Didn’t we enjoy our apocalypticism? Weren’t we happiest in our cups, decrying it all, raising our cry to the skies? Denouncing, and so on? Decrying, and all that?
Weren’t we really too vibrant for our supposed despair? Didn’t we have too much fun? Unserious: that’s what we were, in our cups. And perhaps that’s what Livia had to learn: to be unserious, like us. Frivolous, like us. With a tiny attention span, like ours.
Inane, like us. Inane, but with an apocalyptic edge. Frivolous, but with added chiliasm. Trivial, even, but with a supplementary sense of the eschaton.
Wasn’t there just something wrong with us? But Livia wanted us to be more Wrong. She wanted to deepen our Wrongness. Wanted to invert our Wrongness.
Work in Progress 