The Chaos

6 09 2008

ATTENTION! We’ve breaking news – the year has gone and gotten lost! Yes, lost. And now, having lost structure, time is collapsing; years are bombarding each other, months are going rapid, weeks are smutty, and days are off floundering around.

Europe has lost the night, Brazil claims to be selling saviors that look suspiciously like mongooses, Coach believes that purses can talk, New York has turned to the left of Vermont, and Hawaii is swimming away.

Superman lost the ability to fly, mid-flight, and his body hasn’t been found. Sherlock Holmes has been kidnapped by Auguste Duplin. King Arthur fell through the White Rabbit’s hole, colliding into a bemused William Shakespeare. Together they trotted off, in search of the golden ticket, and haven’t been seen since.

Other people have gone missing, ones not worthy enough to be mentioned, and others, non-existent before, have appeared. Yet, impossibly, all those from the lost year have somehow faded in and out of existence, speaking but not speaking, warning but joking.

Captain Nemo is caught under the sea, covered by thousands of octopuses that are dying for his autograph. Don Quixote is trying to gather up protégés while insisting that a decree is pursued to put all windmills under house arrest.

Days are awkwardly missing at times. Wednesday is fascinated with Norway and usually Friday has to bring it back. Tuesday and Thursday are often caught dancing in wishing wells, and Monday talks non-stop. Sunday and Saturday have run off together and a search party organized by March is pricking and prodding through Iron Man’s liar.

September freed Professor Plum and Miss Scarlett from Clue and Christmas keeps chasing them off from Monopoly.

Doctor Who has come and gone, seeing the situation as unsalvageable. Harry Potter joined with Bella from Twilight to find Mr. Darcy, who ran away with August.

And January has decided to run off the world’s edge – a suicide that brings the world skidding to a halt.


And so the world ended, not with a bang but a whimper (just as T.S. Eliot predicted).






2 responses

12 09 2008

We’re late, we’re late, for a very important date!

14 10 2008
Mel Odom

What were you drinking?

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