I will not go gently into that good night

I feel that I'm on he precipice of a breakthrough; that inflection point where everything, and everyone, feels frustratingly small and narrow-minded, a desire to be like Morison and 'break on through to the other side,' or be like Armstrong when he took the Longview and reveled in his 'house with unlocked doors, changing the channels for an hour or two.'  It's all just very frustrating.  Like Thomas, I feel rage, rage against the dying of the light.  Or at least I'll channel that rage into more Machiavellian modalities, more productive processes.  Schemata are being hatched, time is being bidden.

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