Paltry therapeutic rotten
by Daniel Keyes The park, now nearly thirty years old, covered a thousand acres from the Panhandle on its eastern end to the Great Highway and the miles-long fence erected across the length of Ocean Beach as a barricade against wind-whipped sand. Scores of winding lanes, a wealth of trees and fragrant plantings, and numerous bridges spanning the Chain of Lakes and its streams and their tributaries made it a favorite of casual weekend cyclists as well as organized clubs. Among the most avid riders were members of the Golden Gate Ladies Bicycle Club; known as scorchers, they were swift and sure and ample competition for many of the men, save the daredevils who had preempted the title of “crackerjacks.” In the bathroom he plugged in his electric razor and examined his beard in the mirror. He was about to begin shaving when his razor spoke to him. So, when the dialogues started, I kept my own counsel, in time came to understand my delusion, and began to be taught my real profit. The shape I would sin under was not going to be left up to me; this they call resignation. Almost as with us, except for that subdivision which was still to be understood, there was One creature here only. And as I lay there now, I practiced ever newer dreams of this being, manufactured out of fresher, more sophisticated dissatisfactions— give or take a tusk or two, subtract a horn there. And after an hour or two of this pleasantest of siesta occupations, I made an accordingly new discovery. Posture! Perhaps only a One of an essentially gyroscopic people, used to the luxury of moving pavements in which trolley grooves We may incline all at the same comfortable angle, can appreciate how basic is posture here to the rhythms of philosophy, and indeed to the practice of ideals. How sensitively I was getting to understand you. It was not wholly comfortable then, to lie too long prone. Neither technical nor contextual quality are significant Popcriteria. Content(or innate message)is permissible if it did not originate with the designer, producer, or arranger, and does not distract attention from the arrangement, display, or happening. I twisted one arm free and pried at her steely fingers that clamped my other one. Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe hes— His sounds were cut off by a wavelet gently rolling over his head. The changes in this yearsS-F are obvious—or some of them are. The title, date of publication, size, and price, you’ll have noticed by now; also the dropping of the controversial special non-fiction section. There will be more changes next year, I hope; this year, the change in publishing arrangements came too late to do much about adding some of the material I hope to use hereafter. Could an entity who felt differently about things—whose emotions were different—be human? Rideout continued his panicked flailing and sputtering, which left Quincannon no choice in this matter, either. He pulled his right arm free and rapped the man smartly on the chin with a closed fist, a blow that put an abrupt end to the struggle. "I said it infringes. And I hasten to add, Cord, my boy, that you look quite strange, with your mouth open." He reached for the phone and dialed Jayne. He said,Why not? We were once Matter ourselves back-back- Oh, a trillion years ago anyway! Why not build up objects in a Matter medium, or abstract forms or-listen, Brock-why not build up an imitation of ourselves in Matter, ourselves as we used to be? The cars disappeared. It seemed he staggered through the smoke for hours. He nearly forgot why he was there, until he heard a yell behind him:Hey Charlie! Where ya goin? May 15—Dr. Strauss is very angry at me for not having written any progress reports in two weeks. Hes justified because the lab is now paying me a regular salary. I told him I was too busy thinking and reading. When I pointed out that writing was such a slow process that it made me impatient with my poor handwriting, he suggested that I learn to type. It’s much easier to write now because I can type nearly seventy-five words a minute. Dr. Strauss continually reminds me of the need to speak and write simply so that people will be able to understand me. paltry therapeutic rotten False Spare and Time of the Apartment. These planes found their rectilinear equivalent in the apartment. The right angles between the walls and ceiling were footholds in a valid system of time, unlike the suffocating dome of the planetarium, expressing its infinity of symmetrical boredom. He watched Karen Novotny walk through the rooms, relating the movements of her thighs and hips to the architectonics of floor and ceiling. This cool-limbed young woman was a modulus, by multiplying her into the space and time of the apartment he would obtain a valid unit of existence. Thank you. Now, boy, are you satisfied? PROGRESS REPORT 9—April 3 Am I apart, the only one with balance? If so, why so?.
