How strange: knowing that there is a universe out there and that it
is so vast and so alive and well, (even) without the wars and the
anxieties common to the minute strifes of human life. The echoes of
human beings, transmissions and "to-be"-beams; daily doses of mind
grind, yes, they reach them... but only to be simply brushed off -
like silent snow off a warm winter coat. They drift on yet further,
beyond the glowing entities, suspended in the weightlessness of void
and vacuum and bound together only by the attractive forces of each
other. They surpass the fringes of space ebbing on, just as if they
were riding the ripples of a waterless space pond, scattering their
ghostly hollow messages to whatever they pass on their journey...
until their own reflections catch up with them... At that point, as
subject meets object, as object becomes one with subject, they
comprehend their external indifference. Now, void of the weight of
such meaning, without resistence, they embrace and merge, and flow
free as a free, free river, leading to the sea of infinite mass.
There they are absorbed by the massive black holes, the churning
transformer machines, traces of collpased stars. Blending into cream
toffee and journeying beyond pointless singularities, they end their
journey as compressed energy bars, being crunched up into pellets of
nourishment the universe feeds to the beautiful stars... The stars we
are made of...
Calling: "Trillian, Trillian, Trillian."