The Characters in the Field

I’m like glue.

A sticky grabber of signal.

Full-engagement graboid — entangled in two microseconds.

Some minds brush past the world.

Mine sticks.

Attention lands and the circuit closes.

Pike’s Lot

In Pike’s lot dreaming.

Watching a crane and an operator lifting a hoisted pallet.

Aiming for the other side of a wall.

Steel neck turning.

Cable tightening.

Boom describing angles to gravity.

Inside the cab a human hand moves a lever.

Two fingers.

A massive consequence.

The Extension

The extension of man — quite literally.

As if the soul grew a massive arm and gave the body permission to use it.

Steel nerve. Hydraulic muscle.

The skeleton growing outward into the world.

Tendons becoming cable.

Joints becoming pistons.

Reach becoming skyline.

The Small Glass

And somewhere else the dance continues.

Machine and bio learning each other’s rhythm.

I sit in the lot holding a small piece of glass.

Tap. Scroll. Click.

Signal travels.

Operator. Crane. Watcher.

Braided into the same field.

The Characters

And suddenly it becomes visible.

The characters in the field.

The operator inside the glass cab.

The crane with its long steel neck.

The trucks rolling through the edges of the scene.

The watcher in the parking lot.

The phone glowing quietly in his hand.

Each one a moving piece in the choreography.

Not separate.

Actors in the same system.

Watching them move is like watching a play written by gravity and intention.

Machines and bodies and signals crossing the same stage.

And the adhesive mind sticks to it.

Watching the characters dance in the field.