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Drink Coke
30 November 2009 14:34Hello, I've been to space.
Everything else pales in comparison. You may think you know how small and insignificant we are but I've seen it with my own eyes. The void is vast and we are nothing. My soul is changed just like the other very small handful of us hairless monkeys that have ventured into the vacuum in our little metal ships. We are alone among you in our knowledge of the terror of the stars.
I’m here to tell you something. I’ve been hired to sell you something. The world has money in it and the acquisition of great amounts of it is a symbol of power. Like a caveman with a stack of mammoth meat before the winter, or perhaps many children that look like him in the tribe. It is a tangible way to measure success on this planet.
I have been hired by some of the richest people through a series of underlings to try and sell you a product. By giving you the illusion that this product will satisfy you in some small way, I will compel you to give this company money. If you believe the illusion, this company will maintain its hold on what it thinks is power. You will believe it is an even trade because of the satisfaction you’ve been told to have flourishing within you.
Before I tell you what I’m selling, I need to share something with you.
The sadness that comes deeply through me is the sadness of an astronaut. I am a man marooned in the inky night of the void. But even that’s not true. Space isn’t black, it’s just so deep that the edges are lost in shadow. There is nothing there between the planets and the stars. Nothing. I have returned to this planet physically but my soul, my mind, the essential parts of me are still up there.
Some traps confine. They tie a person up and grow tighter with every movement. There are those that do that physically, like snares, and there are those that do it socially, like lies.
Space is not that kind of trap. Space welcomes all energy. Lash out. Flail. Be that dancer with no rhythm in the center of the dance floor. Try to strike it. It will absorb your blows even as you hit nothing. They will make no difference. There is nothing in you besides your own energy ebbing and that is disappearing as surely as waves pull away from a beach at low tide and cel-phone batteries die.
In this space, surrounded by nothing, you can feel the drain. Seconds, body heat, skin cells, they all waft away from us in the constant erosion made possible by time. Entropy. Heat death. They dying of the light.
To rage against it is one course of action. It makes no difference to space but it might make a difference to you.
The windows in our tin can showed us the face of god. It is not caring. It is impassive and patient.
Speaking of tin cans, look at this one. It has words on it that spell Coca Cola. It's a tasty sugar drink of some kind. Can you imagine how little this matters? How little money matters? How little our entire lives, nay, the entire history of this planet matters? It doesn't. Not at all.
So buy Coke. Or not. It really doesn't matter.
tags
Everything else pales in comparison. You may think you know how small and insignificant we are but I've seen it with my own eyes. The void is vast and we are nothing. My soul is changed just like the other very small handful of us hairless monkeys that have ventured into the vacuum in our little metal ships. We are alone among you in our knowledge of the terror of the stars.
I’m here to tell you something. I’ve been hired to sell you something. The world has money in it and the acquisition of great amounts of it is a symbol of power. Like a caveman with a stack of mammoth meat before the winter, or perhaps many children that look like him in the tribe. It is a tangible way to measure success on this planet.
I have been hired by some of the richest people through a series of underlings to try and sell you a product. By giving you the illusion that this product will satisfy you in some small way, I will compel you to give this company money. If you believe the illusion, this company will maintain its hold on what it thinks is power. You will believe it is an even trade because of the satisfaction you’ve been told to have flourishing within you.
Before I tell you what I’m selling, I need to share something with you.
The sadness that comes deeply through me is the sadness of an astronaut. I am a man marooned in the inky night of the void. But even that’s not true. Space isn’t black, it’s just so deep that the edges are lost in shadow. There is nothing there between the planets and the stars. Nothing. I have returned to this planet physically but my soul, my mind, the essential parts of me are still up there.
Some traps confine. They tie a person up and grow tighter with every movement. There are those that do that physically, like snares, and there are those that do it socially, like lies.
Space is not that kind of trap. Space welcomes all energy. Lash out. Flail. Be that dancer with no rhythm in the center of the dance floor. Try to strike it. It will absorb your blows even as you hit nothing. They will make no difference. There is nothing in you besides your own energy ebbing and that is disappearing as surely as waves pull away from a beach at low tide and cel-phone batteries die.
In this space, surrounded by nothing, you can feel the drain. Seconds, body heat, skin cells, they all waft away from us in the constant erosion made possible by time. Entropy. Heat death. They dying of the light.
To rage against it is one course of action. It makes no difference to space but it might make a difference to you.
The windows in our tin can showed us the face of god. It is not caring. It is impassive and patient.
Speaking of tin cans, look at this one. It has words on it that spell Coca Cola. It's a tasty sugar drink of some kind. Can you imagine how little this matters? How little money matters? How little our entire lives, nay, the entire history of this planet matters? It doesn't. Not at all.
So buy Coke. Or not. It really doesn't matter.
tags
