The Apocalypse is over, long live the Apocalypse. Everything has successfully switched over and now we can all begin to recover from the rubble of a year long reign of terror by superstitious thirteen mind-poisoning following a Mayan calendar mass hypnosis.
Our milestone landmarks of countdown hysteria tick and tock to the rhythm of balls that drop and champagne popped, with every year scarred by a unique variable of national, and personal, devastation, with worldly calamities punctuating the newspapers paragraphs.
I was trained in forms design, medical and financial jargon in imperceptible type, to learn about patience and the zen of the office environment. And even then I was stationed across the hall from the Long Island branch of the FBI, a building away from Spitzer and Hillary. My first day on the job was 9/11/00 in the downtown NYC branch where the photo editors desks have the Twin Towers looming behind them.
I voted for Gore and quickly learned that the smart move was to become as disillusioned in America as possible, acknowledging that political pathways were utterly corrupted, and to brush up on the conspiracy theories that once seemed to be a fiction made real at the turn of the century.
Y2K was year zero of the reset humanity that craved Armageddon. The stage was set with the return to earthy, ashy, global minded death settling upon everyone's minds. A shiny spectacle shimmered on the stage, held afloat by bickering nobodies succumbing to fifteen minutes of shame that we now call reality television.
Everything changed, as I imagine everyone feels as time cycles skip around, but the masses are more connected and thus ripe for the picking. They've finally let me begin to write again. That's different than it's been, sitting inside the cell of myself, desperately picking the locks, and then slamming the door shut closed.
Time to go to work.
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