Abysmal Vapor
Supersniffer 2000 - robot fart detection device
The Truth Is A Woman Who
looks like a man who looks like a woman who
stands in front of a mirror opposite a mirror
in a room within a room
at the end of a circular corridor in space.
She's a bastard.
She doesn't miss a thing. Loves it
when she's misunderstood.
Sighs with pleasure
when you say she doesn't exist.
Never uses make-up. To her that clever stuff
about the blueness of the sky being an illusion
is just an illusion. Language wasn't her idea.
There's nothing quite like a philosopher
to make her laugh.
From time to time she does a double-take
at a scientist. Then
laughs almost as long.
The way they concentrate
only on the curvature of the smudges
her long gown makes in the dust.
She's there when forests and cities burn, but has
no history of her own. Give her a rifle,
she'd only pick her teeth with it.
She's the friend, if only they knew it,
of the outcast mad (survivors
of torture too vivid to remember).
She's no psychotherapist, but if you can look
into her eyes,
you don't need therapy.
She's waded in the same river so often
its mud continually anticipates
the soles of her feet.
She blushes the colour of leaves
and listen,
nothing frightens her. Even nothing
doesn't frighten her.
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/Archive/James01.htm
This guy probably has large experience with halluciogens ...
looks like a man who looks like a woman who
stands in front of a mirror opposite a mirror
in a room within a room
at the end of a circular corridor in space.
She's a bastard.
She doesn't miss a thing. Loves it
when she's misunderstood.
Sighs with pleasure
when you say she doesn't exist.
Never uses make-up. To her that clever stuff
about the blueness of the sky being an illusion
is just an illusion. Language wasn't her idea.
There's nothing quite like a philosopher
to make her laugh.
From time to time she does a double-take
at a scientist. Then
laughs almost as long.
The way they concentrate
only on the curvature of the smudges
her long gown makes in the dust.
She's there when forests and cities burn, but has
no history of her own. Give her a rifle,
she'd only pick her teeth with it.
She's the friend, if only they knew it,
of the outcast mad (survivors
of torture too vivid to remember).
She's no psychotherapist, but if you can look
into her eyes,
you don't need therapy.
She's waded in the same river so often
its mud continually anticipates
the soles of her feet.
She blushes the colour of leaves
and listen,
nothing frightens her. Even nothing
doesn't frighten her.
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/Archive/James01.htm
This guy probably has large experience with halluciogens ...