The Broadcast

I’ve been thinking more and more about the idea that everything is relative. Less of an idea, more of a proven theory courtesy of Albert Einstein but surely, if everything is relative, what does that make us? Human beings on Earth, shaping our little patch of reality through culture and science in ways that may seem alien to aliens and even ourselves. I got a glance of an article scrolling through Reddit that said NASA had received a strange radio broadcast not originating from Earth and are currently investigating its nature and origin. If Einstein is to be believed, is the whole point of that futile? Considering what may be a ‘hello’ from a being from say, Alpha Centauri, maybe a ‘fuck off’ to a being from Pocklington, Yorkshire, UK.

If the article is true and not another bit of wonderful clickbait, and NASA does identify extra-terrestrial intelligence, is that not a testament to relativity? In my opinion, relativity and perspective are two sides of the same coin if not the same, as truth is all about perspective as well as human history as I doubt that if the Nazis won World War II, Winston Churchill wouldn’t be on so many damn tourist coffee mugs. So, with that being said, truth is relative comparatively to empirical fact. Yet if facts are true doesn’t that make them inherently relative themselves for a historian or hell, even a simple true-false computer program. That in itself is an ironic notion considering that our brains run on electrical signals similarly to a computer – electrical signals that can be quantified into easy-peasy ones and zeros. Look out Elon Musk because the digital revolution happened way-back-when in the primordial soup, right?

Perhaps we are all just fleshy machines, each with fluctuations in programming along with error messages and decaying moving parts. We see ourselves as so much more. We see metaphysical beings with souls and a purpose in the cosmos. I see no purpose and the absence of purpose and the idea of the divine soul and most would probably call me a depressing twat. Yet doesn’t the freedom of having no purpose and acknowledgement of the finite give us all infinite potentials? Who needs gods when we are all gods in our own right, each of us individuals determining the advancement of an entire species and the physical landscape of the universe around us; creating, elevating, mastering and sometimes destroying. From what I’ve read, that pretty much covers what gods do. Hell, even Zeus was a bit of a fuck boy.

So, I hope that the broadcast from the final frontier did happen and the best and brightest of us do manage to decipher its meaning. To make contact with another species, even if it’s just for a single moment will change the world, humanity and just maybe our perception, and relativity in the universe. Single moments have a habit of doing that in our history. Maybe this one will be the decider to whether we are just meat bags clinging to the surface of the Earth or divine fucking entities destined to just reach out and tame the stars.

Like I say though, the whole thing could have been clickbait.

The Broadcast

Death’s Digital Name

I had a nightmare about space, which is a first for me considering the usual bad dream consists of the woman I care for being roundly fucked while my grandfather scolds me for a bad school report. This cosmic odyssey  seemingly tried to tell me that no matter how much space we have to move and get away from each other, we’ll always feel choked. A strange notion considering that humans are supposedly herd creatures but now after feeling something that livid, it makes me wonder that perhaps we are inherently solitary.

In my life right now, I’m not sure I’ve ever been so quite literally alone yet contrastingly I’ve never felt so trapped within a fish bowl of what I can only understand to be my own creation. Perhaps this is a common feeling amongst the modern, 21st Century human being as we are all trapped within our own well documented lives available at the click of a mouse. Long gone are the days where we can move away to a new place and start anew because whether it be a horrific photo of us that our mothers post on fucking Facebook or incredible debt, something is always following us around. Is that a new notion or one as old as the universe itself and the grim reaper just does business under a different, digital name?

Of course, it’s an entirely hyperbolic thought but I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking a piece of me dies every time I go onto Twitter. Perhaps Perry Como’s ‘Killing Me Softly’ is more relevant in the Digital Era than we ever thought it could be while we swim around our own little goldfish bowls. It’s a cliché to say, yet it’s true: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result and if that doesn’t surmise human life, I don’t know what will. Like literal goldfish swimming around the bowl, repeating the same three seconds over and over expecting to find some new patch to make our own.

If we all hop into our dream convertible and drive into the sunset we would all find a place where no one would know our name. Yet the dream of true freedom would collapse entirely as soon as we access an ATM or that someone finds internet connection and discovers that you’re a former checkout assistant from Whittlesey. Mark Zuckerberg’s dream of a connected human kind destroys the idea of individualism and the freedom to be individualistic in a way that has forced us all into a mass hysteria, exploding in our pants at the thought of the new iPhone. Most employers in 2017 use social media to check out potential employees and fire current ones because their definition of humour differs – hooray for civil liberties.

Perhaps the most hopeful ending to any film I’ve ever seen is that of The Dark Knight Rises where Bruce Wayne is able to erase himself and Selina Kyle from everything using a ‘clean slate’ device. Even within the film, the writers note that the idea is ludicrous and the world today is far too small to truly start a new life, whatever the fuck that may entail. Yet it’s a thought that while wholly fanciful is perhaps the underlying dream ending for us all whether we be that mysterious stranger or a former checkout assistant. This is exactly why the final frontier is so attractive: it’s mysterious and endless and just out of reach so some arsehole somewhere hasn’t ruined it yet.

Death’s Digital Name

Two Pints of Guinness

I’m fascinated with time and space and the endlessness of both.  It surprises me that more people aren’t or aren’t constantly aware that no matter how human history may fluctuate, Jupiter won’t pause on its constant journey around the sun. I’m trying to uncover in my own head whether or not this fascination with the expanse is scientific or nihilistic. Is the nihilism just an extension of materialism, being an absence of spiritualism, or is it just the logical extension of logical existentialism? If that makes any sense at all.

Full disclosure, I’m on the crest of tipsy and these thoughts only seem to come to me after that second pint of Guinness. It’s a shame I don’t think about these things at any other time other than under these particular circumstances, similarly with the rest of the human population. The good thoughts, the thoughts that truly matter, only seem to come to us when we are elevated from our usual closed off selves. The classic British stiff upper lip doesn’t help with that but it makes any form of cerebral separation that more  sensual. Which in turn, makes our ability to talk out of our arses all that easier.

Say for example, the Cuban Missile Crisis went in another direction where the boats kept on moving and the hands of the Doomsday Clock kept on turning. Would the universe stop to weep? The answer is no it wouldn’t; not even our own Sagittarius A, at the centre of the Milky Way, would stop eating like black holes do, for even a moment to mourn our little species.

I remember the first time I thought about things like this, I was fifteen which perhaps is when most people look to those twinkling things in the night sky and think only one thing: ‘Holy fucking shit.’ I felt like perhaps I was alone in how I responded being trying to connect those dots in the sky with the texts to hand being that good old King James Bible. Much to the dismay of my partner in science class, which was when I thought would be a good time to explore these ideas, I came to strange conclusion. The name Israel, as random as it seems, is not a name at all but a question through time in plain English. The only time I remember it is of course, after these delightful pints of bitter.

Is Ra, El?

Two Pints of Guinness