Equation 42

When my friend, Harry, told me that he wanted to apply for the position “Head of Equation 42”, I first thought he might be crazy. He was a postdoc with a bright future. Clever, imaginative, hard-working, and courageous. His PhD thesis on the behavior of atoms in small-confined areas of heat radiation had already been cited more than one hundred times. It might have been cynical of me, but I firmly believed somebody with such academic talent ought not to risk it as Head of Equation 42. Therefore, I sat him down on a late Thursday and asked him what he had heard about the previous occupants of the position. He answered rather elusively, which was not surprising, given that nobody who held the position had ever been allowed to talk about what the job actually involved. However, in my years at the faculty, I had seen how the equation had depraved and degenerated those who had held the position, and so, I took the opportunity to flesh out the history of the Head of Equation 42 for Harry. Continue reading

Letter intended for my future nephew or niece

They used to call it fanatic nonsense and propaganda. They used to shake their heads in resignation and turn their backs on the thousands of warnings; on the earth that crumbled underneath our feet, on the birds that flew from their nests and never returned, and on our own greed that corrupted us. We were children of the stars, and we bathed ourselves in the glory of intelligence and ambition that nature had offered us. Nobody ever stopped to ask why we were given this prestigious position in the universe; as the dominant race on our own fertile planet. Continue reading

Hope

One narrow ray of moonlight penetrated the clouds and shone in through the window grids. The ray hit a pit of water on the stone floor, and the pit gratefully absorbed the light, glimmering contently before it erupted a geyser-like steam of damp. The steaming dew made the air chilly, and he could feel his skin knotting from goose pumps, his tattoos barely hiding the physical reaction. With his skinned head and massive upper body, getting goose pumps was such a ridiculous sign of weakness that he could not allow it. Immediately, he slumped down to the floor and started to do his regular 100 push-up interval to keep the heat running through his body. Continue reading

Joanna and the swan

The windows in Billy’s house had been dark and the curtains had been shut for several days now. When Joanna looked at the house, she wondered if somebody might have walked inside and vacuum cleaned all the light up. Maybe light was a bit like dirt, she thought. Your house stacked up on light, the light got old and dirty, and then you had to clean it up so that your house could gather new, fresh light. She had wondered what it must be like for Billy to live in that dark house, waiting for new light to gather in. Probably very scary, she thought. Had it been her living in that dark house, she would have gone outside as often as possible. But Billy never went outside anymore, and as weird as that was, Joanna kept staring at the dark, neighboring house whenever she walked by it. A week passed before Joanna’s parents finally told her that Billy’s house was dark and Billy didn’t walk outside anymore because Billy no longer lived in that house. His family had moved to a different country. Continue reading

The librarian

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close day;

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.”

I often hear myself mumbling Dylan Thomas’ poem from 1951 when I wander down the graveyard late at night. At that time, most visitors have gone home, and I am left with a strange feeling of emptiness. The living bring the feeling of emptiness with them. To them, life is still a fact, and they treat the graveyard as a final resting place. Never could they have envisioned the vitality and strength that characterized the last breaths of those who now rest here at the graveyard. Every grave owner fought for their lives, and none of them went gently into the night. Every gravestone bears witness to that last battle, life against death. Continue reading