How to panic

This entry is part 31 of 39 in the series Manual

Flip, flop and fly — not necessarily in that order.

Re-wire all your circuits and don’t ground anything.

Re-calibrate your trajectory every half-second like a butterfly en route to nothing in particular.

Unless you believe in market forces, you will die in your sins. Trust in the rational investor and the invisible hand.

Use the small hammer provided to break the glass.

When called upon to participate in a panic attack, be sure to bring the viable issue of your torrid fling with a goat.

Sew panic buttons into all your shirts for easy access.

Alongside the lyric, dramatic and satiric, pre-Socratic philosophers recognized the importance of the panic mode.

If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, you must be some kind of goddamned robot.

Panic, like dancing, worship services and outbreaks of bubonic plague, is best experienced in a group setting.

Love may take you out of yourself, but only panic can save you from the tedium of thought.

Don’t shout “fire!” willy-nilly in a crowded theater. Wait for a quiet moment full of dramatic tension.

Remember, it’s not true that the lemmings in that Disney nature film committed mass suicide. They were pushed.

How to sit

This entry is part 30 of 39 in the series Manual

Bend in two places. Ready yourself for the first origami fold.

When choosing a seat, remember: comfort is important. Don’t stint on the gluteal implants.

Get off your high horse and have it shot.

Sit on the earth like a bird brooding an enormous egg. Don’t be surprised if it takes a while to hatch.

Donate your wings to a soup kitchen for Wing Night Wednesday.

Why be normal? Straddle a chair backwards, you rebel you.

Wait until your number is called. Requests to be buried in a sitting position are usually honored.

Before accepting an endowed chair, make sure it isn’t too well endowed. That could get uncomfortable.

Seat belts are for cowards, and also for people riding in automobiles.

Rocking chairs are passé. Find a chair that throbs.

If the ground is rocky or uneven, simply levitate.

Let your legs atrophy like Daruma. Put the fun back in fundament.

Refuse to meditate for only three bowls of rice a day. Join a sit-down strike for some decent drugs.

Contrary to popular opinion, shutting the fuck up is not an inevitable consequence of sitting your ass down.

If you’re visiting the equator, sit down very carefully. The earth is spinning at 1,038 miles per hour!

Let sleeping kundalinis lie. Just between you and me, the subtle winds from the root chakra smell like shit.

Just sit. Sit! Good boy.

Words on the Street

Homeless guy with sign: Consuming Mindfully Since 2004

 

Happy Earth Day. Even if the earth is about to pound the east coast of the U.S. and Canada with a winter storm after weeks of unseasonably warm weather. “Global weirding,” here we come!

How to fit in

This entry is part 29 of 39 in the series Manual


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Learn the stars. Everyone around here knows them by their first names.

Drink gin mixed with tears from the visitation room of a state penitentiary.

Who doesn’t enjoy the suffering of the despicable?

Tell jokes in which cats come to a violent end.

Communicate solely through IM and extemporized qasidas.

Wear clothes.

Start an office betting pool for the Van Cliburn International Piano Competition.

Stockpile dill pickles, ammunition and expurgated bibles.

Paint by the numbers.

When stopping to see a young lady who is not at home, the gentleman caller should leave a handsomely printed card.

Do things in groups that you would never do by yourself, e.g. burning a cross or playing Parcheesi.

Avoid unprocessed foods.

Have a conversion experience, but don’t let it stop you from being the same old asshole.

Read bestselling books, such as Business Secrets of the Zombies and The Joy Luck Sisterhood of the Traveling Hunger Games.

Two words: hand jive.

Two more words: accordion dirge.

When you meet the Buddha, capture the moment on your cellphone.

How to cast a shadow

This entry is part 27 of 39 in the series Manual


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Do not emit light yourself. You can glow, but only with radiance borrowed from elsewhere.

Take corporeal form. Acquire inertial mass.

Become at least partially diurnal, or failing that, inhabit a city that never sleeps.

Occlude.

Contrary to popular belief, it is not necessary to have a soul in order to have a shadow.

Maintain proximity with another body or surface, e.g. the ground, if you want visual evidence of your shadow.

Do not subsist mainly or entirely on a diet of blood.

If your shadow becomes inky, or disappears into Stygian darkness, you may need to dispense with the fedora and trenchcoat.

If you’re new to shadow-casting, work on getting a crisp, dark umbra before advancing to a penumbra and—for advanced students only—an antumbra.

To make your shadow dance, dance. To make your shadow talk, stand on a streambank.

Learn from your shadow. Broken glass won’t cut it, barbed wire can’t stop it, mud doesn’t stick.

Whether or not you have a dark side, you can do your part to keep the world from becoming a desert, blasted by the implacable light of reason.

At noon on the equator, your shadow will stretch into the earth like a vein of pyrite.

If your shadow is crossed by the shadow of a black cat, throw pepper over your shoulder.

Keep your friends close and your shadow closer.

Do not attempt to make love to your shadow. That’s been shown to cause amnesia in laboratory rats.

Don’t share your shadow with strangers. Ideally, everyone should cast his or her own.

If you see nothing, say nothing. The shadow government appreciates your cooperation.