My thought for a graphic for the annual crustacion festival here in the mid coast of Maine, USA. The fisherman, the lobsterman is usually on the other end of this transaction so I had to wonder how it would look if the tables were turned just once. The man in the trap about to have rubber bands attached to his limbs. Later he is tossed into a tank in a seafood restaurant. People gawk at him, he feels uncomfortable and out of place. Then he feels hot, very hot, like hydrothermal vent hot. After that he is in the afterlife wondering what its all about. I can identify with that. I wonder all the time what its all about.
Weird shit everywhere. Space aliens, no for real – I seen ’em. They’re coming’ for us…an its takin’ forever ! I’m ready for the alien overlords now, take a load of responsibility off all our shoulders. Mankind united, as one, against them space alien invaders. Might just be a computer game. Ya, its a computer game. We are on our own again…..
Ours a fleeting existence. With the wave of a stylus we are gone as though never here…at least our documented existence. Other than that we are here only because others know us. Their memories of us are more natural than the electrostatic charge representing our essence. Existence in a server farm somewhere. Maybe thats no more or less natural. Even that gets erased eventually. One memory lost to age and death, to nature’ recycling system and entropy. The other, the digital ghost, is lost when the server farm starts mining primes for some complex shell game. Is avarice and greed related to entropy? We decay to make way for more decay. We’re transient. Fleeting. Temps. Walk on’s strutting our moment on life’s stage. I didn’t strut. I mostly wanted to know what I should do. Never found out. Never learned my lines. Never got a script. Ad lib’d the whole (nearly) thing. These days, with the great reveal underway, I understand there is no reason or purpose….lest you invent one. I never did. One amebae is famous for only a moment among the zillions of other amebae. It basks in it’s fame briefly, signs contracts for endorsements, influencer on the amebae internet….then is gone.
Thanks to the new JWST which hangs at one of the LaGrange points a million miles from me (and you) we have evidence of what I’ve suspected. I am (you too) even more insignificant that previously thought. The ego shrinks to a point just shy of the Plank limit. Apparently that’s as small as an ego can get. Eight billion tiny egos occupying a tiny point on the tip of a pin somewhere in space. Should I hang around for a post doc in astronomy to discover in one of these photos a purpose for me, for you ? A fleeting pattern of stars or galaxies that spell out the message, “Hey, you wake up!” OK, then what? Just like the universe to poke and prod but never deliver the goods. Ya?, what should we do? Silence.
Thank God for entropy – The great eraser that cleans the chalk board so it can be rewritten.