The theory of nothing and everything

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

IT should be easy to write my column, after all, this is going to be my seventeenth article. But no. I have downed six cups of strong, black coffee, and I could not think of anything to write. I sat staring at the computer, and I see the face of a lover who denied me the alphabet and robbed me of words, with his silence. I move the curser, and I see another face, his lips made up of sweet letters, except that, they were melting in his own mouth, and never formed intelligible words. I reached for a biscuit, two, three, and finally, a dozen biscuits. The calories weighed down the words. “Nothing” has subdued my imagination, and the words, like lazy seeds, refuse to emerge. Knock, knock!

I told a friend, “My mind is empty, I can’t think of anything to write in my column, I am unpoemed.”

His reply, “Talk to the stars for enlightenment.”

After talking to the stars, I texted back, “There is still nothing. I am having a writer’s block!”

“Read pornography to stimulate some senses. If that still doesn’t work, go to sleep or do stress eating. If still that doesn’t work, talk to a priest.”

After following his advice, “nothing” came after nothing. And then “everything” came after everything. My thoughts were a mess, “nothing” reduced everything to rubble, and “everything” was trying to fill nothing.

I texted him again, “there is nothing and everything, all floating with the universal vacuum and the celestial debris.”

He shot back, “Find your center. Find your G Spot. When was your last visit to that site? On second thought, do you remember where it is?”

How should I reply to that double talk? Did he mean my column, G Spot, or did he mean, my G Spot? My mood was beginning to change, my funny bone was going to say, “Help me find it!”

But I didn’t. That remark may not be funny to him, and may be taken as an invitation, to co-write my own column (?!). My mind, on the verge of fascination, and hungry for intelligent repartee, is now tempted to spew a flurry of double talk. Suddenly, “everything” was giving me concepts to work on, I may yet be able to write about G Spot itself, or its shadow, or a sparticle of an environmental theory. I am beginning to be distracted and out of focus, and I wonder, does a shadow occupy space and has mass? If it does not have both qualities, and therefore not considered as matter, does it exist at all? Can I measure a shadow? Suddenly, “nothing” is beginning to evolve into “something”, something related to physics, something related to the physical, something ethereal. But this something was just floating with the flotsam and the jetsam in my mind.

I was going to reply. “I visited the site, I found it!” but he might misunderstand it to mean I really did walk my fingers to a sacred place. So what am I going to say to this unsuspecting mammal that got my hormones searching for a G Spot? Thank God, some reason survives in between the spaces of temptation, and while I mulled over an appropriate reply, he sent me another message:

“Are you okay? I am sleepy now. Hope you can write your column.”

Saved by the sleep, no need to reply.

 

NOTHING AND EVERYTHING

 

Come beside me, darling

show me everything

you’ve got

let’s do something

out of nothing

tonight

 

you make me crazy

but you are sleepy

show me the magic

spare me the tragic

let’s be frantic

tonight

 

everything is nothing

if we don’t “anything”

make me “something”

tonight

(For your comments and reactions, please email to: punch.sunday@gmail.com)

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