A visitation
Where did the elves go? They were right here a minute ago. I hear them,
but they won't come out to play. I would pout but I don't have time. I
am so frustrated I could spit. Except that I have no time. The elves
whisper that I have no time for them so they don't come out to play.
Time is supposed to be fungible and expanding, a trick of space as it warps and undulates around and under us. Why can't we slide into the troughs of space and find the time we need for - everything? Wouldn't that be exciting? To slip and slide through time as space falls out from beneath us and ribbons up, snapping us to fly through time until another ribbon catches us and swirls us around centrifugally until it, too, tires of us (or us of it) and flings us into another gravitational field for sport? I can see us now, passing on our flights of fancy, high fiving and waving as we tumble in the darkness filled with light from a thousand suns, back to where we began so we can do it all over again the right way, or do something completely different just for the hell of it. *waves* Is it fair that only dreaming physicists can see these tricks of the matter and emptiness around us? I think not. I would like to petition the universe to give poets that ability as well.
*petitions*
*silence abounds*
Guess what I got is what I got for today.
Time's up. Back to work.
Originally posted on LiveJournal in 2008
Time is supposed to be fungible and expanding, a trick of space as it warps and undulates around and under us. Why can't we slide into the troughs of space and find the time we need for - everything? Wouldn't that be exciting? To slip and slide through time as space falls out from beneath us and ribbons up, snapping us to fly through time until another ribbon catches us and swirls us around centrifugally until it, too, tires of us (or us of it) and flings us into another gravitational field for sport? I can see us now, passing on our flights of fancy, high fiving and waving as we tumble in the darkness filled with light from a thousand suns, back to where we began so we can do it all over again the right way, or do something completely different just for the hell of it. *waves* Is it fair that only dreaming physicists can see these tricks of the matter and emptiness around us? I think not. I would like to petition the universe to give poets that ability as well.
*petitions*
*silence abounds*
Guess what I got is what I got for today.
Time's up. Back to work.
Originally posted on LiveJournal in 2008
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