In the years of Yog-Sothoth there were many unusual developments. To begin with, we all started to care a lot less about other people. I don’t mean that there was dislike, but rather that no one cared what anyone else did or said or thought, or whether they lived or died or anything in between. Or we.
         And that started to free our minds up for other things, like science for instance. Not biological or earth sciences, and not physics, not really. We began to think of ourselves, and all matter, as folds or tears or excrescences in the fabric of space-time. Your father a black hole, our daughter a supernova. Our history of love an adherence of quarks and gluons. You and I, nearly indistinguishable from each other on this scale. All of human history fitted into one percent of one percent of time, all of earthly space functionally zero. These perspectives excited us in the early years of Yog-Sothoth.
         You ask what did it mean for us. Did we eat or sleep? Did we work? For a while, yes. Then we largely died, but a shudder called humanity persisted. On earth we opened our eyes, and in galaxy HD1, at the same moment, we opened them as well. With these, in the eternal moment of Yog-Sothoth, we witnessed all things, sub-Planck to exoparsec, a vigintillion-year panorama of nothingness. Then we died.
         In those years which, darling, I do not think you remember, there was a great deal of unsympathetic understanding. If you could recall them as I do, I do not think this world would fill you with envy. From our perspective in the years of Yog-Sothoth, which is only a fading memory even to me, we yawned as planets burned and stars collapsed and galaxies died, and only blinked at the deaths of billions. In blankness we felt Vincent vaporize, and Elizabeth evaporate, our ancestors and descendents unspooling into unresolved probabilities. We all became immaterial, we always were and were not, as you would know if only you could only bring yourself to recall to yourself that wide-eyed time, my love, those marvelous years of the Key and of the Guardian of the Gate, of merciful Yog-Sothoth the god.
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