I laughed, “Is that more or less than 87 trillion?”
You told me infinity was simply one more thing than
we care about. One more dot than we can ever see,
one more dollar than we can ever have. If our eyes
could only see a hundred dots in a centimetre, the
hundred-and-oneth dot makes the infinitieth dot, the
dot that makes a hundred dots turn into a single line:
like that extra frame that turns a flickering sequence of
photos into a movie, or that extra rock that turns a
bumpy path into a paved road.
“With that many dots, doesn’t it make – apart from the
start and end points – every other dot, pointless?”
The terrible pun either went over your head, or was
sensibly ignored. What followed instead was
something about how when a scene change happens in
a film, the last frame of the former scene and the first
frame of the latter scene betrays its disjointed nature,
letting us see the individual pictures again: but that
these disjoint frames propel the film forward in
another direction, and in time these disjointed frames
no longer feel as such.
By now I was feeling that your metaphor was running a
little thin, though it again came to mind the next day
as I was cropping out photographs of instant tea
issue
issue 01
01 | zaw
| Chen
lin Yi
htoo
An