The enormous backlit headlight highway of synapse and neuron interfering with logic to produce spasms of error and quirk which we call genius is the same path through the Krummholz of the brain, the stunted lightning-struck gothic funland of notes that make music, not the metronomic, gnomic, metered-out metropolis of mediocrity, but the erratic, Socratic tic of random arrhythmic photonsof warmth and will that counted as human nature before the diligent logarithms of rhythm co-opted the sonics of the gin-and-tonic heart.