He had been born with books already in his mind, word by perfect word, and the compulsion to write them. Who had put them there, how, and with what purpose, were things he didn't know. He suspected dangerous reasons, and the very texture of what he typed made him shiver at times.
But he never stopped writing.
.finis.
Brevity is the width of soul.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Any Given Day
Not having read The Man Who Was Thursday, a group of five intelligence agencies managed to unknowingly create between them a terrorist cell with no actual terrorists in it. Each member, to maintain cover, pushed for an attack. All of them agreed in the hope of catching the higher-ups.
.finis.
.finis.
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Six Faces of Divinity
Newton wrote about alchemy and angels. Einstein was more discreet.
Or perhaps he didn't forgive God for his method of judgment, nor Heisenberg for proving it.
.finish.
Or perhaps he didn't forgive God for his method of judgment, nor Heisenberg for proving it.
.finish.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Ninth Way
A combination of advanced psychotherapy and very specific chemicals can permanently free your mind of consumerism.
If you can afford them.
.finis.
If you can afford them.
.finis.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Statistical Inference
Statistically speaking, out of more than six billion people you should get at least one super-genius, somebody truly in another league. Do you know who she is? And if we don't, what does it tell you about what she might be doing?
.finis.
.finis.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The King
The ship is almost too small for you, as all places are, but you suffer patiently. You are willingly chained, a prisoner by your own choice. The tiny humans only think they captured you; sustenance was growing scarce in the island, and something tells you they are taking you to a richer land to rule.
Maybe you will start by eating the blond female.
.finis.
Maybe you will start by eating the blond female.
.finis.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
The Shadow Behind
His murders didn't look like murders, so he was never pursued, and thus never caught. Nobody but him counted them; two hundred bodies by the night of his fortieth birthday.
He thought about retiring while he was the best, but a thought knotted his gut. He couldn't be sure.
He had no choice but to keep going, hope he was winning, ignore the nightmares about a faceless man recording names on a book thicker than his.
.finis.
He thought about retiring while he was the best, but a thought knotted his gut. He couldn't be sure.
He had no choice but to keep going, hope he was winning, ignore the nightmares about a faceless man recording names on a book thicker than his.
.finis.
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