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The cold water sits above the uneffervesced painkillers at the bottom of the glass. Neither is doing much, so I move the glass slowly around in small circles, sloshing a wave of water just below the rim. For a few seconds, nothing happens, then a small tendril of white powder is caught by an invisible hand and whipped upwards. It somehow pulls more and more of the painkiller up with it; for an instant a perfect spiral helix is formed of white dust. Then everything dissolves as some lorenzian boundary is passed and the painkiller staircase is ripped apart by invisible sledgehammers.
This is the glass in my hand, yet it somehow reflects the conversations last night: A three- or four-way conversation builds out of nothing in a strange spontaneous way. For an instant, it too is perfect; everyone has their say, everyone is happy with the input and outputs from this social machine. Then something happens: someone else interjects or something inept is said and everything goes pear shaped, the conversation and group flying apart as if we were seeds falling from the wind-blown trees outside. We then regroup, or join another imminent conversation's perfection.
It's sobering to think that we act the same as a bunch of dumb particles...
Or maybe I am just too bored and high on painkillers to think straight :-P