My dreams, they haunt me, deep in the night, alone inside of my cranium. They spark neurons triggering a web of impulse across a great gray field of memory. Awake or asleep, I do not know, hiding behind eye lids in darkness, between the sheets, waiting for the quiet of morning.
On the sea, I find succession of the flashes that so disturbed Nicola, awake alone in his chair, contemplating the harmony of the universe. He would have liked to sail with me out on the open sea – far from land to find our comforting friend, loneliness. There I sleep, on the ocean. They cannot find me there, a dot on a field of nothing. I exist the most there, in the night.
The world is falling – spinning through space, I am frightened, to know too much. I reach for him in a dream, but he has gone before me, gone to the endless harmony beyond the veil. I wait, devoid of comfort, I hold a truth, but feel the pain of impotence to convey. I am lost in an empty place beyond the bounds of humanity. I am lost in a horrid dream.
Nicola, Albert, Newton, and John, we all scream together in silent harmony. Erwin’s cat looks on, through the depth of time. Erwin’s cat looks on, uncaring, as photons spin left and right, but not to the cat, who sits, still, looking. We, those left out, through genius or stupidity, care so deeply for the inequity of spinning photons, arguing their place in a world we cannot see. Perhaps it is our shared insanity. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, our efforts, our experiments, our theory, our lives.
John and Bobby, Martin and Dwight, I hear your screaming, but your screams fall silent, and men move on. Your words are dust, so soon forgotten, or never understood, by those who are simple. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, the equity of man. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Will they ever hear, the screams of great men? Will they hear or will we keep on spinning over and over, light and dark, night and day, until it all is lost. And all is silent in the ether of space, perhaps it was always so.
Perhaps it is but a dream.