The Heat Death of the Universe

I’ve been in a down mood lately. Have really been needing a drink of Irish cream in an old-fashioned glass with a vinyl of free jazz playing on the side.

Watching Mad Men isn’t exactly the best aspirin for the spirits.
The economy is still shit and the American government is still overrun with nincompoop incompetents.
And today, I read about Heat Death, the prevailing theory for what the ultimate end (or lack thereof) of the universe will hold.
While there’s still a lot we don’t know (hey, the Earth used to be flat and everything used to orbit around it), for the time being, most astrophysicists believe that after 10^100 years, the universe will become one cold infinity populated only be subatomic particles. No planets, galaxies, black holes, Big Crunch, nothing.
Depressing as shit. There’s no reset, the thought of which actually would’ve been very comforting. Humanity is condemned to a lonely fate even if it manages to somehow survive beyond the reaches of its originating planet. Hell, this notion applies to life in general.

I’m at peace with eventually dying (not now, thank you), living out a very limited existence.
I’m even at peace with humanity meeting an ultimate end.
But I do want that flame of life to keep on burning in some form — or at least want it to be relit if that flame dies.

Making you feel insignificant. These epic stretches of time, cosmic mega-structures, incomprehensible events are good at doing just that. And you know what, in a way, it makes me feel comfortable. My ego doesn’t entirely like that, but to know that you can fuck up big time, fuck up so bad, and that the universe won’t feel a blip is a calming feeling.

But I yearn for the reassurance that the universe will end, and restart, that it’ll eventually cycle back and give some other organism and entity the chance to fuck up. Because chaos, fucking up, living — well, it just makes things more interesting. Less lonely.

Thinking about this stuff — it’s cool, but it makes you feel powerless. Also makes you type up the words, “eventually” and “ultimately” a lot.

Someone said, “So many yearn for immortality yet are bored by a rainy afternoon.”

Maybe I just need a drink.

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