A leaf in mid-air suspended by a spider's web that is taller than me. All flesh is grass held in a web.
Can you imagine offering a neolithic monarch imperishable grave goods?
This sword will last an eternity with you in your grave, my liege.
This vest, untouched by decay, will keep you safe in the afterlife, O Queen.
Pharaoh, I have filled your canopic jars with formaldehyde. Wahoo!
Delaying mortality, seeking an eternal kingdom, resisting the pull of cyclical existence, it appears to be something people would like very much. And yet making or buying a tiny object that will last longer than 100 years feels deeply cursed - a plastic comb is a massive temporal weight in the palm of your hand. I think of Future Archeology having too many artifacts to sift through, going through materialism's material culture. Things are designed to go obsolete, but they last forever.
Some organism (bacteria, fungi, idk) will acquire a taste for plastics in some distant age. It saddens me that I derive unearned hope from that. Wishing for some scifi deus ex machina, capital N nature to take charge and provide an external, clean solution. While I circle this phantasmic quarry, there are a slew of more actionable, realistic solutions at hand. But they are more bloody and less palatable than dreaming.
'The steed bit his master;
How came this to pass?
He heard the good pastor
Cry, "All flesh is grass."'
- Anonymous, On a Clergyman's Horse Biting Him