Strange how reliable the contrarian, a hedgehog snarls in the constellation where Ptolemy predicted his snarl. Strange therefore true. How the senses resist the empire of the mind by revealing an outlier in the twilight. Today feels the same as yesterday, a bus that changes passengers into patterns and bites with existential teeth. The word gathers its mushrooms in a basket woven from paradox. A grain of sand on my tongue. Strange how the hinge squeaks between emergent and residual chambers, how we recognize its cry. Strange therefore true. So protested history and so I protest, the hedgehog, the constellation, the mind.