PROSE POEM

How I Knew It Was Einstein

He was sitting alone under a tree, contemplating E=mc²

Mark Tulin
Scrittura
Published in
2 min readJun 13, 2024

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Mural/street art in Hermosa Beach. Photo by Mark Tulin
Mural/street art in Hermosa Beach. Photo by Mark Tulin

The way Einstein dressed reminded me of an early hippy or a stowaway — wearing different colored socks, baggy pants — no suit or tie, and an oversized sweatshirt was all he needed to figure out the most complex equations. Einstein's hair was wild and frizzy, as if he had stuck his fingers into an electrical outlet or was windblown by a gusty Hermosa day. His follicular growth, an expression of his soul, was experimental, progressive, and inventive. His thick mustache covered his discontent like barbed wire — weird then, trendy now.

The way he loved despite experiencing widespread hatred—jovial yet withdrawn, a victim of ivory tower discrimination in a bigoted profession. Lucky for him, his brain didn't fall into the hands of the Gestapo and instead was a gift for the free world—an aphrodisiac of science, a universal light, a solitary Nobel Prize, and a nerdy chick magnet that made women faint at the sheer mention of E=mc².

The way Einstein spoke about religion in a cool Spinoza way, believing that a higher power existed but would not intrude upon our lives, neither would a God bail us out of trouble or create problems. We are autonomous, Einstein said, and must handle the consequences of our choices. Like his…

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Mark Tulin
Scrittura

I escaped a therapy career to follow a dream. Poetry/Humor/Sexuality/Doodler/Storyteller — https://crowonthewire.com