Relativity, A polar bear. Journey to the kingdom.

If you were a mere mortal. You would live on an island. You would have fish and pelicans for breakfast. You would use shells for decoration and have a terrible expression. You would chew on anything that looked edible. A bow and several arrows wouldn't be too bad.

If you were a scholar and had to use some leaves as clothing and perform the damn rain dance. Even though it still doesn't rain and the sun stays above 34 degrees, you would think of a dozen bags of garlic-flavored potato chips. Or something crunchy. You would have hundreds of acolytes willing to burn their lives for a step toward immortality. They would jump into the fire to bring rain without even complaining. Those are men of faith. You would say with your mind fixed on greatness. But it's just a mask you wear to keep your stupid job as an oracle or supervisor of whatever else is needed.

You would send the whole tribe to create a wooden dragon, which then, in a premonition, you have come to understand is a rustic boat, pulled by oars and consuming the manna of every Indian who gives himself to the joyful task.
You could organize an expedition to one of the poles. Meet the so-called polar bears and carry tons of ice. Ice is important. We would have ice cubes. Bank transactions, which we would call bartering, corn or shells for ice cubes that melt in fractions of a second. But it's like enlightenment. I could call it retroactive karma. But it would be very difficult to make these pygmies understand what Darwinian evolution is. I know this because I can see the future. Or strangely, the future connects me, I smoke a couple of herbs that I found on one of my many expeditions and I use the trance. It's still quite expensive.
Relativity of ethereal space.

It could be Polus or Castor, or some Greek god, while you're still in a hateful terminal, waiting to board one of these metal birds that merge into the immense sky. They are fearsome birds. You can read advertisements about how close hell is. You can entertain yourself with Legos for adults. While the rest write messages on a strange device, I can see a screen that lights up and gives me a little fatigue.

It is a time I prefer not to enter, at least consciously. They use sculptures, neural networks, and electroencephalograms.
You could be in your rocking chair, while a ridiculous waiter utters phrases in an ancient dialect, while his extremely white glove has gotten wet. You would ask for ice, which is still profitable, on a forgotten island.
If you were an ice seller on a desert island, you would be extremely rich. You would have the honor of visiting any UNESCO-protected site, or simply following the route and bringing back polar bear skins, which you could use to stink up the center of your particular hut, while a fat, extremely obese woman comes for her second slice of ice to lose weight.
If you were a wolf, you would be chewing ice. Or tearing flesh from a bear that refused to live through another winter or another Christmas. What is Christmas like? you would ask in your condition as a wolf. It's not just chewing and having to keep up with the pack. A wolf has its own criteria.

If you were a passerby traveling to a birthday party, you would stop getting on a bus with people leaning over a screen. I see Dalmatian footprints on their bodies. They are all in the belly of this beast. It is tame and deadly. It has old iron bones that creak. The smell inside is disgusting. It has its own atmosphere. Its own life as an abandoned bus.
They call the big huts where they wait to fly airports. You can fly with a smile or with piercing fear. It's your hateful choice.
I smoke again and perceive new smells. I am in a big city. I wake up in a rocking chair. A small beast crawls on the walls. I concentrate. The future gives me back my voice. We have a cat. Egyptian or Mesopotamian. But it is a silky animal that lets itself be stroked.

Perhaps you are a messenger from the underworld. I see its black fur. Its eyes are green. It chews and calmly tears at its space where it dozes. Near the fire. On the skin of a large white bear.