Today marks the last day of 2011 and the last New Year’s Eve because, by most accounts, the Mayans told us with their mysterious ancient lyrical notions that the world will end in 2012. In December. What can we do? The world ends for everybody, doesn’t it?
The world ceases to become every day. A daily miniature Armageddon for people all over this planet. All that lived and all that shone will dim and be no more. Every day the world ends. The Mayans told us what we know but what we dread. They didn’t break news to us. No one breaks our heart with news of the impending end of the world. For we know. We know.
To commemorate such a solemn day and to recognize that which will be no more, I wandered around portions of Los Angeles today as preparation for the party bustle of another symbolically dead-ended New Year’s Eve beckoned. Hoopla and bullshit. Throw in some champagne. Whoopity-do. We celebrate the end of yet another grueling and mystifying year, and the beginning of the end.
Who are they fooling. The end of the world isn’t all bad but it must not be overrated!
When the world ends, the lucky ones will be those for whom it has already ended.
Noble ghetto aspirations will no longer matter. GED’s can be cast to hell.
Considering this is the last New Year’s celebration ever, I will gladly pardon the dust and any other annoying inconvenience.
After the world ends, you will be able to dash into every door without delay. Unfortunately, there will be no parties. If no one came, was there a party?
On the bright side, bloggers will be no more.
On the really bright side, all deadly gang and turf hostilities will be wiped off the planet along with its insidious offshoot, tagging.
Even after the world ends, this cesspool will continue rotting away the decayed flesh of humanity that doesn’t exist. Theoretically impossible yet miraculously…
The unnatural congruence of shit-strewn lawns, discarded hideous furniture, and shiny new Mercedes will not matter because everything will look like old furniture after 2012.
Our smug laziness will cascade into a never-ending sorrowful pit of regrets.
You’ll wish for problems of old.
We will realize this was just as ridiculous and inconsequential as those really big churches with really big budgets and big hair.
Run-down inner city parks will be remembered for the unforgivable paradises they really were.
Nothing will have value.
Schedules and time tables will be meaningless and there will be no one to pretend they are.
No one will be around to appreciate the beautiful, surreal lighting of pre-dusk Los Angeles
There will be no one to watch over us.