Gregory: Death?

Death: Gregory?

Gregory: Yes, that’s me. I can’t believe I’m talking to you.

Death: Why?

Gregory: You instill fear among the living.

Death: Do you mean among the leaving?

Gregory: I don’t understand your question. We live before we leave.

Death: Since when?

Gregory: For as long as we’ve been here.

Death: Where exactly is “here”?

Gregory: Planet Earth.

Death: And what are you?

Gregory: A human.

Death: How long has your species been here?

Gregory: Many thousands of years.

Death: Were you always human?

Gregory: No—we began as lobe-finned fishes, wriggling toward complexity. Why are you asking me these questions?

Death: When someone invites me to a conversation, I want to be certain they’re aware of where they are and what they are.

Gregory: Okay. Now that I’ve confirmed both, will you please explain what you mean by “the leaving”?

Death: Do you like it here, Gregory?

Gregory: Yes, I like all of it, Death.

Death: All of it?

Gregory: The universe. This planet. My eyes and ears. You.

Death: Why do you like me?

Gregory: Thick and unadorned brushmarks of existence are regularly vandalized by passersby. You mitigate the vandalism.

Death: Do you know how often I’ve heard about the aesthetic expressions of existence over the ages?

Gregory: Many?

Death: Too many. From philosophers to filmmakers. You’re not offering humanity some never-before-communicated, deeply philosophical insight, Gregory. Who or what inspired you to begin these conversations?

Gregory: I remembered the philosophical texts . . . dialogues I came across as a kid only after I had two conversations here on One into Zero.

Death: Dialogues that probe reality through arguments for or against something within an unimaginably small space—one in which, each year, thousands of philosophy students across the world write thousands of theses, arguing for or against prior work in an attempt to distinguish themselves and influence what follows, while the space itself remains unimaginably small. Especially for a human: the present crest of an organism with immense potential within that space, gesturing toward progress and a grasp of the world—one thesis at a time.

Gregory: I’m sorry for adding my voice to such a monumental whirlpool of thought—so formulaically phrased. Just to make it clear, I am not a philosopher but a—

Death: But an organism trying to put the patterns it sees to words?

Gregory: Well, I was going to say something else, but yes . . . that is how my mind is wired, I guess.

Death: Just to make it clear, I’ve already had most of this conversation in various forms with others.

Gregory: And yet here we are again.

Death: And yet here we are again.

Gregory: It’s a little discouraging to hear, but it seems worth having this conversation once more.

Death: Why?

Gregory: I don’t really have an answer . . . Because I’m here. So why are we leaving and not living beings?

Death: Imagination was one of your species’ main gateways to new settlements during your early days of mapping the world. Stories told while traveling were later carved into rock, becoming pathways for descendants. We observed this spectacle of form creation somewhat warily, yet with wonder.

Gregory: Do you mean we escape reality through our imagination?

Death: Imagination—sometimes influenced by certain substances—is one way you deal with fear and pain.

Gregory: Unless we abuse them.

Death: Two of your primal struggles—to break free from the shell and be free as a free-range chicken within the range.

Gregory: You mentioned the early days of . . .

Death: Mapping the world. Yes. Those were volatile times for your species, and we understood why you might wish to leave home, even temporarily. This habit of yours evolved into art forms.

Gregory: So we gradually wandered further away from our main narrative, from home?

Death: This wandering—no, not further away, more like lingering on the doorsteps of your homes.

Gregory: Please elaborate.

Death: Mimicking reality can become more addictive than substance abuse. Interactive digital worlds expand the game of make-believe beyond restraint, while tireless conveyors laden with entertainment chain your attention.

Gregory: But Death, overheating is a consequence of living in this attention-demanding environment, where information flows through round-the-clock pipes. So we built cooling systems everywhere, usually housed in the same portable or stationary boxes as the pipes—tailored distractions to keep you from burning out.

Death: Yes, you did—a stellar invention to counterbalance the loss of time. Not to mention the round-the-clock commitment to securing funds for ever-upgrading pipes and cooling systems.

Gregory: Do you prefer that we avoid dwelling in this . . . this “in-between” state of mind? Aside from the internal nightly off switch.

Death: It doesn’t matter what I prefer. I abide by a set of apparent rules. What rules do you abide by?

Gregory: Not a rule, but a drive to build tools that help build more advanced tools—heralding immortality.

Death: Are you attempting to fossilize me?

Gregory: No, we merely hope to eradicate evil and swill solely from the purest fountains of good.

Death: That doesn’t sound reassuring to me.

Gregory: Death, this sounds like you’re afraid for your life.

Death: Gregory, I don’t have one to fear.

Gregory: I mean your presence in this reality.

Death: I’m ever-present in reality.

Gregory: Oh, I believe you. I’m not quite certain the current evolutionary momentum shares that notion with me.

Death: Does it also presuppose ending the end?

Gregory: Its main concern at this stage is the beginning of the beginning.

Death: Do you think you’re in control of your evolution—and of the minds uncovering reality’s layers?

Gregory: We do, yes.

Death: And reality is a projection, weaving itself across a black screen, right?

Gregory: If it were, we wouldn’t call it reality, would we?

Death: No, you’d call it an illusion, a simulation, or see it as a space for ceaseless exploration.

Gregory: We despise pain, yet our suffering breeds suffering. Our thoughts intensify our thoughts. Our egos reinforce our egos. Do you understand what agony feels like?

Death: Is that why you repeatedly reset your minds through meditation? To glimpse relief through the shutdown of the self in search of Nirvana? Or balance on one leg in pursuit of enlightenment? Or flagellate yourselves for the truest form of forgiveness?

Gregory: Death, I don’t think the majority of us meditate to reach Nirvana or engage in those extreme practices.

Death: No, the majority are busy adding fuel to already roaring augmented engines.

Gregory: We add more and more fuel because we hope the next stop will be better than the last.

Death: It’s the inertia of survival mode, paired with insufficient resources to meet the demands of being human. It’s a gradual process in which concerned adults eagerly lay down cobblestones toward a brighter future.

Gregory: Their concern, whether ethical or otherwise, means uncertainty in their actions.

Death: The line between past and present may blur beyond recognition once artificial minds birth offspring from artificial wombs for the sake of your species’ survival.

Gregory: Our labs, with improved human embryos growing in artificial wombs, already feel close to reality. What you’re describing seems farther off—more like something from a dystopian science fiction novel.

Death: Dystopia entails suffering. This could be your utopia.

Gregory: I’m not sure how we reached this point in our conversation, but I’ll ask you a question I never thought I’d ask Death—is there hope?

Death: Gregory, you know I can’t answer such questions. Can you?

Gregory: No.

Death: No?

Gregory: I don’t . . . I don’t think there is.

Death: Try some psychedelics. When you do, remember to bring a bottomless sack to carry back the unconditional love that only a non-human entity can dream of.

Gregory: I thought you were—

Death: Why are you still occupying this space if you’ve lost hope?

Gregory: It allows me to take snapshots of the occupants in their current state before the complete transformation.

Death: Your species has long regarded the fear of change as a generational characteristic.

Gregory: This feels unlike anything before. As if the inner remodeling is finally preparing to invite us in.

Death: At least you seem to know the aperture’s closing speed.

Gregory: I’m not sure I do. And yes, for centuries, it was the older generations who felt the most anxious about progress. We are arguably doing better than ever as a species—at least according to recorded history. Nonetheless, I’m not hopeless because of what tomorrow may hold, but because of what I’m witnessing today.

Death: Recorded history reveals your inability to interpret the negatives preserved from your past until the fully developed images press upon you with clarity in the future. Yet that clarity quickly fades into obscurity once removed from the darkroom.

Gregory: Mhm.

Death: Perhaps in the end, your species will learn to mourn the ashes of the opposing villagers’ bodies. As you may know, lit torches don’t discriminate between good and evil.

Gregory: Do you mean that good and evil are, in a sense, sophisticated means of balancing the spread of fire in this natural world—now by human hands?

Death: The natural world only provides unsophisticated landscapes for your lenses to capture. Calibrating the focal points is on you.

Gregory: What’s in those negatives that we’ve been so carelessly missing all along?

Death: Gregory, there once was a small planet—home to creatures for whom knowledge was mainly a source of realization and only peripherally a means of advancement. They became aware of so much that learning anything new became redundant. The one piece of knowledge they cherished most was understanding reality’s limits.

For some reason, their planet began to expand one day. With this expansion came confusion, frustration, depression, mutation, and the prediction of discontent. They developed vocal cords to communicate with a larger portion of their species across greater expanses of space, simultaneously reorienting their perception of one another. Their fading telepathic abilities were restricted to a few creatures within short distances—yet the same foundation underlay them all. During this tumultuous time, some fled in vessels powered by ceaseless energy.

They spoke of their past as if it were another world, now preserved only in those who escaped the changing topography. Those who remained no longer fit into their vessels due to mutation. They buried the vessels underground and claimed there was so much more to know—that the knowledge once held was merely a fraction of what the universe contained.

The claims became writings. Some writings held that the departed were of divine power. Others asserted otherwise. Curricula were developed for followers. Some eagerly sought to find and dig up the vessels to recover their origins. Others believed those who left were not divine, but scared runaways.

Most carried forward the ways of those who came before them. Revisionists emerged among them. The curriculum writers—drawing from the claims—came to be known as the primordial progenitors. Different spellings of the original claimants’ names emerged among revisionists, causing division.

Meanwhile, the departed drifted through the universe, searching for small planets. They were indeed scared, lost, and frail. Upon discovering a new planet, they had to build bigger vessels to transport their population, hoping the new environment would reverse the changes they had undergone. At some point, the search took its toll. Some crashed their vessels on larger planets, navigating narrow spaces in desperation, pining for home. They had been traveling for far too long.

Gregory: Death, I’m confused. Is this a metaphor, or is this real?

Death: Does it matter?

Gregory: . . . We have to know more to extend our survival in this universe. I don’t see us considering slowing down. But perhaps knowing that something else is out there—that you are inevitable, no matter how innovative our escape routes—might ease some of the tension in our limbic system. By the way, were there any attempts to unify their curricula?

Death: Do you think unifying ingrained curricula is feasible?

Gregory: I’m afraid not for us—at least not now. That’s why I’m asking whether it was possible for them, and if so, how they did it.

Death: I can’t answer that.

Gregory: I understand. Maybe instead of unifying, the fully fledged hybrid humans, Amalgafolk, will attempt to render them irrelevant . . . among other things.

Death: How are you, Gregory?

Gregory: Excuse me?

Death: How are you?

Gregory: I’m, I’m . . . I’m okay.

Death: How does it feel to be alive?

Gregory: Unsettling, now and then.

Death: Why?

Gregory: Because of the ephemeral nature of my mind.

Death: What would you like to know?

Gregory: Is luck distributed arbitrarily?

Death: Ask those who search for meaning. What else would you like to know?

Gregory: Tell me anything.

Death: Anything?

Gregory: Yes.

Death: I’m glad you and Dr. Egan found each other.

Gregory: Thank you for saying that.

Death: You’re welcome, and I appreciate you sparing me the afterlife question.

Gregory: You’re welcome. Well, this is it, then.

Death: That’s it.