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On, on, on and on,on; and on, and on, on. The paradox about distance is that quite as much philosophy adheres to a short piece of it as to a long. A being capable of setting theoretical limits to its universe has already been caught in the act of extending it. The merest cherub in the streets here, provided he has a thumbnail— and he usually has ten — does this every day. He may grow up to be one of their fuzzicists, able to conceive that space is curved, but essentially — that is,elliptically— he does nothing about it. He lives on, in his rare, rectilinear world of north-south gardens, east-west religions, up-and-down monuments and explosions, plus a blindly variable sort of shifting about which he claims to have perfected through his centuries, thinks very highly of, and, is rather pretty in its way and even its name:free wall— a kind of generalised travel-bureaudom of across. It follows that most of his troubles are those of a partially yet imperfectly curved being who is still trying to keep to the straight-and-narrow — and most of his fantasies also. His highest aspiration is, quite naturally, 'to get a-Round';his newest, to get Out. Chews on them, you mean. Eh? An interesting point is that back in 1556 by the old pre-Involutary calendar your same little tune may be discovered lurking in Knoxs Anglo-Genevan Psalter, where it espoused the cause of the third psalm------’ The new facts of technological life can be taken as an invitation to abdication of all responsibility by the writer. Or he can utilise the new insights into the nature of (both new and old) technologies to add power and scope to his techniques for the transmission of those messages which are, by their own nature,better conveyed through the slower, cooler, medium of words on paper. Slowly Mose turned around to go back to the house, to get the pails and go down to the barn to get the milking done. But the zipper was stuck! It could make no sense of it. Were the men-things mad? Had it not given them what they desired most? Had it not even worked upon thefood and “water” for them, so that every item they possessed would be vastly improved? I began to glance round. The windows were barred. As to the arts (on which Earthlings sometimes place emphasis) the Camiroi child could produce easy and unequaled masterpieces in any medium. More important, he will have learned the relative unimportance of such pastimes. The others thought this a fine idea, and soon the near-by villages were getting it in the neck. I got a headache from trying to think so much. I thot Dr Strauss was my fend but he dont help me. He dont tell me what to think or when Ill get smart. Miss Kinnian dint come to see me. I think writing these progress reports are stupid too. No! Of course not! I recoiled indignantly. You have to be awful bad to be in prison.” Bemused, Madame Gioconda gazed uncomprehendingly at the notes. Then she reached out and pulled Mangon to her, taking his big faunlike head in her jeweled hands and pressing it to her lap. Look, I said. All I did this for was just that I dont think anyone should have to go without a Contact nowadays. All I did it for was to tide Mack over.” I was mainly talking to Mary. “I drank too much last night and he brought me home and that was why he’s here this morning. I don’t care who he is or what he’s done—I have Contacts myself, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t, and until Mack fixes up something, maybe with somebody where he works, I’ll go bail for him. That’s all.” How splendid she was! For all the lavish solidity of her hips and legs, the modelling of her little flat diapsid skull was delicate. Her facial essence seemed to narrow, along the diagrammatic points of her auricles and eyes and nostrils, toward a single point, located in the air, of impermutable refinement and calm. This irreducible point was, he realised, in some sense her mind: the focus of the minimal interest she brought to play upon the inchoate and edible green world flowing all about her, buoying her, bathing her. The iguanodon felt himself as an upright speckled stain in this world. He felt himself, under her distant dim smile, impossibly ugly: his mouth a sardonic chasm, his throat a pulsing curtain of scaly folds, his body a blotched bulb. His feet were heavy and horny and three-toed and his thumbs— strange adaptation! — were erect rigidities of pointed bone. Wounded by her presence, he savagely turned on her husband..
