According to the global society of astronomists, we are here, frankly, because we have not yet split apart. An unidentified substance known as"dark matter," which currently takes about about a 1/4 of the solar system has been the sole entity keeping us together for all these years (Captain & Tennille will disagree with this). Trouble is no one knows what dark matter looks like, or how long it will stick around.
"Well, it's like a sort of glue." shrugged one scientist interviewed by the seattle post today.
Not content to sit around and awe over this new diety, The astronomists of the world have taken to chasing it down. They are in a universal race for the answer. The U.S., Europe and Japan in the lead. They've all got different methods and machines that they think will be the link to this epoxy. Weary of looking up and seeing nothing. NASA recently comondeered a defunct mine shaft In South Dakota. Because, maybe looking down will start to do us some good. The mine has been deepened to astonishing ends. It is now the length of 6 empire state buildings tip to tip from gravel to core. Once, in Italy, three scientists claimed to have heard the traces of it in a sonar instrument they had developed. They were never able to replicate it. A frustration, I think, only the most faithful of believers can understand.
I read an article one time about the connection between solar storms and societal downward spirals. Apparently when you look back at history, 100 years back or more, and track the occurrence of storms on the surface of the sun, they correspond directly to declines in the stock market, natural disasters, and general misanthropy among men. It’s the physical manifestation of Murphy’s law. And it kicks our ass each time.
Which is to say, My rent has gone up.
And I haven’t checked the stocks yet (not that I own any) but I’m pinning the blame on our tortured astral body. 'Cause this one can’t be my doing. Things had been going really well. I got a raise. I've been saving. And yeah, it’s only another 600 bucks a year, but the symbolism is killing me. I don’t know exactly what I’ve got to do to make this city love me back. I walk its parks. I don’t litter. I rarely complain about the big dig, T fare hikes, or the general lack of manners. And yet, I spend my mornings drying off under a 2 foot hole in my bathroom ceiling and come home to a 10 word note: Notice required by law. Rent Increase. Unit Two. XXX dollars.
Boston is turning me into Tina Turner, and my legs aren’t nearly long enough.
http://www.esquire.com/fiction/napkin-fiction/napkinproject
It has directly let me to
a) pay the 12 dollar 24-month subscription for Esquire and
b) make an oath two write a two minute story on every napkin, paper towel, or yellow receipt the restaurant places in front of me.
I think you should start too. We'll keep them in shoe boxes and compare notes in 20 years.
