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Sunday, July 14, 2013

Buckminster & Amber 60 Wormhole 3

OMG! It’s Amber! Spinning out of control though space, a tawny tumbleweed caught in a cosmic tsunami. She was probably sniffing around the wormhole and got sucked in. Curiosity kills. I keep telling her that, but of course she never listens. She could be lost forever in some parallel world . . . or worse. I need to act fast . . . and if I can’t save her? We’d be locked together, lost in space . . . forever. Scary! But it’s a risk I have to take. A kat’s gotta do what a  kat’s gotta do.

            To tell the truth, I’ve always had Amber’s back—protected her and showed her how to do things, but I let her think she runs the show. That’s fine with me. There’s not much show to run. The servants look after our every need 24/7. Their life’s work—and why not? I mean if you’re human why not devote yourself to a kat? What more worthy occupation?
            I’ve digressed. Where was I? Oh yes, Amber out of control and spinning through space.
            I take a graceful quantum leap. I love these moves . . . take you where you to want to be faster than an eye blink. Distance does not exist in the wormhole. It’s a state of mind . . . sort of. I know this. And I knew how to get in, but I’m not sure how to get out.
            My timing and distance judgment is perfect, which is really something when you remember there is no such thing as time or distance here. I drift gracefully into Amber’s warm fur coat. Ummm. She smells nice.
            “Bucks. Thank God you’ve come to save me. I thought I was . . . I was . . .”
            “Never mind, kid. Just relax. I’ll get you out of here.”
            “But how?” She asks with fear stuck in her voice like a frog in cement.
            “We’ve got to do the Martian mind mold.”
            “I’ve got a theory. By holding each other tightly we will become like a single entity. The extra psychic weight should double our non-specific gravity and then, with just a touch of my katlike quantum speed—
            “Bucks, you are so totally nuts. You’re going to get us smashed into photons . . . dialectically disassembled, spatially spavined.”
            “If you’ve got a better idea, tell me,” I whisper in her ear, still holding her tight. Umm, this feels good.
            “Oh Bucks, I’m so afraid. It’s hard to think. You’re so intelligent. Where do you learn these things?”
            “I read a lot while you’re playing mahjong.”
            “Well . . . do what you want, but please try not to get us disintegrated.”
            “There are worse fates than that,” I tell her with a grin and let my mind fade to black. I must make contact with the medula obligato. Ah yes. here it is, the black box of the brain . . . now let’s see . . . third neuron to the right and then a dendrite left. Only those few astrophysicists with Jungian backgrounds, and myself are able to do this. Wow! Here we go. A quantum aurora blossoms with nonstop kaleidoscopic fractal images . . . mind splitting reds and blues and yellow. Ahhhhhhhhhh . . . .
*    *    *
            We’re back! Amber looks dazed.
            “Oh, Bucks. I had the strangest dream,” she tells me.
            “I’m so not surprised,” I say.
            “Want me to tell you what it was?” she asks.
            “Not right now. I need to write something down.”
            “Write what down?”
            “Just a thought . . . some thoughts,” I tell her.
            “About me?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe. You can read it when I’m done.” Or not, I’m thinking. She’ll be critical of course. Have comments on my point of view. Whatever.

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