In the sunshine he sleeps and when darkness rolls up he dreams. Lazy bones,
sleeping in the sun. What a life for a dead man. But about those bones:
lately in his dreams he has become more aware of them and the flesh they once
supported. He moves through his dreams now with hands and feet, limbs and torso,
lights and liver, belly and guts and all the rest. How can this be? What about
that "bodiless hegira?" They said this was the voyage out, up from the blue world
and its none-too-solid flesh, into the long dream of mind.
So they lied. There is no unembodied mind. All memory, cognition, invention spring
from expressed potentiation, the spark in the husk. You are what you eat, Meat.
We know this.