Somewhere in the back of my skull a wizened mambo stirs a gigantic pot. Ideas I find neat (interesting, but impractical for some reason) I give to her, and she tosses it in the pot. Occasionally I ask if it's ready. She may let me taste a bit of the gumbo, but mostly she just laughs and says, "Not YET, childe."
(
Look deeper into the pot . . . )
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