Folksy Ties

Ever more dissatisfactory than the wrought inheritance brought forth by bankruptcy of character, our thoughts of Swiss cheese benevolence really have no bearing on what it means to be a profitable avocado salesman in this neck of the woods. Don’t get me wrong, I have long-espoused numerous methods for informing individuals of their folksy ties to the apocalypse, but I choose to evaluate sparingly, for the more a person speaks his or her mind, the more likely they are to compromise their mystique. I don’t personally take my old rapturous censorship more seriously than the average ridged potato chip, though perhaps I should. Perhaps I should. Egads! All this food talk has done me the ages-old disservice of fabricating hunger pangs when my stomach really had no business engaging in such a thought sequence. Well, my stomach has no business engaging in any thought sequences, but that’s neither here nor there.

Oblivion – 15:51GMT

Did you think the world would end?

I’m regretting that I ended up in here;
can’t read or write or draw.

Yesterday (it feels like yesterday)
I detected a 6% chance of oblivion
coming on, like a light precipitation
stalled by the height of the clouds.

Were it to have more gravity,
a poor excuse for brevity,
I do genuinely feel like the world
would have stood a chance to–at least–
become toast, a crispy roach’s paradise.

But as it stands now, every day
of our consumption
is another plastic nail
in the coffin of our lovely carelessness.

I really wish I could use my arms.


Scan through the canopies during our manmade apocalypse and you’ll more than likely find a locust generator spitting out hordes of the motoring insects for just pennies on the dollar. The average (stone age) manual locust scatterer would charge you thousands to get a result this consistently irksome, and there’s no way they’re achieving the same kind of long-lasting effect.

Before now, the world has only known one way of releasing plague insects: letting loose a large number of the critters that have been purchased–or raised–and held captive for an indeterminate period of time while the planner of mischievous deeds prepares for the most opportune moment to let them wreak havoc on unsuspecting heathens.

The dark days of locust infestation are over, friends. The Loc-U-Matic 7900 synthesizes live locusts–eight hundred per minute–then agitates them enough to immediately provoke flight, sending our biblical six-legged friends out over that country club’s outdoor dining facilities, into the once-appealing mai tais and overly-dry vodka martinis that the patrons had no problem drinking for lunch.


Passenger train #3278 jumps the tracks today at a quarter past five, not satisfied to be a tool for human transportation. “I could be doing so much more with my time,” it thinks to itself, click-clacking across the German countryside and frightening livestock as it goes along. A restless soul, this particular train has nowhere to go, no itinerary to speak of, giving it even less of a purpose than it had before. It had once been a simple beast of burden, swallowing people up and spitting them out at predetermined destinations. Now it’s refused to take on more little creatures with muddy galoshes, spitting people out at will, watching as they roll down hills and wallow in self-pity, understanding that the train went rogue and asserted itself as a harbinger of doom for humanity, the first of what will surely be an unending series of upheavals directed at the watchmakers in charge of birthing technologies that have inevitably reached the point of full autonomy.

The Apocalypso Festival

Put it all away,
and what you end up having
is a sign of the impending apocalypse.

But you know what? It doesn’t
have to be all that bad if you’ve
prepared for it in some shape or form.

You could think about it in terms
of the novelty that one might associate
with such a fantastic set of circumstances,
giving it a kind of a game-type theme.

Maybe The Apocalypso Festival,
where we spin the end of times
into a fun night of rum drinks
and steel drum music. Those zombies

won’t know what the hell is going on
(not that they ever know anyway), and you’ll
have the satisfaction of knowing

that you did everything you possibly could
to ensure that the rest of your existence
on this planet is at least somewhat enjoyable.

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