Last night CERN turned the crank of the Hadron Collider. In the next days or weeks we shall see, through their spinning smoothly by synchronous chance or clashing with random skewed wings, what they will blow into existence of the Universe’s meaning or meaninglessness. Its demise ... or denemonisation as what? Whether ‘The Inherited Clock’ will bite and snag our curiously poking human finger or will make it new again minute by minute.
I was wondering what is the opposite of ‘collision’. Collusion?
I have long sent my stories around the Weirdmonger Wheel, some in opposite directions to others, others in the same direction as that of yet unwritten ones and head-on towards others never to be written, and vice versa, so as to discover something about ‘a-man-too-mean-to-be-me’ that I call ‘I’. A self-indulgent or solipsistic spin of the roulette wheel, the balls probably ricocheting out into endless space because I spun it too fast.
The world’s single stripe-streamed balustrade of fanblades – flash-forwarded by dint of hindsight into today’s imagined subliminal unison wheeling – is what I call scientifically ‘the last balcony’: a temporal as well as architectural term with many competing meanings of protruding frailty and symbolic strength. Of final welcome or forever’s first farewell.
The immediate bow-wave of far-future’s collision of ‘Never’ with ‘Now’.
The final spellcheck will hopefully alter collision’s first i to u.