Ode to a Mad Scientist

Madness? Formulae scream their names, hurried to tell of their meaning. A single digit by any other name brings disorder upon a newborn system- perhaps utter ruin. It all its perfection, change any fragment, remove one question, touch its delicate process and the numbers return to sheer chaos.
My dear, chaos is from which we work.

Old arts are not forsaken; they prevail as whims; hopes of ascension, seeking impurity for refinement when transumutation clutters my desk. Both fluid and solid, water and metal, hydrargyrum* never makes an elixir of life and she is no great mystery. She pines for sulfur and flees from heat. Bind her with vitriol and vitriol formost, immerse in flame and collect the pieces.
Matter is our metaphysics.

Light fades into the glass I hold, gathered in liquid. No...not cloudy but pure unlike the dought fresh on my tongue. This is all about the distortion of existance. We painstakingly break it apart just to put it back together.


*Hydrargyrum (Hg) - mercury.