They tell me it's all going to be over soon, that everything we know and love, everyone we can fathom who fits into either of those two categories, the tiny thoughts that greet you at the dawn of the waking hours to the grandest of social constructs, regardless of size, shape or architecture, will soon fall, brick by brick into the sea.


A hundred years ago, I imagine a scaly sea bass fell from the heavens into the hands of a fisherman. He saw it as a sign of something so unholy and profane, he tossed it, almost dislocating his shoulder, into the sea, mumbling "back to god, you go."



and back to god we go.



how will you greet it.

who will you be with, that's more important.



Whose eyes are you going to stare into as some named storm churns up the country side, the cities, rivers and villages, making sweet love to the stone and steel we thought would always stand, east-coast-solid in the face of holy wrath.



the whole of our world will undulate, as if dancing as we will tonight, in a new year's celebration unlike any other.



5, 4, 3, 2,

and countless, so countless,

because numbers won't exists,

nor clocks,

or clothing,

or divisions.



after it is all gone, there will be nothing to separate us from what we desire so deeply, nothing to bind us in servitude to a world that made no sense, nothing to make sense of,



and that's when we'll know freedom,



the morning after the end of the world,



when we wake up in each others arms,

quietly humming,

sleeping in a few extra minutes before we rebuild ourselves again.