Heretical Physics
(with cameos by Einstein, Jung, and other theoretical heretics)
When I was englobed in subatomic quarks and bosons floating
in a seamless universe similar to the self, increasingly instructive
to the soul, the way Jung once put a collective spin on the magic
act of synchronicity, I fell in love with living. Synchronicity, I said,
is real and I’m all subatomic and witchy and woowoo, head a-spin
in my notorious unconscious, the seamless way it all boils down
to the tender soul or maybe the soul is made of steel, and it’s the
self we rely on. Which self are we talking about? Synchronicity’s
a scarab knocking on your soul right before one knocks on your
window. Atoms, sub or regular, are just a bunch of seemless fairies
hanging out with (mostly) guys who spin fun theories meant to re-
vamp and re-spin all the dumb theories all our dumb selves have
come up with. Thus: Seamless. Thus: We are all one mismanaged
synchronicity driving around in subatomic Suburus on our way
through the very soul of our petrie dish world with its own soul
hiding in the Rockies or the deep sea, spinning invisible in a whirl
of subatomic let’s-take-a-bubble-bath types who look like ourselves
but are so much smarter. Now synchronicity is at my door saying
it’s time for a seamless lunch of gouda, tomato, and conveniently
seamless mayo, the way ingredients blend one soul into another,
a tart synchronicity of lemon, egg, oil, and spice, spinning around
blissfully in one big glorious self made magically out of atoms.
Mermaid Rescued by EMTs in Colorado
Long before they lifted her into air they proudly called mountain air as if
mountain trumped sea; long before her body slept through such a spectacle,
giants tossing her down a flight of stairs and out the front door like a snoring
bluefish, hi ho; and long before she rose from great wilt and thirst to swing
her mythical tail at those burly Docs and Dopeys—long before all that,
she’d meant to pack enough salt to carry her past the Rockies, not get stuck
in this portless big-man’s land between the devil and the deep. Now look.
Hooked up to saline with no sea in sight: fragile phosphor, pale luminescence.
