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While I sit bemused, counting the ticking clicks, a funicular carriage hauls me relentless to appalling height, where I fight the panic which threatens to engulf me - half in dread that the train will jump its track. From a back door in a Western bar, dressed as a deputy sheriff, my finger ringing the trigger of a new unnotched gun, I enter - pensive in prospect that the bullets I've loaded are blanks. Clanking cauldrons jacked to a stove, and blurping troubled bubbles - an image more in keeping with the bleeping thoughts my mind can mint - contrasted with the fast dynamic shuttle of computers.      I feel as if I'm urged to wear a hat      denoting intellect I cannot match.