The Face of Hell

Indulged some more apocalyptic speculations this morning. I blame seeing a 70+ old man in Lycra spankies influencing my misanthropy. But, from a stoic perspective, he's sharing the pain of getting old with all those around him. I can respect that. At least once I get my vision back.


You can see a lot of people entertaining post-cataclysmic fantasies. In books, movies, television shows, mad cults and scientific fears. People are getting all weak-kneed and glassy-eyed at the prospect of some serious Armageddon. Bring on the zombies, the wars, the destruction. Wipe it away, scatter the ashes.

And the reason is that people are pretty damned miserable. Life spirals into a downward pit of uncertainty, chaos, madness and pain. Moving faster, becoming harder to decipher. What people really want is an extended holiday from complication and from the endless hordes of themselves.

It was then I realized, there will be no grand final act, no awesome apocalyptic episode. No, this pain shall germinate into a blossom of unstoppable misery. I foresee the most complex of dying, decaying human existence (but never truly breaking down or reaching death). It will move so fast, will veer and fluctuate so that there will be continue uncertainty, stress, hurt. But it will have built a foundation, like barbed webs, that won't let it crumble. This is the endless Armageddon, hell by endless, twisting degrees.

Unless we luck out and have one gnarly alien invasion, look around, and see the mutating face of the future.