Quantized Time

There is beauty in twenty-seven. Out amongst the tips of the hills to the north the clouds roll in like an ancient invasion, the wind teases and chills down to the bone, and the feeling is nothing but anticipation and memory. And it says, as clear as the full moon, Remember it, because it means so much more this time around. There are only so many days left here, in Santa Barbara, in youth, in life as a whole. So go in stride, keep your head up, play things tongue in cheek and go through the motions and if you trip up then get right back up and keep going.

I sat in front of my computer at 5am last night, while she laid on the couch behind me, reciting thoughts that I transcribed and I didn't agree with a word but the irony nearly floored me. Yet I obliged, regardless, because that's how the circle works. That's how things come around. We've come to this point because it was the one probability we couldn't conceive. And it collapsed in on itself, just like quantum mechanics says it should.

But all for naught, or all for the greater good? Either way, it makes sense in some strange way. The way little screws rip through little planks of wood and struts are built, one by one, and connected in what seems to be chaotic indifference only to create a superstructure that couldn't have made sense any other way. We build our own destiny like this, with this.

It's the middle of the night, whether its a second past midnight, 4 in the morning, or getting a call from a girl you haven't spoken to in three years at noon on an unsuspecting Monday. It's always the middle of the night because we're stuck in flux, unable to comprehend even the slightest twist in an unfinished plot in what we consider should be our fluid narrative. But! But! But it's just like time, it's not fluid, it's quantized. Physicists recently understood that the smallest measurement of time is 1/1025 seconds. So what, exactly, happens in between?

Cassiopeia Watches Back (reprise)

I was going to repost an entry I wrote last year and posted around the same time. It was titled, from what I remember, December 16th, 2006. It was about attending my dad's funeral. He died on the 16th. And then, just as the tides do, I changed my mind. Instead I'm going to repost an entry I wrote about a month later.

1/21/2007 11:20PM

The hungover air traffic controller talks to the hungover first officer over the radio and they agree on a flight level nearly seven miles above the surface. She speaks slowly and her voice carries with it a tinge of sorrow, one the first officer knows all too well. She says her words as if reading them off of a burning fire pit full of old love letters. And they turn into ash and the sounds carry off up through the troposphere and beyond. The first officer repeats them and turns towards the Captain in the left seat, and the Captain nods his head. The Captain then turns his head back towards the left window in order to witness the constellation Cassiopeia, the wife of King Cephus, in all her burning glory throughout the black sky. His favorite asterism is Orion.

Several miles below them moisture in the air has turned the water into ice crystals and it descends and falls as snow showers over Colorado. The surface roads are covered in white, a white so blinding that walking on them would render your inner ear useless, and the disorientation that follows would cause you to tumble over in your expensive shoes and fall over on its icy softness. Several vehicles down there have veered off the road throughout the day, blinded by the complete white-out, and they said an extra prayer before their vehicle stopped, simultaneously apologizing for not talking to Him more often.

But the heavens watch as our planet spins around its axis and rotates around its star. The heavens watch as our moon recedes and the Universe expands. It watches as you spend an extra five seconds in front of the mirror tonight, just before going out, because you notice a new wrinkle under your left eye that wasn't there the night before. And it watches as you flicked off the light, straightened your shirt, and thought once again of your own mortality.