Time is Entropy is Death

Interesting dreams and realizations last night.

There is no past.  It’s an illusion that we convinced ourselves to believe since humanity has such a terror of death.  Each second that passes, actually passes away.  There is no going back because to travel into the past means to travel into the grave.

I understand the appeal of the time travel story.  It’s a denial of death, of the inevitability of entropy as everything slowly slides into nothingness.  A chance to be reborn, to travel the road not taken, and to refute our all too mortal flesh, but it is the single most impossible concept in science fiction.  As a matter of fact, I’m surprised that this particular story plot is actually classified as science fiction and not fantasy, since there is no possible scientific aspect to it.

Travel into the future is possible, but only if you can halt time for the individual.  In one sense, we are all time travelers into the future, so it’s not nearly as impressive.  Cryogenics, that laughable bastard child of plausible scientific theory, is a time machine to the distant future, but – since it exists (admittedly as more of a joke or urban legend than as science) – it’s not nearly as impressive.  Plus, it’s merely putting off inevitable death, not refuting it, so it’s far less attractive to the mind.

There is no past to return to, we haul it along with us as we all move along, like some sort of cosmic u-haul trailer hitched up to the pick-up of our lives.  It slowly decays and rusts away, bits and pieces falling off, never to be seen again, until we finally pull over and hitch up a newer, shinier trailer of past … one built with equal parts of reality and fantasy.  The further we travel, the more the trailer becomes complete fantasy, idealized and carefully purged memories of a much worse reality, and the baggage it hauls becomes more permanent for the trade-off.  It’s like the reality somehow passes from the trailer to the baggage, making it that much more painful when we finally unpack.

In the cab of the truck, there are three GPS units to map out the unknowable future of the trip.  One is based on religious beliefs, which shows you the best way to reach it’s ultimate destination … unfortunately, many of the roads it recommends simply don’t exist or cannot be driven on.  The second is based on the advise of various authority figures, which tells you how they traveled the road so sucessfully during their time … unfortunately, almost all of the roads and travel conditions that they used simply no longer exist or apply, and at any rate, are all miles and miles behind you.  The third is based on your own experience and desires … but what the fuck do you know?  Your experience is knowledge you’ve gained by driving on roads that may or may not have anything in common with the roads ahead of you and your desires amount to zip on the trip.

Besides, the windshield is painted black, or might as well be because you can’t actually see that far ahead.  Only guesses and rumors, hopes and dreams.

Thankfully, there are lots and lots of places to pull over for the occasional breather, almost any of which can become – in a flash – you’re final destination, that place where you finally decide to stop traveling and settle (both for, in, up and down), and unpack, finally dealing with all that baggage you’ve been hauling around for so long.  There you will stay, occasionally admiring the shiny trailer of your past and reading travelogues of other peoples trips, wondering what would have happened if you’d stayed on the road just a little longer, just a few more miles.

I’ll pass on the obvious analogs of road rage, accidents, breakdowns and flat tires (and especially the fact that every road is a one-way street).

An interesting night and an excellent example of why one should never eat spicy food just before bedtime.