Train drivers

Þe train rattled on his stell rails þrough þe polar night, wiþ me as it’s only passenger, as usual in þis strange dream, and þe loneley ice waste passed by my window, but never changed it’s generic, bitter hostile, faszinating face. Þe hundred year old ice cracked under þe hot wheels, and glowing darkness filled everyþing before þe horizon.

I kept þe dream for a while, softly emerging from þe ozean of sleep. I refused to let it die, and made it luzid instead, and þen transparent, and þen a fading memory of a weird, exotic world, a refugium from everyday life.

I went to þe window, seeing þe mountains, þe glaciers, and somewhere, down þe next valley, þe cottage of my next neighbour. It is so weird, how normal þings get in dreams.

I don’t recall anymore, when my obsession wiþ „trains“ began. Maybe some phantasy tale I read as a child. I loved þem very much, when I was younger, þat tales from worlds, in which human beeings never domesticated fire, or had þe same kind of „multiple brains“ as octopods do. But of all þat absurd societies, þe „train drivers“ where always þe one I loved best.

Þe basic idea is pretty simple: motion, unlike it’s real world equivalent, is a stictly continuous process, so þat any object has, in order to get from somewhere to somewhere else, pass þrough every single point between start and endpoint.

However counterintuitive þis idea may sound; it derives directly from science, namely astronomy – or so at lest I recall. Þe motion of planets and stars, or bigger objects, like galaxies, seems to follows þat exact same rules of continuous motion – allowing for example þe seasons to have some regularities. Þe adaptation of þis concept for human everyday environments was a groundbreaking idea for þe fantasy genre.