A Much Needed and Well Overdue Nap

The Universe is constantly expanding, but the world isn't. And the human population is. What will happen if there's too many of us? the other day I sat and wondered what would happen if there were so many people covering the surface of the earth that one couldn't even sit down without crushing a baby or a foot of some strange person you don't even know. Would gravity even put up with that sort of nonsense?
Everything has a limit, so either gravity would grow exhausted from the effort of holding onto several zillion people, or the crust of the earth would simply say something along the lines of, "Fuck it" and collapse under the pressure of a seemingly endlessly powerful force of gravity. If gravity continued to stand faithfully oblivious by its post even after the collapse of the earth's crust, then the end result would look something like a mass of melted crust, humans, buildings, animals, and steam. The reason it would look like such is because it would quite literally be such.
The other option for gravity at this point would be to agree with the earth's, "Fuck it" decision and let go as well, at which point space would suddenly be filled with tiny imploding, exploding, and screaming humans and animals. I can't imagine the buildings would complain much; they're already used to being walked all over.
So it appears that even if we don't rape the earth of its resources or kill each other with wars over those resources, or if our star(sometimes called, "the" sun...don't know why we act like it's so important though...it's actually one of the smallest stars in the universe) doesn't die of old age or kill us with the same energy that keeps us alive, then we are bound to kill ourselves anyway by simply living. There's some iron for your diet.
Now imagine for a moment that gravity is on steroids and has chosen to split the steroids fifty-fifty with the earth's crust-as if the surface hasn't gone through enough abuse already-and both manage to sustain the ridiculous pressure that is literally a mass of humans covering the earth's surface. The only plausible thing to happen is that many would die of mass disease and starvation due to the inability to move around much. The starvation would lead to cannibalism, and the disease would most likely lead to a zombie epidemic of some sort. Humans would eventually die out, and the earth would breathe a sigh of relief as the last most intelligent earthly organism passed into oblivion.
With a slight smile, earth would probably simply let loose all the stress of supporting self-centered, reckless organisms, and enjoy the peace and quiet, perhaps even uttering a little, "Good riddance." before taking a much needed and well overdue nap.

Paradoxical Renditionings of Nothing

A Paradox is a fascinating thing. Of course, so are a lot of other things involved with literature and the universe and everything, but I'm not going to write about any of them at the moment.

Well, maybe one.

There are many occasions where I have a great urge to write and imaginate something(imaginate is a word which means imagine then create), but find that I simply cannot bring my mind to writing mode. This is actually a situation that I have always found rather fascinating, because I bring my mind pretty much everywhere with me, and my mind never puts up any bit of a fuss--although somedays fatigue will try and speak lies to my poor brain--but for some reason my mind will choose to put its foot down on random--but fruequent--occasions when I wish to write. It is on these occasions and at these moments when I usually choose to begin writing about writer's block. This quite often solves the problem, but never fails to leave me feeling quite paradoxical.

It is in this paradoxical state which you, dear reader, have unfortunately found me. I say unfortunately because my original intention was to divert myself from the paradoxical state of mind by writing about paradoxes, but find myself stuck in a paradoxical circle as I have been explaining the paradox of writers writing about writer's block, which in itself is a paradox because I was writing about writer's writing about writer's block, and if I go into depth with this topic I will be writing about how I was writing about writers writing about writer's block, and so forth.

I believe at this point what is supposed to happen if i don't stop writing right at this second, is that the world or the sun will blow up--I forget which. Either way I'm still writing, you're still reading, and I'm quite certain we both have a considerable headache by now. I know I do.

This isn't really the note I'd like to end on, but because of the throbbing in my head I'm afraid it will have to be.