Is there a paycheck involved?
I trawl through the conspiracy websites, read the books, listen to the words over the airwaves. I hear ten million horrid things, all coalescing outside the field of vision, behind the curtain where Big Brother does his dirty, danky, and dangerous business. I watch and I wait for the coming of the end of days.
But yet I don't see the end anywhere near.
All I see is all I've ever seen. The world looks worse every day, in foresight, but even worse in rearsight. The world we inhabited a day, a month, a year, ten years ago was teetering on collapse, with real problems suppurating underfoot and the apocalypse just ahead, waiting to claim us all.
That's where it always is, after all.
I spent my childhood with Soviet missiles pointed at my hometown. Any day, with one mistake, one error, one Khrushchev Screwdriver too many, we could have been white noise in the skies. It could have ended then and there with raging heat and unbearable, smothering cold, and there were times when we went to bed wondering if we'd wake up the next day.
Oddly enough, we survived.
We survived even though the televangelists told us the Beast was coming. We survived even though the hippies told us the man was out to get us. We survived even though the spiky hairs told us there was no future. We survived even though the movies, tv, and fiction told us the future was going to be an irradiated, grim stew of Blade Runner skylines and Mad Max countrysides.
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