we are only human, we love to enforce our beliefs with the eons of faith, war, love and hate that exist in the wake of history’s echoing timeline. that which has gone before us keeps us stable where we are. it provides for us a sense of security. it gives us comfort to know that we are not the first. but what solace can there be in the past? what comfort in an ultimately uncertain history? how can we rest in antiquity? why cast our anchors at the beginning of the journey? where are we going? what does it mean to be here, now?
what will become of us?
we’ve sought to answer that one too havent we? with the conjecture of a million years past we project the outcome of our existance on a projected terminus potentially millions of years into the future. there we find ourselves in a sort of waking purgatory of uncertainty. the past is the future is the past and over again. there is no yesterday or tomorrow in light of today. what else could possibly matter? what is the significance of this present?
you begin at infinity past and i’ll begin at infinity future. at the speed of thought we’ll race toward each other colliding in this immediate moment and, in such a catastrophic erruption of energetic force, find that there we’ve reached our destination. there we will find that we’ve come to the only conclusion: there is art at the end.