Like many of you, I followed with waning interest the reports of mass animal die-off. To me, they kind of pale in comparison to Republican politicians redefining rape and the struggle of an entire country of people to bring about democracy in their nation, but for some folks it seems this was IT. The sign. The undeniable beginning of the catastrophic domino effect that would render this world a burnt out wasteland covered in dead birds and let’s say… wild packs of mutant dogs. And that’s fine. The world needs people to freak out about stuff like that.
More interesting to me were the friends of mine that seem perversely fascinated by the idea of the apocalypse happening in our lifetime. I imagine it’s generational. Or maybe just a sign of the times. Without doing any actual research I would hazard a guess that since the actual invention of mankind’s ability to destroy itself whether it be environmental, nuclear or zombie related this type of concept has sold pretty well in hardcover and paperback. My limited liberal arts education calls to mind the Japanese art of Butoh as well as Albert Hughes’ incendiary movie The Book of Eli that bravely showed us that Denzel Washington would be in anything if the price were right.
But I digress. Listen, I’m just as fascinated with the prospect of my life taking on an apocalyptic narrative as the next guy. Who would I hug? Where would I go? What would I do? Probably cry a lot and regret my lack of friends with guns and underground shelters. However, some of my friends who have been chronicling the animal deaths seem to have this element of GLEE about them. Like they’re looking forward to it. Like they experience actual enjoyment from the minutely possible “we’re all gonna die” prospect evidenced by these animals mysteriously passing as opposed to the strange yet banal curiosity most people have to contemplate the worst, if only for a moment. As if the forecast of biblical endtime horrors were something to feel awesome about living to see. Yay! You get to blog the apocalypse! Congratulations!
And when the reports come in that these birds have died for actual causes from anything other than besides “an act of god” or “the mysterious hand of fate” there seems to be a genuine disappointment. People, believe me. It’s a GOOD thing. You don’t really want to die in the apocalypse. You want to die happy from being too awesome.
And also, at no point did I hear anybody say “Oh, those poor fish/birds/cows.” Geez people. SELFISH.
Like many of you, I followed with waning interest the reports of mass animal die-off. To me, they kind of pale in comparison to Republican politicians redefining rape and the struggle of an entire country of people to bring about democracy in their nation, but for some folks it seems this was IT. The sign. The undeniable beginning of the catastrophic domino effect that would render this world a burnt out wasteland covered in dead birds and let’s say… wild packs of mutant dogs. And that’s fine. The world needs people to freak out about stuff like that.
More interesting to me were the friends of mine that seem perversely fascinated by the idea of the apocalypse happening in our lifetime. I imagine it’s generational. Or maybe just a sign of the times. Without doing any actual research I would hazard a guess that since the actual invention of mankind’s ability to destroy itself whether it be environmental, nuclear or zombie related this type of concept has sold pretty well in hardcover and paperback. My limited liberal arts education calls to mind the Japanese art of Butoh as well as Albert Hughes’ incendiary movie The Book of Eli that bravely showed us that Denzel Washington would be in anything if the price were right.
But I digress. Listen, I’m just as fascinated with the prospect of my life taking on an apocalyptic narrative as the next guy. Who would I hug? Where would I go? What would I do? Probably cry a lot and regret my lack of friends with guns and underground shelters. However, some of my friends who have been chronicling the animal deaths seem to have this element of GLEE about them. Like they’re looking forward to it. Like they experience actual enjoyment from the minutely possible “we’re all gonna die” prospect evidenced by these animals mysteriously passing as opposed to the strange yet banal curiosity most people have to contemplate the worst, if only for a moment. As if the forecast of biblical endtime horrors were something to feel awesome about living to see. Yay! You get to blog the apocalypse! Congratulations!
And when the reports come in that these birds have died for actual causes from anything other than besides “an act of god” or “the mysterious hand of fate” there seems to be a genuine disappointment. People, believe me. It’s a GOOD thing. You don’t really want to die in the apocalypse. You want to die happy from being too awesome.
And also, at no point did I hear anybody say “Oh, those poor fish/birds/cows.” Geez people. SELFISH.
