Ahab continues going over his charts. O green flames, O atomic flames, why do you invade my brain and infect me with every unclean malady? I am drunk. I am drunk upon my own madness. I travel through my madness and scatter little skulls all about the floor: they are seeds of massive stone archways and tall skyscrapers and every species of blasphemy and abomination. What are these gun barrels I have for fingertips, what is this metal heart that beats on in my chest, what is this synthetic blood and prosthetic liver in my body? O my brains are made of silicone! I am drunk upon electric currents, I am wild with the green fire, O this green fire is the blooming springtime, so weary of blooming it dreads the days gaining on the nights, and blesses the nights gaining on the days. I am weary of blooming; I am weary of waking in the morning; I wish only to sleep and sleep and sleep; I wish only to be cold like a seed in the winter, a waiting thing, a resting and sleeping thing. I am a solid mass: from head to toe I am a block: the green fire burns at my center, and causes every sort of turmoil to manifest itself in my body: that solid block takes on the appearance of variety, it starts to stir with life: the green fire moves it as fire makes water churn and boil. This is my secret engine, buried within me, so hidden that no doctor knows the green fire exists, no scientist has discovered these green flames: they cause my body to stir with life, these green flames are the engine of my fever and of my living passion: without them I am one solid mass of substance, with no part different from any other part, with nothing stirring and nothing moving and nothing churning with life: the green flames are the eternal urge in the heart to beat, the eternal urge in the brain to push thought along like wind: they are the inspiration of my emotion and dreams, of my rushing blood and body heat.