The formula feed is basically cold water, but the babe still locks his cherub lips around the rubber teat like it's the mother's breast he'll never now taste. They always do, right enough. Who doesn't love the sweet salt tang of the Cocytus, river of lamentations? Who in Hell doesn't love the liquor we all live on, the quenching, quieting tears of the bereaved?
It remains unclear when humans might again walk on the Moon. However, it will manifestly require more than a decade to move from the drawing board to a countdown, even though we once did it more quickly. Thus, 2010: Odyssey Two may represent the first anticipation of the counterintuitive principle that a repeated space mission might involve more preparation time than the original mission.
At least until each head / decides, like some inbred prince, / it can strike / the truer course.
