This Side of the Blue
It took 15 billion years for me to get here.
I came into existence as Trevor Faurot in a hospital in New Jersey on Earth. There's plenty of life in our universe I imagine. But here I sit. What's even less likely is that you're somewhere in the glow of your computer's monitor - and as of 2:09am on December 1, 2008 - existing right along with me.
Sometimes I push my fingers into my neck to check for lumps. I stopped typing for a second to check again. I worked out the floor plan of the house and figured out that the piano was directly above my bed. When the house makes noises I wonder if I'd wake up for an instant before it put an end to me. Maybe it already did and this is just the universe where it didn't. Because I'd only exist in the universe in which I existed. It's simple, really.
If I had myself frozen, I think in the future they'd flip through my sorry rolodex of a mind and vote against bringing me back.
Every now and then I really wish I could just watch MTV, go to clubs, want to get married and have kids, and believe in God and everlasting life, and the lot like a lot of people do. Then I get out of the house for a little while. There's a threshold that one crosses, I imagine, and from that point there is no way to un-know. The change of perspective is permanent and cruel.
I don't think there is any reason or truth. At times, that is the most beautiful thing to me. At others, it's the most damning notion. Right now, I wonder when I'm going to blink and not get them back open.
It took 15 billion years for you and I to get here. And we are here as far as I can tell. I think we should talk more for no reason whatsoever.
I swear I'm not high.
I came into existence as Trevor Faurot in a hospital in New Jersey on Earth. There's plenty of life in our universe I imagine. But here I sit. What's even less likely is that you're somewhere in the glow of your computer's monitor - and as of 2:09am on December 1, 2008 - existing right along with me.
Sometimes I push my fingers into my neck to check for lumps. I stopped typing for a second to check again. I worked out the floor plan of the house and figured out that the piano was directly above my bed. When the house makes noises I wonder if I'd wake up for an instant before it put an end to me. Maybe it already did and this is just the universe where it didn't. Because I'd only exist in the universe in which I existed. It's simple, really.
If I had myself frozen, I think in the future they'd flip through my sorry rolodex of a mind and vote against bringing me back.
Every now and then I really wish I could just watch MTV, go to clubs, want to get married and have kids, and believe in God and everlasting life, and the lot like a lot of people do. Then I get out of the house for a little while. There's a threshold that one crosses, I imagine, and from that point there is no way to un-know. The change of perspective is permanent and cruel.
I don't think there is any reason or truth. At times, that is the most beautiful thing to me. At others, it's the most damning notion. Right now, I wonder when I'm going to blink and not get them back open.
It took 15 billion years for you and I to get here. And we are here as far as I can tell. I think we should talk more for no reason whatsoever.
I swear I'm not high.