Chapter 11a

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Finally the walls and beams and struts of the dam all prove ineffectual. This is not a case of man versus nature. Man has consistently beat nature to a pulp, both literally and figuratively. No, this is an act of God or some omnipotent force that swept by and said, "Do you think I care about your stupid guns and bombs and laws of physics? Fuck you all!" then proceeded to fuck us all.

There are no more voices. I am glad for that, in a way, but the results are not as we had hoped. It's like a mischievous genie had granted our wish to be free of those voices. I can't hear voices anymore but I can't hear everything else, either. The voices, rather than disappearing, have culminated into an unnatural clamor that fades to an indistinct roar. Now we hear only constant white noise ratting my brain.

Doctors say this sometimes happen to people when they lose their hearing and said there might be medication but I haven't approached one at and office to see and don't particularly intend to. I can still feel them, only now the sensations are so common and complex that I feel physically and emotionally numb. I have trouble walking, my lips don't form words right, I no longer function as a normal person. The same doctors tell us my signs would indicate some kind of issue with our brain. If they knew the half of it they would have walked away.

I can concentrate now, at least. It does us no good, of course. To do anything that requires use of my muscles means all of my concentration is on that alone. We still lose track of my thoughts when speaking and writing.

I am certain of this much, though. The things we put here are true. They are documented. They are solid and unchangeable. I am certain of these things. I am certain the dam has crumbled and the different rivers are all now flowing together into some cosmic sea of possibilities.

We had sensed an end in sight for so long and now, is this it? I wonder, with each of them so internalized that can't experience myself anymore, are we all just one? Is that the end? Are we that omnipotent being?

No, I'm not. It's not over. I wonder these things when I'm lost in thought but I know better. Nothing is over. As much as we want it to be, I have to keep on living. We may be numb and pointless but we still have to keep living.

I do think I've decided I understand what drives me forward, though, and makes me live. The same thing that drives all of us, probably, though I can't say too sure. It's fate. Not quite traditional fate but something caused by the existence of infinity.

Infinite space means infinite possibilities. If the universe is truly infinite, and I can hear that it is, then it means that somewhere out in that vastness everything is happening all at once. Here I am aged and weary beyond my years. Out on another iteration of our planet I died from an infected mosquito bite. On another I rule the solar system with an army of robot warriors. Somewhere a terrible dragon is swooping down from above to cook and eat me all in one fell swoop. These are not supposition, these are fact.

There's some kind of thought experiment that says if you put any infinite number of monkeys in a room and have each of them pound on a typewriter on into infinity one will eventually produce the collected works of Shakespeare. While the scenario sounds impossible, the outcome is fact. It would have to happen because infinity demands it. And it is happening. Because the universe is infinite.

So is that fate? Not really, I guess, but it's the universe telling me, hey, you could have been anything and you are so be this, too. Because of that notion of things going on forever, every person must live every life.

I am not a god, not at all. Not even close. But I am a part of one. If there's an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent being, it's the universe. It makes up everything and then some more into distance that cannot be fathomed because there is no end. It knows everything because it is everything. Even the understanding I've reached doesn't help me wrap my head around it. The reason is simple, obviously, my head is not infinite. Pondering it, however, at least brings me a little closer and offers some solace in my decaying world.

When everything does crash together, I wonder how it will happen? With a bang or with a whimper? That's another of the things I can whittle my time away thinking about.

But I still lose track of my thoughts. I focus too closely on moving my hand and the paper simply fills itself. There was a point. The point is this: The shit has just hit the fan. Spectators are waiting with bated breath to see where it splatters.