I sit and breathe and think about the sunset floating over waters. Dipping into the abyss, the sun melts and drips to the bottom of the planet, where it reforms and ignites and floats along the planet again. Sometimes I'm indoors when this happens, sometimes I'm outdoors, but the plunge in temperature never ceases to astound me. And when the bowl overhead darkens, and when the air in front of you freezes, and when the goal of the night is to survive in a dreamless state, you know you've made it to another day. Another day. Where the wind shatters the frozen air and your life reboots and you realize you're a different person—similar in appearance, perhaps, and sharing certain idiosyncrasies—from the person you were yesterday. And whenever the new day forms, and the old you transmogrifies into the new you, you slip into the habit of living in the past, and you seldom realize the new you is different, and in some cases distinct, from the old you.
The waters ripple, spreading and scattering particles and waves. The bowl overhead startles in its nothingness: a void, a vacuum, entry into a state where your kind perishes. And by your kind, I mean my kind; and my my kind, I mean bacteria.
At core, we're all bacteria, scurrying around and growing and evolving to one-up our nearest competitors. That's all evolution is: a competition to see which organism dominates the environment in order to survive long enough to successfully propagate their genes. On a macro scale, our behavior perfectly illustrates evolution in action. We're organisms fighting to dominate the environment to secure resources. We think we're special and unique, we think we're emboldened by free will, but we're meat machines evolved to protect and propagate our genes. We're organic robots, mutant baby chimps, that became self-aware.
This self-aware meat machine occasionally marvels at the other meat machines, the ones out of touch with their own existences. They reside in a realm where magic exists and things are what they seem. All auguries make sense to them. The world is how it is despite the chunk of meat in their skulls, which rarely receives recognition when they take what they perceive for granted.
But then sometimes even I take what I perceive for granted. Earlier in the day, I had witnessed a man harass a woman while a scorpion writhed on a sheet of glass. The building behind them groaned and transformed into an amorphous blob. It drooped and sunk and collapsed into a shape similar to an iguana resting on a football helmet. Yet none of it was new enough to draw my self out of my experience of the moment, so nothing mattered. At least not to me.
At least in that moment.
The ground rocks. Vibrations telegraph the movement to my flesh. I stand and brush the sand from my pants and glance around. People dance and laugh, swim and play. If they noticed the tremor, then they either didn't care or chose to ignore it. Strange. All of them.
Or am I the strange one?