If the apocalypse were official, and I knew I were going to die, I wonder where my last moments would be spent and with whom.
Depending on the time of my warning, I may or may not stay in New Orleans. Currently I have around three thousand dollars in savings, enough to get me any place I’d likely choose to go. But, thinking deeper, I wouldn’t decide in favor of my immediate spots. The cities I most desire to see would be out. What a hideous death to die in the city. Being an American instills in me, of course, an inherent dissatisfaction with the land of my birth and yet, from my perspective as a fairly privileged and travelled person, I can honestly say that I am unfailingly overwhelmed by the beauty of the American landscape.
Whose sperm made me, I don’t know, and that is for another day but it leads to this bit of information: for a long time I fancied myself to be part Native American. This is a romance I’ve read many have had (but somehow, and always, I’m different). I justify this by saying I do not know one-half my lineage, and what else explains my connection to their poetry, philosophy, and misery? Being in American woods, I cannot escape scents of blood and fire, howls and songs, wind tearing at my clothes, begging me to wander and warning me not to. My blood type is O- , and although this is the universal donor, it is also most common among the (my) people.
Now that I’ve insulted someone, best to acknowledge that I will die alone. I have my parents, and part of me would yearn to be with them. Nuzzled in their breasts, warm, my father’s voice, my mother’s neck, their hands holding onto me, wrapped around me, a simulation of life as if pretending it were continuing on… There is no man for me to call, and none will call me. A friend will be inadequate, and a stranger is a gamble. S/he may be complementary or perhaps my last regret.
Safely I venture off alone with whatever I decide are my end-of-the-world necessities. As music, Boards of Canada. There is no chance I will desire to read. I will dress in my favorite garments and as soft inebriation, cannabis.
When it is moments from occurring, when whatever mass penetrates the atmosphere and the air supply drops and the leaves fall fast around me, when my hands sweat and I feel infantile, unsuppressed and my color is lost to terror, when the rumbles amplify and the birds crow frenetically, or when the rumbles amplify and the birds are silent, when I am reminded of my breathing, when I am reminded that I am alone and that I’ve come full circle, though I had intended to move forward, when at last I forget about death and pain flashing, my last thought, I know, my last thought will be that I wish I wish I wish I were ---
Well, this stressed me out. I'm deathly afraid of flying, and I always wonder how I would handle being in a plane going down. I think I might do some pretty fucked up shit...but that's neither here nor there.
ReplyDeleteYou don't answer the question you pose at the beginning, and that's where the stress comes from. This is actually an expression of the meeting of death in general. The reassurance of an apocalypse is you have (for some reason) forewarning. You can choose how you want to take it. That crucial moment switching from one thing to something else completely unknown. Crazy.
Why we make an awesome team: I'm part Passamaquoddy (which you may vaguely see in my face once you get past the Jewish or, if you look closely, in my completely sideways pinky toes) and have type O- blood.
ReplyDeleteI too would probably escape to the forest, but would play my violin. Czardas, probably. There's no sense in going out of this world without music.
We must watch more provoking movies.
-Kate the Great
Also, I was born at 12:15PM. On April 26. What does that say about me, again?
ReplyDeleteI think you start off strong and end strong, but the middle gets a little wordy and confusing when you start talking about imagining yourself being native american etc. I think it would be better to either smooth out that part or just say straight out what you are trying to say.
ReplyDeleteThere's a lot going on here, questions of nationality, parentage, ancestry, and of course, apocalypse. I'm guessing the title alludes to the Lars Von Trier film, and if so, a little more context of its viewing might be a way to start this. I'm not sure about "official" apocalypse--if it became a reality? The tension and momentum of the final periodical fragment is very good, though as a reader I am left a little disappointed by the fact that this is concluded unfinished, apparently interrupted by the apocalypse (which we know is a conceit as we are able to read and comment upon it.
ReplyDeleteThere's some real poignant moments here, and I really appreciate the intimate tone. I do think, though, that the "midway sentence ending" has been done a lot, and I would like to see what else you could do.
ReplyDeleteI was undoubtedly reminded of the last paragraph of "One Hundred Years of Solitude," which also concludes with momentum and force and tragedy all rolled up into a big, you know, disaster.