Word of the Week: Immortality

immortality

1. the condition of not being susceptible to death or aging

Quoted from wikipedia.

Immortality is a peculiar thing, something that I'd like to expand upon, as it is one of a themes that grossly encompasses my novel. The ideas behind it, both in literature and popular culture, have always been a tad dry in my opinion, in some ways misguided, and I think even-more-so, shallow. The concept of being immortal has always been an interesting subject to me, most probably because of my childhood adoration of the the Highlander series, but there are definitely other influences on it. Immortality has always been reduced to the inability to die, but this leaves for a vast expanse of areas that are very few times explored. Immortality is not simply the inability to die, because no matter how you look at it, immortality never inferred invincibility, only that age's time restriction has been lifted. This can, at face value, be viewed in many different ways. In one story, it could mean everlasting youth, and in another, the ability to never die, but still age. Sickness is another venue, though I could see that particular road being traversed by Sci-Fi action series. But the other aspects, the unexplored territory of immortality, is so much more complex, it makes my head spin; but for sake of definition, Immortality means:

immortality

1. the condition of not being susceptible to death by aging

So the reason that I delve into this particular idea is that the main character of my book is an immortal. He will not age, no matter how old he gets, and he is completely impervious to illness, stemming from this same trait. There are a few specifics that I won't go into that modify this version of immortality, but that's tangeal for now. My main point is that, in our world today, I have personally not witnessed the aspect of immortality reviewed in all of its complexities. Characters are simply described as immortals, and that's only a descriptive word that means they will not die, it does not drive their character or influence their personality in many ways, rather it is as if they are simply humans that live a long time. One of the most focal questions that plague humanity is death, and it is also the question most feared. Whether we are affected by religion, creed, cult, or simply left to our own devices, we as humans fear death. So what, then, happens when one of the main drives of our existence is wiped away? Would this not drastically affect the personality type and mannerisms of someone? Everything that we do in this world is affected by an invisible ticking clock, so when that clock stands still, what else is there to drive us?

Equally, after thousands upon thousands of years, how would a person change? How would they experiment with themselves and with others, when they have so much information packed into them, and so much free time? To manipulate your fellow man, politics, the world. Time means money, money means power? From Capulet to Montague, every part of the cast could be fulfilled, at one time or another, by the same actor. What affect would this have on someone's personality? How much would it change, and how much of its past selves would it truly remember or hold valuable? The amount of possibilities are mind numbing; I figured I'd share.

Cathan

Apology stacked on apology. It's like Jenga.

I have to apologize for the extreme delay, its not something I would have asked for to be honest. I had time to post erratically, but the muses of a convoluted man wouldn't seem to be of interest. I'll try and make up for the missing posts these next few weeks by releasing bi-weeklies.

Up till now, my life has always been in the moment; second to second and minute to minute, never thinking too far ahead, valuing now and guiding myself only by desire... but it seems the fates sought to change that. For the first time ever, my life has surfaced, however, lit only by a dim fluorescent glow. It's as if the bones of a prehistoric being had been set upon a table, completely alien in nature to what we know, and from those simple remains, deteriorated and foreign, we must draw out the meaning and usage of each bleached vessel. My bones have been placed, a rigid structure from which an unfathomable amount of futures can stem, but these bones are fact and can never change. The unknowings of my world now have solidarity. It is an obscure and unsettling feeling... but I'll take it.

And it's odd to understand the fact that my writing will change drastically, washed in the same iridescent light. But I digress from the point of this blog, forgive my musings.