As we sit on the crux of the latest “doomsday” prophecy it gave me pause to think about how much of a reality it is that despite popular opinion, for many, the true apocalypse will be the fact that the Mayan prophecy was a hoax and that they are still here, weighted down by debt, striving for the unattainable allure of the fallacy that is the “American Dream”.
Working at jobs they hate, the walking dead’s passage of time is marked by punching the proverbial clock, bill payments and perpetual cycles of consumption as their inner groans are drowned out by the cacophony of sounds from the entertainment industrial complex that is intended to distract from the banality of fragmented lives that desperately crave authentic community and relationship. They spend their days languorously pretending that everything is “Going great and you?” all the while hoping, silently praying even, for the end because whether it is out of some religious conviction that places one in the eternal fiery pits or some form of familial responsibility to loved ones, they lack the courage and fortitude to just end. it. all. and an apocalypse gives them an out that is otherwise deemed unattainable. It’s suicide prayed for but with an accompanying absolution and clarity of consciousness that places one in the position of an innocent bystander and not the perpetrator of the crime itself.
An apocalypse is an alibi, it’s an excuse but most importantly an apocalypse is relief, it’s freedom, a perverted macabre “Independence Day” for the many unhopeful who can’t see anything beyond the reality of a god-less, dog eat dog world where even your best is never good enough.