These were the days when men believed the forest was home to fairies, nymphs & every monster, when wolves spoke to little girls & oxen were blue & tall as a redwood. I thought I told you that I was a monster, that we were both monsters together in this land of ugliness & war--I thought I told you to eat the fare of a monster on a table of bones, the flesh of little boys and girls who were surprised out of their trembling sleep by things that crept under their beds and inside their closets. This is how his dreaming eyes toil through their dreams, working, working, working their way along through the nightmarish dreamscapes, opening the doors to the Categorical Bog, that place of poisoned ground & madness, where skin is melted off and the horrors beneath them do not perish, but must suffer on and on in all their grotesque agonies. Of course, the wilder horses of the herd will trample the earth and revolt against our whips & harnesses--and so we shall eat horseflesh and revenge ourselves; and nothing shall strike our tongues with disgust until we have eaten every rebellious horse, dog, cat & man that refuses to abide by the commands of the flesh. That was how I stole myself away from myself, how I was removed from myself, and then was twice and thrice removed & abstracted from everything, until there was nothing left but pure mathematics, and I was made of points & geometry.