The blogs have lost their luster and many a-shut-in are commenting away, tired and lost at their craft, having identified Thefedpeakoilclimatechange to death, having parsed their arguments and identified The Fall by parsecs to an ever shrinking audience. Where to go when the Doom draws on and on, where do SHTF-ers and TEOTWAWKI-ers go to retire except to “tend the roses” (think in terms of the Russian expression of this) and read back issues of Mother Earth News, or Mother Jones or MILF Magazine in order to keep their minds from becoming unkempt. So many artists have only seen their vision appreciated long after their demise, however, no one will thank any Doomerclod from predicting or warning, or attempting to plan for what is but an impending end to our way of life. Not counting the sun ex/im/plode/ing which in terms of a human way of understanding it, is as many years away as our national debit will be by the end of January 2013. The world still seems the same, at least on the surface. The old gray crowd say thingsaintliketheyusedtobe as they have as all ages occur, loves and lives come and go, the Palestinian Question is like a re-run of 1916, it seem that there is indeed, as the cliché exclaimed, nothing new under the sun.
However, time does not work at the same rate for all. As the planets contract and dart about the universe each to their own keeping of “hours,” so too the future and the past are here, however not spread over the land in one way or another in an even set of rules as we have thought since the first Third World Conference – that is, that some countries are “ahead” and others “behind” nor the euthenics perspective that Peoples are “advanced” or “primitive” or the –Ism of the day, that education and learning makes one “smart” and others “stupid” (place your Politically Correct word in the quotes if need be). This is relativity not as a theory to be debated but as lens, a pair of magic glasses in order to better see the world. That the persistence of time I about us as Dali saw it, as a liquid poured out over the uneven contours of our Great Land, and the world. Wait…. That was Persistence of Memory… Metallica did the other one… ok… Ummmmm……. Anyway, the same is true. Time is more fluid than people think, and that translates into shifting sands in the hourglass that not all line up to point to down…
In order to illustrate this theory that time doesn’t project to all at the same rhythm, let this author search for an anthology…. The Superduperpooperstorm™ Sandy hit a thousand mile by about two hundred and fifty and took this large and drew it step by step up the coast of the East and yet, this disaster was not an even occurrence for all, even in the same small region. A half mile away, home were flooded out. Five mile away people died in various water-related deaths and houses collapsed and the tides came up as in biblical times the novy Egyptians gnashing their insurance policies and rending their FEMA benefits. Bridges vanished, coastline torn asunder, theme parks torn form foundations, yet, in a majority of places life appeared normal – especially when the lights came back on. This is not the ratio of distance between states or between mountain lands and wide open valleys, but within the same zipcode fates and humors were as random as those dice tossed by Dame Fortune in determining if that tree hit your house, your neighbors, or fell crushing you. As some go without heat, others right next door, enjoy warmth. As some pumped out their ground level condo and took to hotels, others continued their routine and attended the latest Webbie Wednesday or First Thursday. The time to reap or sow never occurred as those macabre images instructed us, beware of the great leveler who harvest all, the scythe swung across the even and open field. No, Death is more like a squarefoot gardener. Death hand picks those who have no more time and leaves that same fruit next to it, to ripen or rot until next harvest.
So time of TSHTF is here. For some of us. TEOTWAWKI is already having its way for others. And this is not the Playboys and Playgirls building bunkers and hording Twinkies, but those who have been stuck in financial ennui, those who have been shorted by the banks, those who have already given up on our technobasturbation and have intentionally moved to living a simple life (hence, can you print this blog out for them?).
In the age of steam and communication of the 1930 there remained primitive and naked tribes untouched by Art History 105,
Feminism, electric blenders, sliced bread, and Gone With The Wind. Today, it may be the opposite condition. Those thumbers, those Tevo-ers, those tablet enhanced, those one computer chip car drivers, those PowerKnowledge suckers, those college entrance exam Kaplan studying Sheeple, those GMAT, MCAT, FUBAR, and LSAT studiers. Those rushing to schedule their natural child birth and toss the kiddie to the Duala in order to get back to trading in fish futures or genomes, or plastic penis splints or trust fund backed modified default swaps or whatevers…. They live in one age. An age that seems as real and forever as those naked Chumbawamba Indians saw of their small chunk of the Amazon basin as they did what they had done for as long as the oldest of them could remember. Then, one day, the Great White Hunter arrived, and their world collapsed. They had, before then, unknowingly lived beside that hunter, but as the expression goes, their time was up. I propose, their times had finally collided. Come together to occupy the same time. Primitive Man is here. Tribal millennials or naked teeming masses of the Third World, it I hard to say what time will spring upon us that exists already, a way of life already being lived. Those yammering googling redditing ding dongs may continue to tweet, twat, and like, but look not to a future collapse anymore, but to those about us who are living that future today. We may rest tonight with hot water on demand but tomorrow, we don’t find the future collapse, there are no Thefedpeakoilclimate change to debate as a far off event since time of the hunter is now. This time just need emerge from the jungle, the Hunter offers us not faster DSL and streaming videos, but the wood and embers of the savage.