Maybe when you die it’s like a file being deleted. You don’t cease to exist suddenly, you just disappear from the world to be gradually overwritten by history, swallowed by space. Maybe a ghost is just a deleted file, an empty space-suit roaming around the universe without the dictates of physics.What words of comfort would you lend me if one day, in some corner of the galaxy you encounter my lonely deleted soul floating about somnolently, drifting slowly as a thin and greying cloud, shivering like a thin old man in the wind, and sobbing, sobbing at my monumental loneliness? I hope you will remind me that it will only be a matter of time, yes only a matter of time until the oxygen-free wind of ones and zeros will infiltrate my spacesuit, out here in this infinite tapestry of ones and zeros. And I’ll be drowned out by the noise of galactic explosions, and the blinding colors of supernovas. Overwritten by this holographic universe, gone and forgotten forever.
And with those nostalgic words the final fragrant breath of her life departed from her chest and she was gone from this world, never to be seen or heard from again for all eternity. With time her bones turned to dust and her name and memory were buried alongside all those who knew her.
Long before I met you,
Eternity already finished unfolding like a Persian carpet across the cosmos.
I look upon you for the first time, and simultaneously, dinosaurs roam the earth. I stop to think for a moment how great is my love for you, and you’ve already succumb to the pains of old age. I pen a love note for you, perennially an infant suckling your mother, and eternally dead and gone from this world forever, and forevermore staring at me at this moment. By the time we share our first kiss, the cosmos has already faded away, and any intelligent life form looking out there is concluding that their galaxy is the entire universe. But before they can finish their calculations, their species is long extinct, an ancient artifact of a spiral galaxy. At the same time that I will finish this rendition, a comet will strike the earth destroying all life, and simultaneously will occur the inception of hydrogen atoms. Why will you break my heart? Why did the Big Bang happen?
Welcome to Dimension 3,
Where everyone is a slave to time.
Everyone is walking along a pathway of finite length, with not but a single entry and one exit.
Jagged fragments of dreams litter my foggy pathway
And from time to time the skin of my feet are pierced,
Causing the little girl in me to sit down to cry for a spell,
With her arms wrapped around my knees
The pain of marching across the path of time is often unbearable, but sleep offers a precious recess. Sometimes, enraptured in the land of sleep, I imagine the world to be a friendlier place.
But then I wake up to the same misty pathway, and continue on.
At times when I’ve fallen to my knees upon my way.
In my secret yearnings
I long for the warmth of a tender embrace, a hand to pull me upward,
And perhaps hold mine as I continue down the gloomy shattered path toward deletion.
But then I remember,
I always remember,
That I entered this world alone
And alone I shall exit it.
I happened upon in my wanderings
a most stern little helper of god dressed was he in a long white robe, and sprouting from his stern angular jaw
Grew a nobly long and thick godly beard
My piercing gaze
Set him afire
Set him afire so he cursed and he shouted
So he cursed and shouted at me, waving a stick
He beguiled my most improper manner of dressing and informed me
that my wandering eyes deserve the sting of one million needles
He tried to extinguish me with a stream of cold words
Yet all I could do was laugh
“You’re burning up, little servant of god
Yet you’ve still to learn my name”
The little man told me it’s no concern of his
Yet he couldn’t avert his gaze
The intoxicating flames licked at his robes and stung his flesh
And he reveled in the masochistic amber charm
He scorned himself for this
Narrowing my eyes I told him
“Little prince, your words speak one tongue, but the look in your eyes betrays you
The language of love is what you long to utter
For the season of love is upon us
In your most secret of longings you yearn to throw off this crown of propriety which you balance upon your princely head
Your thoughts soar through the sky at the sight of my wrist or the curve of my bosom
Hearing the musical syllables of my voice envelopes you all the more in flames
As we speak you are suffering greatly
But take shamefully great pleasure in this sweet pain
All the while you stand so nobly here
And pretend to abhor the delightfully tender gifts of uncovered women
What a mask you walk around with wearing, prince, but the flames have shattered it in the great heat, what ever will you do? Look down at yourself little prince, and see that your godly white robes have turned to cinder.
Look and see that you stand here naked and unmasked.
Isn’t that right, oh most noble prince of god?”
At this, the most pious prince of god turned his face, and stalked off in fury, leaving ashes in his wake, and broken shards of painted porcelain.
Being able to step out of the constant demands of everyday life called ‘being busy’ is horrifying. At this point of inactivity you’re able to be a bi stander of reality, looking on as time slips away, as the world turns endlessly on. What a truly horrifying state of affairs. If you’re able to slip out from the stream of traffic and noise and distractions of daily life It’s like climbing up a hillside and perceiving an endless line of sheep marching toward a slaughterhouse. You wish you could fall back in line and be one of the sheep yourself; Continue on without realizing the seemingly endless despair that awaits around that next bend in the road, and still further yet the finality of nothingness, the silence of an eternity awaiting you.
The minute you climb that hill you realize ‘where did the last 12 years go? I was too busy engaged with the world to notice the time slip by.’
Unfortunately you can never unsee what you saw from that hill, no matter how much you may wish to. They say ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that so?