There are times when one walks the streets of New York at night in the rain and it becomes clear, ineffably clear, that each of us out there on the wet concrete is the same- particles adrift on a Heisenberg plateau, each knowing either where it is or where it's going, but never both at once.
Kick the can along the gutter and watch the water dance over the frozen pebbles that wink from the tarmacadam of Sixty-Ninth street-
Skittering, through the fall of rain, across the infinite flat plane between the buildings, each of us in an identical energy state; held to our level by the earth, held away from the center of the earth by the earth itself. That's what makes us the same, in ways - that fact that all of us are held on the same level by our world, and that our potential energy is probably very similar. Maybe we should wear indicators that display it, and all the numbers would be the same, and there wouldn't be as many reasons to hate anymore, because everyone's number would be like everyone else's, except humans being humans we'd find a way- to climb a tall building and revel in higher values.
I wonder what it would look like if you jumped off the World Trade Center, the numbers changing, the potential spooling down and the kinetic spooling up...pretty, in a way, nature striving for an equilibrium with its flesh and water pawns, the gravity and air resistance factors on the cosmic zillion- sided dice that God uses to make our saving throw versus life.
Dungeons and Dragons, there's a reference from hell...I wonder if the same synapse that spanged up that reference knows about what's in the one next door- feelings and data and crisscrossed nets of memories.
Memories that linger in the darkness with their dendrites sparking slowly as they wait for you to inexorably turn to them and scream in wonder and dismay as they reach out through the dark to caress your mind gently, and to slowly bring you back from dream into the coffee-flavored lighted world that has the remote control.
Possibly.