A Man of Science...and Sadness

Moon over Berlin. Photo credit: Egbert Borutta

Sterile, starless city sky. Moon like a lit nickle on a black marble countertop, a dot against the dark. Somewhere, someone, some loved one, some someday-to-be loved one, stares at the same moon. Right, Science Man? Science Man?...

Dear Damon,

The long Berlin winter chills me. I sit in my study, the first draft of Finger, Butter, Verboten* before me. I should feel the warmth of accomplishment, but I do not.

The life of the mind is a noble one--rubbing one's sticks until one produces a spark, a glow for one's fellow humans. Many a great man and woman has so rubbed in obscurity. I, on the other hand, have had the good fortune to be recognized in my lifetime for my contribution. Nevertheless, rubbing those sticks is hard, my friend. It wears a man down, leaves him wan, wistful, alone.

Hence, though I have completed only 2/3 of my intended trilogy, I shall take a sabbatical. I know--my time here in Berlin was supposed to be my sabbatical. Yet though the winter and my work are nearly done, I must away.

Tell Pinto I am coming to meet him; I want to join him in his travels, to see the world through the eyes not of a scientist, nor a poet, but merely a man--a man enjoying, for once, the spark and glow of others.

Who knows? Perhaps I will meet Science Woman somewhere along the way.

Stay strong, my friend. And stay clean.

Science Man


PS--Your friend Tim's song, Trucker's Lullaby, while sad, is a thing of great beauty--a spark, a glow--and has helped me through the winter.

PPS--Thank you again for taking care of Raw while I am away.



* The second tractate of his trilogy on the adult entertainment industries of the former major axis powers.