The Cosmos Goes Down the Tube

I raise a can to toast those stars who've brought new worlds to our small screens, who've taught us to believe in black hole-, worm hole-, superstring-, big bang- and quantum-, relativity-type things. I'm seeing how you look askance, my friends, so pan your lenses this way, please. Observe this can. Think: sun! Think googol times its size of gelignite. I shake it 'til the pressures build... And it's Goodnight Vienna! as the ring is pulled - but then the eructations die, and I, as macho-man (or gravity) implode the can. Across the aisle the white dwarfs pile, each one a star before it lost its equilibrium. Mine, I lost in that space-time continuum in which I found no notions of my own before I sat here on this train alone and wished that Einstein could have done the same, for then perhaps we’d have a different game. E = mc2? Small beer: he might have changed his theories sitting here where time seems like this single track stretched out before and stretched out going back. And speaking of small beer, it’s polarized my mind, and I have been exceedingly surprised to learn the natures of this tunnel and its train: how nothing fits with pictures in my brain; how space is curved; how absolute time disappears as seconds passing on my watch on station clocks take years; how gravity becomes becomes surreal, a buckle in the spacetime wheel. The train winds on through spools of black spaghetti to pools of twilight consciousness: that holiday with Hetty, the boulevards under snow, the day we buried Caroline; these were not stations down a line, but stills in some infinity, a paradox of replication, ticks from countless station clocks spread through some multiverse - which image says it's time I quit. I haven’t understood this Circle Line one bit. D. King
Last updated 10.2.2007