I cut along the rat's bowels, he squirming. I take the scalpel to his genitals, pinning him with my other hand. The blood begins to accumulate on the table. I cut upward; the guts in the abdomen swell out, unleashed. I slice the throat, and his life slowly leaves him in jerks. I saw at the skull; it is too hard, and there are no teeth on my scalpel. I shall have to prepare myself better for the next one.

My mind is a complete blank. I killed the rat so that I may comprehend killing the rat, and I still cannot do so. I do not understand this . . . I do not understand this at all.

Here I stand, in the center of the universe, a brain with tentacle tongues, reaching out into the world, tasting, tasting, tasting; and I can't understand it . . . I can't understand anything at all. I float in the center of the stars, my tongues reaching out into every corner and crevice, my attention firm, my concentration hard; and I cannot comprehend a thing, not a thing.