## Crystal Ripples I've come to appreciate that anything can turn into anything else. It's 6:30pm already. I have to get to my reading group by 6:30pm. I'm sitting cross legged on my couch with my laptop. I don't force myself up. I feel something happening. There are sheets of rain outside. I watch them from my nook. I don't know why I'm stuck. I don't want to go out until I'm sure it's stopped. I check my phone. It's true, sometimes the world feels unreachable. But then it comes wheeling back at you, sometimes meteorically. I've learned that things start to make more sense when I stop thinking about "here", "there, "then", and "now". Phases and frequencies can offer a much sharper image. Okay I really should go now. I get up and walk to the bathroom, stare myself down in the mirror. At the top of the mirror it reads "BIG TECH IS KITSCH" in erasable marker. I must be upset about something. I shudder and brace myself against the sink and the door frame. I think I'm good now. I should go to my reading group now. It's on scaling laws. What do words and earthquakes have in common? Lots of things come on bell curves. Most people are between 5 and 6 feet tall. Heights outside that range are vanishingly unlikely. Nobody will be an inch tall. Nobody will be 40 feet tall. There are constraints between physics and the human blueprint disallowing it. A power law is a kind of distribution where the rules are different. In a power law there is no such thing as an average; you don't know what you'll get. That's why the richter scale is logarithmic—incrementing in factors of $10\times$. There's no "average earthquake" and there's no "average word". The earth is always vibrating. Sometimes more. And sometimes more. Throw on some socks. Stare myself down once more. We're good. Grab my smokey leather jacket. I don't have a rain jacket for some reason. It's not raining anymore; just a spray. I love how the ground looks. I feel crystalline and weightless, a neon sheen on wet Powell asphalt. I'm flowing downhill. I'll turn left after Union Square. A crowd of people are by the bus stop. I walk between them. Through them? I could be invisible. The wind is blowing pretty hard. I hear a bang and clatter. I turn around to see a vortex of plastic on the other side of the street. Looks like those air sacks they put in amazon packages, they really fly huh. I see a recycling bin fell over. I sense the people over by the bus stop quietly watching the spectacle. I turn and continue, reading the signs. "Ω OMEGA Ω" in red. I think they sell watches. I cross another street. A man in a blue puffer is resting his back against the wall. Smoking? His dog isn't on a leash. A three-legged poodle. Also in a jacket, lighter blue. The poodle sniffs my leg. *Hi*. Two blocks until Market street. I look up and see big white letters, "THE PALACE". It's a luxury hotel. I approach the letters from an angle, they point down market street, slightly oblique to my path. Waiting to cross Market. It feels like the wind is moving me in a circular motion, like it's gently working me free, trying to unstick my feet from the glistening pavement. Cars are jammed up at the red light. Above them, a majestic plume of drain steam catches pink neon rays from something down 3rd street. It hangs there for a long moment, like a matrix spirit. I cross, turn right. 717 Market street. For some reason I hesitate, I want to walk around some more. Third floor. *Oh, hey!* I'm also surprised I made it. *You look like you've been rained on*. He's right, and I'm grateful for his awareness. *I have been rained on.* I'm pretty sure he meant it metaphorically but I can't be sure. I'm only a little bit wet.