Q: Will rhymes that keep their secrets unfold behind the clouds?

A: For a few years there, I was very frightened of my own impending death. Not that I had a sense it was going to happen in the near future, or suddenly and without warning, even though I knew it might. Just the idea that it would happen at all. I was panicked by the concept of the finite, or our days being numbered, of the inevitable countdown that was part of every day of earth.

Most of all, I was very worried about who would maintain this blog, and whether my death would thus lead to the formation of a suicide cult six billion strong.

But then I got to thinking about how far we'd come in such a short period of time. A hundred years ago, who'd have known that one could soon travel 'round the globe in a matter of hours? Twenty years from now, who would have thought it'd be possible that we'd today be able to carry the entire Beatles, Rolling Stones and Elvis catalog on a metallic square smaller than a credit card? Think of the recent advancements in medical possibility: the Tommy John surgeries performed, the tiny cameras stuck into our orifices, the whatever else the medical industry is capable of these days.

And suddenly I realized something: All of these things seem commonplace now, and yet not too long ago, they would have appeared as unbelievable as immortality.

And then I read an article in an airline magazine about the scientific pursuit of immortality, and how it sought to find an explanation for why our cells get old and die. Because if you could create a means by which those cells regenerated themselves (for instance, tiny robotic cells replacing the natural ones or what have you), human beings wouldn't have to age or even die.

The only things in life that are certain are death and taxes, and possibly only taxes, and possibly not even taxes. Nothing is beyond the range of human possibility, and it was upon this belief that I have chosen to base my deluded bliss.

So when I saw this story on Digg, "If You're Alive in 20 years, you may be able to Live Forever," the only thing that struck me as unusual was that the person who posted it does not seem to understand the concept of capitalization. Granted, I have barely skimmed the headlines of the attached article — Human Immortality: A Scientific Reality? — nor do I plan to read it, as I'm sure it doesn't make a bit of goddamned sense.

Because it doesn't even matter. Maybe the key to immortality is not in the tiny robotic cells, or whatever else is in that article. Maybe it's a matter of mapping the human brain, and finding a way to back-up its contents like a hard drive. Or maybe time and space and energy and matter are themselves the hard drive; maybe we've left an indelible mark upon reality that the scientists of five hundred years from now will be able to trace and recreate in a petri dish, where we will all live once more. Or maybe we're all going to heaven. Whatever. It doesn't even matter how. It doesn't even matter if. It only matters that you decide death does not actually exist.

And you might say, But Dean, that doesn't make sense. You're living in a fantasy world.

To which I respond, Shhhhhhh. Don't wake the baby. The baby is sleeping. The baby is sleeping, and dreaming of a rainbow. And there upon the rainbow is the answer to our neverending story.



Oh, but just for the record, the guy who say that we shouldn't have to pay taxes just because it's not in the Constitution or whatever is obviously a crazy person.