I called it quantum physics because it was all that could explain you to me. We could only interact where pure entropic chance gives us matter. Look, we’re seventy percent space, thirty percent action! We spent seven years as pinball machines, a frenetic punishment for the original sin of our bad luck.

But the clock has run out, and during my cloistered time, I divined a unified theory for you: strings. Because everything I know about you is capitulated in some tiny, staggering energy that can only falsely be visualized. Because I speak in tongues when I wake from those distressingly vivid dreams. Everything I know about you is untested; everything I know about you is divine.

So we spend our days like dollars, and our dollars less like scientists and more like poets, daydreaming of what might be at work in the smallest parts of us, making synecdochic bodies, where parts always speak to holes and wholes never listen. We author theories that can never become hypotheses. Is that playing god?

But what’s strongest in me is that medieval science. That’s how we found god in our bodies. That’s how we ceded our organs to colonizing planets. That’s where we got our senses of humors, and how we learned how to balance them. That’s how we turned lead to gold or–

–Ore.

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