Like steel

Instead of all this, why couldn’t we be something that lives forever, like a piece of steel, say? They just go on and on, never changing…probably don’t have any emotional problems; they just are, and they can be satisfied with themselves because they’re doing a job, doing it well, and will for, oh, maybe hundreds of years without change. Sounds pretty nice. Smooth, and stable. No daily ups-and-downs. No torture, like we have. Of course, they may have their own time-scale, like maybe a day to us doesn’t nearly mean the same to them. And I guess they do have a rusty or molten death waiting for them eventually. Or maybe…maybe their time-scale is really long, and they think their lives are really short! What a gyp. And of course the scenery never changes, although that’d be ok if you were part of a nice bridge. Who knows what they’re up to? Maybe their time-scale is so stretched out, the first piece of steel ever made has yet to form any thought at all. Maybe that would be the best. It’s the thinking that hurts. We’re so proud of our big brains…who needs it? Wouldn’t you rather be your dog, any day? But the non-thinking piece of steel…I think that’s got it all over us. Just be something, be of use, be part of the big picture, have a useful function. Well, wait a second…isn’t that what we’re trying to do in the first place? Be something, fit into the big picture, be useful? Yeah…oh, to simply be steel.

A beautiful phrase

 

I’ve just read an article in the May 2, 2011 issue of The New Yorker($) here  written by Rivka Galchen, and it contains such a beautiful phrase that I had to pass it on in admiration. It is an article about quantum computing, and it’s a terrific article about the current state of the field, and also about one of the premier theorists.

It contains these words:

“A ten per cent chance of an atom decaying is not arbitrary at all, but rather refers to the certainty that the atom will decay in ten per cent of the universes branched from that point. (This being science, there’s the glory of nuanced dissent around the precise meaning of each descriptive term, from “chance” to “branching” to “universe.”)”

                                                                            - Rivka Galchen

The glory of nuanced dissent. 

I laughed out loud, I was so delighted by that; if I wasn’t holding the magazine I would’ve clapped my hands like a three-year-old. It’s so concise, it’s just beautiful. Here’s what it would sound like if I was the one talking, and wanted to convey as much:

“The theory mentions the ten percent chance of decay across universes, but you know what scientists do with a statement like that…first they have to define all the terms, and since they all have their own backgrounds and experiences in which they formed their own precise definitions, they have to argue every little fine point about what means what, and how this affects that, and how it was used in this famous paper 200 years ago, and while these guys are boring everyone else in the room you realize that they’re having the best time ever, because they LOVE these discussions; it’s the best part. And only after everything’s defined do they even start in on the theory, and what it means and how it relates…yada, yada.”

But, no; just “the glory of nuanced dissent.” That’s all a real writer needs.

Lost love

I can sit here alone and listen to Barber Adagio in tears, thinking of the beautiful curves of her hips, in her skimpy underwear, and imagine kneeling there with my arms around her hips and kissing whatever I can, just pressing my face against her and closing my eyes and wishing it would never ever end, and then opening my eyes right away to see everything I can so I can remember it all forever. Maybe this is the memory, the snapshot, that comes to mind at my end, as I breathe my final few times, and the snow falls silently outside in the trees. It’s all that matters; to love, to have and to hold; to give completely, eagerly, hungrily, to become one with her, and have your creation stand as testimony to the two of you and who you were. One must have this great love. I must have this great love.

There are worn sayings about ‘the love of a good woman’ and references to its ever-presence as a background note…but I believe it’s the melody, it’s the entire substance of the symphony you write. Children and family, of course…but they are on the foundation of the two of you. I have never seen the importance of a woman to a man’s life be given its due. Maybe it will come to the fore, before the age of enlightenment that started in the ‘60s comes to an end. I know I must love somebody, and be loved back, before I’m fit to step out into society. I have no purpose on my own; that part of me does not exist. There are no cures or salves for lack of ambition or for needing encouragement. For me, a great love comes first, and perhaps only; what I do to make our lives possible thereafter is immaterial to me.