The decay-dance

I plan to wax a little philosophical in this post, largely because I can’t think of anything funny to write about today. I ask two things in return: your thoughts on the topic below in comment form, and something amusing to talk about next week, I’m drowning here, people.

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It turns out, if you’re planning on staying out all night, doing a load of drugs, drinking a load of beer and dancing till you feel faint, a gurglingly spicy curry is not the best repast to begin with. I worked this out on Friday night as I boogied away to Jack Beats, trying to ignore the ominous rumblings from my protesting insides. Luckily the music was tip-top, enough to distract me from the A-level chemistry experiment taking place in my tummy.

I wasn’t the only one suffering, although my friends seemed to be coping better than I. It’s no secret that I have the stomach of a beaky pensioner, and I wasn’t particularly surprised that out of a fairly large group, only I had donned the garb of Sir Burps-alot. It got me thinking, though. (I get introspective when intoxicated. I can also dance and ponder at the same time, a talent of which I am immensely proud but am yet to successfully incorporate into a job interview.)

I was ruminating on the subject of decay, specifically wondering why my body chemistry was being less obliging than other peoples. Your digestive system is largely based on decay, as the bacteria that reside in your stomach tract happily get to work on your victuals. Although the concept of your meals getting progressively more mushy inside your intestines is not necessarily pleasant, what struck me is the necessity of decay in creation. You get the good stuff out by breaking other stuff down (hence why I was getting drunker by the minute).

This concept is hardly new. So says Wikipedia: “Decomposition refers to the process by which tissues of dead organisms break down into simpler forms of matter. Such a breakdown of dead organisms is essential for new growth and development of living organisms because it recycles the finite chemical constituents and frees up the limited physical space in the biome.” Even Wikipedia is quick to point out the positive aspects of decay, as basically there’s not enough shit in the universe to go around, and so recycling of resources is necessary. Plenty of people take comfort in the fact that even in death, their constituent atoms will find a new arrangement as another part of the universe. Not me though. I never plan on dying.

The fact that we are here at all is also down to decay. Every atom that exists in your body has existed for millions of years in thousands of other forms. All the heavier elements that currently reside in you were formed under intense heat in the hearts of stars, and shot out into the universe in the violence of a supernova. To quote Bill Bryson (as everybody should), “You are literally made of stardust.”

Decay is part of creation, therefore, but it’s not all gin and roses. The sad fact is that no system is immune; nothing is impervious to the forces of entropy. Everything breaks down eventually, and this means that no beautiful thing will last forever. Every object, every shaping of matter sentient life can devise will eventually fade away, which is a sobering thought. Nothing is permanent. And some things, clearly, are worth preserving, and existence will be all the poorer for their eventual loss. It seems increasingly likely that even our universe will one day sputter out, leaving nothingness behind. This is more of a bugger for me than for you, because as previously mentioned I plan on still being around at that point.

On the other hand, plenty of things do not deserve eternity. The universes tendency towards atrophy means that anything evil also has a limited shelf-life. Dictatorships need to be toppled, evil challenged. But if light ever truly goes out in the universe, what is left will not last forever. And maybe next time things will work out for the better. Decay means that we have a chance to try again, if not as individuals than as a species, and if not as a species then as a universal collective. 'Nothing last forever' could also mean 'nothing ever ends,' depending on how you chose to look at it.


Speaking of wickedness disappearing, I finally managed to sweat off the curry, and busted moves of increasing freshness till the sun came up. Something wonderful ended, was replaced by something slightly iffy, and provided the fuel for something even more wonderful (seriously, you haven't seen me dance). If that’s not an inspiring message, I don’t know what is.