Round, and Round, and Round—a kinda preface to the AoC—c:

Waiting hat-in-hand for charity alms from Nature? Forget it! We’ll rip off all by scientific methods!

For those curious to see the extent of my wobbling after the two mighty blows—neither the Golden Palm nor Gold Olympic medals for me!—that shocked the very foundation of my psychic conditions, let them once again scrutinize the Vasnetsov’s masterpiece The Knight at the Crossroads (1,67 m x 3,08 m). See? That’s me on the horse back, side view, with high boots on and in medieval pants instead of my perennial jeans. The almost life-size replica of me sitting on my faithful steed in deep contemplation – now what? Maybe, to try a tack towards the fundamental science? More over, they always were in a good rapport, the science and my inner world. Congruence in basic features, you know.

Yep. I’ve got a fairly scientific temperament and potential, especially in the sphere of thinking. When I start thinking I might just keep in on, and on, and on… thinking, I mean. At times fully forgetful of what namely or which was the initial thought, yet still go on, and on… The force of inertia, I think.

Furthermore, there certainly sits a deep-rooted bent for research, in me. Say, I come across some vague device or thing, or other implement, you know, where even a kid would get it instantly – the crappy scrap’s an obsolete doodad from decades back, throw the trash away, wash your hands and forget it. But no! I would dismantle it and unscrew the last screw to see what’s inside before collecting the dingus’ parts altogether to dump into the nearest garbage container, still mysteriously enigmatic...

So why (if you don’t mind my asking), given so favorable prerequisite bunch of kick-off talents, did I not get along with a scientific career? And everyone who supposes here that I am going to give out a list of shortcomings, weak points, and sheer absurdities always teeming in and buddy-buddy with science then think again, mon cher, because it would look like a template already: sport activities knocked out, movies production bulldozed ruthlessly – what inconsistencies and holes will I dig out and pick apart in science?

Vain are your agronomical expectations, my dear friend! Whenever I talk business, I pour out the truth as is without any equivocacy and other oversees spice. Such a stance makes my life easier, afterwards, it leaves no space for belated self-accusations in being a streamlined slick bitch obedient to the exchange rate in the political arena so as to trade myself for comfortable existence and a soft seat under my ass at the workplace. Nope. The first and foremost is my personal health for whose sake I say what I think and feel.

So what, again and namely, saved science from my ground-breaking, epoch-making discoveries which neither Einstein nor Tesla saw in their wildest dreams?. Ever?.

Despite my obvious propensity towards pure science, there popped up a pesky predicament clearly attributed to my personality traits.One of them prevented my plain sailing to the glamorous shores of purity. To tear, straight and openly, the mask of false shyness – yes, it was me or, rather, my unconquerable dislike of useless inactivities that separated us from each other, Science and me.

The noteworthy fact is that my vibrant briskness tends to manifest itself selectively. On the one hand, I’m quite capable of sitting on for hours, who fly by like seagulls past a buoy of no interest to the gluttons looking for some chow, when I am pouring over an electronic microscope or thru the Hubble telescope (none of which I haven’t got as of yet as well as a bicycle which crying injustices I refuse to discuss now).

And on the other hand, whenever called to participate in a sitting of any kind, be it an AA caucus, a General Assembly of UN (the most hateful are those time-wasting get-togethers of a trade union members) I feel sick in one way or another. Some averse endocrine shit shoots thru my system, the bladder sounds sirens of micturition alert and, so as to abate their combined peak of activity, I evaporate on the sound excuse of legitimate need to take a leak.

That very restlessness turned to be the stumbling block like that huge rock explaining the further routs to the stallion under the knight who does not know how to skirt about it, the stallion doesn’t because the knight in his medieval pants and not my jeans gives no clue to his means of transportation and just sits irresolute and irresponsive to the uncertain snorts of his companion with the stares of both of them fixed to the rock blankly.

Which fork to take? Really? The divination for the outcome down each of the three trails available are pretty ominous: loosing your dear life, loosing your faithful steed, getting married to who knows whom. Some bleak dilemma for any sentient explorer, take my word. Just like choosing your way in science which, let’s be frank, is a minefield of all kinds of briefings, meetings, colloquiums, symposiums, congresses, conferences, convocations...

Let us peruse a trivial, predictable case of my visiting Stockholm to collect the Nobel Prize for my quant-mechanical achievements and—bolt from the blue!—it turns out I have to sit thru the Ceremonial Blah-Blah first! So? And have you consulted my peppy whippiness beforehand? To check if your plans were feasible?

Hence, the conclusion which any average horse would whisper into your ear: sorry, mankind, for leaving you without the second to none discoveries and inventions but even for the sake of your unavoidable convergence with AI I won’t rape myself. Not a chance!

That’s what I am and will stay on unlike the hunchback straightened by his proverbial grave. Mind you – my personal hole is to be dug taking in account the peculiarities of the would-be filling (supposedly – me but… whatever. Forget it.)

Sehrgueys, are notoriously tough customers, if you recall the Cicero’s harangue or a recenter development at the Radonezh Monastery where the Catilina’s namesake’s funerary skiff went counter the flowing of the the river which phenomenon was not expected by the onlookers from the bank because 600 years ago the science was not keen yet on motor-boats.

(*A life-hack tip here for beginner-parents: the name for your newborn choose carefully not to kick yourselves later for the gaga flippancy – “Ah! The kid’s turned utterly unruly!”)

And finally, summing up my scientific experiences, it’s only fair to admit – whatever is is right and although we, I and the science, move on up to now independently it very well might be for the better.

How do I know? Easy as a pie. After taking a shot at a crossword or puzzle I have a nasty backache next day because whatever I do I do with enthusiastic vigor.