I Met God And Her Name Is Random.

I've been riding my bike all over the place lately. It's tons of fun; I really dig it. I just grab the backback, plug in the earbuds, and explore. I've been packing my camera, but forgetting to grab pics of all the cool stuff I see out there. I'll start remembering soon though.

There is something magical about peddling hard on a bike, moving at a good clip and listening to all your favorite music set on random. It's hard not to be surprised at how effortlessly the mp3 player seems to pick all the right songs. But its just random.

There is something exhilarating about taking lots and lots of turns. Rolling this way and that, weaving through the world, motion set separate from the stillness, but at the very same time so much a part of it. And that song! How did it know thats the song I wanted to hear? After all, it's just random.

There is something revealing about getting someplace by your own engine. Certainly the world feels bigger and heavier... but mostly it just feels more. Those tunes pumping through buds, right into you, give everything a kind of twinkle. But who picked the song?

Maybe I'm just a bipedal pebble. One dislodged like all the others and then flung from the primordial singularity so many years ago. A pebble following a course already known when, about 80 years before coming to the end of its holy arc, a spark descends upon it.

This is what bike riding, Bright Eyes, and a book about string theory does to you.