Thursday, May 22, 2008

Santa Fe Paradoxes

I'm tucked into a window seat in a 19th century adobe - Santa Fe's sun has vanished, replaced by a chilly rain - listening to George Johnson talking about how he constructed a story on the paradoxes inherent in consciousness. As the rain pounds against the window, I look out to see a merrily spurting sprinkler, its spray billowing like silk in the gusts.

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