll be a line when potty children will badger their parents for a picnic on Saturn. Perhaps, man’s adaptability to a line would change, perhaps it would be called linus or linic, but not its concept, the thing that yields and delineates its function, will be as eternal and unblemished as its infancy has been. The mother-of-god, champion conclusion: Civilization is a concept. Ho-hum, you’d say. And I’d say to that: either take a hike or look close. Civilization is a concept and for the prerogative it holds, it cannot be reinvented or rediscovered or bent or breached, the lone thing that can occur is that it can be wrongly adapted to. Eureka! Bravo! (Applause in the audience) Oh please, you’re so kind (kiss, kiss).

That is what’s actually happening. Men are lamentably adapting wrongly to it, or in other less plangent provisions of language, men are exceeding the original adaptation, that is, instead of misinterpreting, they’re exploiting its local, indisputable interpretation.

Sirs and Messrs, I am not a prude; it is basically a reevaluation of rationality, of what all is rational and what all is superficial; the irrational is an explicit term, and I’d be boasting if I use it here, so another time, another article. What we have now is, observe, ‘Overt Civilization’.

It has exceeded its necessity, its aim, intention, and most vitally, it has exceeded its purpose. It was there to convey a decent, prim decorum, a standard for human relations, and from a not-so-pregnant subject, it has been meaninglessly exalted as an obligation, a prerequisite, a stipulation to pose as lucrative. If a man can understand the commonest of human instincts, he can tame it, and if he can tame it, he can control it. Many of these human remote-controls are the hapless sons-of-whores behind intransigent alloy bars with striped cloth basking on their skin like sunlight peeking on a man in a bathroom. It has evolved to a standard that doesn’t ask for a bare minimum, but a s

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