All your timelines lead to more timelines, and none of them have an inch of empty space.
And so do his, my sweetest friend. Even if he denies this.
He who asks for proof, digestible proof, tempered by his own human hand.
He who stays within the wall not knowing it’s a bridge.
He, who believes only the apex predator, in his infinite solitude, has eluded evolution.
The one who must win all the wars, and hoard precious metals that will prove futile as the future.
Few of my timelines lead to him, but those that do, he is the only one left, banging his crown against ruined earth.
He, who looks up at the sky, not knowing the emptiness around him is filled with the lives he chose not to save.
He, who then has everything in the world, even if it meant the world’s end.
If there’s one idea that could truly change the economic and social hierarchies on a global level, it would be zero-point energy. As Neel V. Patel explains over at Inverse, zero-point energy is
a byproduct of the fact that subatomic particles don’t really behave like single particles, but like waves constantly flitting between different energy states… [so] even the seemingly empty vacuum of space is actually a roiling sea of virtual particles fluctuating in and out of existence, and all those fluctuations require energy.
Or, as physicist Richard Feynman once explained it: “one teacup of empty space contains enough energy to boil all the world’s oceans.”
You can imagine if we discovered the technology that utilized zero-point energy, which would make energy universally available, the world economy would be useless. Oil and gas, and the need to protect national interests via militaries and nuclear weapons— all this would be useless.
And the patriarchy everywhere would collapse.
So. How could we use the idea of zero-point energy to destroy toxic masculinity?
Lately, you’ve been thinking about current power structures in which those outside the patriarchy have much of the responsibility and none of the power.
For example, you’ve been taking stock of the times that a straight white man has asked you if you had his back, when he felt he was “under attack.” That is, when he felt singled out, including the times his particular name was not called out, those times an attack on his person was nowhere to be found, but still one he manifested for himself?
How many times where you met with silence when you did not even ask if he had your back?
You knew not to ask outright if he had yours in return.
How much damage can silence do?
How much damage immediate and over time, and how much collateral?
Imagine if the hammering of his crown was met with a greater resistance from what he thought a vacuum.
Do you hear the silence that stops him? Do you feel it?
Do you hear that new kind of silence, a new kind of dynamic, in a post-annihilation world?
That wayward dynamism of zero-point energy he calls “emptiness,” that which no one can possess, but belongs to all— His greatest fear. The greatest fear of the powers that be.
Can you imagine a future in which we give up the need for a canon, one in which we are no longer coerced into believing such things as “founding fathers”— that is, we cease in deferring to the patriarchy both in the room and in our many syllabi, the latter which then would not begin with such skewed history of the men who founded less than they stole from others?
Human language after all, when you think about it, is a very young development. It’s still in its infancy.
It still is nowhere near the infinity it is actually meant to be.
The beauty of language is that no one can possess a word, any word, in full.
The beauty of poetry is not the attempt to possess but to be possessed by the possibilities beyond the word, any word, as static, as understood in full and stopped short as changeless, forever.
The beauty of poetry is the possibility of speaking as listening simultaneously, though not always together.
Listening as reaching toward communion with the “roiling sea of virtual particles fluctuating in and out of existence.”
And now you’re thinking about the ear you lend to loved ones. The how you listen(ed) in how you speak. The everyday language you give and receive. That which you leave simple and that which you make prayer. The rivers in which you leave your rippling reflection mid-sentence, your track of time.
The emptiness as currents in which drowning is emerging.
You imagine zero-point energy as the next dimension in which there are no apex predators and no apex and no crowns.
That you let go of your need for the current “order” of things, as if order ever really protected you, whether on or off the page.
That you stop trying to understand infinity—and become it.