being told i was smart and above average from a young age was probably one of the worst things to happen to me because now i have a complex and question my entire existence when i dont excel at something right away
u ever text someone something risky and every second that they dont respond is another spike in ur blood pressure and u stare at your hand like why did u type that u fool its over the universe is crumbling to pieces this is my demise
The lift when the pretrial neural accelerators kicked in was what YoYo imagined very good sex must be like. The hot flush, the supersensitivity of the skin, the feeling that your body was squirming around inside your skin like a sackful of eels, the increasing sense of detachment from the material world as external and internal clocks began to diverge, the impression that your selfhood could no longer be constrained by this gross parcel of meat, that with a flick of the mind it could be sent into a million different incarnations biological and cybernetic, an itching impatience-cum-anticipation both wonderful and fearful, like fundamentalist Christians awaiting the end of the world.
YoYo knew a lot about neurochemistry, and shit about very good sex.