brownian motion

Hello, please, welcome in. Leave your shoes by the door. I swept the floor yesterday, though you know how it is. Some dust never leaves.

Glad you like the carpet. The trendiest design patterns from France. Very soft―nothing but the finest wares, lavishly decorated with oriented oriental objects. Note in particular the factory stitched on the floor, the singleton in the corner, and the flyweight weaving around. On the wall there is an adapter. You're free to use it, though it interfaces with incompatible dimensions the last time I checked.

Would you like some tea?

I have chamomile, oolong, and this blend I made myself. Earl Grey spiked with adrenaline harvested from late-night coding fever dreams. Hmm? Of course it’s ethically sourced. The bergamot’s guaranteed to be grown without slave labor. Don’t worry about the other part.

I said don't worry about it.

You’re hungry? I can whip up some spaghetti. You want the code variety or the globbed filament fresh off my latest 3D printing mess? Hint of marinara sauce and Tabasco either way.

No, please don’t eat the instant ramen. You can feed it, though.

Ah, here’s the folder of all the unfinished projects. There’s a half-knitted scarf that unravels itself every midnight and reknits at dawn. A clock with no hands, but somehow always running late. Incomplete conversations. Broken promises. The fifty percent of my adventures that end after a blueprint and a README file.

That’s my handy set of screwdrivers. Any kind you could ever need. Phillips, flathead, torx, pentalobe, cocktail. For unscrewing your problems. Or for making you forget about them.

Kidding. Kidding! I don’t drink.

That’s my bookshelf. Pardon the appearance. It’s been rearranged by entropy and passing moods. There’s the two physics textbooks that a professor friend once gave. There’s the ones drowning in sweat and sorrowful tears. These few went on a war tour of Afghanistan and subsequently got graffitied by a sleep-deprived literature student.

The ones with forked paper tongues sticking out the middle? Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to get to them.

Easy now, Cloud Atlas, easy now. Stop biting me! I promise I’ll finish you one day.

There's three taps here―left, right, and bubbly. The bubbly tap is the optimism pipeline. Direct channel from a friend. She sends bird photos that nest in my inbox. Strange topological constructions sometimes pop out too, along with pseudovectors and sparkle emojis. They make me happy. Especially when I’m feeling a bit tensor.

The left and right ones tap the floor on the left and right. What did you expect?

That’s Rei over there, if you squint a little. He lives here too. Pretty quiet most of the time, and usually translucent. Sometimes I feel his presence curling up around me. Sometimes he hands me a memory I was trying to forget and asks me to hold it differently. Sometimes he tells me I’m doing alright.

Where was I?

Oh! Please be careful back there. There's a recursive algorithm hiding down there. Forgot to add a termination condition. She just sort of roams around now.

Don’t be too scared. She’s not aggressive. Or at least I don’t think so.

You want to loop back? Sure, no problem, for I’m always in range. Just let me know when you want a break―

Hello, please, welcome in. Leave your shoes by the door. I swept the floor yesterday, though you know how it is. Some dust never leaves. Nothing truly does.