far from

[squirrel the way]

"Her voice motioned on its way to that unseen world. Now, with the message sent, the words said, she wanted to call them back, to censor, to rearrange them, to make a prettier sentence, a fairer explanations of her soul. <...> Now the words were not hers at all, they belonged to space, they belonged to no one until they arrived, and they were travelling at 186000 miles a second to their target".
Ray Bradbury, "The Martian Chronicles"

он писал про нас. и пусть он ничего не понимал в технике, в отличие от того же Азимова, но он писал про нас.

@темы: floating point... of view, voices in my head

Comments

[cellar.door]

боже, я помню, помню!