I invite them over and treat them to dinner.
Complications, tangled threads, messy situations, uncalculated consequences,
they hang out and make themselves at home. And there I am in the middle, playing
hostess, inciting riots and other symptoms of misfiring neurons and maladjusted
hormones, enjoying myself immensely.
Complications, tangled threads, messy situations, uncalculated consequences,
they hang out and make themselves at home. And there I am in the middle, playing
hostess, inciting riots and other symptoms of misfiring neurons and maladjusted
hormones, enjoying myself immensely.
Who
wants to live in a box when non-Euclidean space is so much more
interesting?
Certainly simplicity and
Occam’s razor have their place, and are welcome to the party. But I want to
teeter on the verge. I want to tapdance on the event horizon. I want to be the
tornado blooming from a single flutter of butterfly wings. I see streets and
want to loop them into Gorgon hair. I see people and want to shake them out from
their streamlined jackets, fiddle with their bags, tell them where to stick
their equilibrium, then give them a really big hug.