Discordian Calendars for 03186 (2020)

Is this the last of us? Everywhere a fearing of the end. Of what? Whom? Narcissistic self-indulgent ideations! Are we so important? Are we the only ones? The first? The last? What is this the end of? Taking to sides, howling mad-dogs chomping at the air in desperation, longing to bite the bones of imagined bounties. Have we ever not feared death? Have we ever not seen it so real in front of us? The ancient heaps of stone, rubble that they are, stand in testament — to what shall never be remembered, but to us? to our stubborn refusal in the face of unrelenting time? We forgot ourselves, inventing gods and aliens and others, or the dull pseudo-science of the copper chisel. Anywhere an apocalypse looms, we shudder and lash out. Anywhere a cataclysm happens, we join together and carry on. Is this the last of us? Nay, soon it shall be the best of us, the worst of us, the continuation of us. Already the heaps of stone stand waiting for Ozymandias to despair.

When the night has come and the land is dark and the moon is the only light we’ll see. If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall or the mountains should crumble to the sea. Whenever you’re in trouble, fnord by me.

About the Holydays


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