Religion says we are spirits, and we come from a creator called God, but science says we come from nature, we come from the universe. On the face of it the scientists look to hold the better hand, it certainly seems to be that we are material beings; and I have no doubt that the mind and the body are connected; but I've yet to hear a scientist explain where the universe came from. Saying it came from a big bang doesn't cut the mustard any more than saying we were formed out of the clay. Sure enough, the scientists they can prove that the universe started with a big bang, but they also say that nothing can come out of nothing, as such, in my mind, the big bang must have come from some thing; which forces the question: Was there a creator of the big bang?

We are in mysterious circumstances to say the least!

Having a mind, and then actually being able to use it to our own advantage is the greatest mystery of them all.

There's two main philosophies in regard to the human mind.

Dualism is the philosophy that the mind is something entirely different than, and even superior to, the physical universe. The belief that the mind is spiritual and in a different realm than the physical allows a belief that consciousness continue's on after the death of the physical body. It is the belief that the mind inhabits a body, but the consciousness mind lives on when the body dies. It is the belief that the mind is spirit and immortal.

The other side of the argument is materialism and it says the mind comes from the brain, and many on this side of the argument even try to ignore the exhistence of consciousness, but by doing so they fail to come to grips with the the sense of awareness we all feel.

In his book "Mind", John R Searle writes: "One of the wierd features of recent intelectual life was the idea that consciousness_ in the literal sense of qualitative, subjective states and processes_was not important, that somehow it did not matter. One reason this is so preposterous is that consciousness is itself the condition of having importance. Only to a conscious being can there be any such thing as importance."

John R. Searle rejects Dualism on the grounds that it doesn't fit in with what we know about the universe, and he offers us this philosophy: "The general character of the relation of consciousness to the brain, and thus the general solution of the mind-body problem is not hard to state: consciousness is caused by microlevel processes in the brain and realized in the brain as higher-level or system or system feature. But the complexity of the structure itself, and the precise nature of the brain processes involved remains unanalyzed by this characterization."

He goes on to say: "We are tempted to trivialize consciousness by thinking of it as just one aspect of our lives; and of course, biologically speaking it is just one aspect, but as far as our actual life experiences are concerened, consciousness is the very essence of our meaningful existence. If Descartes had not already destroyed the meaning of the sentence we could say "the essence of the mind is consciousness."

Descartes wrote: Cogito, ergo sum: " I think therefore I am."
In his famous method of systematic doubt Descartes resolved to: "reject as if absolutely false anything as to which I could imagine the least doubt, in order to see if I should not be left at the end believing something that was absolutely indubitable."

If I use Descartes method of systematic doubt I have doubts about the my mind coming 'completely' from the brain. I can see that parts of my mind are brain caused, but the philosophy flounders when it comes to explaining consciousness. I have my doubts about dualism too. I can see where consciousness could very well be from a spiritual realm, but it looks like a lot of our mind comes from the brain. As such I have doubts about both philosophies, and if I use Descartes method of systematic doubt then both the Dualistic and the Materialistic argument must be thrown out. However, like Descartes, I have no doubt in Cogito ergo sum.

The world is constantly changing. Viewpoints change, as such opinions change, and then minds change. The fact that we can change our mind gives us a sense of free will. That we have psycological free will, there can be no doubt, and this goes against determinism where one event has be caused by another.

Our psycological free will is limited to the law of availability, but there is no doubt that when I decide to type the letter A on this keyboard I know that it isn't because a long line of previous causes led up to my action. I typed the letter A because I decided to do it, and it had nothing to do with determinism.

Where the mind comes from is still a mystery, or so it seems, and the working of it is an even bigger mystery. Our conscious perception of the "World" changes all the time. We've been proved wrong by our own minds so many times that we would rather not think about it. The world is a mystery filled with illusion.

Only the physical can take part in the physical law of cause and effect, but the mind does, after all, direct the hand to pick up a pint of Guinness. As such the conscious mind must be, some how, a part of the physical world that is somehow created by the brain. The fact that we percieve our minds to be seperate from nature is maybe just another example of our delusion in a world full of illusion.

The answer to it all may be in the quantum level of nature. Maybe, somehow, the quamtum level is alive in a way we will never understand. If we wade through all the levels of illusion in nature, like peeling an onion, we may come to the bottom level, and after peeling it away we may be left with the realization that there's nothing there. Even then, we can still exclaim in wonder: but, I am!

Joseph Campbell said God is in all, and He looks out from every creatures eyes so He can see His creation from all angles. The mystery of life is just God playing hide and seek with Himself.
While we think God is nowhere to be found, He is all around us and in us. The reason why we can't see God is because we are God, or we are as one with God, and our vision only goes outward, not inward. Only our faulty delusion ridden mind can look inward, and what chance is there that our constantly changing mind in an ever changing world shall ever come to an understanding of itself?

Eternity is a long time, and if we are alive "for ever, and ever, amen" as the Lords prayer ends, it would behove us to get lost now and then, and then try to find ourselves. A game might well be needed, otherwise eternity could well be as boring as hell, and what better thing is there to do than to place ourselves in an enigma such as this that is wrapped up with a riddle!
Campbell was not a religious man, and he mainly based his beliefs on his knowledge of mythology, of which he was a world class expert. He told about the myth of the hero's journey. The hero, in the many mythological versions, always tells of dragons, sea monsters, or huge one eyed human deformities etc. The hero tells how he slew them, or how he tricked them into letting him go; but the main thrust of the story is always about great luck, and the motto is: If the Gods are for you then who can stand against you? The hero's story always contains great awe, and much head shaking and jaw dropping wonder, but the hero always returns to tell his tale.

Mythology is what our mind discovers when it tries to look inward. The hero's journey is a metaphor. Mythology is a metaphor. It's, 'as if this happened'. The nearest we can get to explaining the journey into ones mind is to say: It is, as if it is, like this.

As such the mind is a myth. The world is a myth. You and I are myths. And yet, Cogito ergo sum.

Bloody narvelous or what?

(Continued from the bit below. Infact everything on this site comes after that which is below it.)

(My email is now walterhicks@yahoo.com the flood of emails to Walterhicks1@msn.com is very encouraging, but I am not getting them!)

Anyway, enough of that, and back to the true story about how Waltre De Daltre thinks he is about to lose his nose.

..............................

Waltre thought about not using the nasal spray, but he wasn't sure if that would be a plus or a minus. One thing was for sure; he had to clear his nose or he felt he would go berserk. He was tired of breathing through his mouth, and God only knew what kind of germs he was breathing in by not using his nose. It occurred to him that if he didn't have a nose, and if he only had two holes where his nose should be, then he would at least never have to worry about having a stuffed nose again. However the idea of having a false nose with built in filters, like some people have false teeth, began to sound pretty good, but taking his nose off at night did not appeal to him at all. As such he began to feel a bit better about his condition.

I'd rather have my real nose, even if it gets stuffed up a lot, and even if I have to have my mouth hanging open for the rest of my life! He thought.

He then remembered an article that told about how many spiders people eat while sleeping with their mouth wide open.

Even if I have to eat ten spiders a night, I still want to have my real nose!

Suddenly, just like that, a very positive feeling came over him. He instinctively knew that he would only lose his nose if he continued with his belief that he would someday lose it.

He remembered the brain booster, and the meditation CD that he got from Jean. And what about Quantum Physics! They are scientists, so they must know what they are talking about, maybe they are right. He thought. Maybe it is all in the mind, and maybe I am bringing about the loss of my nose by fearing it. By fearing the loss of my nose I am actually concentrating my mental energy on losing my nose!

He decided to make a positive affirmation.

I am not going to lose my nose. I refuse to believe, anymore, that I am going to lose my nose.

Then, as if by magic, his nose started to clear. First the left nasal passage popped and gurgled a bit, then the right nostril popped too.

Waltre was astonished. He had almost forgot what it felt like to breathe through his nose, and at that time, seeing as he was finishing his ninth bottle of beer, he had pretty much forgot a lot about everything, but he remembered the man in Birkenhead, the one that he saw from the top of the bus when he was riding home from his primary school.

Poor bastard. If only he had known.

Instead of fearing the memory of the man with no nose, like he always had, he began to see the scene in a different light.

He probably brought it on himself. Waltre thought.

Some kind of trauma must have influenced him to believe that he would someday lose his nose.

Or maybe he saw a man without a nose, just like I saw him, and the idea of having no nose scared him so much that all he could think of was what it would be like to not have a nose, and then, that which he concentrated on, and what he feared the most, came about.

Waltre could see the logic of it as he breathed in and out through his cleared nasal passages.

He took a deep swig of the beer, and then he felt a surge of delight that came from the release of a fifty year old fear. A fear that came to him during his childhood. A fear that no longer had any substance, and now that he was mature enough to see that his fear was creating his reality, and that it was all in his mind, he began to relax for the first time in over fifty years.

He got up from the computer and walked to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror.

Ah God, he thought, it's good to have a fine nose like that, and it's even better to have one that works.

So much for Waltre's excercise regime. He'd been dragging is arse around all day, and it even took an effort for him to drive to the conveniance store for a six pack of beer.

He was tired of being sick, and much to his dismay, after getting over the flue, he found that he still had the cold, and his nose had been blocked solid for a month. Things were not helped by the Oregon weather. Waltre was tired of the Oregon weather. Before the white man came the Indians wouldn't live in the Willamette Valley during the winter. They called it the valley of sickness. Oregon was wet and cold in the winter months, and the foul germ laden air just swirled around and around. Everyone was getting sick and tired of it.

His nasal condition was brought about by the 'over the counter' nasal spray he'd been using to ease the original blocked nose. The spray was supposed to give twelve hour relief, but the hours of relief got shorter and shorter until he only got about an hour of fairly clear breathing after each spray. So he began to use the spray more often than once every twelve hours, but the more he used the spray the more clogged his nose became. After continuing on this way for three weeks, he finally took a look at the instructions that were written in very small letters on the side of the spray container.

"Warning, this spray is not to be used for more than three days. If it used for longer than that it will make the condition worse."

So Walter went to the Doctor.

The doctor knew all about the condition, and he said: "It's very common. We have a Latin name for it, er, wait a minute...but basicly it's a condition that's caused by the medicine used to treat the condition."

The doctor said he could give him some sample nasal sprays that he gets from the drug companies, and then he basicly said:

"Spray into one side for a day, then spray into the other side for a day, then...no wait a minute, spray into both sides for two days then...wait a minute, hang on a minute while I go and get the spray. "

The doctor came back with two spray bottles.

"This should last you for a month. No; it'll last you for...each bottle will last for a week, and if it lasts longer than that then discard it immediatly."

He then wrote a prescription for steroids.

"This will lower your immune system so your nose will be able to breathe normally." He said.

Waltre was feeling a wee bit confused, but if the stuff cleared his blocked nose, then what the hell. He thought.

As soon as Waltre got back to his car he sprayed each nostril twice, then he realized that he hadn't been breathing through his nose, so he shot two more sprays into each nostril, while going through the motions of trying to breath through his nose, just for good measure.

He then drove back to Beaverton and found a Rite Aid Pharmacy. He liked to use the Rite Aid Pharmacy because they never charged him a dime. He'd enquired about the situation once, and the pharmacist said that his old insurance, the one that he used while he was on the dole for six months, was still paying for a part of his prescriptions. Betweeen his old insurance paying, and his new insurance paying, it covered the price of the drugs, and as such he didn't have a co-pay or anything to pay at all.

There was obviously a cock up somewhere, but Rite Aid said it was okay, so Waltre was prepared to go along with it all.

The pharmacist gave him the steroids that would reduce his immune system, and she said with a big smile: "No charge."

When he got home he decided to read the instructions. The steroids had a very small chance of having side effects that could reduce him to a vegetable like being that got every illness imaginable, but his doctor had weighed up the possibilities of the side effects, and he had decided that the risk of the side effects was worth taking the chance so as to gain a cure.

Then Waltre scanned the small letters for the word alcohol.

"Alcohol should be used sparingly as it might cause stomach bleeding."

What the hell does sparingly mean? Waltre thought.

He decided to hold off on taking the steroids till the next morning so he could have a six pack of beer that night. The thought of waking up in the morning with a bleeding stomach along with a reduced immune system did not appeal to him at all, and the word "sparingly" could mean anything!

His nose was still blocked solid, so he decided to take two more shots up each nostril. Then he thought it might be wise to read the instructions. He pulled the bit of paper out of the box that the spray came in, and he tried to find the dosage instructions, but there wasn't any. It did say, however, that overdosing might cause a condition that in rare cases has led to the amputation of ones nose.

Waltre had a secret fear about losing his nose. It came about while he was riding on a double decker bus in his home town of Birkenhead. Birkenhead, at that time, was situated in a remote cold and damp part of the north west of England, it was not far from Liverpool. Global warming has changed the climate a bit, but the people have yet to change. It was so bad a place that most people in Birkenhead decided to think that they came from Liverpool. As such it was from Birkenhead that he got his first concept about illusion and delusion, and he liked to look at the people of Birkenhead as he rode on the top of the number 28 bus on his way home. Even at such an early age he could tell that there was something very strange, and something very different, about the people of Birkenhead. Ah but, he also knew that he was one of them. I am that, he thought, as he looked at the strange people of Birkenhead from his lofty perch atop a double decker bus.

It was just as the bus turned left off Exmouth street that he caught the sight of man without a nose. He was a short and stocky sort, with a happy demeanor about him, but he only had two holes where his nose should have been. I am that too. Waltre thought. Then he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would someday look like the man without a nose.

He shoved the fear to the back of his mind, but he always knew, or thought he knew, that someday he would only have two holes in his face where his nose should have been.

To be continued.

The more Waltre thought about it, the more sense it made.

The universe is made up of energy that cannot die and everything vibrates on infinately different levels. He thought.

The physical part of it is mostly empty space: a rock is mostly empty space, the chair I'm sitting on is just atoms brought together, here and there, and the rest of the chair is empty space!

The thought occurred to him that his head was mostly empty space too. He agreed with the thought. However, he could not get around the fact that it was his mind that was holding his head together.

My brain is not my mind.

He continued with his train of thought.

My brain is only a tool that my mind uses so as to explore the low vibrations of the physical level of exhistance.

The whole universe is just energy, atoms, and the sub atomic life stuff of waves and particles forming into one illusion and then into another. Energy just keeps on changing into that form and then this form, but the thing that directs the forming, and the thing that holds the form together for awhile is a spiritual thing.

The whole thing is being directed by a spiritual being. He concluded.

If a spirit is not physical then what is it? And what level of vibration does it have?

Maybe a spirit doesn't have a vibration! He thought. Either that or it's vibrating at such a high frequency that we in our human form have no way of recognizing it. We can only detect a small amount of vibrations with our physical senses. Dogs can detect more than we can when it comes to hearing and smelling, and cats can see more than us at night. Cats are probably twice as intelligent as us tee boot! If we only believe in what we can sense then it's obvious that we are limiting ourselves to the physical forms that come and go; and if they are here one minute and gone the next, then the forms are obviously illusions, and to base ones life on them is to become totally deluded.

Plus, what about all those vibrations that we cannot sense? It's obvious that the vibratrions are there, cats and dogs prove that!

It was becoming obvious to Waltre that there was a wee bit more to this world than meets the eye, and if his physcical senses couldn't pick up what was going on it naturally followed that he needed some kind of extra sensory perception. If his natural senses could not sense what was really going on, then he obviously needed to look at things that were outside his natural senses, or to put it bluntly, he decided that the answer was obviously in the supernatural, and the only way to sense the supernatural was by instinct.

Every great discovery in physics was first only an instinct. Newton instinctively knew about gravity, but it took him twenty years to talk about it and prove it. Einstein was the same. He was led by his instinct when he proved Newton to be wrong. Science is a result of instinct.

Whne people said if man was was meant to fly God would have given us wings, they were wrong. If God hadn't meant us to fly, He wouldn't have given us a sense of wonder and the sight of birds flying!

If a spirit is not physical then it cannot do physical things unless it forms a physical body. All a spirit can do is think thoughts. As such thoughts are of a spiritual nature. He decided.

Food calleth, and another two days of the 'job' brings me to my senses.

Waltre

Things came to a head, and Waltre began firing back with as good as he got. It was all brought out into the open where it should have been all along.

"You are rude!" She said.

"I must have caught it from you." He replied.

"When was I ever rude?"

Waltre held back. He wanted to count the ways, but he knew she'd never get it. She was rude all the time. She was arrogant, pushy, self centered, and her selective memory rendered her absent of any understanding of how her behavior could be defined as rude. She was a grabber, a milker of the system, a me first, me me me, and she thought the world revolved around her self deluded head. Her ill thought out opinions were always right, and she formed her opinions on the basis of what was best for herself.

"You are rude all the time." Waltre said.

"And you are a fuckin asshole! You can fuck off." Her daugher cut in.

Her daughter was pregnant by an illigal immigrant from El Salvador that claimed to be part of the dreaded MS13 gang. It was highly unlikely that he was a member of that ruthless pack of savages, seing as the pathetic bastard washed dishes for a living. He had a wife and a child in El Salvador, and he told her from the start that he would not support a baby if they had one. To date, he had milked her savings of around three thousand dollars down to $300.

"Don't tell me to fuck off." Waltre said.

Waltre didn't like to put people in a social class. The British class system that he was born into appalled him. However, the word class still held some meaning for him, but in it's present meaning it was Waltre that put the labels on.

Some people had what the Americans called class. To the Americans the word class means "good" no matter what social class a person is born into. They would say a man has class if they admired or respected him. If they didn't like or respect a man they would say he has no class.

Class, to Waltre, meant a person worthy of respect. Class meant the way a man or woman behaved toward other people. Class meant taking the hard road now and again, and class meant putting other people on an equal level with oneself. The word class, to Waltre, meant being aware of a balance between oneself and other people. To have class means to comport oneself with dignity, self esteem, as well as having esteem for the dignity of others, and the word class means how one comports oneself in the most depressing or challenging of times. Waltre thought that the most important of all thing about class knitted in with integrity, like, being honest with oneself, and then acting out what one feels inside so that it harmonizes with the outside world of other people, and for Waltre, that was what integrity was all about.

In Waltre's mind, the two people in front of him had no class at all.

He ranked them in the lowest class of people. They were the kind of people that Waltre detested. He had put up with them because of his fear of causing a scene, and he knew that any kind of opposition would be the cause of an unpleasant attack on his own fragile sense of integrity.

Ah but there came a time when all fear evaporated like the morning mist, and his anger took over. Some thing inside him clicked into place, and he felt wholeness, and he felt a sense of outrage.

He let them know how he really felt about them.

He linked his inner self to his outer self, and he allowed the harmony to take place.

He felt at one with himself as the words, seemingly coming from nowhere, flowed with an ease that amazed him.

The response was exactly as he had feared it would be, but their words bounced of him like water bounces off a duck.

They hurled their foul mouthed abuse at him, as expected, but it did not penetrate.

"Fuck you." Waltre said.

Then he said: Your rent check is on the table."

Ah but she already had it.

Then they left with a sense of outrage about them.

And I felt GUD. Oh how, did I feel GUD.

Is that all they've got?

One small step for a man, but a huge step for mankind!

Onward and upward.

The greatest thing that one can take into old age is not fame, not financial gain, and not even good health, though good health is a close second, and it's worth much more than money or fame; the greatest achievement of all is to still have love in your heart. If one still feels love after sixty or so years on this crazy planet of illusion and delusion, then one has done very well indeed.

I don't know about everyone else, but I strongly suspect that everyone else is pretty much the same as me, and I was born with love in my heart; and while no one knows where we come from, I strongly suspect that we come from a place where love is triumphant and pure.

Babies and very young children are so full of love that it's almost impossible for even the greatest of cynics not to love them in return. Especially if they come from ones own blood line...They are love magnets.

We say they are innocent, and I've never quite understood why we say that. Innocent of what crime? A wee helpless baby would have a hard time robbing a bank, so why do we say they are innocent? Maybe we mean that they have not yet started lying and deceiving. If this is the case, then I suppose I can see why babies are innocent, and as such we should not hold the same resentment towards them that we hold towards those that lie and deceive, which, I suppose, would include ourselves; and if this is the case: Why do we start to lie and deceive?

Of course, I'm assuming that everyone is like me, and if you don't lie and deceive then please accept my deepest apologies, and please tell me what mountain top you are living on. I'd love to pay you a visit.

It's not like I want to be a liar and a deceiver, it's just that I have this thing called a survival instinct, and the survival instinct is expanded ten fold when one is responsible for the life of a helpless baby, from ones own blood, that is more or less ones own self in another form. As such we get a very strong instinct that is now combined with the most powerful force in the universe.

The survival instinct joins forces with love!

I'm jumping way ahead of myself here, because the urge to lie and deceive comes many years before one becomes a parent.

It''s been shown that we are all creative geniuses until we get to the age of around five, after that age most people tend to fall in line with what one perceives the world to be. The survival instinct kicks in, and one begins to pretend to be what one is not. From then on, one is not so much concerned about being creative as much as one is concerned about what one should be.

Teachers and parents tell one how one should be. If one does not respond then one is set aside for special education, or nowadays one is also put on a drug. I think it's called Ritalin, or some thing like that.

If one survives childhood intact, then one must still go through adolescence, and adolescence is the time when the Earth kicks in wanting us to reproduce the species. If one has survived childhood without lying and deceiving then one is in for one hell of an adolescence. The sexual urge kicks in big style. One pretends to be what one is not so as to have sex. Then peer pressure takes care of any other inclinations one might have about being sincere.

Then one gets married, has kids, and one is then a fully blown slave to lying and deceiving that is handled very nicely by the experts on lying and deceit.

If one hasn't been killed by a machine gun, or worked oneself into an early grave, one eventually reaches middle age and financial slavery.

The kids have all gone nuts, they are lying to you, your wife has divorced you, and even those that you once trusted, old mates, are found out to be lying. Nobody is telling the truth, and nothing is what you once thought it to be. All is vanity, all is about oneself, ones role, and all is illusion and delusion.

By the time one has reached sixty, one has been lied to so many times that one expects to hear nothing else. Ah but, one decides to say fuck it, and one means it, because one still feels love, dammit.

One welcomes old age as a time when one can actually try to be real, and not lie and decieve any more. It's an impossible task, but one can at least try, within reason, to be honest.

Yer right, have you ever tried telling the truth lately?

No matter. I came, and it's a damn sure thing that I'm going back, back to the world of love.

In the meantime I'll be thankful that I feel love, still, even after all that!

Bring it on.

Waltre

There may be something to this subconscious training. Waltre thought as he almost blushed at the look a young woman gave him as he walked by her machine. The woman had given him the come on in such a way that it could not be mistaken for anything else.

He decided to go to the men's room on the idle side of the factory so he could have some privacy. It was empty. No one would walk that far so as to take a piss, he'd reasoned. He'd read somewhere that in the name of efficiency the mirrors should be removed from all men's bathrooms. A study had shown that the time men stay in the men's room was almost cut in half by simply removing the mirrors. It was decided that the women wouldn't put up with it, but the men who work in factories wouldn't have the nerve to complain because they pretend that only pansies and women worry about how they look.

He was glad that the efficiency experts hadn't got their way. He stood before the mirror so as to try to have a good, and honest, look at himself. No more squinting so as to try to make oneself look better, he'd decided.

He shook his head in dismay as he saw the reflection of a full head of white hair, the still dark and very bushy, almost wild, eyebrows, and the silly grey moustache that he didn't have the nerve to shave off due to not having much to call an upper lip.

I look like a fuckin old man! He thought.

What the hell do they see in me?

He sucked in his beer belly and turned sideways so as to see if he looked any better, but all he could see was an old man sucking in a beer belly.

Maybe it's my eyes, he reasoned. Women have a thing about eyes. He looked at his eyes and slowly shook his head. Nah it can't be that, he thought, as he saw the red rimmed poor things. He tried to look into his eyes, but he couldn't get past how tired they looked.

"You are fifty eight, and you look like your all that and some more." He said to his reflection.

Then he got very serious as he remembered that neither of his parents had got past sixty three, and then he felt very sad upon thinking of his eldest sister who had died at the age of sixty.

Bad genes, he thought, it's all in the genes, and mine give up the ghost at around the age of sixty. If a man got sentenced to death today, what with all the appeals and what not, he would have more life expectancy than I do. The only difference is that he knows he is doomed; ah but then again, so do I, he thought as he relaxed his shoulders and every other part of his body tee boot.

"Fuck it!" He said to his reflection.

As he was saying the words, the big fork lift driver walked in.

"Hello Waltre!" He said with a big smile.

Waltre smiled back out of sheer habit, and then he said:

'Fuck it all."

The big fork lift man motioned like he was pulling something down while imitating the sound of train tooting it's horn.

Whooo Whooooo!

"Why does the sound of a tooting train always sound so much sadder at night?" Waltre asked.

"It's because you wish you were on it." The fork lift driver replied with a laugh.

"Damn it, you are right again!" Waltre said in his usual jocular way, as he walked out of the men's room.

"Fuck it." He thought. Then he felt a surge of delight as he realized that he actually meant it.

"Fuck it all." He said as he walked back to the noisy side of the factory.

And I think I'll fuck her too." He thought as he tried to remember where the hell her machine was.