Everything happens infinite times. Has already happened, somewhere in our eternal past. Ask Susskind, not me. All I have are fictions. Maybe we really are coasting the mobius; maybe we'll come again. Sometimes planets are ejected from their birth systems-- some cataclysm with no witnesses but themselves. They wander frozen through the dark, barely changing. Only a few particles and some radiation for company. Sometimes they encounter vagabonds like themselves, passing silently, with a terrible gulf protracting their boundary influences. But sometimes they pass so close, they feel what it is like to be each other, and they become entangled. Sometimes they dance. Sometimes they fuck, roped together and grinding in a fatal, final companion arc-- tidal forces awakening geothermic flows. Lava ice, lava cum-- geysers of it, spalling out into silver wedding rings, locked in a Cat's Cradle of gravitational lovemess.
But then what?
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