Darwin Alone in the Universe. M.A.C. Farrant

your brain out will be as easy as using a 23rd century kid’s chemistry set. And you know what? All those people waiting for a revival before they join the Movement will just have to die. Too bad.

      Best and long, long life,

      Donald

      About freezing my brain, Mother said, “Why don’t you freeze part of it now as a test run? The frontal lobes, for starters. We could use a hypo full of freezing compound and see what happens.”

      That’s Mother. Always there for me with a bucket of ice water.

      “You don’t understand,” I hollered. “You’re a hopeless old hippie. Your time is past. Over. Finito. Everyone’s doing pharmaceuticals now and watching videos and saving up for 52-inch TV screens. Peace and love is a joke. High-tech is what’s cool. And speed, and fashion, and being young and cutting edge. Which is what freezing brains is all about. Being cutting edge. Not old and mouldy like this commune.”

      “You don’t know dick,” Mother said, putting on her kind Buddhist voice, cozy as a homespun monk’s robe.

      She suggested I calm down and take her dog Smack for a walk. “Check out the new landscaping,” she said. “It’s done after Cormac McCarthy. I’ve always liked his writing. His reality’s so sharp it cuts the skin.”

      “If you want your reality sharp,” I said, “try surfing the Net and reading up on freezing brains. Freezing brains will leave Cormac McCarthy spitting dust.”