The days go by slowly when you are waiting for something. Something to happen, something to initiate, something to arrive. Then when it finally happens, it seems like it’s been no time at all.
Time is strange, at least in how we experience it.
Relative to be sure.
But it keeps moving forward no matter if we agree or disagree; the planet keeps revolving around the sun, the solar system revolving around the Milky Way galaxy, and all of that headed towards the great attractor.
Our timelines are far too short. One hundred and three years (my grandmother’s age when she died) is not enough to experience the wonders of the universe we live in. Perhaps if we lived millions of years, would not our perspectives be completely different than they are now?
I would hope so.
But honestly, I’m not sure. As I watch the “politics of an ant hill” going on around me, I have my doubts. Humanity is but the slices of the brain, and the many slices of the mind, that make us the “I” we experience. With no firewall to speak of, we are easily led astray from the directions and devices we choose. Towards an outcome that is always deeply tangled with the “politics of an ant hill” and not the bigger picture of the universe in general. Out there in Bootes Void, if there is a hidden black hole, perhaps it might be different; for surely it would be aboard the MaRP?
I like to hope so.
Perhaps Bad Comrade might tell us something different. But then, a smattering of thoughts across the bot population definitely would be. The perspective of one perched upon the edge of an event horizon across a bilinuiss flagitious black hole would be something quite different than nattering nonsense the passes for conversation and civility.
So I’ll stay here, wandering the secreted hidden valleys of the white desert, the vast megalopolises that dominate some points, the dangerous path of the Weaponeer 259 cadre, and the dark black at the edge of space where Ave feels the most at home.
The fall of Convallis Megalopolis is at hand, the forces of machine intelligence converge, and much much more is at play, deep within the white desert.
Perhaps Kassian McNamara was right.
