Oh, Margret. We keep you in a box. We observe you from afar. You were brilliant, you know? One of our best astronauts. Not the best astrophysicist perhaps, but you had moxie. You’re instincts were good, but alas, instinct can only save you for so long. Eventually the cold hard properties of probability cut through. That’s why we have method, Margret. Method you ignored, because you were curious.
Oh, Margret. Look at what you’ve become. How many spines is that? Three? Hard to tell under all that extra flesh. Two and and a half heads. Fifteen limbs and it's hard to tell what’s a leg and what’s an arm. But you got your advanced nervous system, didn’t you? You got what they always had. A little too close to the sun, my dear Icarus.
Oh, Margret. Tell us what you see. That vision of yours is special now, isn’t it? You might be a half ton mass of pulsating biological mass, but there’s something quite sophisticated at work on the inside. It’s not just the extra colours is it? Or the visions of previously unknown forces? No, I think you can see something more. I think you can see Time. And you are keeping that from us.
Oh, Margret. Why don’t you talk? Why do you make me do these things to you?
Paddy Dobson
7th June 2022