What folly bears fruit so hysterical as the laughing and languorous tones of a stormy night? What contradictions die as the adversary is left with rope burnt hands and a mouthful of mud? Water tells these tales with every finite-state blip that explodes on every tin roof - perhaps even the imaginary ones. Had Harvey any model of selflessness, it wouldn't have mattered. The solitary and observant seem particularly to blame for the breakdown of selfless delusions. And what a shame that would be. Why would the knightly, noble, and peace-loving burghers of civilization so anchored to these delusions want to wake up and look deep into a magical mirror or pool and discover that all their deeds are self-serving? Why wouldn't the autonomous automata wish to believe he was something more? Harvey was never tempted to ask such questions. After all, there was nobody else.

Harvey had escaped the singularity again, by himself, with no help. He was pleased in an underhanded sort of way. Perhaps he had achieved complete autonomy. Albeit a fallacy, it was a thought that always brought a smile to his face, along with a funny urge halfway between head and feet. The three caverns on his slave arm had birthed rivers, rivers that ran down the plastic covering and dripped happily in a steady beat from his fingertips to the floor. Harvey was far from ignorant of his phallus. He had books; books with no title, no authors, no origin, but books nonetheless. He was actually in the midst of writing his own book. Yes, Harvey was far from ignorant; he was, however, far from knowledgeable. But he was unaware of his own mediocrity and was quite happy to know everything, however manic his conclusions were.

Harvey reached down and touched himself between his legs and realized two things at once. Firstly the flesh of his groin was swelling, and secondly he was daydreaming of a three-breasted beauty he had once read about in a short story entitled "The Breakfast Fork." if he remembered correctly, the ending was quite unnerving; the character, Orlo, jammed a fork through his skull. Harvey pushed the second half of the story from his mind and let Orlo's fantasy lead him down the hall and into the small bathroom at its end.

Harvey's clothing was already off before he stepped over the threshold and into the bathtub. His penis, purple and sore, stood at attention as it poked through his vacuum-sealed leggings. Pulling the faucet and setting it three-fourths full he laid back and threw his left leg over the edge of the bath. In an instant she was upon him, tendrils caressing him inside and out. For several moments Harvey did nothing but watch the blood from his arm like a lavender fountain, submersed in the bath water. Then, slowly shaking with pleasure he covered himself - face, chest, hair, legs, and penis - with the crimson tide; then he covered his delusion, taking great care with the trio of soft, pink nipples and the subtle curves of her hips and ass. The water was now the hue of love, as warm and wet as the fleshy, phallus-less cleft between her legs. Harvey slid two fingers into the hole under his cock, they may as well been a single probing tentacle for several were already protruding from her mouth and seeking to mingle with the acids of his stomach. Their mouths collided and a life giving fluid dripped down her chin and into his mouth as she sunk further inside. Oh such a mime to be sticking together at the stomach, her nipples leaving his blood in perfect circles on his chest; he slid easily in. Two entities juxtaposed themselves in a seemingly lifeless universe; they slowly merged to form one. Rising and falling with the pulsing waves of the ocean, now faster, now slower consumed by its vast mirth. They existed. Hours may have passed in bliss - heart racing when, in a spurt, his delusion was extinguished. Harvey was left, alone; a smiling thing sprawled in a bathtub with a lavender ring.

It was only a few minutes before his smile dissipated. He was still bleeding profusely. After all, wounds don't heal by themselves. As he stood, it was obvious he'd lost too much blood; he nearly collapsed!

"Uh', Harvey moaned to himself.

Staggering back to the vacuum healer was easier than he expected, but he was overjoyed that he had waited no longer. Harvey walked over and leaned on the rather menacing steal machine at the end of the couch. A moment of awe and respect was given to the engineer of this essential apparatus. Harvey suddenly hoped he would get to meet him. He bit his tongue.

"Or her, or it, or whatever. Awe forget it!" Harvey commanded himself.

"Gonna have to make this quick."

The machine had a rather simple shape and appearance and a rather simple function for that matter. At chest level, a row of five holes were set horizontally; the leftmost one was slightly higher - designed for the arms. On the left hand side from the waist down was a column of six vertical holes - designed for the legs. To the right-hand side of the vertical column was a cubby with three levels that stored a cache of various plastic bladders that fit loosely around any part of the body. And above was set a large red button - to activate the device. There was, of course, a gray hose hanging from the left side for the severe cases, but Harvey rarely had any reason to use it.

He bend down and picked up the blade he had left lying there and, taking care not to cut flesh this time, skinned the old bladder from his left arm. In a flash, every wound he'd ever received crashed onto the floor, a bloody mess. Harvey only had a second to view his skin as it really was - torn, broken, sore, elbow skinned to the bone, with each imperfection telling a story. Some of these stories were long forgotten, some pushed out of memory for the sake of the Sorrow Singularity. But a few, a few were recorded on the pages he laboriously scribbled in the darkness and the rain. In a moment, a fresh skin was on him - up to his shoulder, nozzles out. With lightening speed they were fitted neatly in the horizontal holes of the apparatus; he pushed the button.

With a gratifying 'ssssssssp,' Harvey had new skin. It always took several hours to break-in a new bladder. He bent his arm at the elbow twice. Without warning, his knees quivered slightly; A flash of heat took his head into a reddened blackness.

When Harvey opened his eyes, he was looking at the floor. A welt pained his head and added another blemish to his grotesque face. Years upon melancholy years had contributed to the chaos. Zits, pockmarks, bruises, scrapes, and rashes remained unhealed and unattractive. Harvey had long since disposed of his mirror for he had no use for it. Sometimes, however, he would run his hands across the skin and view himself from across the room with his eyes closed. At the moment though, it seemed like a fickle waste of time, and as soon as he was sure that he would not pass out again, he began the tedious chore of cleaning his abode, and himself. Oh what a mess he had created! Life! Life on the floors of the living room and bathroom, under the couch and everywhere tainted his domicile. Harvey was not resentful, and soon his home was once again clean.

Harvey slept.