There is a man going around town, writing things on things. Spray-painted words on walls, postal boxes, even on chain-link fences. They are messages---messages of hope, of anger, of surprise. Where does he come from? Is he from another dimension? "Do not look at these words". "I am trapped in this wall". "It is noisy in this vacuum". Maybe he is an electronic vagabond.
Once, when I was swimming to New Zealand across the Pacific Ocean (this was when it was a lot smaller than it is today), I encountered a life form I had never seen before. It was like a lobster, or a fish, but it had little dangling wires. Of course, back then I didn't know what wires, or electronics were, so I thought they were whiskers. I tried to talk to him, but his language had not formed yet. Or so I thought. Turns out he was from the future, and had developed along an entirely different evolutionary track than anyone could have predicted. He had used a second-hand time machine, but as these things often go, it had malfunctioned and instead of ending up in the future in some grand paradise of technology and mind combined, he had ended up in the middle of a skinny Pacific Ocean, drifting around, until he met me.
And so I wonder if he used that wonky time machine again, and somehow ended up in our present time, but locked into various half-solid realities, trapped between times and dimensions.
I wondered these things as I took a leak on the walls.
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