I seem to live much of my life in the twilight zone, a morass of oddities and abnormalities which provoke serious thought and lighthearted disgust, an appreciation of organic beauty and a depreciation of the synthetic ugliness that so permeates our lives with the soft haze of falsity.
I spend much of my day cut off from the power source for my oxygen sources, only glimpsing it at dawn as I drive to work or school and in the evening as I return home. My days are bound by the gentle dusky bands of the blue hours and the soft radiant lines of the golden hours, surrounding me with such beauty that I am slowly becoming inured to it even as it warms my heart in the view to a kill. The slow and glorious death of light takes place each day along the terminator, that solemn and unwavering executioner which becomes the shepherd of the newly born dawn only a few hours thereafter, only to begin the cycle again in the endless repetition of variation that is the dance along the light of day.
As the terminator whirls about the earth, the solar winds pummel it, creating another brilliant spectacle of the twilight zone, the planetary halo of shifting particles dancing in the waves of an ocean of light, known to us mere mortals as the aurora. It is in the magnetism of the storms I see in the midst of the calm that is killing them that draws me to the serenity of the acceptance of the death of my own storm, my violent and short-lived presence in this bastion of life and light. I will live on through the storms that spawn in my wake, basking in the light of the storms spinning around their galactic cores so quickly that they seem to be in a perfect stasis of destruction, an eternal entropic funeral hymn whose sounds will never reach us.
I will mourn the passing of these titans before their end is even near, lament the deaths of the gods orbiting around the stars which give them life and capture their rotation so that they can always gaze upon the faces of their children. I will shed tears for all the children of the gods who had the most magnificent chance to live and struggle and die while the titans and the gods carry on unto the end, the gradual death of heat and dimming of light that is the harbinger of universal termination, a twilight zone of cosmic scope.
Then our constituent particles rest in peace on the currents of dark matter, rocked to a final sleep by the waves of the last remaining light, safe in the warmth of idleness. One might hope that eventually the universe would be reborn, that the dark energy would be ignited and once again begin the dance of light, that the storms would kill the calm of our peaceful rest and begin the violence and destruction of life yet again, that beauty would shine once more in the skies above and rain upon the children of the gods as they live and love and die.