time for a post?

I had a dream last night that I had posted to my blog, and somebody - can't remember who - commented and said, "that was wonderful, I loved reading it... This is why you should post to your blog!"

But, alas, I cannot remember what I wrote so effectively about... my dreams are of limited guidance, I'm afraid. (But did I ever tell you about my "Mean Year" dream? and the call number I can almost remember?)


William's countdown clock to our departure is down to a day and change.

Soon we're going to go try to sell back some books now - and then I will try to resist buying more books - and I'm afraid I am already anticipating failure. And then abbey road, and then -

Then stripping down four months from the walls and packing them back into suitcases. It's strange that time passes, but stranger, I think, to think that such a thing is strange.

I was reading the other day of a new upstart idea in physics, possibly the start of a new debate where the disputed territory is time itself. If I recall correctly, and we all know brains are leaky things, multiverse theories suggest that time is not essential - we can view all things as coexisting, with time not necessarily a fundamental property of the universe. But some dude was arguing that maybe we should instead pursue the idea that there's just one universe, and that time - passing by, whoosh, there it goes - is an inherent component of this universe, part of its warp and weft. Everything that's real is only real for a moment, and the laws of physics themselves, being tied to time, could change over time (because what doesn't?)

Everything real just for a moment, and not preserved in some eternal timeless coexistence of all things - whoosh, there it goes. Strange, but stranger to think it strange - isn't this the world we all know?


All the thing's we've missed, that we didn't see when we blinked or missed a turn or stayed home with a cough, make William say, "We'll have to come back!" but - knowing how way leads on to way - well, really, it's impossible, you know. It's not simply that the place is different, always changing, but that you're different. Always changing. And seven years later if you trace your footsteps, you're a new person following the path of a vaguely-familiar stranger. And your eyes are new and the stones are that much older, and you've read new things, and thought about new things, and the infinite information before your eyes, you sift it in new ways. What you see, what you think, is different - what you feel is entirely different...

So, yes, don't ever count on coming back. But it's nothing to be sad about - not really. What good would a world be where every step took you back where you'd been before? Where all your breaths were taken as one, simultaneously, where you were everybody you ever had been and ever would be - stagnating eternally - or oh, splitting infinitely, how much worse to be everyone you ever could be?

(sorry i could not travel both/ and be one traveler, long I stood...)


What was I saying? Four months have gone by quickly. And five years, for that matter - and seven - but then again, perhaps they haven't gone by quickly at all. They've just gone. And here I am, and it's time to sell back books I've already read (can you read the same book twice?)

And my tea is cold (entropy in a porcelain cup). Time to stop typing.