The Vanity Of An Ape In A Thin Slice Of Cosmic Time

By Chris Burrows Born in the hot summer of 87 to an accountant and nurse with an absurd pretence to spend a penny a pleasant and respectable appearance, I lived, as would be expected, a traditional middle-class, white childhood. By the age of sixteen, more formally known as the age of reason, I had established an anti-religious, political and cultural identity incompatible with that of my parents, thus consequentially aborted from the home unit and forced upon the streets.In and out of punk stir bands, failing relationships, etty crime and substance addiction, early adulthood founded for what was to become a blind yet fruitful Journey of promiscuity, artistic proficiency and self development. This continues to be, for the roughly part, a euphoric experience. Soon enough, an informal, yet nevertheless rigorous study of physics, astronomy and cognitive science lead to the inevitable realisation that this universe, however splendid and complex, exists without purpose and our lives w ithin it, as important and eventful as they may seem, are ultimately meaningless.Particularly, that skyscrapers, governments and police forces are merely the result of thirteen zillion ears of sequential chemical reactions externally determined by their surroundings, and any purpose or meaning a human may experience within their biography is purely a product of their own mind.Torn between suicidal tendencies to the left, and the vacant monotony of modern life to the right, I kept driving straight ahead, crashing enough speed into the destined and only middle ground, escapism. Finally, distraction and relief from all the unpleasant realities of life had been found, secluded in a timber cabin productive within the woods, and it is there too, where you may find this lonely boy, and his dog.