Again, I am in front of a ghost. I remember the days when I lived in a spaceship, and there was that white rat, that beautiful white rat, whose hair was so black and whose bones were sickly. Black Jacket, Red Pants, curse-words from mother mary herself.
I wanted to draw. I miss those days. My salad days. And sometimes I fall in love with the poet and I'm aesthetic, but yet, there is beauty in a mathematician.