Month: December 2018

December 18

The owl is hooting, high in the tree right outside my window. Up and down the street dogs are barking restlessly in response. It’s eight days before Christmas. The presents are wrapped and under the tree. My stomach is growling. A comet is flying by. Subject verb object, subject verb object. Subject. Verb. Object.

last night I had
the strangest dream

December 17

Our ability to remember the past but not the future can be understood as a buildup of correlations between interacting particles. When you read a message on a piece of paper, your brain becomes correlated with it through the photons that reach your eyes. Only from that moment on will you be capable of remembering what the message says.

Natalie Wolchover, “New Quantum Theory Could Explain the Flow of Time,” Quanta Magazine

When we examine the problem closely, we find that “time” is not the unitary phenomenon we may have supposed it to be. This can be illustrated with some simple experiments: for example, when a stream of images is shown over and over in succession, an oddball image thrown into the series appears to last for a longer period, although presented for the same physical duration. 

David Eagleman, “Brain Time” in What’s Next? Dispatches on the Future of Science

snow globe
a theory
about loneliness

before love she sets the thermostat a little lower

afternoon drowsiness
one more world
before it snows

December 16

took it out of its cage and inspected it

that ghost in the frost-killed roses

on a stack of Bibles my left hand

reading my fortune the lines of desire

emerges from the fog with an animus

against time  and the speed of wind



December 13

Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems

On the one hand there’s me, and on the other there’s you. For a while it seemed that these disparate systems could be reconciled theoretically, but as it turned out, they belong to two different worlds entirely, two universes that are spinning away from each other, two realities that will never collide again.

lies down in a snowdrift a theory of motion

December 12

The minute (it seemed) I learned to read, my mother exhumed her old books from my grandparents’ basement and a few minutes later (it seemed) I had read them all. Nancy Drew, the Dana Girls, Trixie Belden: A throng of intrepid, sensible girls with perfect middle-class manners, politely but eagerly scouring the world for clues. And finding them! So many clues! I was desperate to find clues, desperate for a mystery. I eavesdropped whenever possible. Skulked around opening dresser drawers. Rifled through the mail, learned to steam open envelopes. Turned books on their side and shook them, hoping for something to drop out—a ransom note, plans for a bank robbery, a lost will. But there was never anything in my child’s life worth the name of mystery. That all came much later.

deep in the brambles I hear my heart rustling