stumbling towards the apocalypse – a manifesto.

the four horsemen of the apocalypse – artwork by jukenos on deviantart

as i write this a fire burns southwest of lake tahoe that, as of today, covers almost two hundred thousand acres. it is one of many currently burning throughout my state.

as i write this i’m thinking of the boy in kabul who fell from the sky.

as i write this a pentagon spokesman spins civilian deaths by drone strike.

as i write this a pandemic rages outside, delta mutating in the bodies of people treated not by vaccine, held by the steady hand of a nurse, but by themselves with a livestock dewormer, found over the counter at your local feedstore and in facebook groups all across america.


twin bridges, ca., 29 august 2021 // photo by karl mondon

our house is literally burning down and we’re stuck in the bedroom while our parents all fled, out the front door to safety with the first sign of smoke.

they’ve taken us beyond the tipping point. they’ve taken us to our moment of truth, to the moment of radical acceptance. this is mine.

i will seize each day and fully live it. i’ve seen too much death first hand to do otherwise.

i will do my best to remain open to everything good and will say yes more often than no.

i will do what i can every day to make things better, even if only for just my house.

i am TAKING my happiness. TAKING IT because i will never. ever. get it from Them. so i will look at art and take long sunday drives with my love and our dogs and watch the sun set over the ocean. i will sit in a park by myself and close my eyes and listen to the wind in the trees and count my breaths.

perspective.

i will pause frequently before i open my mouth.

i will perform righteous acts of sabotage.

i won’t go back to the job that made me miserable. i will follow my bliss and find another way. i will follow my calling because i know the Company doesn’t care about me. never has and never will.

protest.

vote.

i will hold my loved ones close and tell them i love them.

i am the teller of my own tale, i am the writer of my own origin and i am the hero of my own story, dagger drawn and fighting my way out of the flames.


i’m thinking again of the boy in kabul. the boy who fell out of the sky and the words he once wrote,

“you’re the painter of your life. don’t give the paintbrush to anyone else.”

zaki anwari, 2004 – 2021.

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