What the hell even was that. If Dr. Seuss had photographic recall of the OED and the Odyssey. It's a stream of consciousness essay/speech/monologue by a deranged (?) female professor who is losing her job to technology. It's a still-relevant commentary (sort of?) on the role of technology in society with respect to the humanities, but also offers a lot of hot takes about women's roles, or rather how women are perceived in those roles. Lotta strawmanning of men saying inconceivably stupid things for the protagonist to slam dunk on them like Marshal Menelaus Mathers

Tomorrow he'll say Sandra my love when shall I see you again I'll be free tomorrow, I'll be free Friday Saturday Sunday. Friday Saturday Sunday I must prepare my classes correct papers no I must weed the vegetable garden clean the pigsties wash my hair meet Orion invent Andromeda from time to time unheeded and unhinged discover the grammar of the universe. If woman be the warrior's rest should man be the warrior of her rest? Will his seduction always mean her reduction producing the inducement to reduce back, rather than fungame of equals in a futureless world and not as need, could sex as open-eyed choice of half a mind to opt for other riches from time to time unheaded unmanned unpersoned not yet be deemed also a woman's privilege now despite the viceversatile myth of man's deep independence? In any case, why should three distinct women's names be given to a single landmass? According to many, the name of

hung up on “guilty and affectionate about deep fulfillment with man as the salvation of woman…”

still prescient articulation and deft wordplay regarding discontentment in modern society.

anticipating so much scrutiny in a narcissistic way for things yet to pass. Part of this is a natural side effect of the whole soliloquy being written in future tense:

“Really Orion, why must you take every turn in the argument as personally applying to you, like a stupid woman? Why can’t you keep the discussion abstract and impersonal”

.

And there'll be no tree of knowledge of good and evil since all the trees and all the knowledge will have died, blasted by men who in their perpetual attempt to be as gods will have wrapped the planet in pure consciousness, innocently or wil-fully ignorant of the fact that the consciousness of their gods will by definition be as impure as their own, stinking to high heaven.

11 points for creativity. Added new dimensionality to my understanding of what fiction can be: metafiction

the prisoner will die unless fed exclusively on capital

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