The Future: Parts IV, X, and XIII

Nights are sleepless and tormented; the Moon gazes maliciously upon me. It mocks me openly. Every waking second, it screams to me that I shall reap only death from my arcane contrivances. Despair is always knocking on my door - the door to my dimly lit and musty chambers from which my tortured screams must surely chill to the bone any passersby. Broken glassware and twisted creations litter the floors. I move things about constantly and dust still manages to settle upon everything. Sweatiness and tremors wreak havoc upon my fragile psyche. My black robes are stained with grit and grime and blood, and are torn and missing buttons from blasphemous and unspeakable experiments that so often nearly lead to oblivion.

I have always loved cats. My one solace is in my cats, who seem blissfully ignorant of my depraved state. During those rare moments where I rest, they unerringly come to lay by me, purring and licking my salty flesh. Yes, I am in ruins. Perhaps I am unmendable. But I shall not relent. For it is only this life I know, even though I suffer from it so. And I may always doubt my ability and my resolve, to the point that surrender seems the only option to a man of logical mind, but for these mercurial creatures I must trudge on. We exchange sublime affection for one another. I feed and caress them, and the comfort me, witholding me from madness. I could not abandon them.

My ambition too prevents me from seeking out more gratifying endeavors. From the time I entered University I knew that I would struggle ceaselessly until I had unraveled all mysteries of life and the universe. And, despite the hardship I feel I sometimes needlessly endure, it is undeniable that I am closer now to a breakthrough than I have ever been.

Life is a twisted and inexplicable thing - perhaps created by distant, vast, fathomless gods who delight in the creation and desertion of frivolous things. Perhaps it is simply a means for sinister entities to loose their hatred on anything that can perceive it. Though I liken myself not to such horrible cosmic demons, understanding the biological intricacies of life is merely a question of scientific observation. But a layer more fundamental exists than biology; the chemistry of living things can be elucidated as well. And further, physics can explain the full inner workings of all phenomena in the universe. But I have come close to unveiling something far more ancient and terrible than any of these. If there is any truth in the universe, I am near it.

So it happened that one fateful night, I set out to create a living creature. I would breath life into dust as God did; I would create creature of beauty and sublimity. There was no other logical choice than to bring into being a feline entity, much like my cats, but free of the suffering they had to endure. Yes, cats may not suffer much under the care of a human protector, but even they hunger at times, and thirst. I shall forge a being that will never know pain or torment.

I am used to failure and hardship. I have run so many experiments and recorded so many data that failure does not dismay me to any appreciable extent. So I set out about my work in the usual way, having hope, but prepared for disaster. Though the stars still so viciously taunted me, I ignored them this time. Usually I could not endure such caustic mockery, but I was well a mental zombie at this point anyway, running figures and carrying out procedures that I had devised in more lucid times.

For months, maybe years, I toiled. My mind was occupied with convictions so singular that I proceeded irrespective of time. My work was not without reward. It came to pass that I synthesized biological units that were perfect replicas of ones that nature had provided. A being began to from in the strange, luminescent fluid I had prepared. I was hasty; my ambition to create life far outstripped my care or delicacy. Thus I elected to awake my creation.

At first, I could not tell the nature of my child. It writhed and struggled in the viscous distillation. It was formless still. But it took shape, and slowly emerged from its container. I released the supports that had hitherto sustained it. It came into view.

But as the reality of this being permeated me, I instantly realized the abhorrently disastrous nature of my unnatural meddlings. This chimeric monstrosity was unrecognizable. It was striking yellow and orange, with six asymmetrical legs then ended in talon-like appendages. It was covered by coarse fur, but was also encompassed by chitinous plating like an insect or crustacean. It's eyes were pure black. It's back was jagged and arched, and it had a crooked, sharp, zig zagging tail. Surely, contrary to my design, the first feeling this being felt was suffering. I lamented at my creation, that I could create so pathetic and miserable a beast. But it saw me, and knew that I was responsible for its existence. However, it did not seek immediately to strike me down. Rather, it looked obediently to me, realizing that I held dominion over its soul. It almost seemed grateful to me that I granted it life. I pitied it, as horrid and repugnant as it was.

I tarried for a moment, pondering the meaning and worth of my creation. Surely every life has inherent value, so how could I reasonably abandon this creature for whose condition I was solely responsible?

But my cats did not hold so high an opinion, or so philosophical a perspective. One leapt into my arms, terrified at the intruder. The reaction of the creature was far more startling. It must have feared that the small, defenseless feline was somehow a threat to its benevolent master. It charged at me, extracted the cat from my arms, and viciously slaughtered it with its bizarre appendages. It was a creature capable of singular fury, perhaps a trait inherited from its creator. I desponded before this woeful plight. I stood motionless, aghast at the horror. Another of my cats scurried behind a shelf of reagents, and this monster pursued it with equal vigor. Timid house cats could not contend with this aberration. In a flurry of fur and entrails, every cat was slaughtered. The sound of the struggle was more than I could bear, and I could not bring myself to act due to the sheer pervasive terror. Hisses and tormented cries reverberated throughout my confining chambers. The walls were splattered with the blood of the victims, and so too was my flesh and the monster. It was all over in twenty seconds, though the pain was embedded in my soul forever. Each faction surely feared for my safety, and the cats acted dutifully and pathetically once the melee had begun, and struggle was inevitable, to defend my life. But it was for naught.

Soon my despondency turned to rage. Surely I could not have imbued this creature with such disregard towards other living things; life was the central focus of my work for as long as I can clearly recollect (which is probably not long). This beasts vileness must have been its own, so I resolved to destroy it.

But I would not simply end its life as quickly as it ended those of my cats. I wanted it to feel the pain I did. I rested for the night, as surely I needed more strength for the task. The monster tried to sleep near me, but I kicked it away every time, tears running down my face. I'm sure it did not understand why I acted so cruelly towards it. I did not sleep at all.

In any case, I rose the next morning to go about my business. I no longer mourned the loss of my cats, and though only about my vengeance on the perpetrator. I lured it towards me, and it came without hesitation. I strapped it upon an operating table, having to create makeshift straps due to its irregular shape and many appendages. I coldly attached electrodes to its body, sometimes having to pierce its hard shell to reach the conductive flesh underneath. It protested at some points, but I reassured it and it obliged. It trusted me.

I stepped behind my control panel, and turned the voltage dial to shock it slightly. It recoiled from the pain. Good, I thought to myself. I increased the voltage more, and it reacted even more violently. I smirked. For hours I continued like this, torturing it relentlessly. I cackled incoherently to myself, louder and louder as the beast suffered more and more.

And then, when my instruments were supplying nearly all the power they could, the monster broke its head free from the strap, and several of its "limbs." I recoiled, worried that it would come destroy me too, but I failed to realize this beast was not vengeful, as I was. It did something very peculiar indeed. I witnessed it as it started gnawing fiercely on its own flesh, severing some limbs and irreparably damaging its toothy "mouth." I could not tell if it was severing its own limbs because it wanted desperately to escape, or because it decided that since I forcibly induced it to feel pain, that it must follow its masters will and torture itself as well. I could no longer recognize it as the beast the had slaughtered its master's pets. It so dutifully obliged my every whim that I could scarcely conceive how it could have offended me so grievously.

And after countless torturous hours, the beast lie on the floor, toasted and mangled, dead. It expedited its own death, though I am sure it would have transpired anyway. My laughter ceased for the last several hours, but only stood in awe and horror.

I stumble out of my chambers into the brick road that ran by them. My laboratory was nestled in the country side at the verge of a forest. Most of these things had escaped my mind over time. I gazed up into the sky and the cosmos taunted me, called me a murderer, a failure, a psychopath. It cursed my work and the name of my family. Cold winds from far off galaxies made my skin icy and brittle, and froze the tears in my eyes that they created. I could no longer recognize the Earth, for everything to me seemed strange. I stumbled through the road. I may have run into a passerby or two, but I'm sure they only saw a village idiot, a harmless street walking urchin who had been claimed by schizophrenia or some other odd affliction.

I knew not what I intended to do. But I walked for weeks through the rainy countryside until I came to the place where I had mastered the sciences I had just attempted so futilely to employ - The Golden Library. Scholars may have seen and recognized me, and gazed at me perplexed. Former professors may have feared for me as I stumbled craven through the streets. I came upon the library, but I did not enter. Rather, I entered into cellar, through which one could reach the ancient Gardens of the Dead which chronicled the history of a once great and proud civilization through the bones of the broken bodies that lined its vast hallways. It hearkened to time when all people knew joy, when technology was only a boon to man and everyone enjoyed its benefits and prospered, unaware of the impending doom.

At that time, I knew my path. I had suffered dearly, and was now deranged beyond perception. I was no longer the same man. Truth and reason were not my master anymore. Madness was my master. I entered stoically into The Gardens of the Dead, where I would spend the next arbitrary portion of my wretched existence trying to understand the nature of suffering, sorrow, and madness. And the things I would do there would be no less vile than those I had just abandoned.

This is my resolution. I have abided the torments of human-being; I have suffered for things I loved and things I thought I loved. All the while the Earth continues to orbit the sun, and the stars continue to radiate their light furiously into the vast universe, though they appear only as miniscule points of light in the night sky which we ignore with such recklessness as we amble about aimlessly, ignoring the yearnings of the soul. And my time has been brief enough that nary a sapling has become a tree, but so many autumns and springs have passed. So many venerable oaks have passed into slumber and awakened again.

And some things have passed into slumber forever, while even more have awakened to the world. Some have been embraced by light and by pleasure. Others from the start have known only a torment so severe that they await with eagerness the day their flame burns out. All of this occurs beyond my comprehension, though I meditate and reflect on its meaning. To taste the substance of infinity for even a moment reveals a truth and a purpose that ignites the heart and soul, even if only for a moment, and even if the feeling seems strange and alien a moment after.

The ethereal echo of unbounded cosmic dreaming. Resolute and receptive to the incomprehensible calls of unknown realities and unrealities, unfettered by petty devotions to naive realism and to constriction by human perception, left free to probe the boundless recesses of liberating nuclear thought. Damning sensibilities are cast off. Every single thing inspires wonder. To gaze at the night sky, to taste the cold water of a mountain spring, to delight in the mild pleasure of reflection in a farmhouse in the autumn while cool breezes caress the hills, to love another, and to let go and to float freely in the thick substance of the cosmos that is like water but purer and more subtle.

So many times I myself have labored over obscure and esoteric formulae and theories late into the night, and as I nod off and relinquish my soul to sleep I am visited by utmost terrors. The tendrils of bizarre things embrace me and lights of many colors from far off worlds bombard my being as I struggle and convulse even as I am prone and motionless. But in every breath of cool spring air and with every step through abundant gardens my senses are exhilarated and my resolution is bolstered. As far as the universe goes, the mind goes even farther still. An even greater infinity. And so many minds wander here. The extent of the thoughts and dreams, of the joys and sorrows, of the triumphs and failures, and of the enlightenments and despairs...

How can anything be known? Any portion of infinity is nothing, so in all of my endeavors has my soul seen nothing? The thoughts and yearnings of each being are infinite, greater than the sum total of everything, and yet each is contained within this "everything," and each is but a minor constituent. So it goes, and such musings delight me in my finest moments and torment me in my darkest hours. But to let go-that is the way to consider this, the way the soul finds in it sublime delight. And this is what I recall, when I let go. This which is tucked away deep within me, but which I reveal to my waking self when necessary, to behold the resplendent wonders of struggling and feeling pain and being alive:

Every atom in everything on Earth and in space once comprised vast and ancient stars that burned for untold aeons before collapsing violently or turning to cold dead shells. My grandfather told me this, he said he took solace in that fact. That every atom in him was once part of a star. I in my youth thought this merely strange and awkwardly funny, but even then I saw him for the erudite and storied man he was. He did not speak much, so I held on dearly to these few and seldom products of his constant rumination whenever he presented them. I came to appreciate the significance of his sparing words with time.

These words become prevalent in my mind as I wander through the fields surrounding the home of my youth. Once there were wetlands there; verdant, vast, and sweet smelling. But as time wore on they evaporated and relented to the encroaching dryness that seemed to be overtaking everything as far as birds flew and beyond the horizon. Every year they were a little dryer, and a little less impressive to my undeveloped youthful sensibilities. I was impressed only by things grand in their scale; I saw no beauty in the minor or mundane.

I held these adages from my grandfather close to my heart; he was old and his years numbered. And then it came that he died one day, as I knew he would. I loved him so much, but I dared not to allow my emotion to get the better of me, for I thought in those times that he wouldn’t have wanted that. That it would have shown weakness.

And my father too grew older. He visited me one day at university and could scarcely walk up a flight of stairs, and when he sat down, he could scarcely again rise. As I saw him off he struggled and I had to hold him up. I thought then back to old days; how we would spend our time in my youth. And I yearned for those days dearly and demanded of God or the sky or the stars why this had to happen. Could not compassionate deities see my torment? Why did they not act swiftly to alleviate me of it? I vowed then I would visit him when the day came that confined him to the hospital, and we would watch films that were our favorites together from my boyhood years. I missed severely that routine; Watching films with my father, eating dinner and asking him every manner of question about the universe and life.

Why must it end? Even now I ask this, though at various times I may deliver to myself various answers. To know pain is a beautiful thing. For not a single one of us is alone. Each of us must bear the same struggles and the same crosses, and as one person has a day of triumph he may console one who has a moment of despair. And yet I still am indignant towards the unstoppable cosmic force of time.

It came that in my early years of university, while I was visiting my old home, I noticed that the wetlands had truly become sickly and pitiful over the years. So many things from home had changed, and it wore my nerves thin. My cat, whom we had found wandering about the city when I was young, was decrepit and hobbled about. She protested whenever her hips were touched, for they were surely arthritic and weak.

But I still elected to wander through that once great land of my childhood. Although they may not now reach the lofty grandeur they once did, I had brought a pretty girl along with me and wanted to share whatever miserable and amusing trivialities from my early years I could whilst I lingered at home. And I did of course speculate that as quickly as the wetlands dried, my sense of scale matured. Perhaps if I witnessed them as they were from the old days then, I would have still been unimpressed. Though I grew more and more able to appreciate subtlety and see beauty in weakness and pitifulness, as much because of weakness and pitifulness as despite it.

And I noticed in a certain moment that my cat had followed me. I saw her infrequently at that point, and she reveled in every opportunity to follow me around, despite the pain she certainly endured in doing so. And I sat on the ground there in the dirt, with my legs crossed, and beckoned to her. And as she lay in her lap, I for the first time yielded to my soul and allowed the vastness and majesty of the cosmos to inundate me.

In my revery I experienced so many things, some that were and others that weren’t. With this pretty young lady beside me I explored forever; we did together. But at some point we were no longer two souls and the wonder was cast upon one spirit. Perhaps we’re all one spirit, I thought. But at that moment I was interested only in exploring what had presented itself at that moment.

I awoke to a wonderful world. We were sitting in the lone tree in the field on the periphery of the wetlands, and there were so many colorful and exotic birds singing in it. Every delightful and absurd detail was delicious. I was dressed in white silk and she in a blue dress with morning glories in her hair. Wildflowers were everywhere across the landscape, of every color and sort, but were not arrayed randomly about. There was order-the most beautiful possible order there could be, yet sill a product solely of nature. We go and tell my mother of the beauty, but she is too busy to accompany us. This was a feature of my youth-I know my mother struggled dearly for all of us. So even in my revery, elements of hardship still presented themselves. But that made a strong impression on me and “reality” it seems is inseparable from whatever form of perception under whose auspices you find yourself.

In any case, we skipped through the wetlands eagerly, wanting to see every aspect of the new and beautiful place. I could never tell whether to weep or laugh, and the result was some strange hybrid between the two. I may have appeared ridiculous, but at that point, nothing could have disrupted the delightful composure of my heart.

We venture farther out to the roads around my town. Massive canyons and red mountains are all about, like the land where my grandfather resided during his latter years. They decorate the terrain though it is still recognizable as being my home. Sunflowers with wise and mysterious faces full of millions of seeds reach towards the starry night sky, but are as vibrant and beautiful as if they were in broad daylight. The yellow color reaches every inch of us, of both of us. And the joy is beyond belief.

Every atom of everything was once part of a star, I think…

And there we are, back in the wetlands. And my cat is in our lap, though youthful and as joyous as either of us. I still see the tree in the distance with thousands of colorful birds. The three souls dance ecstatically together under the humane and benevolent auspices of reverent joy.

Who knows how long this frivolous and wonderful escapade continued, for days or minutes. But soon reality was restored to its throne, and soon thereafter a world worse yet. The flora died, the trees wither, and every drop of water evaporated into the angry sky. Birds fell to the ground. Everything was dead. And I and the girl sat there motionless and old and withered and tired. And my cat had turn to bones and then to dust and was blown away in an unrelenting wind. I would have cried, had I any tears.

And we looked at one another then and embraced one another. This too subsided, and I shall write little more of it for the pain…

But the same reality that demands of us our cyclic activities and our undivided attention in order to achieve and sustain ourselves is the very one that facilitated these dual universes of light and dark. And in all three it is possible to embrace another and to be sorrowful or joyful with the seasons. So then perhaps our condition is not so much to blame for our experiences and our humor. No torment can break the bond between us all, and no state of ecstasy can render it unnecessary. One day I will die and be missed in the same capacity as all those before me. Perhaps my children and their children will suffer.

But whether the sun rises or the clouds conceal it, and whether we eat well or suffer, and whether we succeed or give up, there will always be a oneness that permeates us all. We are all vulnerable to same pain, and all open to the same joys, if only we allow ourselves to be. And nothing could be more fulfilling than allowing this.

And I may wander through the years and question nothing. And take perception as granted, and not consider from whence the atoms in my body came, nor the story of an ancient oak or the creatures that made it their home. But one evening or one morning I may let go, and allow myself to once more be lost in “everything.” How many truths are there? The truth which the artist paints, that which the mathematician proves with rigor, that which the physicist reveals through repeated experimentation, and that which is revealed in cosmic dreaming and astounding revery. That which arises from subtle thought and contemplation.

All are available to us here and now, if we choose to welcome them.

This is the extent of my recollection. While contemplating infinity and truth I return to my childhood and then the early days of my adulthood when I was ever so passionate and driven. When everything was either a delight or a horror and I lived every moment feeling alive. And now such moments are rare and I spend so much time contemplating what nature of abomination the universe must be, or the creators of the universe must be, to have allowed such terrible things to befall man.

Perhaps, as I have often told myself, outside of this idyllic, placid sphere horrific and unimaginable secrets truly do abound. And these have distorted and destroyed even the most brilliant minds in their quest for truth, and as they spend their days writhing in agony and despair at their ruinous failure, time marches inexorably on and their quaint discoveries are forgotten as are their names and struggles. The most inquisitive and able minds in science are the ones most damned from the beginning-for as the poet and the artist commit to paper and canvas the most sublime and wistful yearnings of their soul, the scientist delves ever deeper into the madness and cacophony of the disorder and infinity that enshrouds and facilitates his thinking. But both suffer the same grievances and both may experience the same wonders. An artist struggles as the scientist to find himself and the truth in his work.

No poet is so much a poet that he did not once wonder what makes the world turn or what makes up the stars. And no scientist is so much a scientist that he did not once gaze in wonder on the sunset and ask himself if in elegance and beauty there is as much truth as in equations and models.

Both dream, as I dream. And both must contend with what is called reality as I must. But dreams are a product of that very reality, or perhaps as a philosopher might suggest reality is merely a product of another’s dream. But the question remains that must be posed, for it is apparent that the two coexist forever and ever-are they truly so different? The yearnings of our soul may direct us at times to one or another, but in either there is magnificence. I advise, to myself and to others, that the only necessity is that one looks closely for it, and does not prevent it from taking him away when it is found.

Ganthon is the name of the God whom I have mentioned so often, who figures so prominently in my dreams and whose name I consider at every turn. For it is Ganthon who first appeared to me in those early days when I wandered the ultimate city - the bustling metropolis which remained after aeons of decay across the whole world. A golden dome covers it and the sky cannot be seen, yet even under this extravegent umbrella zounds of ancient skyskrapers reach to tickle the artificial celestium.

A truth regarding the myriad of physical models utilized by science is that none is meant to ellucidate the true nature of the universe or even a single phenomenon it describes. Rather, each is required only to be consistent with regards to the assumptions it bears as prerequisite. Such models are the useful ones, for an inconsistency relegates a model to obscurity, even if in it there is profound simplicity and seemingly fundamental truth.

I mention this point for the same is true of our assimilation of the information around us. Our minds were not created to understand the truth of things, but rather to be able to employ paradigms and templates through which we can efficiently ascertain important information, or arrive at reasonable-sounding conclusions based on conditions presented to us. How wildly different our philosophy may be even pertaining to situations which are indeed so similar by certain explanations. The complexity or perhaps incomprehensible simplicity of the universe is not yet meant to be revealed to us, so it is only in infinitecimal units that we may even attempt to interpret it.

Our self-evaluation is tempered by the same constraints. It is impossible to see ourselves from any other vantage than as ourselves. This handicap could certainly be construed as an elegant flaw by philosphers, but as for myself I see it merely as an unavoidable conclusion of our human nature.

So it is through the mantle of Ganthon that I then viewed the world. I was impressionable and ambitious, and my interest in unravelling the ostensible meanings in the cosmos was only then nascent. I walked through the majestic Ultimate City, which compared to the bastions remaining now seemed as some pretentious and unimaginable paradise. As powerful as any constituent of the unified and vast empire which once comprised humanity. Yet is was lonesome in this representation.

Each arduous experience with which my soul has at any point had to contend is marked by various features, but this first one most remarkebly was characterized by unrestrained awe. Unrestrained awe is not something that can be described except by those two words, and any who have experienced it know the feeling already. Ganthon, the mighty World Eating Worm, shattered the dome above and ravaged the city, leaving inexplicable monuments to his own limitless hubris and power.

Towers fell to the ground and streets and highways are destroyed. The loftiest achievements of mankind through all of its history were laid to waste so quickly. I was aghast, terrified, and amazed. But mostly amazed, as at that point I longed for such grace and omnipotence.

This phallic God had veins pulsing and bursting all across its entire expanse, and it extended from the depths to the sky. I could not see its gaping mouth except when it first emerged from the ground, but then went forever and ever into its heavens. It never stopped as I gazed upon it. And I was so afraid, but I envisioned a straight path before me surrounded by darkness. My heart palpitated and my skin sweated. But what is fear? Ensconced in shadows I walked through what could have been city streets or untamed wilds. But I will emerge at the end and be afraid no longer, a trend which is always true of fear. So as my thoughts race and my heart beats wildly I am still the same at my core, and will emerge as I was before, even if my resolve is further solidified and I may regard future horrors with stoicism even more solidifed.

Let the philosophers and the poets write what they will about the human condition. Surely there is literary and intellecutal merit in mentioning that we are all subject to a certain set of omnipresent conditions that define us as human beings. Various weaknesses, inhibitions, etcetera are common to us all. We all struggle and feel pain, and we all regard success as the ultimate pursuit, regardless of the venue in which we seek it.

But woe be to the fool who has not gazed up at Ivory Towers from the streets and thought to himself, "one day I will not stand here and gaze up, but rather stand there and gaze down, on the foolish and helpless masses. I will climb from the ground to the sky, by my own will, and with my own strength or with the aid of others it matters not. And before I will die I will see the futility which for so long defined me, but I will be free of it and I will know power."

I do not ignore the other pursuits of the heart and mind, but anyone who has toiled and considered his work to be without end, his toil without remuneration, can identify with this. The pursuit of something greater must by necessity touch us, even if this ambition is at the expense of our compassion and the livelihood of others, for only a moment. They must too be touched by this so we have a reason to awake and breathe and struggle. We all want greatness, and at times this is a common pursuit and at times it is a grueling trek along a lonely road.

But this is as much a commonality as any other thing for which eloquent prose could be composed. And seeing this graceful destruction, by this cosmic entity, notwithstanding whatever measure of lucidity I then enjoyed, inspired this feeling so strongly. It remains a part of me, and its significance will not be neglected.

So many things happen, even in my narrow experience and brief time. A model needs only to explain consistently whatever is in question. And it is impossible to analyze the self completely. But this is one lens through which I may deconstruct my rationale; my behavior and the force behind my actions and ambitions. So desparately it drives me. At times it is so convenient and comfortable to forget, and merely drift along seeking respite from various terrors in whatever way is easily attainable. And at others I can do nothing but decry myself for laziness and mercifully seek to burden myself with the loftiest goals I can devise so I am deprived of rest and may endeavor to be greater than I am.

The phallic God destroyed my home and taught me a lesson of which I may have otherwise forever been ignorant. And it was my first but not last encounter with this being. My exploits are colored by this event. I cannot explain any more fully the amazement which took me then. Ah, me. With what delight I regard entertaining these absurdities, and how troubled I am by them as they madden me every moment I consider them.