my head is swimming with numbers and Greek letters and equation after equation after equation. and still, no matter how many revisions i make, it still won’t work. nothing works anymore.
two-footed lambda stares me down and insists i’m wasting my time. theta (forever my favourite) declares me inadequate, too small to achieve something so big. sigma seems to point in my direction, as if to accuse me of something else. and yet i push on–for something must eventually work, yes?
i am no god, no. i neither claim to be such nor aspire to do so. i am a mortal, and i understand this so, so well. but even in his fall, Icarus was immortalized. i can only hope the world is so kind to me.
Laying on my vivisection table kicking my legs back and forth writing and when you look over my shoulder you see that I’m writing up a lab report of the strange and unsettling results of your vivisection
“‘Someday,’ says Luca Turin, 'a scientist, or perhaps a poet, will manage to explain why we humans are so fond of ten-carbon (terpene) alcohols and aldehydes.’ That’s the scent of lavender, rose and lemon to you and me.”
