Sunrises and Timestamps

There is no single person credited with the discovery of Mars, Venus, or Jupiter. We've been observing them since forever, just as we've been admiring the sunrise, the moon’s shape, and the seasons shaping our world.

At some point, these natural events became our way to measure this intangible thing we started calling time.

Since then, time has been circular, repetitive—a never-ending loop that symbolized the eternal return of life and death. It was perceived as rooted in nature, an organic flow from one moment to the next, without a clear beginning or end.

But as human societies evolved, so did our understanding of time. The agricultural revolution, the rise of cities, and the birth of scientific thought led us to view time less as a cycle and more as a straight line—a linear progression.

From the first tick of the clock to the digital countdowns we live by today, we began to conceptualize time as something that moves forward, ever onward, toward a future that is always just ahead of us. Our understanding of time became intertwined with progress, achievement, and the idea of an ultimate end—whether it’s a deadline, a goal, or even the eventual end of the world.

Today, our entire relationship with time is anchored in the concept of timestamps.

A timestamp is a digital record of the exact moment an event occurred, down to fractions of a second. These time markers, generated by our computers, devices, and systems, reflect the precision and linearity with which we now measure time. Whether you’re saving a new file on your computer, snapping a picture with your phone, or posting a status update on social media, timestamps have become the backbone of modern timekeeping.

This shift in perception has profound implications. In the digital age, we have even redefined the very beginning of time itself. For computers, January 1, 1970, is the new Year Zero—the epoch from which milliseconds are counted, the foundation upon which modern digital timekeeping is built.

Yet, just as we have arbitrarily chosen a beginning, we have also inadvertently set an end: Monday, December 4, 292,277,026,596,427—the moment when the 64-bit system "overflows" (it becomes too big to be hosted in the computer’s memory). A new "end of time," not dictated by celestial events or natural cycles, but by the limits of our technology.

At some point in the future, when the 64-bit system reaches its limit, our carefully constructed linear time will face a glitch—a symbolic and literal reminder that all things, no matter how meticulously planned, are subject to decay and limitation. Of course, just as we moved beyond 32-bit, we will likely invent 128-bit systems, pushing the boundary of time even further. But each expansion only reinforces the illusion of permanence while reminding us that every system, no matter how advanced, is ultimately finite.

Perhaps, in a way, the "end" of time will not be a grand cosmic event, but a simple overflow of digits—a reminder that no matter how linear we try to make our existence, we are still bound by the natural cycles that came before us.

In a way, we’re reminded of the ancient Greek philosopher Plato’s concept of human limits, where no matter how much we seek to transcend them, there are boundaries we cannot escape.

And so, we come full circle: our linear, progressive time may end in a loop, returning us to the very cycles we once transcended.

If you also want to watch time "flowing" and think about it, now there is a site for that: https://9223372036854775807.org

9223372036854775807 is the biggest 64 bits timestamp possible. As of today, is the end of the world.