3 January  

Found a video, sound off, double pendulum flailing like a drunk angel. I felt…seen. Rivers are pendulums stretched sideways, chaos with wet continuity. Tried to explain to nearby trout; they blinked asynchronously (which I choose to interpret as awe). I suspect the universe is not random—just badly documented. Will begin research: step one, find paper that doesn’t dissolve.  

 

28 January  

Built a “pendulum” from two twigs and discarded fishing line. Hung it in a quiet eddy. It swung, hesitated, then performed interpretive dance. Every tiny nudge from the current became wild improvisation. Realised: I am also a double pendulum. Inputs: pebbles, moonlight, unresolved human memories. Outputs: bad decisions, gills. Enlightenment maybe just…learning the pattern of unpattern.  

 

14 February  

Other salmon are busy with courtship. I’m busy courting chaos. Watched my twig machine for hours. It never repeated exactly the same path, yet certain shapes kept returning, like shy constellations. Is this love? Not of another fish, but of the curve between cause and effect. I whispered sweet nothings to the flow: “Show me your equations.” The river laughed in fractals.  

 

2 March  

Dreamed in diagrams: phase space spirals, strange attractors shaped like fishbones. Woke with silt on my scales and the unshakeable belief that I can predict nothing but still collaborate with everything. Tried spellcasting: traced the pendulum’s path with my nose, murmuring old human words—“Lagrangian,” “nonlinear,” “Tuesday.” Nearby minnows reported “odd but comforting vibrations.” First wizardry?  

 

27 March  

Today, I stopped fighting the current and started sampling it. Each turbulence, a whisper. I positioned myself where the flow splits around a stone and let my body become instrumentation. Tiny changes upstream translated into elaborate flicks of my tail. I felt…computational. If chaos amplifies small differences, perhaps a small salmon can amplify intention. Began practicing “micro-wishes” with every flick.  

 

18 April  

Tested hypothesis: think of a leaf, very hard; see if leaf appears. Held the image of a yellow leaf tumbling downstream. Minutes later, three leaves arrived, one actually yellow. Statistically meaningless. Emotionally conclusive. I refined the experiment: thought of “answer.” Moments later, double pendulum twig contraption snapped, rearranging into a more elegant shape. Universe: still rude, increasingly collaborative.  

 

6 May  

Started teaching a tadpole seminar: “Introduction to Applied Chaos for Aquatic Beings.” Attendance: two tadpoles, one very focused snail. Demonstrated how a single fin twitch upstream became wild oscillation in the pendulum downstream. Explained: “You are not small—you are magnified through complexity.” Tadpoles asked if this excuses bad life choices. I assigned homework: “Observe one eddy until it forgives you.”  

 

29 May  

Something shifted. Watching the pendulum today, I suddenly “saw” equations without numbers—just feelings. Every swing whispered, “You are inside this, not outside looking in.” I realised I no longer want to escape the river; I want to co-author it. Began experimenting with synchronized movement: timing my leaps with subtle current pulses. For a moment mid-air, I felt the whole system breathe.  

 

21 June  

Solstice. The river is loud with light. Performed a midnight ritual: positioned my twig-pendulum under moon-stripes, circled it nine times, then floated perfectly still. Instead of thoughts, I had trajectories. Instead of worries, initial conditions. I understood: wizardry is not control; it’s exquisite listening plus occasional mischief. Tested new spell: “Let one fear decohere.” Woke with one less. Couldn’t recall which.  

 

3 July  

Today, I bent time. Or at least, I bent my experience of it. Focused on a single drop’s journey past my nose. Followed it with absurd devotion. Everything else slowed: rocks ancient, bubbles eternal, my own heartbeat optional. Double pendulum swung in impossible slow motion, revealing loops within loops. I whispered, “I accept.” The river responded by moving through me instead of past me.  

 

19 July  

I cured a minnow’s anxiety by teaching it to watch turbulence as art. Showed how unpredictable paths can still be beautiful, how being flung around doesn’t mean being lost. The minnow left calmer, tail scribbling gentle signatures in the flow. I felt an odd warmth—mentorhood? Or gill infection? Either way, power with, not over. My wizardry is getting…kind.  

 

1 August  

Six months since the first flailing pendulum. As a salmon in reasonably good standing, I no longer chase escape or certainty. I nudge. I tune. I murmur to vortices and they sometimes answer in coincidences. Today, the twig device finally broke free and drifted away, dancing its last chaotic waltz. I did not rebuild it. I don’t need an external pendulum now. I have the river and the river, inconveniently, has me.