The end of the world is nigh!

Or maybe not.

There’s been so much talk about this lately. Some useful, some silly. I think that the only way to go is to make sure that every day we live in such a way that we’d feel content with how we’ve lived should this be the end. And not in a “YOLO” immature, risk-taking kind of way. In a “I’ve told everyone I loved them, worked my hardest and done my best” sort of way. Apparently, last night I was mumbling in my sleep about the traffic on elephant and how we only leave one space between sentences, so I think I’m working my hardest. I’ve told everyone I loved them—and loved my best, even when it was difficult. And today, I’m watching the wind and rain and coughing my fool head off, and hey—maybe it’s just the cough syrup talking—but I feel fine. If this is it, I’ve done my best. I’ve worked my hardest. I’ve given all the love I have.

But Michael Stipe sums it up better than I do:

That’s great, it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane

Lenny Bruce is not afraid. Eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn

world serves its own needs, regardless of your own needs. Feed it up a knock,

speed, grunt no, strength no. Ladder structure clatter with fear of height,

down height. Wire in a fire, represent the seven games in a government for

hire and a combat site. Left her, wasn’t coming in a hurry with the furies

breathing down your neck. Team by team reporters baffled, trump, tethered

crop. Look at that low plane! Fine then. Uh oh, overflow, population,

common group, but it’ll do. Save yourself, serve yourself. World serves its

own needs, listen to your heart bleed. Tell me with the rapture and the

reverent in the right—right. You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright

light, feeling pretty psyched.

 

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

 

Six o’clock—TV hour. Don’t get caught in foreign tower. Slash and burn,

return, listen to yourself churn. Lock him in uniform and book burning,

blood letting. Every motive escalate. Automotive incinerate. Light a candle,

light a motive. Step down, step down. Watch a heel crush, crush. Uh oh,

this means no fear—cavalier. Renegade and steer clear! A tournament,

a tournament, a tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives

and I decline.

 

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

 

The other night I tripped a nice continental drift divide. Mount St. Edelite.

Leonard Bernstein. Leonid Breshnev, Lenny Bruce and Lester Bangs.

Birthday party, cheesecake, jelly bean, boom! You symbiotic, patriotic,

slam, but neck, right? Right.

 

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine…fine…

But one last thought:  “Ride! Ride to ruin and the world’s ending!”

(I would be slightly pissed if the world ended before I had a chance to see The Hobbit.)