Lines are what explain trajectories. But trajectories cannot explain paths.
Was the white vehicle following a path?
If it was, was it not in its turn deciding about my own according to relative motus laws I couldn’t understand at that age? And why I could feel, by contrary, all the trembling atoms? All the ripping apart?


I am pure physics. Without centuries of beliefs I wouldn’t exist. Magnesium chassis. I never thought the number six could explain me. Pyramids always pointed to the sky. Centuries. And I am not ready to go. I am never ready to go.