Komerad Dirge had it's moments. There was brick and mud, high heat, higher humidity and ladders. And had our hero been there he'd have smelled his water tank, he'd have heard the snores, and he'd have gone on about the luxury and the petty fog of your writer of pulp's experience of Komerad Dirge. "I'd have walked the fifty miles to work and no running water," I can hear him almost wistful.
Then what happens to both life and matter? It coalesces into smaller and smaller
orbits, the universe itself gets bigger and bigger and the smaller and smaller
orbits less and less relevant, less and less stable. "Ride the wave, enjoy the
moment." Is one argument. The other is "Move on." Sometimes wish life and being
was a rational exercise. But it's not, and despite the rumors never will be.