For an amusing diversion, check out this link, provided I did it correct this time.
So I posted a comment on the NY Times Ethics blog for the first time.
Here’s the connection to the article. I am post #194.
Click to go to article. It’s an interesting read.
Francisco opened his eyes. Sand clung to his face, hands, and arms. He lay at the foot of a large heap of sand at the back of a construction site. The last thing he remembered from this sequence was with Rachael again. She had been sitting on his lap showing him how to convert a Youtube video soundtrack into an MP3 file. He still felt her weight pressing close to his legs. He still heard the echo of her laughter. The scent of her hair lingered. But how could her scent be there at all if he was dreaming or remembering. Something was poking his thigh from inside his pocket. He withdrew a folded piece of paper and a photograph. His life was beginning to feel as convulsive as a Barnaby Furnas canvas.
It was a muggy, rainy kind of day; not particulalrly cold, which made the chill Francisco experienced all the more suspect. Then it hit him, like he knew it would ultimately, but had hoped, prayed to himself that he might awaken from this exsistance and be back in the warm embrace of Rachael. And, yet, he also knew that the cold feeling, now accompanied by dizziness and profuse sweating would be a gateway back to a time with Rachael, however fleeting. He pulled his trenchcoat tighter, muttering to himself, “Fuck Corporate”. He knew the words spoken brazenly before would come back to haunt him. Feeling as though he were about to disembark on Toad’s Wild Ride again, he found as soft a spot in front of the old brownstone as he could because he knew he would never make it inside. He needed to find privacy. He thought about his actions of the last 24 hours and his commitment to drinking the whole drink. It was too late to go back, this bullet had left the chamber. He didn’t know if the drink kept things under control, if it somehow kept him intact, if it influenced the dreams or what. For all he knew it would kill him in this dose, but Francisco was tired of living in this half-life. Whatever lay on the other side of the looking-glass would be a welcome alternative to what he had found on this side. Would he go to Rachael and never come back? Would it be more vivid this time? He had been experimenting but didn’t have any answers. He was a hack with no expertise, just a hunch and a desire for something better than what he had. Corporate had needed it to be this way. He wiped the persperation from his brow. He was feeling much less centered now and things were beginning to spin and darken. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen very soon. The sense was that gravity was no longer his friend as he careened into a small grouping of bushes, grasping out for the railing to the stairs, rolling to his back as he settled on the dirt between the bush and the stoop. He had passing thoughts about the events leading up to his involvement with corporate. Paralized, his eyes rolled back, and he muttered something to himself. At least he thought he was muttering…words were no longer leaving his lips. He was waking up inside. “Rachel!……”