I've read most of what many of the most reputed cosmologists and physicists had to say about the ultimate fate. The ultimate fate of the Universe. Can we know the ultimate fate of something we don't really know? Those are questions that still present themselves wrapped in sheer doubt, epistemological questions that seem so removed from our daily lives. And it is about daily life that I wanted to talk about. I can't understand why I tend to drift off towards other questions, or why I intertwine them with the big questions that will remain to be answered even after I, and you dear reader, have become but mere dust, a collection of simple particles that have had their origin far in a point of time when time wasn't really time.
Thinking about the timeless questions can lead to a much higher tolerance level of daily life, personal misery. I, my humble self, can vouch for this. Small questions, but that need to be addressed become but mere echoes. But if unattended, they will prevent you from thinking at all. An eye in reality, and another eye in the realm of ideas is not enough. More than in any other age of human history, reality bites. It's not only the feudal lord or the black plague: the world chases after itself. Society has harnessed the atom and flight, electricity and piped water supply, and has never set aside a place for dreamers. Parasitic, expendable, that's the adjectives used to describe us and our endless pursuit of something that is not palpable.
The question remains, whether those adjectives plausibly apply to us. What we seek does not yield profit. It yields material losses. The body needs sustenance, and the mind requires much of our carbohydrate and oxygen intake. And even though we are known to neglect our physical hygiene (and lo, mental hygiene fares no better), I like to keep it to a minimum. Thus, we require the other benefits that the shelter of civilization provides: a nice shower.
Those are considerations that appear to be removed from our daily lives. They seem to aim at a higher point, a resonating conclusion plausibly supported by two or more premises. It does not. It has direct rapport with my personal situation. I'll be moving in to hell. That's a semantic placeholder for "mother's home". The familial hearth is often invoked, in our minds, as a concept that brings back memories of comfort, sweetness and shelter, the conflict of the baroque, confuse and determining teen years and early adulthood. Motherly love is, no doubt, the most comforting and immovable that there is among the countless varieties of love. I shall not dilate on this subject, for it is not my point.
Familial hearth is not love. Familial hearth is a web of intrigue, hate, resentment, blackmailing and psychological toying. Not to include the garden-variety events that are the hallmark of all troubled families.
But you can't stop time. It has begun some billion years ago, and it'll probably stop in a googol years. Not google. Googol. Googol is
1.0 × 10100
I'm sure you know that's a lot of zeroes, more than would be healthy to expound here. I don't know what will happen when time stops. There will be no matter. That's right: every matter that composes you will decay and you'll be gone in a wisp of...something. Well, time has not come to an end, to me. But it is pretty much standing still.
I don't like to work. Who does? But wait. I have a visceral hate for work. I am anti-work. You've heard it. I don't like working. "Parasite", I can hear you say. But no, no, that's wrong. I am anti-work, and I espouse the idea that everyone should have time to play and love what they are doing. If there's something that both Capitalists and Marxists agree is that work is good and stands at the foundation of society. I don't think everyone should just lay down and sip orange juice and other exquisite beverages all day long, but I agree that our system of labour/value must be revised in order to allow LEISURE. Leisure is important. Leisure if the craddle of happiness and ideas. Leisure is what allowed the ideals that the western world tentatively espouses to be born, in Greece (the greeks were quite lesurely, while their prized slaves performed all the hard work).
What's the conclusion to this amalgam of loose paragraphs? Well, none. Just as we've not concluded much about the shape of the Universe, and hence, its ultimate fate. The practical conclusion: Oh, my life is miserable.
It took me all those paragraphs just to whine.