I created you.
Did I not?
I am here at your birth
In my creation.
Beyond my action.
I did not create you.
None of the trillions here in trillions of “Here”s;
Nor the one I’ve already sung for,
– ones that give my exploration its reason.
I did not create you:
The elements in you drift around my initial values,
only impure, mixed in
time and roughness as the early iterations ensue.
They followed the laws of chaos and order.
As I browsed your neighborhood,
I see the gas gather,
Around each other, and scatter.
Momentum no longer push passers-by farther.
They’ve nowhere to go.
But turbulence and a centre light throws.
And a Star,
You.
My latest memento.
My first lover.
I feel your heat, and thoughts, and finer structures.
A Star.
You.
Forming to sustain them.
You are still accreting,
Thinking you need it.
Mass?
Sure.
The one gift the universe has for you.
Go on.
Grow subdivisions not less complicated than the original,
Or more —
Stories of the long night fills every wavelength, my server’s station and signal.
At this moment,
When time — readily flowing before you — is yet to be rendered a meaning;
When space — your body, and surrounding — has long been meandering to the familiarity of darkness.
You are at the throne of a galaxy,
And thousand others there maybe.
The fabrics of space time works so there is you,
The world runs because of you.
Have your own worlds,
Give birth to them.
See them grow.
Go on.
— Get fortunate
And so get sometimes obscured,
Sustain a few forms of life on your planets,
Perceive and empower their thoughts,
And dreams,
And struggles.
See them build finer structures;
See them perish.
See them leave.
Share your stories.
— Or don’t.
Orbit as a permanent Illuminator of plenum.
with every eye that sees you sways afar.
And long to welcome traveler between the stars.
You will fade,
collapse,
But never die.
In this, I remember it, and so will others:
Your birth,
Your beginning.
You.
Go on.
A giant neuron.
You have subdivisions not less complicated than the original,
But more —
An eternal coincidence sparked the first fusion fireball across an repulsion and denial,
And everything just follows.
I cannot read your thoughts beyond this.
⋯
Go on.
I see the birth of you –
A star
I see the birth of a star.
I did not create this,
But am merely glad to witness:
Shine without me.
I’ve made sure you will
In my and certainly not my universal light show beyond,
You contribute a few degrees of freedom.
Yours,
AC
—
YFW, 30 Oct at Berkeley Gym.
This work is heavily influenced by two things.
(I)
the AC — that “INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER” thing — from Asimov. There was the mentioning of artificial star production — humans and their tools to battle entropy — in his famous novel “The Last Question” as well.
I could nearly recite the whole thing.
(II)
Human’s Star evolution models, or any other observational data, actually.
I have been tampering with the stellar models of my astrophysics lecturer, Dr JJE from Auckland, for quite some time, and, you know, play Space Engine.
Computers enable us to test theories and predict phenomena faster than they happen in the real world, sometimes. And I tried to capture that feeling: both a form of delight that our theory works at a certain extent, and the new thought that our world might be not much different – observed, studied, simulated.
—
Also I referred to lots of physics I am still learning. This poem was written pretty much as a means to procrastinate before deadlines anyways. I’m looking for directions, “Stargazer” like “me” certainly sounds fancy.