Mutants are not so very interesting as wild types and other natural strains, like penguins wearing tuxedos and tigers with black-striped orange fur. With my regular looks and manners, I am no mutant made of chemicals. Still, the world makes no sense to me, and sometimes it’s as if I am wearing the wrong eyeglasses. Then time passes — “Life is a stream!”; people often say this, though it isn’t really my experience. Is it possible a need to express myself with words is the result of my wild type? Lately, mutants have been in the news a lot, with the South African variant and the X-Men (super-heroes led by Professor X, a telepath). The wild types have felt a little neglected, though letting go of certainty has almost freed us from seeking the regard of others, that most lowly mode of satisfaction. Despite the nights when the moments seem to pass like hours (from sleeplessness), I am always so surprised and grateful, when morning arrives, to hear my voice asking again, with a burst of love in my hungry, wild-type heart, “Darling, how would you like your eggs cooked today?”
There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence