My pulse rate stood at zero When I first saw my Pierrot.
My temperature rose to ninety-nine When I beheld my Columbine.
Sigh, sigh, sigh, . . .
For Love that's oft denied. Cry, cry, cry, . . .
My lips remain unsatisfied I'm yearning so, for my own Pierrot.
As we dance the Entropy Tango!
I'll weep, weep, weep
Til he sweeps me off my feet.
My heart will beat, beat, beat,
And my body lose its heat.
Oh, life no longer seems so sweet
Since that sad Pierrot became my beau
And taught me the En- tro- py Tango!
So flow, flow, flow . . .
As the rains turn to snow.
And it's slow, slow, slow . . .
As the colours lose their glow . . . .
The Winds of Limbo no longer blow
For cold Columbine and her pale Pierrot,
As we dance the En- tro- py Tango!
...To a very large degree, people can create their cosmologies at will, liberating themselves from the deterministic schemes which ought to have lead them into a wholly different style of life. To have a platonic conception of oneself, and to make it spring forth, fully clothed, out of one's head, is one of the most dangerous and essential city freedoms, and it is a freedom which has been ignored and underestimated by almost everyone except novelists.
Cornelius' obsession through all incarnations is how to maintain and acquire a strategically capable identity in a city where identity is costume drama -- for the presentation of self in everyday life is a form of theatre where identity is role and entropy is high for time is passing -- therefore life is a series of auditions.