I knew a guy from Taipei. He was more Type B, ironically.
I was once asked to build a bullet train. "No problem. I can do that," I thought. There was a catch, however. I didn't get to start from scratch. They already had an old, rattly, coal-burning locomotive. They wanted me to turn the old locomotive into a bullet train. "Oh," I thought. "That's actually going to be much harder than just starting from scratch. Hmmm..." There was, however, another catch. They couldn't afford to stop the train. They wanted me to change it into a bullet train WHILE IT WAS MOVING DOWN THE TRACK.
Okay, I don't build trains. I write software. No one would ever ask a train builder to do that sort of thing. People ask me to do that sort of thing all the time, however. It's terribly complicated, and sometimes I want to tie people up and lay them on the tracks, twisting my long black moustache and laughing a sinister chuckle as they scream, "Please! Please! The train is coming!" "Of course it's coming!" I'd say. "It can't stop! IT CAN NEVER STOP! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I wonder if the ghosts of dead Indians really entered Jim Morrison's body when he was a kid. If so, I bet they regretted it later. I would have. "Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding. Ghosts crowd the child's fragile eggshell mind."
Hello, friend. How are you today?
Later. Love.
