All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event-in the living act, the undoubted deed-there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts for the mouldings of its features from the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the GRE is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. It tasks me, it heaps me; I see in it outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the GRE agent, or be the GRE principal, I will wreak that hate upon it.
Okay, maybe it's not that bad. Not at all, really. Still, I will be enjoying the celebratory beer and pizza dinner on Saturday night...
Thankfully, I'm taking the cursed thing downtown (we call it Uptown, which makes sense since most people in the area used to live SOUTH of Charlotte), so I won't have to fight the race traffic up the road at Lowe's Speedway(THE BEAST OF THE SOUTHEAST!). The traffic might have tasked me, verily.
I doubt Melville would mind the tweak. Besides, he's dead and this is public domain. Heh.
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