[When Boimler finally comes to a stop, since the string isn't tugging him anymore, he just falls on his back on the floor, arm extended and dangling from the thread.]

I - and I cannot emphasize this enough - hate magical bullshit.

[A pause.]

I want to study the magic to figure out how it works on a fundamental scientific level - [Far from being annoyed at how nonsensical it is, he is fascinated by the tricorder readings he gets every day. He's Starfleet, of course he'd want to figure out how some kind of new metaphysical interaction with physical reality works.] - but also I hate it.

[Unfortunately, that statement doesn't count enough as any sort of confession. The string stays tied. He sits up but doesn't get off the floor yet.]