NaPoWriMo - 2019 #25 - Copenhagen


All things to all men the wave-function coming
and she is sitting, plain blue dresses on bentwood chairs,
every weekday for seven years...
inspecting such light rays as pass,
sipping gloss coffee, black from cups,
sipping flesh orange chilled juice from glasses—
in summer/winter, day/night according;
the features of a world which comes and goes

but lies and says it's real for all of that.
The notepad by her hand
is spiral, tattered, feint-lined, closed—
she filled the pages up with maths so long ago
and pressed them all to heart.  She does not read
reminders of whole lives' obsessing
each sheet pressed flat through a glass clearly
to the eyes of mind.  Inhaling brown coffee pheromones, she finds

a choice of landscapes from those
who trod this way before.  Heisenberg: all things
to things which are not looking,
and Schroedinger who makes the functions wave
but not to choose which way to go—
until they suddenly do.  Which inspires

Max Born to pronounce that everything's a chance,
that probabilities will dance around the dice,
and Einstein to scowl and mutter something Germanic.

And thus goes her life, until one afternoon a clarity,
a glimpse and... and... barely daring breathe,
she sidles, oblique, through systems
of huge mathematical brackets,
unzipping reality's jeans, easing it out of its jacket,
sliding one hand towards the hint,
the suggestion; while
drinking one last black coffee —v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y—
and finally smiles the smile.

It took a while, but here she is
at the very edge.
She writes a line of symbols
on the cover of the book.
Underlines it.
Then drops the empty orange glass onto the table
pays with Euros/Kroner/Schillings/Marks
and artfully carved squares of bone; decides to go home,
to keep it secret, tell literally everyone she knows,
and leaves in all directions.


NaPoWriMo - 2019 #23 - Reference works

Reference works

So... Edward finally has the book.  It came
in Amazon's robust brown cardboard packaging
and the woman who lives downstairs took it in.
Thank you, says Ed, when he gets in from work
at seven p.m. but the woman — is it Carol? —
is blushing again and disappears.  Leaving
Edward with his box which he opens...

How to do anything!

(with diagrams)

This is the business -- and by business
he does not mean answering tech. support
queries for clueless noobs for eight hours every
day at what works out very close to minimum
wage, but business: the business of business
of getting stuff done and getting on.  Here we go...

How to debug Windows(tm) system-level drivers using a virtual machine.

Well perhaps this isn't where to start, let's try:

How to change a '64 or '65 Aston Martin gearbox.

--and the diagrams are great! You can see exactly
how to remove the clutch plate.  If only Edward
did not drive a smart car with a pushed-in wing.
Maybe the index is the thing?

How to sex aardvarks...

How to damp a gas-cooled reactor...

How to weld titanium in the vacuum of space...

All useful stuff but Ed to some degree
is aware of his place in the scheme of things
and this is not his metier:

How to turn a profit growing swedes...

How to hold a spade...

How to milk a cow...

How to duel with various blades...

And now Edward's starting to get angry
all he wants answered is one simple question
but is there an entry for How to meet nice girls?
Is it under "N"?  Is it under "G"?

Is this book even alphabetical?  Well nothing
for it but to read the whole damn thing.  Except
the doorbell rings and it is what's-her-face?
Karen?  Carla?  Katie!  That was it.  And it seems
she has made too much mushroom stroganoff
and would he like...?  Edward has too much
to do.  Too much to read...
Now, let's get down to this:

Chapter one:  How to recognise the obvious...



NaPoWriMo - 2019 #22 - The big sleepers

The big sleepers

sensation returning the chiaroscuro moment
everything shadow the secret room
no lights on no humans present
until now the suspension chamber popping
possibly not even now there are
no fates except for those received
on the vacuum tube radio
which is dark
but two of us survive

everything smells like dust
empty empty empty
the radio reluctant
and only after soldering
the city beyond the dust cake window
is not the one we knew

the radio is warming slowly you go
walk our perimeter tradecraft
I rotate the dial
hemi-human patience
rotating the dial
no stations yet
you have not come back
no stations
maybe we overslept
no stations
no stations