Secretly, I invent a life for myself in whichevery drop of rain is a penny in my account,the decay of autumn leaves warms my home,lightning charges the batteries of my Lucite flying machinezipping me like a hummingbird to the places I love.I invent a life in which I speak foreign languages without effort,play my music on instruments I’ve never practiced,operate heavy machinery, perform laboratory procedures,dance and run without tiring. I know the namesof everything that has a name, and I nameeverything that would be nameless.I study telomeric regeneration in pond scum,espouse the existence of black-hole ejectamata,and specialize in arachnids and preindustrial tribal legends.I employ whole industries with hints I drop on Saturdayconcerning heat exchange and the lubrication of air,the production of spider silk and deformable fabrics,and piezoelectric effects in superconductive materials.On Sunday I lecture on Celtic mysticism in Imagisme,publish my research on the causes of aging,and save a distraught dock worker from poverty and despair.I choose my public appearances carefully.Few suspect how firmly I control successful organizationsand the global economy, or so I like to think.Some might ask whether my powers have a limit.My answer is this: God only knows. I appear in many forms,preferring anonymity when notoriety doesn’t serve my ends.Wise men have said we should treat a stranger with respect;the stranger might be someone special in disguise.
