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The end of the world - that's my shit. My fictional shit, anyway - my purely theoretical, gotta buy that new dystopian novel, sitting on the couch watching Children of Men on Netflix kind of shit. I'm not looking for meteors to come blazing out of the sky next Tuesday, marking the date of the zombie apocalypse in my day planner, or quietly crying in the bathtub about 2012 messing up the detailed plans I've made for my mid-twenties. It's just pretend, you know? I figure Gaea's got a few good spins left in her yet, so the end of the world isn't really on my radar.
Even so, I can't help thinking about it. Hypothetically. Usually on the treadmill, when I'm cranking up the pulse-pounding music that gets my Asics rockin'. Why think about the shopping list when I could be dodging imaginary monsters - terrifying human-nightmare hybrids created from the radiation of a nuclear blast? Or zombies (my personal favorite), creeping out of the urban sprawl and fought off with only a rusty machete and sheer, Xena-style badassery? Or wait, maybe the earth is already toast! Shit! Humanity has fled to outer space, where unknown creatures trawl the starry depths. Awesome, right? I could do this all day.
But you'd never know it, would you? Not if you saw me face-to-face. That intense look you see me sporting in the grocery store? You'd attribute that to weighing the pros and cons of chocolate versus vanilla cupcakes. Or maybe you'd think my mind was somewhere else entirely, perhaps on a newborn kitten or puppy in peril. I've just got that face - the face of innocence, vulnerability, and passion for all things cuddly. Who would suspect me of mentally massacring hordes of the undead in my free time?
Maybe you've even featured in my fantasies, oh fellow denizen of the cold cereal aisle! I may have fled your grasping fingers as you moaned after my brains on a moonlit city street. Perhaps I've swung an axe at you as you growled viciously at me from a darkened basement (you're not yourself, you see. It's the doomsday disease - it's made you a monster who hungers for human flesh). Maybe you're on my crew, an endearingly mismatched group of ragamuffins steadily clearing the moon of a hyperviolent alien race that has its sights set on invading Earth.
Either way, you should be ready. The end of the world is coming for you... this season in LJ Idol. Maybe not every week, but it's always lurking in the back of my mind - so be ready. If you're the religious type, feel free to call upon whatever deity you think is listening, but for goodness' sake don't fall behind.
You may not like what you become if you do.
Even so, I can't help thinking about it. Hypothetically. Usually on the treadmill, when I'm cranking up the pulse-pounding music that gets my Asics rockin'. Why think about the shopping list when I could be dodging imaginary monsters - terrifying human-nightmare hybrids created from the radiation of a nuclear blast? Or zombies (my personal favorite), creeping out of the urban sprawl and fought off with only a rusty machete and sheer, Xena-style badassery? Or wait, maybe the earth is already toast! Shit! Humanity has fled to outer space, where unknown creatures trawl the starry depths. Awesome, right? I could do this all day.
But you'd never know it, would you? Not if you saw me face-to-face. That intense look you see me sporting in the grocery store? You'd attribute that to weighing the pros and cons of chocolate versus vanilla cupcakes. Or maybe you'd think my mind was somewhere else entirely, perhaps on a newborn kitten or puppy in peril. I've just got that face - the face of innocence, vulnerability, and passion for all things cuddly. Who would suspect me of mentally massacring hordes of the undead in my free time?
Maybe you've even featured in my fantasies, oh fellow denizen of the cold cereal aisle! I may have fled your grasping fingers as you moaned after my brains on a moonlit city street. Perhaps I've swung an axe at you as you growled viciously at me from a darkened basement (you're not yourself, you see. It's the doomsday disease - it's made you a monster who hungers for human flesh). Maybe you're on my crew, an endearingly mismatched group of ragamuffins steadily clearing the moon of a hyperviolent alien race that has its sights set on invading Earth.
Either way, you should be ready. The end of the world is coming for you... this season in LJ Idol. Maybe not every week, but it's always lurking in the back of my mind - so be ready. If you're the religious type, feel free to call upon whatever deity you think is listening, but for goodness' sake don't fall behind.
You may not like what you become if you do.
