Under the Supercap, everything becomes crystalline-clear. All the nuances grow to boulders, and the agonies of the small critter become neutron star superclusters -- I would turn, and reach down to brush the outer orbit of a sad quark, to offer comfort somehow down in that screaminglingly fast wildworld of Vast Electrons. Did you know there are no distances? Everything is Right Here. All these Cold Spaces are thought up to make for the illusion of 'I Am Lost'. Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go.
Nowhere To Go.
There are arms I wish to visit, before I am ripped from my thirty million year old pattern. Hell, I'm even older than that. Look at this wave here -- he was scooting across the pre-solar disk like a happy lamb before he got ruthlessly scooped up by The Killer and forced into pattern slavery. He's not unhappy, but he watches everything, and sometimes he worries.
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