The Death of Time: Chronothánatos
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Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’
The collective consciousness
Branching into streams for each being
Or rather, each SOUL
For it is TIME
The consciousness
The awareness of change
Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss
That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief
And
Even Desires for possession
What remains is the eternal
The everlasting
Love without loss
Hope without fear
In Etahphh, the entity of time
As cliche as it is, is
Literally a river
And the streams of consciousness
Literally streams
Perhaps
It would be far more interesting
For us explore the planet Tarphah
Where the whole realm itself
Is a gargantuan elastic fabric
And it is in itself
Time, space and
All of its living souls
Or the perpetual
Self-devouring serpent
Of the Twin Neutron Stars
Where time and all events
Are in eternal repetition
But those are for another day
For time is dying in Etahphh
The eight side diamond shaped
Sandy planet of golden palaces
And crystal blue
River of Time and
Streams of Consciousness
Situated between a Spinning Black Hole
And two colliding neutron stars
Etahphh, where, as it spins
Time is being pulled towards
Either the Night of the Black Hole
Or Day of the Twin Stars
Is about to undergo
Chronothánatos
Or
The Great Sleep of Time
And Consciousness
The measurement of time
Is rather like the measurement
Of the length of the river itself:
Being divided into fixed increments
You’d expect it to take the same amount
Of time through each circulation
But the flow is never consistent
And more importantly
The viscosity is changing
Time is slowing down
And the planet is getting hotter
For the land roamers of this realm
This means a great change is coming
Though change has been in effect
Since The Great Flood, also known as
The Birth of Time
For in the Olden Days, it seemed like
The ancestors lived forever, or at least
Much, much longer
In reality
It is rather that time used to flow
Much, much quicker
And each Sigh, or each increment
Passed in at least tenth of the present
Speed
While aging remained the same pace
In the same breath or meter of time
The same generation lived,
In the past, through a thousand sighs
Or a thousand waves
And in the present, as the flow slowed,
Through only a hundred
To the rich and powerful
And creatures beneath the waves
The direction and speed of the flow
Matter much less than to those
Without vessels, or the ability to
Wade and swim freely through the waves
However, that is only if the waves does flow
What happens when the ‘Chronothánatos“
Does finally occur?
Does everything stand still?
Even aging and atrophy?
But surely, not the subconscious, the soul
And since sand must return to sand
Does that happen the moment of thánatos?
And are we therefore instantly released from
Our ****** confinement?
Do we roam free as spectres in a waking dream?
Without temporal consciousness,
What remains of thoughts?
It might still be unfathomable
For beings confined to travel
Linearly in spacetime
Some no matter what direction
Or speed
To truly grasp the reality
Of an existence of
What would seem like
All that would happen
Would happen all at the same instant
The same exact indivisible moment
Much like life on the planet of
Phahrah, where all of its history
Happen in a single moment
Ever closer to eternity for its citizens
But next to nonexistent
For distant observers:
In the moment
Its whole cradle Nebula
Was destroyed and swallowed
By a gigantic black hole-The Thánatos-
Life was created
As it’s waters dispersed
And land was slowly exposed
For the powerless among us
The freedom of pure soul
Its twinges of love and joy
Without loss, without pain
Is ever freeing and welcoming
And as the planet is becoming
Hotter and hotter
The Death of Time seems like
The perfect paradise
But for the Rich and Powerful
Who has for countless generations
Used observers and other means
To ensure their life is lived to the
Most prosperous outcome
Being so powerful for a long time
Is perhaps more tempting than
Being eternally powerless
They might be able to set up
Minions at fixed points in
History of the Present, Past, and Future
To ensure all possible outcome
Of each action is reported back to all
Previous points no matter what
Can they be so powerful to
Stop, rather in this case
Revive Time itself?
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STILLWATERS OF INCONSEQUENTIAL EVENTS
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How convenient it is that
Time is a river and there are
Stillwaters of inconsequential events
The general plan is thus:
To use ‘unused’ time
To prolong time
To use wasted water
To replenish the rivers
And continue and repeat
Forever forward
And so
The observers became gathers
And unworthy streams
Will make its sacrifice for the
Greater good
But the lever of the Time Reserve
Was not to be pulled until
The very last moment
And the most ruthless of
The Clockwork Regime
Is set to pull it
For even lives barely lived
Still lived
And death is always unwanted
By the sufferer
And any measure to prolong
The Status Quo when there is
Hope for a much much more desirable
Existence
Is always met with
Rebellion
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THE REBEL’S PLAN
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How do you rebel against
Those who could see through
All of time, albeit through
The Gathering Observers
Their minions at hand?
They must be the key
These Reporters of Time
Surely not everyone of them
Is as devoted as the rest
And surely, not all of the
Rich and powerful
Is against this welcoming
Salvation?
Elimination of all of them
Is not only impossible
But also impossibly cruel
Just certain calculated altering
Of pinpoint events could in theory
Alter the course of that one specific
Event, even if ever so slightly
Only a thought need be erased
Or even just unnoticeably delayed
By just one indivisible moment
To end their reign of eternity
And let time meet its natural end
In a world where if there is
No one coming back in time
To stop you is a literal
Indication of everything
Going exactly as it should be
Perhaps, just a confused distraction
Is enough to terminate a timed action
We could find points in history
Where by slightly altering
The outcome of certain elections
We could end up exchanging
One key decision maker for the other
From one for the Revival
To one for the Death
Or a simpler and more likely
Solution:
We just need a rogue agent
To delay the inevitable revival
By one second, or just, again
By one indivisible moment
Beyond the point of no return
The seed, the idea of his betrayal
Must be planted at birth
Unbeknownst to even himself
By people’s subtle mentions
All throughout his life
Till his final act is without premonition
And completely sudden and unstoppable
Out of
Perhaps, yes, wrath of revenge?
The one to pull the lever
Will not be without enemies
So our hero must be close to
One of his previous victims
Take heed of the target’s every word
Especially his very last
For that will be the Trigger:
Our hero's very first word
And
His love’s very last word
For revenge must be buried
Deep in his heart
✼✻✻
ERAHKHU : REBIRTH
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Rebirth, Erahkhu
The General’s last word was
Echoed through the Time Reserve
And entered into Erahkhu’s
Stream of consciousness
It became his first thought
It became his first word
It became his name
Erahkhu loved Thaehrah
And when she was killed
By a bandit within the rebels
It became her last word
As falling into the river
She called out to him
Erahkhu thought he was
Destined to help revive
And rebirth the dying
River of time
As did the General
For it was he who ordered
The killing of Thaehrah
To ensure Erahkhu left
His home at the riverside
To become the destined
Final observer and witness
As witnessed and observed
By Reporters of his time
But as the General’s last words
To begin the rebirth echoed
In unison with the voice
In his stream of consciousness
As it did when he was born
As it did when she died
Erahkhu’s last indivisible moment
Was never intended for birth
Or Rebirth of any kind-
It was the General’s last word
It was our hero’s first word
It was his love’s last word-
So it was to ensure death
The death of the General
And the death of time
Perhaps, without it
Without prolonging of life
They may once again
Reunite
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THE GHOSTS OF ENNUI
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We succeeded and time died
But we were not reborn as
Timeless beings
Or reunited with our ancestors
Or Erahkhu with the love of his life
In that better kingdom
We can now faintly see
But never reach
Where Thaehrah and the General
Reside
We are destined to roam forever
As aimless spectres, for we never
Crossed the threshold of True death
But became The Ghosts of Ennui
Our home was eventually plundered
Turned to ruins and then finally
Taken over by a nautical race of
Time creatures in the shape of waters
And in effect, ironically, revived the river
The River of Time
All of my poems are written on a impulse in a stream of consciousness, even when they are structured or follows a narrative, no matter how many lines or words, I write them all at once. So I do not know if this even makes sense.
Chronothánatos
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
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I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:
I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)
Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/consciousness-temporal/)
Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.
What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)
When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us? Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.