So much of our lives depends on collision. Random variables. The meeting of objects in space that have an astronomically low probability of even existing to begin with. When I sit and think too much about it, sometimes it makes me feel like I’ve got no control – like every day, regardless of my own agency comes down to countless rolls of the dice, and I’m just helpless.
But a lot of good still comes out of it. I still get out of bed and do things worth at least remembering without really meaning to. And the more I fixate on that, the more the mess looks almost beautiful in its own right. Less like millions of spilled drinks, and more like a Pollock.