In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Caitlin Moran (via thedivinesociety)
So I had a dream where I was a complete moron about baking a potato in the microwave above the stove, and I punched in something like 11 different numbers on the keypad but forgot to hit Start. When I realized my mistake and finally started cooking, instead of turning on, the microwave rolled backwards up into the cabinet above it. All of the upper kitchen cabinets then folded up like origami cranes and the lower cabinet to the left of the stove did the same and then the stove slid on tracks 3 feet to the left and the wall behind the stove slid to the left and now I’m staring at an open doorway behind the stove.
Before I can do anything else, a light automatically clicks on beyond the doorway revealing a tiny room. It is maybe no more than a meter square, but with a high ceiling. All of the walls are entirely covered with square wooden cubbyholes, and most of them contain bottles - A hidden wine cellar.
So I step in, and the bottles are all dusty, and none of them seem to be later vintage than the 1970s. The collection is mostly French, with the remainder Italian and German. There are also a few ancient illegibly hand labelled bottles dating from the 1800s containing something that might be Cognac. I grab a few bottles and Google them, and all of them are super rare and expensive, and it occurs to me that someone, possibly the house’s original owner, put this collection together and then forgot the 11 digit combination for the hidden door.
So I put the bottles back, step out of the wine cellar, and after a brief time period the wall slides back into place, the stove moves back to it’s original position and the cabinets unfold. And then I realize that I need to remember the combination for the wine cellar, too, so I look at the microwave, grab a pen and paper and start writing: 1147…
And then I wake up.