Private notes, though what is secrecy but fear? The trouble is that so few wish to understand people. So many will only speak at the surface. So, many will fall apart not knowing what they should have been. In the face of trial. An error.
There is a streak of sunlight across the page. A relic of distances beyond conquest. As I write toward it, the tip of the pen throws grainy ellipses out of the light. There are 4 distinct bands. As I toy with them I am reminded of complexity -- of numbers & components & chaos. Of what the world is and why it is most amazing if it stands on its own without gods. People always oversimplify things: I see scant difference between the motions of a society and the motions of cells, or the chance crashings of atoms. Look at a highway. Stare at it for hours. What is its pattern? It is blood, carrying oxygen (people) to tissues beyond the exit ramps. Conversely, from the smaller standpoint, wouldn't a blood vessel be a highway to some cellular observer? Only the dimensions are different.
People are just as reactive as oxygen -- where is the line between analogy and accidental truth? Strange, how humans pair off for stability (O2), but divorce under stress & run off seeking new reactions. Look at the instability of O3 ... how long can secrets be kept? One bright ray of light shatters the triad into unsatisfied units.
Secrecy -- to avoid judgement we shy away, content to be ions, never showing our electrons for fear of having them stripped away forever.
Some are more like carbon -- they like things in pairs. Some are hydrogen, always giving what little they have. Xenons live in the mountains in snowy cabins. The list goes on. Eventually we will discover that atoms have shapes ... nervous systems ... hairstyles ... secrets ... and diaries of their own.
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I was going through an old journal, looking for something I had lost. Found this piece, dated 2/6/88. A fun heap of analogies for any (no) occasion. And I just heard this echo through my head: "Up and at 'em, Atom Ant!" Tanks full of memories.
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