The Mind Is The Reality. You Are

No Matter How We Defend Ourselves Against The Outside We're Always Licked By Something From The Inside. Ther's No Defense Against Betrayal, And We All Betray Ourselves.

It's Been Suggested That Most Women Fail To Write Significantly Because The Female Mind Is Viscerotonic, And Occupied Almost Exclusively With The Moment-to-moment Reality Of Emotions. If This Is True, Literature's Loss Is Science Fiction's Gain, For Out Of Bounds, Judith Merril's Collection Of Short Stories, Is A Warm And Colorful Rendering Of The Minutiae Of The Future.

You Pigs, You. You Rut Like Pigs, Is All. You Got The Most In You, And You Use The Least. You Hear Me, You? Got A Million In You And Spend Pennies. Got A Genius In You And Think Crazies. Got A Heart In You And Feel Empties. All A You. Every You.

That's Me," He Said, Motioning To The Robot. "that's All Of Us. We Prattle About Free Will, But We're Nothing But Response...mechanical Reaction In Prescribed Grooves.

Eight, Sir; Seven, Sir; Six, Sir; Five, Sir; Four, Sir; Three, Sir; Two, Sir; One! Tenser, Said The Tensor. Tenser, Said The Tensor. Tension, Apprehension, And Dissension Have Begun.