Here we are, incarnations of complicated biological circuitry, which had, milenna ago, emerged from a chrysalis of pure thought and information waves, yet our relatively feeble minds have only an oblique and fragmentary comprehension of our own complexity as well as the complexity with which we are surrounded. We know nothing of even the sun and moon in any meaningful sense. We know how to roughly calculate their perimeters and radii and even their relative size to other celestial bodies, all so artfully contrived by some unfathomable super intelligence beyond our understanding. But we do not know the sun and moon in and of themselves nor why and how they came to be. Regardless, we instinctively rely on both to bestir ourselves from our nocturnal slumbers and to tranquilize ourselves into those very repetitions of somnolence, as if they are stage lights in a grand cosmic theatre which turn on when we are prepared to exhibit our psychological masks to an exponentially increasing audience and turn off when we decide the curtain needs to close. Upon the multichromatic light of dawn, we imbibe our xanthine-infused beverages to help us stay alert during these hard-pressed days of occupational stress, with a few activities thrown in, all of which serve to be scarcely more than ephemeral and absurd events anyway. Though fortunately, there are the few of us who question such trifling lifestyles, including, but not limited to, thoughtless material acquisition and extrinsically motivated actions. And those periods between dawn and dusk gradually become shorter and shorter with each passing year of our lives until there is nothing left, like thick, metallic gates that continually close on us until we are squeezed into oblivion. But, oh how we take them so seriously. We may even paint those gates some pretty colour to forget about the emptiness that lies behind them. True thinking has been replaced with cognitive short-cuts and peripheral knowledge-seeking and vitality with mere motion. What could be the causal agent? Is it mycotoxins? Xenobiotics? Some inauspicious change of energy filling our lungs? It has been said that man is reducible to mere matter and motion, and if so, do some men simply move slower and faster than others?
We all contain within ourselves the attitude of cynicism and the toxin of self-doubt, but some of us contain them in larger quantities than do others. Many of us face the existential paradox of wanting to be invisible until the happenings of nature parallel in our favour, yet wanting to create some sort of legacy for ourselves, which will be remembered for eons to come, like the ghost of our former selves which somehow come back to us and merge with our ‘present’ identities. Or the twelve specific constellations we carve out for our human purposes. But we can’t see those beautiful stars through all that fucking smoke of conflagrating sweet- and salty-scented bullshit wafting through the air. We all speak of and want progress, yet many still tenaciously adhere to their primitive human impulses. They plant their trees of self-preservation and throw their rotten fruit in your direction which they metaphorically wear like a badge of honour because it is the only thing they have ever truly created. Much of the time what is considered “progress” is really just an assortment of superficial embellishments to something that has been previously conceived and iterated ad nauseum, not unlike an old sweater that has been replaced with nothing more than better-looking threads and patchwork. Your sweaters are all ugly, Darling. Sub-remedial critical thinking still permeates our culture, probably more than ever, like with many an Internet blog that oversimplifies complex topics into a monstrous abridgment. Do I need to mention the ubiquity of sophomoric rhetoric, infantile synecdoches, and grotesque anthropomorphic “text” features? Many people fallaciously use the phrase “common sense” to mean unnecessary bifurcation of characteristics which are not even mutually exclusive to one another, ignoring the continuum on which everything exists. And this raises a question in my mind, Are such people capable of only mentally storing and processing two categories at a time? Such examples of limited cognition make it all the more ridiculous that many people indefatigably cling to the notion that humans are the most intelligent species that ever did and ever will live, ignoring the fact that we are mere infants in the Galactic age and that there are a myriad of planetary orbs with their own life-generating luminaries. What happens when the show is over? What happens when our images, transiently projected through those cosmic stage lights, finally proceed through the corridors of nothingness? What happens when our own sun falls victim to a life-ending explosion or perhaps even collapses into itself, losing its flame, transmuting into a dense black mass?
Then, the cycles of the cosmos will come full circle, and transfigure into a more captivating cosmic cinema than the one now. We cannot know for certain but, perhaps, somewhere in the future of our universal timeline, some extraterrestrial species, with a number of capabilities we can’t even begin to understand, is going to look down in history and, with a combination of amusement and disgust, is going to laugh at us and our inconsequential existences; our arrogance, our anthropocentric pathos, our limited abilities, and the defiled food supply we consume in abundance, polyphenols be damned. They philosophize better than we. Their synapses can fire at many times the rate as our own. Their diet consists of stardust with the decayed particles of our greatest historical genuises and some amino acid complex giving rise to their consummate physical, mental, and spiritual capabilties. Perhaps their bodies require no outside sustenance at all. Most of all, they know no suffering nor any of the limitations placed upon us, neither biologically nor environmentally.
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