Ah, Caruso’s. A place my timeline intersects so often that it glows on the map of my life just from ambient energy; my first memories are of childhood.
Evan and I sat last night, just the two of us, amongst the birds and pomegranates and old school Christmas lights and the setting Tucson sun, each of us excited about our pasta, each of us staring into our sparkling futures.
Neither of us can know what will truly happen next.
But what seems to be happening is that in six days, after we have fulfilled our many and varied Bill-based responsibilities, we will be landing on a warm summer’s midnight in Boston, where we will relax into a sea of Yes.
I am already laughing, my gown wet from the river, we are under bridges and I am having sushi with Jack, and having salon at Cloud Club, we are playing chess and listening to records and talking about spacetime and rewriting the Moon Treaty and channelling our heroes and our tomorrows; we are having to find ourselves, every day, because who could keep track?
One must always be looking, as we each turn up in wildly unexpected places.
Gerald Sussman, MIT CSAIL, gird your loins, I am pointed at you; we have not yet met but we are about to; you prowl the Gehry building thinking your AI thoughts, your crazed expansive thoughts, I sometimes prowl my own backyard, teaching my brain to work like AI, thinking of you .
Sussman teaches a course with Jack that I would like to sit in. The course description, for whatever reason, excites ALL of my particles; the words are like fire in my cells. I have no idea why. But by the time I get to “invariant curves and cantori” my pulse is racing, and my soul feels like a catenary arch, the closet thing we can build, I think, to express physical perfection in our dimension.
I was thinking about catenaries last night, anyway, because I was thinking about Saarinen, and the St. Louis Arch. In fact, last night, a thought became perfect last night, and there were consequences; my disco ball shivered, and crashed down.
It was my fault and my success that it fell; I was laying on a long chaise, under the Tucson sky full of Mars and stars, after a night swim, and working on my idea about the moments when Saarinen’s Arch had its keystone piece bolted in. What a moment. First the scary-sexy hosing of the hot sunward strut with water, to slow its expansion, because they were off to a late start. Then the slipping of the small last piece into place, the perfect fit.
When the men bolted that keystone piece in, at that moment, that perfect moment of connection, the scaffolds and struts and temporary connecting beams suddenly became… irrelevant. Old clothing.
One minute, they were crucial supports. The next moment, the structure was standing on its own, breathing, complete, alive.
This happens to structures and people in both directions all of the time. Things that were essential fail, or become irrelevant through our success, and we may or may not act on that information accordingly. Some people drag around old structures, no longer needed, and this slows their path in life.
I sparkled on the beauty of that idea for a minute, and the waves that filled my yard were actually so perfect that the DISCO BALL FELL DOWN ON ITS OWN. And cracked in half.
I have a little set of ideas about all of this, but I won’t bore you with them now, because I have pages to finish in my beadwork book.
We humans don’t have to understand each other’s work or even each other; the proximate contact of well-matched minds will be enough to excite movement in our own zones. I have come to understand this viscerally.
I become weak thinking of the two Saarinen buildings at MIT; I will have enough time with them to come to know them intimately. I want to find each of the MIT oculi, some perhaps still hidden away from The War, when they were taped and covered.
I will cross timelines I cherish, people living and gone, people I love.
The storyboard is what I drew, yes, but I had no idea it would self-animate like this; I am carried, helplessly, along on a wave of co-conspirators, collaborators, lovers and thinkers. My mind feels like a pomegranate, knocked open and every seed inside flowering into life, all at once.
I am living a fireworks display of the head and heart; the love that flows out of me now has a connected feedback loop, and, for however many moments, there is enough volume to hold it all, and none is spilling into the sand.
Who knows what I can do if my love and life energy can rush in a clean loop like this?