Like everyone in Escherelm he has been everyone else; like everyone, he has been no one at all. This, he understands as completely as anyone born in his world of planes and incongruous geometries. His world is more than a single planet, more than a system of planets, and—in a sense, both literal and figurative—it is not a world at all. It is, if anything, a function in constant fluctuation: the endless dance of the finite and its opposite. He understands this. He lives it. Look. By his dress you may recognize his plane, his people, and his customs. You may guess that he is not from the plane of Izir. An Iziri would recoil in shock at the sight of a man in public without a gentleman’s veil. You may mistake him for a decent chef from the plane of Kek’k. Indeed, Kek’k’ki tourists give him the respect given to their own gastronomic artisans. As you may have guessed, a hefty, soft-centered man, or a man bordering on well-maintained obesity, is—naturally—a chef who runs an exquisite kitchen. In Kek’k custom, a chef dines with important guests, and so those from the plane of Kek’k, look upon him as a young chef; his belt-line of important patrons has not yet expanded to its fullest, belly-enhancing extent. But, he is not from Kek’k. He is not—as the Kek’k’ki would say, in their sonorous, Gallic tongue—a Maître de la cuisine. By the expression of his personal algebra, however, you may come to know everything about him. Everyone on every plane of Escherelm knows a thing called Algebra; it is a system of mathematics, a system of language, it is, indeed both a noun and a verb: a thing in and of itself, and an existential state of being. Algebra, as a common, and literal language, is the unifying feature of every plane in Escherelm. It is, as Escherelm’s philosophers say: the world, gleefully reciting the infinite complexity of its name. Everyone in Escherelm, no matter how advanced or primitive their plane, is conversant in Algebra and wholly literate as well. There are those who know the Infinite Algebra; they are a minority in Escherelm…and, thus, a body of governance. He is not such a person. He knows only the simple equations of being, but not The Grand Existential. He is a transport driver. He shunts passengers and cargo along the strings between planes. In this practical and prosaic way, he knows the complexities of quantum geometry, zero-point navigation, and angular chronometry. He is a gentleman visiting the Library of the Infinites, and—as you can presumably see—he nearly smiled as I (in leaving the Library) took a candid photograph. * * * I’d planned on posting something else. I’d planned on taking a break from writing a story taking place in the world first described in my post, simply called “Escherelm.” I’m nearly finished with that story, and I suspect that in working on it, I was inspired to…do something with the two photographs blended here. I rather like the end result. It’s quite amazing what one can do with a photo-editing program, a picture of an escalator and a random pedestrian in red shorts. As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope you’re all having a great week.