Magic Mushrooms

by Jason John Bartholomew

Its the end of the world. We all know this is true. We are all so lost and drifting. A filthy sea of humanity as far as the eye can see, awash in nothingness and meaninglessness. We want our destruction. We know we don’t deserve to persist. But we are cowards so the anthem quacks on and on.

How many nights do we lie in our beds our diseased souls beseeching the god of Noah to resurrect and notice us and validate our wickedness with his mighty wrath and destruction? But we aren’t even consumed with wickedness, just with tepid futility. Lukewarm and thus spat out as nothing. We are not worthy of god’s wrath and destruction. We are so low and miserly of spirit we are more like a plague of locusts than a race of sinners and heathens. Even Satan has lost interest in us, grown bored, withdrawn to some other far reach of the universe.

It’s the end of the world. We all know this. But we are inhumane and incompetent fools and will likely stretch out our decline and demise for a millennium when in truth all any of us really want is for every nuclear missile silo to be opened and launched and for that ghastly destruction to be rained down upon ourselves.

Why do you think we built them to begin with? Do you think we invested all that effort and manpower and resources not to use them? No. We built them for a purpose, to fulfill our true desire. What is hatred in service of a flag or a book or a cause but displaced desire for our own annihilation?What is passivity but the same wish dressed in the pauper rags of a saint?

We used to be human. Or so we tell ourselves. But to be human is to have a fire in the belly. What is this dream of annihilation but our desire to burn as if we were once again human?

Why do we not just set a date? And everywhere everyone will dress up in their Apocalyptic best and flock to rooftops and mountaintops with party hats and noisemakers and let the hell of our own hand come flaming down at us. No more fears. No more worries. No more sickness or poverty or endless human suffering. No more holy wars. How festive such a day could be.

And if there is a god waiting in the wings to smite us one more time for our failures, just think how gloriously we would steal his thunder.

Oct 16, 2017

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