I amaze myself.  How many years were spent concocting crazy schemes and goofy plans that, although solid in theory, yielded unexpected results?  Even more unbelievable was my steadfast refusal to give up.  Surely with a little tweaking, the plans would produce the visions I had engineered in my head.  Fabulous schemes made real by will alone!  Bending natural law to suit my mood!  The reanimation of dead tissue!

It’s a good thing that none of these succeeded or I’d really be out of control.  There’s nothing worse than mental gymnastics.  The cerebral exhiliration they produce is usually used as a substitute for real emotion.  Who cares about the unpredictability of feelings when provable outcomes are only a theorem away?  Safe inside my double-blind test laboratory, I can perform experiments to prove my hypothesis that the heart is an unreliable source of data and subject to quantum fluctuation.

There’s no room for that nonsense in a three-dimensional world.  Give me facts, theories and concrete evidence and I will construct a brave new world free of circuitous meandering and romantic idealism.  Who needs music and candlelight?  You can’t see a damn thing through the microscope with lighting that bad.  And will someone please tell the contralto to shut up?  I can’t think with all that racket!

Ah, that’s better.  For a moment there, I thought I might quote Byron and start openly weeping.  That wouldn’t do at all.    Hey, what’s this on my cheek. . .?


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