I thought you were dead.

But you're not. You've just gone underground. A bit. When I read the part about no comments and no numbers, it felt like a new Dogme 95. Blogging in its purest form. And I thought that was beautiful. And inspired. Well, it inspired me anyway. Not that I'm going to jettison my comments. Or my statcounter. Or any of my silly baggage.

But I'm glad you're still there. When you hit your stride, dancing in the street like that, you are one of the loveliest voices I have ever heard. You with your keys and your cats and your Russian place. (Did you have the borscht? Was it the place with a black and white floor and big glass cases?)

I thought I'd roll you onto my list of ones to watch. And then I thought, naaah, this is private stuff. I'm not even sure I'm supposed to see it. But when you are so true- so faithfully human- how can I look away? C.S. Lewis said one of my favorite things ever- "We read to know we are not alone." Maybe you write for the same reason.

You do your thing. I love how not-neat it all is. And I'm glad you're there. So glad.

I'm not the only one who can't really keep it all together.

Fixed, A Lot of Stuff Is

I do have grandparents, you know. And though I don't think I'll evuh EVUH be in the mood to wear that Bible belt again, I could allow that a transcendent, immortal being might choose to interact with americuns (and if your faith is boldly condescending enough, that being might choose to interact with those foreigners, too.) And I will allow that this *if I keep breathing in through my nose this Mary Poppins way, without breathing out again, the wind will certainly change directions and we all know what happens then- no more spoonful of sugar or something equally upsetting* digression is an act of my own will. However! That aforementioned being might choose not to be a pooper.

Might, might, might.

I, on the other hand- lowly human being that I is- I have to go to the bathroom regularly or things get a mite uncomfortable. Nurses begin to take an interest in my bottom line. *yes, wow, that was hmmmm. ward of the state slowing down on these church sanctioned drugs or somesuch nonsense. seriously? we don't have anything better for this kinda sitch?*

Yeah, so to review:
Might, might, might & mite, mite, mite. Did I hear a suggestion that I shrink even more?

Weird. Truly. But I'm still Honest +
and I bet I'm still Popular. That's got to be worth something to somebody. Perhaps, me?

Evil:

It's boring. (And it hurts!)

I Love Peaches! (That's All I Wanted To Say)

sometimes i long for clean grief, mine or someone else's, but maybe only death gives out that kind. still i can't go looking for death, i'm too tired.

sick

and if i feel as though i'm slipping through fences, all of them whitewashed and none of them real, you won't help me, will you. set them up over and over, agility trials, whippet thin and sad. can't be cool anymore. can't. just can't. you ruin things. you ruin good things. lovely, perfect things. turning tables, gathering friends, father's anger, mother's absence. feel better on the other side of what's good for us? we haven't changed places, you know. i'm still here and telling you straight this is queer.

and if i put you in that place and tie my colors on your arm, over the dozens of other colors you nobly wear, you won't be able to bend your arm anymore, will you. so, give me back that scrap. i understand what it does to you now. never knew i'd be wanting a knight, white charger, white powder, white bullshit. you show me what a man is and i'm sorry now. i'm sorry. so sorry. i don't want to know anymore. don't show me anymore.

and if i try to speak the truth, it won't be heard, will it. nothing makes me glad like the truth. the truth when you speak it. when i do it, though, and you can't even see, smoke and mirrors, saved pride, saved face, saved pennies, it's guaranteed to make me sad. mismatch. misspoke. mistake. bad, bad mistake.

and if i spend time in the stacks, reading to know i am not alone, reading to forget myself, to forget who we are, well, that won't help me, will it. knowing is a weariness that settles down into my bones. everyone i've ever forgotten and tried to leave, tried to unknow, unlove, unwant, unseek, is with me still. the pain of every single time strings together like a necklace of stones i didn't buy. take back the gift. take it back. you shouldn't have. you really shouldn't have.

Get Some

David Blanchflower, an economics professor at Dartmouth, published findings recently from a study that included thousands of people in 35 nations, indicating that if you're single or in a miserable marriage, you'd need to earn $100,000 more per year than you already do to be as happy as a happily married person.

It gives me pause- I may need to honestly reassess the pep talk I give single friends when they're bummed out over their lack of a love affair. Plus, it makes me rethink the supposed nobility of undying dedication to crappola marriages. When one person is willing to give and grow (and all those other silly sounding but ultimately vital sorts of relationship things) and the other isn't- well, maybe divorce is a heckuva lot more important than hanging on.

When do you judge a time's up, though? Do you wait for more research? Or just do a gut check? We Americans gut check ourselves out of over half of the marriages we get into. I'm sure there's a brilliant balance to be had somewhere between trying like hell and knowing it's best to move on when it's not working and it's not your fault. Hmmm...

Blanchflower also found that if you have sex just once a month, you'd need to earn $50,000 more a year to be as happy as someone having sex once a week with a monogamous partner. Which reminds me that some couples write a mandatory minimum of sex four times a week into their prenups. Yeah, non sequitur, I know. My brain jumps around.

Anyhoo, all this from an economics professor. Which reminds me that you should duffinitely read Freakonomics by Levitt and Dubner. More "economics will explain everything" stuff and a lot of it completely counterintuitive and really eye opening.

I'm not heeling you to hook you.

Ah, it was lovely. Maybe this movie wasn't quite right in the head, but when Joseph Gordon-Levitt showed up like a grown-ass man who couldn't be told he was still living a boy's life, well, I got it.

Now, I've gotta run. You stay parked.

It's Old, It's New

It's not news (sometimes it is, though) but I like it. *pat, pat, pat* I'm thinking of what I can possibly contribute. Something factually incorrect, hopefully, so that I can watch the good people of the world stream like little ants all over the debris I leave, carting off the useless bits and turning the rest into fossil fuel. Or something.

H+P's back.

Spring Schedule

Please step back from the painting, m'am. And, sir, you are not allowed to have a camera in here. Egyptian Photography in the 21st Century is in the next room. No, that next room. No problem. Happy to help.

maybe you're my mickey rooney

and i'm your judy g. and we can fool around with other people but we're idiots not to be happy together.

maybe i know you better. maybe i like you best. maybe if i've got to disappoint anybody (or be disappointed) i'd rather break up with your brother. (maybe those aren't even options. maybe those aren't the only options. maybe i'm grateful. maybe i'm an ingrate.)

maybe life is messy. maybe a girl's got a right to change her mind. maybe you're turning into popeye. maybe i'm turning japanese. (or maybe not.)

maybe this is all moot. maybe we're having a fight. are we having a fight? do you egregiously disagree with me right now? maybe my stomach doesn't hurt anymore. maybe i won't tell you though. maybe i will.

maybe we should be on that show. maybe i will flash the audience. probably not. maybe the producers will offer me more money. maybe i'll reconsider. no? oh, well.

maybe you two will wrestle and i'll slap you both for good measure. maybe you'll insult each other and the audience won't know you're in love. (but not with me.) maybe we make a fine show. maybe it'll get ugly. maybe?!

maybe i will fling down my mic and flounce off stage only to return thirty seconds later with more energy, more emotion and more bad wannabe poetry. (only fitting.) maybe i'm going to have to laugh at myself when i watch this later. maybe you're gonna have to laugh, too. daryk will have to laugh by himself.

maybe everybody needs to shut up now. i said shut up!

i wanna hear jerry's final thoughts. i just know they're gonna change my life.

children are born

children are born of the will of the father
or at least that book says so
but anyway
what if your father says no to your whole existence
or beats you and yells
i brought you in
and i'll take you out

then wouldn't you like to have a say in the whole thing?
and where's your mother, honey?
are you lost?
let's go find your mom
because i'd like to have a word with her

children are born of the will of the mother
or at least that law says so
but anyway
what if your mother says no to your whole existence
and maybe your dad agrees
or maybe he's helpless
or maybe he doesn't even know

then wouldn't you like to have a say in the whole thing?
and where's your father, honey?
are you lost?
let's go find your dad
because i'd like to have a word with him

children are born of the will of the people
or least that country says so
but anyway
what if your government says no to your whole existence
because you're a girl
or you're second
or your parents are in a trouble of their government's devising


then wouldn't you like to have a say in the whole thing?
and where's your country, honey?
are you lost?
let's go find your people
because i'd like to have a word with them

children are born of the will that i bear
or at least i can feel that it's so
but anyway
when i was young and i read of anyone who mistreated you
who fueled their own failed rage
hid their cruelty from the neighbors
or brazenly dared anyone to do anything for you when your hurt was evident

well, can you understand that i would have liked to have had a say in the whole thing?
and where are you now, honey?
are you lost?
let's find you a home
because i can't stand to see you this way any longer

(and if only love or only fear
ever grow inside us
then what keeps you
from having home
here with all the rest?

voilition turns and
mother knows best
maybe father, too,
or maybe the hindus
have you figured, baby

and if they're right
why am i sad?
i don't know who
to cry to.


and maybe sorrow isn't the point
and maybe sorting isn't my job
i don't know how to always be right
but love
well, that i can manage
and my heart,
well, my heart
doesn't come from nowhere

children are born)

I quit! I'm a genius!

Am very happy today b/c I am phasing out of my job.

Am phasing out of my job b/c I was being caught between the gears.

I was being caught between the gears because the owner was telling me things she wanted me to do and not telling my manager what she wanted me to do.

And in not telling my manager what she wanted me to do she created a weird sitch between me and the manager.

This weird sitch between me and the manager worked as follows: I, assuming owner has communicated everything to manager, try to actually follow through on and deliver per owner's requests (good stuff in the workplace typically) and the manager contradicts me and blocks me.

The manager contradicts and blocks me at every turn, in fact, until I stop following through and delivering per owner's requests in an effort to appease manager I am now convinced feels completely threatened by me.

In an effort to appease manager I am now convinced feels completely threated by me, I twist myself into crazy pretzel knots of deferential behavior.

I twist myself into crazy pretzel knots of deferential behavior and the bitch still won't calm down.

The bitch still won't calm down and the owner has noticed my recent lack of follow through and delivery per her requests.

She has noticed this lack and she makes requests again.

She makes requests again and I say, "yeah, about that..."

I say, "yeah, about that..." and then explain the entire scenario.

I explain the entire scenario to her and then she says, "oh. I may have caused your problems because I didn't tell the manager what I was asking you to follow through on and deliver."

"I didn't tell her but maybe I should have. I'll talk to her today about this because I think this tension is just coming from a misunderstanding resulting from a lack of communication."

I think to myself that this tension (which is just coming from a misunderstanding resulting from a lack of communication) will soon be solved when I talk to the manager after the owner does.

When I talk to the manager after the owner does, she starts the conversation off with, "I can't stand passive aggressive people, and when you're being passive aggressive with me-"

When she says you're being passive aggressive with me, I cut her off because I can hear the ghosts of my ancestors snorting at that one.

The ghosts of my ancestors are snorting at the idea of me owning a passive aggressive personality, but I feel sorry for the manager- what does she know about psychology?

What does she know?

She knows nothing and I prove my lack of passive aggressiveness by directly confronting her on her foolish notion as well as a number of other things.

I directly confront her alright, in a respectful but assertive, crazy pretzel knot tone of voice.

She resents my crazy pretzel knot tone of voice and trashes me good.

She trashes me good and is actually incomprehensible at some points.

At some points she is accusing me of things she has no way of knowing and finally, I understand something.

I understand that this woman has not once during the entire conversation ever acknowledged that the owner ever spoke to me or to her about my following through and delivering ANYTHING per the owner's request.

Per the owner's request, I am talking to this crazy bitch, but I can see this is an emotional/personality trait based/ bullshit situation.

Yes, folks, this is an emotional/ personality trait based/ bullshit situation which, get this- WILL NOT CHANGE.

Unlike the manager, I do know something about psychology.

The symbol for hope.

So, I think what shocked me was that in this sad house with only one light on, suddenly I felt joy. Joy as you met me at the door. (I meant to ask you why you were here so late in the Louisiana night. That would have made sense. But I didn't ask.) And when you took me in your arms and walked me backward through room after room, I didn't question. (Although, I should have, right? Not just as to why you were here, but also I should have asked why he wasn't. Was he gone? Was he dead? Did I send him away? Does it even matter? I was finding that it did not.)

And the weight of desire wasn't mine any longer. It was on you now and you carried it as if it were easy. As if you'd been born to this. And into that dark room at the back of the house- the last in a long row of lonely rooms where I'd finished a marathon eight years of thwarted desire, doing work that wasn't mine to do, carrying a weight that wasn't mine to bear- you pushed me back. I fell onto the bed. And suddenly it wasn't the one I'd slept in alone for the past year and a half. This wasn't the room where I'd pondered the death of my love for him long before my will to try here was beaten. Before good sense and grief made me steady and old. Suddenly, that bed and that room and the entire universe filled up with light and purest joy.

Such elation, which I have only ever felt before God... my mind spun, and heart leaping above the world and sky, my soul was still and knew... and now I remembered reading somewhere that feelings about God and sex originate in the same region of the brain...so, see, it all made sense and ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

And of course, none of it was true, but that was the dream I had.

Lump of Coal

Ever had a family member from whom you wish you could just permantly un-relate yourself? There's only one real viper in the brood where I come from. Not to say that no one else is a snake but everyone else is kind of out in the open with their meanness. I pretty much hate contact with this individual though, hate to even be reminded of them.

I used to date a lawyer who insisted that loyalty was the quality he valued most in other human beings. At the time I thought that there were probably a couple things which were even more important but the older I get the more I agree with him. I hate not being able to trust someone who I know can trust me.

I cannot stand the fact that I am related to/ have loved/ protected/ given much to a person who will truly feel accomplished in life when they are able to tear me down and triumph over me.
I can't stand how sick I feel thinking about their drive for this kind of thing. I can't stand how my grief over this horrifying thing tears at my heart. And I can't stand that, even though it'd be a pretty easy thing to throw my shoulder into a windpipe and end this bullshit, I can't bring myself to hurt this idiot.

I can't tell whether I am weak or strong when it comes to this person. But I'm tired and would dearly love to be un-related.

You think if I sat on Santa's lap and asked real nice, I could get this for Christmas?

(Since I gave up hope, I feel a lot better.)

What have you done to my city?

I saw the path of this thing before I flew to Costa Rica a couple of weeks ago. I worried and fretted for a couple of days before becoming uncalm and cranky all day Tuesday. That Tuesday. No one on my rah-rah-yay! trip could understand my problem. The rules of the game were that we couldn't discuss or ask where any of us had gone to school, what we'd studied, the work we did. Or where we were from. I couldn't explain my growing agitation, my panic. I irritated a few. I couldn't be cool to save my life. Finally, late in the evening, at the third hotel of the trip, I got online for the first time since flying out of the States.

And my heart broke. There she was, my ugly, cracked beauty- rundown and languid and still the best party I've ever had- just brutally fucked over and left behind. And my people, you know... those people.

I've lived all over. Here's the list if you like:

Texas
Michigan
Sherbrooke, Quebec
Oklahoma
South Carolina
Ohio
Indiana
Florida
North Carolina
Sandton, Republic of South Africa
New Jersey
Florence, Italy
New Orleans
And now another good ol' U.S. of A. city.

All that to say, I've lived a lot of places and traveled to more and I've never had roots anywhere. Have always envied people who have had 'em. Been slightly in awe of them, if the truth must be told. But in New Orleans, I felt home. The kind of feeling that crawls inside of you and wriggles under your skin whether you like it or not. Now it's a part of you and ever more shall be. No use pretending. No use fighting it.

And, yes, that's not practical. That doesn't make complete sense. I didn't call it my amour fous for nothing. Poverty, racism, ignorance, violence and enough corruption to satisfy everybody related to a politician. And yet... what I found- I won't even put words on what I found other than to say that it felt like home. Right or wrong, it felt like home.

My home in New Orleans is the only one that wanted me to stay as much as I did. The only one that inspired my love and didn't make me feel like a fool for giving all of it. Leaving was difficult. Working past two midnights too many, there was no end to the packing. No end to the best cleaning I've probably ever given a house in my life. Past exhaustion, to the point that I began to hallucinate a little that this place was alive and would not let me go. A doorknob fell off the outside of my bedroom door as I laid down to sleep for two weary hours before the movers were to arrive- as if the house would trap me in that back room if it could.

I left my porch. I left my plant- the one remaining live one. I left my neighbors. My Mardi Gras decorations in the basement for the next lucky resident. Left my best wishes and not a little envy for that individual, if I'm being honest. I left and have been unsettled since.

And so, of course, once people knew where I'd come from lately, they want to know: Why didn't people leave? Why didn't anybody believe the storm forecasts? Why didn't they use the school busses to evacuate people? Why didn't the governor call in the National Guard faster? Or declare a state of emergency sooner? Why did they keep out the Red Cross for so long? Why didn't they fix the levees a long time ago? Why did people start to shoot and rob and rape each other? Why did those police officers quit? Why didn't they have more dignity than that? More honor? Aren't they ashamed of themselves? Why, in New York people were noble during 9/11. Why can't New Orleanians be like New Yorkers? Why did it take so long for rescuers and organizers to take over? Why, in New York during 9/11, things were organized and fast. Why can't New Orleans be like New York? Tisk, tisk, tisk. Well, somebody's got to pay, that's for sure. Probably everybody. Ah, well. Now they can fix the levees but they shouldn't build the damn place again where it was. Don't you think they should rebuild somewhere else? Who would be so stupid as to build below sea level in the first place?

And, yes, I know the answers to all their questions, but I am sick to death of answering questions for people whose heartache is twice removed. For people who are rational and a tad detached. People who welcome one more chance to bash the President. I am sick at heart. Feels like my whole soul is weighed down by grief. And no amount of investigating and finger pointing and responsibility taking- which, of course, must happen and will happen- can move this along.

Since getting home from Costa Rica I've stayed in my apartment. Finding reasons to be busy. Finding reasons to avoid all of my new friends. I am supposed to see them all tomorrow night for dinner, though.

Please, God, no more questions.

Talkin' 'Bout Issues On The Barry Gibbs Talk Show

*Ahem!* We will leave the chest hair and crazy, cool medallions for another day. (And no, this isn't more backstory delivered in a tortuously slow and circuitous fashion. You wish.)

Okay, so I'm watching t.v. here lately (it's one of the things I do) and my TiVo offered up a trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong remake. Lord love him, he cast Jack Black, I think as a sort of Peter Jackson-ish director playing a director kind of character. Seriously, that's my theory. I am distracted by Black's presence (although I like him a lot generally speaking) because he's usually not a serious character in the least. That and Naomi Watts is a beautiful woman but her hands look ape-ish. Ah, well, there's no doubling to be had at this point. (Or maybe, I overthink to myself, Jackson liked that about her because he felt that it was kind of a visual note on her connection with Kong. They are alike. Do I scare anybody?) Also, side snarky note- what is up with those muscles in her cheeks? I was distracted all the way through 21 Grams. Anyhoo, I like Naomi- specially her comic stuff and I like Jackson and I like Black, so maybe I will like King Kong. And you know I like TiVo. You don't even have to ask.

But what I really wanted to say something about is this G8 summit coming up in Scotland. Powerful men are going to make decisions about how our world goes forward. About whether we have mercy on the poor and the sick. On whether poverty stricken countries might actually begin to be able to participate in the economy the rest of us partake in. My younger brother explained to me a long while back why "free trade" coffee isn't actually all that free. How it didn't end up helping the people it was supposed to help the way it was supposed to help them. And I wish I could remember what he said because it was some of that kind of counterintuitive stuff that's fun to understand because it's so hidden and, well, counterintuitive. If he reads this (and he won't- he's a busy, busy web trends consultant) maybe he'll explain it again.

But I digress. Again. But I'm a strange one politically. For instance, I tend to be conservative but I believe in a living wage. (Will it shock our economy? I suggest we are due for a shock. I can't believe that in our nation we are nasty enough to dedicate ourselves to gathering unusable amounts of personal wealth while structuring things so that many human beings are crushed financially and personally. Hold out your paw, America. You're gonna get a good smack.

And, as I am fond of letting people know (as if I had no other ways to be special), I lived in South Africa for a year. I traveled to places like Moçambique where not only were land mines still plentiful, but money and opportunities absolutely were not. And, yeah, I took the obligatory tour through Soweto in RSA. And yes, Johannesburg was pretty much desolate. And yes, those babies and children and young women and young men and adults and old people were being wiped out by AIDS. Some of those African countries are losing entire generations of their population. My inner elephant is still pissed that Glaxo-Wellcom took so long to allow them to get the drugs they needed cheaper, faster. (And, yes, I do happen to be aware of the staggering costs drug companies incur bringing new drugs to the market, as well as the staggering costs they incur working on drugs that never make it to the market. I understand why their patents exist. I understand they've got to make expenses and can't go giving everything away every time somebody is sick. HOWEVER, sometimes, when millions and millions of poor people are being annihilated by a disease you've found a way to ameloriate and put off (and in the case of infants, actually cure), well, I think you start to think about taking one for the team.

Sometimes, I think you need to give with your right hand while your left hand doesn't even know what's going on. In other words, I believe that sometimes you've got to say f*ck it to the rules of finances and profits and shareholders and wealth building and whatnot and just show the world an utter deed of love. I am running around with this idea that we wealthy nations should not oppress the poor. Not here, not there. Which is why I believe in forgiving third world debt for those countries who realistically cannot repay it, increasing aid to poor countries, levelling the playing field so that they can begin to participate in a viable way in the world economy, and making big changes in the lives of those afflicted by/ threatened by HIV/AIDS in the continent of Africa.

And that brings me to the Live 8 stuff going on this Saturday, July 2nd. (Looks like they're doing a second thing on July 6th in Edinburgh, Scotland, since it's closer to home for the actual G8 summit.) I would ask you to turn on your t.v. (MTV and VH1 will definitely show it) and watch (Sir) Bob Geldof do his thing yet again (better than the '80's, promise) with tons and tons of other human beings who believe in lifting up the oppressed. Like I do. Like you do. And, no, I probably won't start running around with a white rubber bracelet (there are too many of them anymore and my inner fashionista knows it) but I've definitely signed this letter because this kind of plan and behavior is right. Not only that, but as a conservative, Christian American, I can tell you flat out that this is the kind of plan God makes for us and this is the way God behaves toward us. How are we gonna stop the flow of that love and generosity to people around us in this world who are crushed by their circumstances? We'll inherit horrible things if we are willing to turn our faces away from the suffering of other human beings.

So, when the G8 get to Scotland, I hope they've heard from tens of millions of people. I hope they've heard from you. ONE is the right way to do it, too. You wouldn't believe the power there is in human beings agreeing on one thing.

It's time, as Kenneth Patchen put it, to

Be generous to generations who had nothing
To take, or give. O be willing to wait no longer.
Build men, not creeds; seed not soil-
O raise the standards out of reach.

new men new world new life

Or as I like to put it,

Make me proud.

Party Pooping Nobel Prize Winner (Part Trois of My String Theory Backstory)

In fact physicists insist it makes no sense that we can only remember the past. Why can't we remember the future?

Penrose (Sir Roger Penrose if you're nasty) already has peed in this pool or at least has stated his intention to jump in and try. Straining his tiny little scientist's bladder.



I will chide him in the next, fascinating installment of String Theory Backstory. I do a really good chide. Even if I may have to finally concede a point to the chidee. You'll love it.

Where Does The Time Go? (Part Deux of My String Theory Prayer Backstory)

Which reminds me of Ingrid Bergman asking where the noses go, but that's another topic for another day. And hopefully you've all figured that out already anyway. (Start with a digression, I always say.) Anyhoo, the science forthwith:

So, I've been thinking about time lately, and by lately, I mean for the last I-don't-know-how-many years, I guess. See, every time I have a long drive, I listen to books on CD. Usually non-fiction for some reason. Politics, comedy, business and science. The first two are funny, the last two are not. Stephen Hawking was where I started, I think- and no he doesn't read his own book which may be a grave disappointment to you. But I did listen to A Brief History of Time (was it abridged, I wonder now?) And of course, this gets me thinking that I need to go back and scoop up all of his other stuff. Memo to me. So, yes, Hawking, and I guess actually there were some bits of Einstein and Heisenberg before that. I'm uncertain which came when or showed up where in my reading and whatnot. I'd have to really look to pin that down. ;-)

Back to time- so, yeah, we generally run around with the idea of linear time. And, yes, any of us who've chanced upon a Discover/ Popular Science/ The Physics of Star Trek or something else fluffy of a science sort know that time is not linear. But I have noticed that even when presented with the fact that time is not actually linear, everybody still behaves as if it were.
As if, you know, beyond here lie monsters, or something.

Quick review (feel free to add or correct if I get crazy):

Linear time is the idea of time flowing in one direction with one event occuring after another and all events being placed immovably, well, in their original places. Imagine one olympic sized swimming pool after another laid end to end as far as the eye can see, and beyond that even, in a straight line. Everybody swims in one direction from the time they're born until the time they die. At which point they're cleared out of the water (time) by the lifeguards, we hope, because bumping into all those dead bodies would get quite freaky. (You see? I have a pragmatic/ scientific mind. Ha!) Not really about the bodies, but you get the idea about the one direction.

EXCEPT that physicists have found that time doesn't flow in a one directional line. And it's not as simple as lanes in those end to end olympic pools with some people swimming one way and some people swimming the other. No, indeed, it's more like a circular swimming pool with time (and if we're going to be complicated, which we very definitely will be very soon, more dimensional thingeys than time) swishing around. Or maybe even more like a spherical pool in which time does some very, very weird things. But I think the truth is that "time as a swimming pool" is actually in a more complete shape, if you will, than a sphere even, but I can't imagine that shape because my brain is flat. I intuit it, though, and say esto es por mi.* I must design a flag. It's a brave new swimming pool, yo. Pee in it if you dare.**

*Like all good explorers, I blithely and bravely ignore the fact that this has been "technically" discovered by someone else before me. What is "time"?, I ask. What's "before"? Look over there! (That last is so I can run away before you turn back around. But I'll come back. I always do.)

** Penrose (Sir Roger Penrose if you're nasty) already has peed in this pool or at least has stated his intention to jump in and try. I will chide him in the next, fascinating installment of String Theory Backstory. I do a really good chide. Even if I may have to finally concede a point to the chidee. You'll love it.