I have found you among the texts (but not the textures) of your life, in the library of your cunning, where the abstracts of forty papers open, one by one, like small windows partly sealed by terminology's lacquer. They reveal you both aloof and enthralled, a restless mind of intersecting planes. How can I resist the paper "Artist and Analyst"? Yet I do, thinking it best to stay within the frame we've chosen, using the palette we invent, creating a mosaic in motion. Whenever I set a shard in place, the mosaic evolves, blurs a moment, then a new scene refines, throwing past into relief, drawing present into mind. So I will sacrifice my yen to know the what and whim of you. Though my curiosity is swelling like a Magellanic Cloud filled with a luminous starfield of questions, I'll sacrifice them on the altar of our ineffable cause. A padded altar. A cause quilted with passion, and insight whose razors cut clean as thrill. A sacrifice intoxicating as any pill.
From Origami Bridges by Diane Ackerman. Copyright © 2003 by Diane Ackerman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins. All rights reserved.