Saturday does not exist in nature, yet its joy does; Sunday does not exist either, but its hangover does; Monday doesn’t exist, but its syndrome does. Consequently, we perceive the existence of any given thing solely through its effects, or we unite all similar effects in our minds and mistake the empty box beneath the label we’ve slapped on it for the “thing” itself. At least, that is our tendency. This is also how I choose my side in theism-atheism debates. If It did not exist, we wouldn’t have been killing each other in Its name for thousands of years, going to our deaths in Its name, or building ornate structures in Its name. Generally speaking, there is no harm in waiting for Godot in the absence of the hero, but knowing my own nature, if he doesn’t show up in ten minutes, I’m leaving.
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The universe will cease to exist in five hundred billion years! You felt a momentary pang of fear, didn’t you? Even I shuddered as I wrote this date of cosmic demise, which I completely made up. Then it hit me: this isn’t my problem. I won’t be alive then, the Earth won’t exist, the Sun won’t exist, our solar system, our galaxy… But then I thought about it a bit more; if someone were to inform our universe of a catastrophe that would strike the very void/nothingness in which it grows and runs free five hundred trillion years from now, would our universe shudder? Or would it just say, “Well, I won’t be around in five hundred billion years anyway”? Truly, how many five hundred billion years can fit into an eternity? I suppose five hundred billion doesn’t exist in nature either.
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When the exhaustion of the week is compounded by the climate-crisis-driven heat, I become a genuine depressive. On one hand, the stories of the Autrom Universe—whose chronology I need to establish and whose bridges I must write—weigh heavily on my mind; on the other hand, there is my constant effort to comprehend the universe we live in, and on yet another, human beings, each harboring infinite variables… The weekend break might just be the most beautiful thing we’ve stumbled upon, despite it not existing in nature. Stretching my legs out, rewatching every single episode of Person of Interest with an ice-cold cola and a pizza so chaotic you couldn’t tell if someone threw up on it… asking myself a flurry of questions while watching, answering them myself, and constantly agreeing with myself could be wonderful. But, well, you know what they say: man plans, and the gods laugh.
ANARCHISTALES 