from THE JOURNALS OF THE SECRET CHIEF

... the situation looks increasingly hopeless. The more feverish my efforts to corner the short-terms into some kind of action, the more resolutely they decline even the smallest forward movement. My tinkering produces at best increased self-consciousness, some hazy picture of the soulless creature staring back at them from the charred mirror- face; which is to say it hobbles them more surely than a ball and chain, tethers their awareness to a decaying orbit around the unthinkable absence at their centers. Had I so much as one real replica at my disposal ...

Today's subject appears to be a 'writer.' How near to my heart these ones are, scribbling down their sad little stabs at the duality of consciousness in general, the duality of theirs in particular ... how amusing to see them one and all confuse the two, then deliver their useless findings into their enemy's hands ... they are perhaps the cleverest of my retarded children; but if they were really smart they'd get themselves guns.