All our lives, primed for apocalypse. All our lives, ready for apocalypse. Full of apocalyptic expectations. Alert for all the apocalyptic signs. Wanting apocalyptic meaning.
Because that’s what it gives us: meaning. We think the world’s so meaningless, so fallen, that only the end can give it significance.
Our real problem is the non-apocalyptic. It’s existence, just endlessly existing. Endlessly ending and rebeginning … All the daily stuff … To think, it has the temerity to go on. Despite all our wild eschatology.
And isn’t that why we’re eschatological: because you can’t bear it just going on.
Work in Progress 