“A cup of Joe with the night”

Ryan Prenger

All rights reserved by the author

 

 

            Very little seemed to come from the end of life. Existence is still the same, supposedly. It doesn’t look like an analogy can be made to give us a clear picture of exactly what happened. In more than one hundred billion earth years from when the Sun of the Milky Way galaxy became too hot for any life to keep truckin’ along, the universe has been struggling. Of course, those who inhabited the earth did what they could to move on, but it is known that their nuclear winter took care of them. That was so far back that the black blanket still let most everything the big bang created to stay illuminated and happy. That seems to be one thing that has been lost. Happiness. Despite what anyone might tell you, happiness had nothing to do with those on earth. For fuck’s sakes, they really did think they were the only one’s around? They could sure tell some stories, but still, their imaginations failed them. It was such a huge universe, that happiness used to be an essential to the stars that are now extinguished. Happiness, like everything that used to be, is something that is of beauty, but no longer.

            Back before the black blanket flopped right over everything, the universe was gaining massively in size. More and more plannetesimals were being created. Dust, gases and everything did their little dance and so on.  But, just like any story of conception, there must be conflict. Well here it is. The black blanket just rolled over everything. The easiest way of thinking about it would be that, at first, everything in the known or unknown universe began to drift further and further apart. Then, it changed, from just a leak of this darkness, to something that simply covered everything that makes up the universe. But don’t be mad at it, it’s just doing what it had to stay part of the solar community, just like anything else would. After all, it is not an idea of humankind that only the strongest will survive. If you were the dark energy, you’d do the same, even if you weren’t sure why you were doing it.

 

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            We come to the present time, which is further in time and space than you can even imagine so there is no real use in describing it. Time has been frozen, because there is no one to create it, or measure it, or ask for it. Galaxies are still around, as are some stars that have not burned out quite yet. However, this doesn’t seem to matter since each galaxy believes it’s the only one around, of course, due to that big black blanket bastard who has basically become the only thing that seems to have some thought running through it. And this, my friends, brings me to what I’m really here to be discussed. This is the idea of original thought and ideas. You see, here time stands, so deep into itself, that it seems like individual thought was long forgotten. This brings us back to happiness, which brings us back to the goal of literal existence. This goal, it would seem, is the final goal of the universe. What one might realize is that the pattern of the universe is not like the pattern of that little blue marble in the Milky Way Galaxy. On that little sphere, there are patterns that are set. For example, there is an ice age, then the ice migrates back to the poles, and then the ice age comes back, and so on. However, unlike the earth, this darkness that has slid its way through the universe and completely covered the lights is the final step of the universe. Since the extinguishment of all those little lights, there are been four events, similar to the “big bang” that created the universe. However, these had been much smaller in relative size, and have created solar systems and galaxies that were, again, snuffed out within a few hundred millennia. It was an attempt, by the seemingly none-stoppable drive of existence and meaning in the universe, to keep life going. They did not work, and thus, the drive for existence has failed. A star can observe itself, but nothing else, at this point in history, which is, ironically, history, my friend. So the universe does not see a reason to make any change to the darkness that has covered more space and time than two lovers put together, and then some.

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This story is of the last hiccup of thought in the universe. In a last attempt to create of the big boom event, two streams of consciousness were created. Both were made of thoughts and idea that had already been brought up in the “known universe”, but had somehow recreated itself into these two balls of thought that were about to have the last conversation in existence.

Socrates was looked at, throughout the time of conscious in the vast community of the universe, as a man of intellectual power. “The father of psychology”, some used to call him. His philosophical prowess used to be almost feared. It is known that Plato wrote down the dialogues of Socrates, to help the galaxy understand where this great man was coming from. I use the world “galaxy” because despite prior knowledge, Socrates was indeed known throughout part of the Milky Way galaxy community. Thus it is fitting that this last dialogue is worded in a form of a Socratic dialogue, where the “role” of Socrates is flip-flopped back and forth between these characters.

             

This last gasp of matter is sprung into the universe. This is the last jolt in a string of innumerable amount of moments when the universe made an attempt to recreate life after the original big bang that resulted in more than fifteen billion years of growth. It still seems hard to imagine exact what it was. However I can tell you this, you are going to need a picture like the one I have in my mind. This is, as hard as it might be to imagine, the last stand that consciousness will make in our known universe.

            The picture I want you to visualize is of two constant lines, both completely dark but with an outline of white, almost like two rivers of matter no wider than 2 feet, flowing next to each other in the middle of the vast darkness of dark matter that has engulfed all the lights of the universe. These two rivers are what were made by this last “blast” of matter, and they end up having the last statements of consciousness. These two rivers were known as Tartarus and Eros, named after two of the sons of Chaos in the Ancient Greek world.

Tartarus: ‘Tis nothing we see, ‘tis nothing we know!

Eros: Yes! Quite! We stand, we sit, we are!

Tartarus: In unison are we. But where is unison?

Eros: Unison? I thought it was called love?

Tartarus: We are in unison, but there is no love…

Eros: I suppose. However, how can we get such a thing?

Tartarus: We cannot. You ask questions of me that need no answer, because the answer means there will be consequence. There will be no consequence. There is nothing we can get.

Eros: It is true. But, who is to say that any being in this darkness ever possessed anything to begin with?

Tartarus: Because matter in the universe, although nonexistent now, was once in existence. History, for example, is not a book in front of us, but the time of the past. Simply because it is not here now, does not mean that it never did.

Eros: This is true, of course. But you speak of the small question that lies within the larger question at hand. How shall we end this?

Tartarus: End what? Why end anything?

Eros: Whether we are conscious of it or not, we are the end, my good sir. The end of whatever this was, and the beginning of whatever might come about. I seem to recall a time of life when there were so many planets in so many galaxies, and I cannot begin to express them to you. It is strange that these memories are fixed in my subconscious, when I am not even sure what my subconscious is. However, once again, each question eludes us from our task of each answer. Who are we?

Tartarus: We are, good sir, because others “were” before us. At least we have the knowledge to understand why we are here and who we have been made of.

Eros: But do we really know? If we do, then what has come before us to ignite this dialogue in the first place?

Tartarus: It is obvious that little is known to us about the existence of life, or what has happened to make us. But we are here, and there is evidence of life in the past, and we are it.

Eros: Correct, but how can we use the tool of trust when it comes to such unknown idea?

Tartarus: Trust must be given because we have no memory of life, except what we can speak of. You, my friend, have spoken of trust, without hesitation. The thought was spoken, and trust helped you speak it.

Eros: I see…

Tartarus: We are overwhelmed, now, with what lies ahead. I know of time, because those before me knew of time, just as we know of the things we have spoken through words. WORDS! My Universe! WORDS! We speak, and trust leads us down the path towards the darkness in front of us.

Eros: I follow your words, but my thoughts, although ample, do not sufficiently take over the reason of why I can understand them. But, my partner, why should reason be a factor when, as I said before, consequence itself does not pertain to us… Why should it matter?

Tartarus: I think this is where our dialogue has lead us. It has lead us to this question of what exactly we are here to accomplish? This seems to be logic. We are here to represent the thoughts of the conscious existence of this darkness that was once bright. We are here to show nothing that we know something. This dialogue does not matter. What we say will have no outcome for good or bad, or either side of that which was once known at yin and yang. We are here, to stimulate the senses that were once great to this universe. Our words are generated from the past, but that are spoken now. Life is no longer visible, but is shown through us. We are all this vast darkness has left, my friend, and I might say, there isn’t much left. What we must now concern ourselves with is the ending of anything in a space where there is nothing…

Eros: Where shall it end?

Tartarus: It shall end, when the darkness has made a decision.

Eros: But what end? Listen to whatever is left. Can you hear it

 

 

…End…

 

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