The float bobs and I feel a slight tug on the line, a nip at the hook. A shiver of guilt, a nanosecond’s exhilaration. I finesse the reel, patient. What will rise?
There’s nothing like fishing in a black hole, quantum casting for bits and pieces of worlds beneath, within, among. You just need the right bait. An idea, a snippet, a premise, a promise. Lure the interest, get it close to the gateway, see what comes.
Fish or cut bait they say. Can’t do one without the other as I see it. Put something out there and see if the big boys will nibble up the food chain.
Entropy is fine for those who prefer calm waters. Me? Get me to the center of a galaxy, the edge of the event horizon, to cast a line or two. It’s bumpy there. That’s how you know it’s fresh. On the edges it’s stale, spoiled and sedate, spread thin, energies dispersed. Things there lack focus, become drab and purposeless.
A galactic whirlpool may suck your line dry, but bait is cheap. Lots of action. Procreative types. Yeah, bait is cheap there. Some say I just throw out chum and hope something will be attracted to all that blood in the water.
But, it’s not all blood. There’s some meat. You just gotta have a taste for it. Like I said, you gotta lure ‘em close. Better if they think about it first. Circle it a few times. If something bites, something bites. The game is the anticipation. The wonder. You can’t see what’s below. A minnow or a leviathan—then again, who’s to judge?
We’ve all heard fish stories.
Exactly my point. Put your bait out there and make up the rest. Truth is positional. The good and the bad. Cast away. The wine-dark galaxy is big enough for both.
