Death-Day

We’re ready for the worst disaster. We’re braced. In fact, that’s when we’d come into our own: when it’s imminent, the worst disaster.

That’s when we’d really wake up to ourselves. Become what we are. A strange calm would come over us. People would turn to us for solace. For advice.

But the end isn’t coming, that’s the thing. Things are just going to go on. It’s going to be like this forever. Which means we’re never going to appear to be seers. We’ll never appear to be calm. Or wise. We’ll just look like maniacs. Doom-spreaders.


We’ve already mourned the death of all things. We’ve already said all our prayers for it all. We’ve already come to terms with the loss.

But there isn’t going to be any loss. There’s nothing to pray for. The end isn’t coming. Everything’s just … continuing. Things are blundering on. One day is succeeding another. It’s offensive. It’s wrong. And who see that but us?


We’re braced from the end. We’re ready for the end. We’re waiting for the end. We’ve planned for the end. We’d bathe in the end, of we could. We’d have an end of it all party. We’d celebrate a deathday, like a birthday, only better. We’d toast to the Finality. To the coming Night. To non existence! To our being no more. We’d be so cheerful, right? We’d dance and sing. We’d wear party hats. Put up bunting. Blow party horns. celebrate! Bake a cake. Join hands and sing our It’s the End song.