Warm bread to sop the oil from this white shallow bowl. The essential problem with answering such questions as where is your work leading you, where is it going, is that, of course,armed even with the best intentions and well-marked maps, one cannot know. It could be that one should not know. We gather to listen to papers in the great ballroom that has been arranged with podium and chairs. Two blackboards, one at either side of the dais.
Fermi speaks, Planck.
Sunlight pours hard through the lofty windows along the southern wall of the hotel. My friends and I are in the last row of seats. An unscientific smile lifts at the corners of my mouth even as I struggle to follow him through a lightening labyrinth of proofs. Eschatologists concern themselves with the study of last things, historians with what has come before. Novelists are mythmakers interested in both.