Category Archives: shards

string theory as proof of god’d existence

String Theory As Proof of God’d Existence

All things being equal – hold it right there. No two things are equal, leave alone all things. It’s like snowflakes. But I get suspicious about that, too. Who’s checking out all these snowflakes to make sure no two are alike? A busy man to be sure, with no leisure time and no sex life.

And (not to split hairs), are equal and alike the same or just similar? Are they even that? Could they be as different as night and day? If so, that would bring us back to the counter premise that no two things are equal. Or alike. Or similar. Or whatever.

Maybe there’s only one thing but we can’t see it in its totality and so we break it down into many tiny things and then try to pretend they’re all equal. For small minds there are more things than monkeys in a banana tree, but for a really big mind, say Einstein’s, there are far fewer things – space, time, gravity, energy, stuff like that. There’s not even matter, matter is just constipated energy.

Einstein translates as “one stone” but what if his name had been Zweistein? Or Dreistein? Or Eintausendzweihundertvierstein? Ho! They would have laughed him out of the Academy and there never would have been a moon landing and Hiroshima would have been spared and a day would have remained 24-hours long throughout the universe and all things would be equal. There’s something to be said for single-mindedness of purpose.

But, I stray from the point, and this isn’t the first time. Every time I see a point looming on the horizon I start juggling rat skulls like a demented court jester. I don’t trust points. But I have to admit that they may be the only things in the universe that are all equal. Of course I can’t prove it, I’m relying on intuition, which Einstein said was more important than knowledge. Actually he said imagination is more important than knowledge, but so what, six of one, half dozen of the other.

One thing you can do if you find yourself painting yourself into a corner like I’m doing now is fall back on string theory. String theory asserts that nothing’s where you think it is and wherever it is it isn’t there for long. In fact, nothing is nowhere, and two negatives add up to a positive, which is the ultimate equation (all things being equal) and adds up to God.

I tried presenting this theory as proof of God’s existence to a number of religious organizations, but with the exception of a band of Zen monks in Palo Alto, they all said it was the devil’s work and drummed me out the door.

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death drops all pretense

Death Drops All Pretense

Trying to get the juices flowing, I lean toward the tawdry and the irreverent, but Death keeps getting in my face and saying, “Boo!” Then she bends over laughing, as if life’s a big joke.

Sometimes Death appears as a woman, sometimes a man, a practical joker when a woman, hard as iron and middle-aged when a man, and if a man Death doesn’t say Boo, he just steps out in front of me and stares.

Death is transforming into something with teeth and blood.

 

 

Ten years of aneurysm surgeries and strokes and the usual assortment of back pain, torn ligaments and heartache, and the snap has gone out of my writing. Ten years of people I love dropping like equatorial flies from lung cancer and Parkinson’s, and I lay my pen down and slip into dream.

The world bolts away from me in a technological frenzy, and a foreign vocabulary of nuts and bolts falls from a grey sky like rain.

“How do you like Mr. Death now, my blue-eyed boy?” Death whispers, dropping all pretense and mangling a cummings poem.

I’m without an answer.

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eating right

Eating Right

I’ve got a head full of transgressions. A head full of wonder and smiles. A head full of past acquaintances masquerading as memories. A head full of brain cells, ten billion or more vying for the upper hand.

My head would be an English garden without all those brain cells, a fine place to take a stroll on the first day of spring. It frightens me that I might be nothing more than a byproduct of the fierce interaction of all those cells. That I might not be God.

Another way to look at it is those cells would not exist without me, I created them, in which case I am God. Yes, what if I created those cells and then put them to work creating the universe?

You’re probably thinking, “Hey, what about me? I’ve got ten billion cells spinning around in my brain too, so then I created the universe, or a universe anyway.”

Maybe there are as many universes as there are brain cells. Maybe each brain cell is a universe onto itself, full of tiny brains full of tiny brain cells busily creating universes.

Still, if we want to lead a well-balanced life, we have to eat right.

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the end of history

The End of History

Two massive Black Holes colliding on the edge of the universe causes Space/Time to quiver; what happened yesterday swings back around to have a look at itself, then banks hard into another reality where it hasn’t yet happened.

Just another day in the cosmos.

Mankind finesses the digital into a dagger – a high-tech stab into the circular, an affront to the Prime Mover.

Steven Hawking drifts off to sleep. Dreams he’s flying.

More vanishes in a decade now than used to vanish in a millennium.

We’re a short-lived anomaly in a dubious universe.

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rejuvenating love

Rejuvenating Love

I’d like to continue loving my fellow man, but I keep getting distracted by women. And anyway, it’s such an abstraction, “loving your fellow man.”

How can you love someone in the abstract, how can you love someone you’re not attracted to? A beautiful woman is like a slab of iron and you’re a puny magnet that she can suck right off the table top if she gets close enough.

I know, this is a male way of looking at things, a heterosexual male way, but if you’re a woman, or you’re gay, just switch the players around. Anyway, sex isn’t the core of the attraction that opens the door to love, it has more to do with mystique. Women draw men in with their mystique. They don’t have to be young and they don’t have to be physically beautiful, they just have to be true to their nature.

But more and more the soul is getting gouged out of people. They walk around wearing human face masks that if they melt away reveal a viscous, bad-smelling green goo spotted with red pustules, something that’s hard to love. After you’ve witnessed this happen a few times, you become gun-shy of love.

This is an exponential phenomenon, more detrimental than global warming and more heart-wrenching than mass starvation, and if something isn’t done soon to rejuvenate love, we are all lost.

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shall we dance?

Shall We Dance?

My wife fell in love with a cowgirl in tight jeans and high boots while line dancing and danced right out of my life. To retaliate I learned to square dance, tap dance, got special shoes, sequined pants, tried Flamenco in Barcelona, danced with bulls, with wolves, tried to explain to the children that their mother left for a cowgirl and there was no way we could continue on as a family, they’d have to choose.

Then I waltzed into the arms of my lame ballerina. Yes lame, how else do you think I could land a ballerina, me with my two left feet? She got run down by a Subaru at the peak of her career, and I took care of her until she broke down and married me.

Now we go dancing on weekends. She has more grace dancing with her mangled left leg than I do in my special shoes, but when she suggested we go line dancing I put my foot down, the only dance move I’ve ever perfected.

I never hear from the children, they chose their mother and started a dance troupe with the cowgirl. We see them on late-night TV from time to time, my ballerina and I. She says they have heart and dance like they’ve been liberated, and I hold my tongue and count my dwindling blessings.

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