The Far Side of Dimension
Time is not a dimension. Time impacts dimension and a curve gives it dance. 38-22-38 and all hell breaks loose in the math department.
Clowns, acrobats and father confessors, the three dimensions of the human condition. Songs get written, wars waged and outrageous lies blurted into love’s honey pot. Out pop the babies, waving their tiny hands in warning.
I know, I’m drifting past time’s curvature, a bad habit I picked up in a bassinet before the tubas began blasting shock waves into sweet mother’s milk. But curb your impatience and keep the hounds leashed. I’m not the enemy, or so said Adolf Eichmann when the trap door of Israel flopped open and snapped his vertebrae.
“Wer muss das bezahlen?” were the last words that echoed thru the ghost chamber of his mind, and then the stork of time dropped him down eternity’s chimney.
“Look, here’s another one, where do they all come from?” said the dimensionless mother, rocking Eichmann in her arms.
