Every Breath You Take
I'm watching you. Not all of you, but you.
I'm inside your head. I know what you've been reading.
Because I'm watching you.
Why would someone raid the library for books on infrastructural communication mediums? I think that's fairly obvious.
The time came, this week, to speak to Vladimir's mentor in person. When I arrived, his office door was locked, but I could hear motion and someone talking behind it. I knocked, and a sort of upset groan returned. I knocked again, and the groan returned louder and more desperate. I knelt down to the mail slot (not as uncommon as you might think, a lot of WU faculty who practically live in their offices have these installed) and lifted it open.
"Excuse me. I'd like to talk to you about Vladimir Wipidowsky. I know about the work you two have done together, and I've got enough proof to..." The door opened and I looked up at a broken man, his cheeks slick with tears. He pointed abruptly into his office, and I stepped in as he closed the door.
The office was a mess, and not in the intentional sort of way (like Ed Spitznagel's office. If you ever get the chance, it's in Cupples II); broken coffee mugs, stacks of journals overturned, a swivel chair wheel still spinning in the air. He pointed to a seat that had not been overturned, and I took it.
"I demand to know what is going on, and what you're plan is. If I go to press with what I know, you could lose tenure." The mentor supported his red face in his palm, shaking his head and pushing a piece of paper towards me.
"I have been poisoned by my lab assistant, Vladimir Wipidowsky. In refusing to let him proceed down an unethical path, I made myself his target. He has produced a lesion in my brain which makes difficult, which makes it hard to make words. I can not write enough to arrest, he has more of proof than I. Stop him. Please?"
On top of this scrawled letter was a plastic bag containing an empty vial. "Is this what he used to... what he used on you?"
The mentor nodded.
"Have you got any more of it?"
I'm inside your head. I know what you've been reading.
Because I'm watching you.
Why would someone raid the library for books on infrastructural communication mediums? I think that's fairly obvious.
The time came, this week, to speak to Vladimir's mentor in person. When I arrived, his office door was locked, but I could hear motion and someone talking behind it. I knocked, and a sort of upset groan returned. I knocked again, and the groan returned louder and more desperate. I knelt down to the mail slot (not as uncommon as you might think, a lot of WU faculty who practically live in their offices have these installed) and lifted it open.
"Excuse me. I'd like to talk to you about Vladimir Wipidowsky. I know about the work you two have done together, and I've got enough proof to..." The door opened and I looked up at a broken man, his cheeks slick with tears. He pointed abruptly into his office, and I stepped in as he closed the door.
The office was a mess, and not in the intentional sort of way (like Ed Spitznagel's office. If you ever get the chance, it's in Cupples II); broken coffee mugs, stacks of journals overturned, a swivel chair wheel still spinning in the air. He pointed to a seat that had not been overturned, and I took it.
"I demand to know what is going on, and what you're plan is. If I go to press with what I know, you could lose tenure." The mentor supported his red face in his palm, shaking his head and pushing a piece of paper towards me.
"I have been poisoned by my lab assistant, Vladimir Wipidowsky. In refusing to let him proceed down an unethical path, I made myself his target. He has produced a lesion in my brain which makes difficult, which makes it hard to make words. I can not write enough to arrest, he has more of proof than I. Stop him. Please?"
On top of this scrawled letter was a plastic bag containing an empty vial. "Is this what he used to... what he used on you?"
The mentor nodded.
"Have you got any more of it?"
posted by Alfonzo Debussy | 1:56 PM
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