Once A Guy Stood All Day Shaking

I Started Reading Sf When I Was About Twelve And I Read All I Could, So Any Author Who Was Writing About That Time, I Read. But There's No Doubt Who Got Me Off Originally And That Was A. E. Van Vogt.

Odd That The Brain Could Function On Its Own, Without Acquainting Him With Its Purposes, Its Reasons. But The Brain Was An Organ, Like The Spleen, Heart, Kidneys. And They Went About Their Private Activities. So Why Not The Brain?

The Day Came. The Wrath Descended. Sin, Guilt, And Retribution? The Manic Psychoses Of Those Entities We Referred To As States, Institutions, Systems - The Powers, The Thrones, The Dominations - The Things Which Perpetually Merge With Men And Emerge From Them? Our Darkness, Externalized And Visible? However You Look Upon These Matters, The Critical Point Was Reached. The Wrath Descended.

But The Actual Touch Of Her Lingered, Inside His Heart. That Remained. In All The Years Of His Life Ahead, The Long Years Without Her, With Never Seeing Her Or Hearing From Her Or Knowing Anything About Her, If She Was Alive Or Happy Or Dead Or What, That Touch Stayed Locked Within Him, Sealed In Himself, And Never Went Away. That One Touch Of Her Hand.

Reality Is Just A Point Of View.