It doesn't matter if you traded in your Kawasaki ZX-12R for that first-generation GSX-R1000. Unless you're Aaron Yates, pay attention. What happens next can make you swallow your tongue and/or discharge a discharge a variety of precious bodily fluids. Moving too quickly to be monitoring anything mechanical, the tach needle swings stage right like something from a video game. Current "quick-revving" cliches can't keep up. By 7000 rpm, please be pointed in the desired direction, because by 7200 revs you're there. Heretofore, this sort of rip only came with an assortment of pathological character traits: maybe a nasty flat spot, or a highside-triggering hit buried somewhere in the rev range like an antipersonnel mine. Not here. Provided there's a working brain connected to your right wrist, command and control electronics release all that horsepower in a perfectly linear stream. This is as good as it gets, boys and girls. There's enough accessible midrange grunt to make us wonder what we liked about twins in the first place. Despite sounding like a slightly domesticated F-1 refugee, the GSX-R never feels like it's working hard. Things begin to get serious to the right of 5000 rpm, but the 1000 does its business so smoothly that most of those little two-second horror movies that are usually part of going fast just never happen.