You'll feel different in the morning.

It’s morning and it’s Sunday and I am making breakfast with avocados and listening to Graceland because it has been years. It’s summer so it’s pouring and the trees are blowing violently and it will stop and start all day, with an eye likely in the afternoon. My brother comes out and says “what’s going on out here?” and I say “you don’t like Paul Simon?” and he says it reminds him of drunk people we know at this tiki bar by our house called Jack Willies. He says he doesn’t like “folk type” music and then I say “that’s a saxophone" and he says “I hate saxophones”. Then he tells me he is in a quantum tunnel. I am drinking coffee now and he is sitting down to eat the eggs he made while we talked about “folk type music”. He has been watching videos about quantum computing and physics since last night. He mentions double slit theory and I remember this

double slit theory
in the morning
coming through my blinds
turning from blue to white
a long process
begins again

each night

searching causes bruises

on my cheeks and inner thighs

liver and brain get it the worst
i want to find my way

back to you

silly poem that I wrote five or 6 years ago. After seeing some animation about it and feeling whatever that constant feeling was. And he tells me that computer science is high school, a popularity contest like anything else. And that the circuits in our machines should be made for LISP and not C languages. And I say lets build them, lets make circuits that work faster with LISP. and we get excited. And talk about how the D-Wave is that way. We talk about what the language of AI will be.

The rain slows down.

My dog Alabama stares at me and so I take him outside. Earlier, I put on some socks and he started running in circles. He always thinks when I put on shoes or socks that we are going outside, and it's a self fulfilling prophecy because once he starts running in circles I have to take him out. I ask myself what on earth could I be doing at that moment important enough to disappoint that kind of excitement.

But earlier it was pouring and he hates the rain so I said, “ok” and opened the door for him to see. He got to the edge of the overhang and stared at the water coming down in sheets. 

But now it’s slowed to a trickle and I am watching him chest high in our neighbors tall grass. The rain water is mixing with my coffee, I haven't showered in a few days, everything is warm and messy and comfortable. 

My brother is working all on fire. 

And I am just here, like always, staring at the way the low clouds turn the fresh pine needles electric green; smiling to myself about how my brother pointed at Alabama while he chewed on an empty yogurt container and said “you don’t exist until I look at you!”.