Science Man: Color Me Marooned, but Not Afeared

Dear Damon & Readers,

I hope this note finds you well. I am well as I write it, though I realize now more than ever that we live by the moment. After my escape on the beaches of Puget Sound, I believe I am free of those mercenaries who are after my head. (Worry not, Readers; as Damon will tell you, my missives shall be passed through an elaborate and ever changing chain of trustworthy couriers (a tactic I learned in my days as the invisible "Chicago Ninth," when my colleagues convinced me, the young and brash academic—and the author of the Pigasus concept, to stay underground and carry on their work).

At the time, I am stuck in a rather remote location, though I shall soon depart. I have no intention of banishing myself to the woods. I am determined that I shall have left my isolation in Berlin.

My Dear Salman, I finally understand how you felt! As though you were an island entire! Of course, as a poet, I invoke my forebear, Donne, who reminds us that any such talk is foolish. Just look at the hundreds who jeopardize themselves that my isolation might be safe, might someday end!

But I do more than turn to the verse of others; indeed, I write my own. Here's a little sing-songy ditty, a sort of schoolyard taunt for these fools who would bully me and worse if only they could catch me:




A Note to My Would-Be Assassins

You wade through the masses; you replace your glasses; you peer and you poke and cajole and say "damn!"
You’re slow as molasses, you half-witted asses; you’re time zones behind an old man on the lam!
Each one a clown; you stomp and you frown--How could you believe that you'd fill me with fear?
No matter the town, each street you walk down, my tag will await in a penmanship clear:

Keep looking, you slime.
Right place, wrong time.
Too late...
Science Man was here.




Send my best to Pinto in New Zealand.

Science Man



Now you see him, now you don't: Science Man enjoys a stroll through New York's Chinatown.


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Editor's Note: Matt M. of Hot Atmosphere wrote to explain further the nickname "Navy Bean." It appears that the artist formerly known as the Dove has a propensity for flakiness. Either that or his father's navy bean soup is that good. We've posted the explanatory e-mail in its entirety in the Navy Bean post's comments section.