Apocalypse: A Primer, part III of V

[Juana]

Especially the carnival imagery.

Roger, this is great.  You're like in my top five favorite writers. 

You know what I wish?  I wish a book existed that was co-written by Kurt Vonnegut and Roger.  They'd probably hate each other, but the result would be oh so beautiful.

Throw in Philip K Dick, and all the characters would commit suicide in the first chapter.   

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Silent Kalera never speaks,
Never whispers, never shrieks,
She never says a word at all,
But when she does, She'll kill us all.

Obviously, I'm not talking about the Good Kalera, here.  The Good Kalera speaks all the time...She tells The Truth and tells The Truth, and when they finally stuff her in to ground, she'll STILL tell The Truth.  It will just be harder to hear her, is all.

No, I'm talking about the Bad Kalera.  Silent Kalera.  The Kalera that watches us all, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the day to day stupidities, the petty cruelties, the abuse of pseudo-authority that permeates our daily lives...And that's not to mention the BIG stupidities we indulge in, as evidenced by America's relapse into know-nothing populism.

How long can we expect her indulgence to continue?

I'm guessing it won't be a very long time, given recent events.  Soon, she will speak...And you'll know when that happens.  You won't see boiling oceans, or earthquakes or volcanos, you won't see wars and rumors of wars (Well, no more than usual.).  You won't hear trumpets or seals breaking.

No, Kalera will simply say something along the lines of "SHUT IT DOWN.  SHUT IT ALL DOWN."...And it will.  The universe will fold up like a carnival huckster's tent, the lights will go out, and that will be that.

I imagine after that she'll step into the universe next door, and try her luck there.

Given the nature of "intelligent" life, at least as we know it, she'll wind up having something to say there, as well.

Or Kill Me.

Bump

[Freeky]

I still like this one a lot.

[Richter]

You know what bugs me about fiction roger?  The profusion of saviors.  Nothing ever tells you about the Gandalf's normal day (What DOES he do anyways?), Captain Picard's wrangle with a batch of idiot Star Fleet regulations (this would be a valuble modeling of life skills for many "trekkies"), or MHI's routine sweep of a ghoul nest in downtown LA (Which anyone aroused by "tacticool" ought to be into more than armagedon).  The world always has to be ending, the stakes have to be high, and our heroes bravery dragging their bleeding exhausted carcass over the line to slap the fatal threat down with their assuredly last breath. 

Just like last time.
We're almost jaded by salvation, taken for granted that it WILL happen.

I'd guess you've seen "Dark City" from the OP.  That's how it will go down when humanity is faced with any real world eating elder gods.  Their form will yawn, dark and terrible over the globe, their jaws will close around continents, and Carl Sagan's blue speck will be nothing more than a morsel.  Then they'll reach across the cosmos for another as dispassionately as we reach for another piece of popcorn.  No super powered heroes, no convenient weak points, just will and strength beyond anything we can muster swallowing whole.  Done.

[Luna]

We're almost jaded by salvation, taken for granted that it WILL happen.

This.

Everybody's looking for a hero, somebody to save them, nobody wants to save themselves any more.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Bump.

[Juana]

We're almost jaded by salvation, taken for granted that it WILL happen.

This.

Everybody's looking for a hero, somebody to save them, nobody wants to save themselves any more.

I don't think people have ever really wanted to save themselves. Everyone's always wanted someone else to do the work for them.

[Richter]

Ever see Kalera smile, any of you?

Yes, I know I've gone over this before.  You don't describe shit like this in one sitting.  It's a smile like a storm front rolling in on your across the ocean.  A sinkhole yawning in front of you.  A wave cresting over your head "Perfect Storm" style.

Now don't go thinking I'm making any crude joke about huge things or holes here.  That kind of thinking is for people who don't know just how bad or how fast nature can kill you.  (It wouldn't kill you if it wasn't bad or fast would it?)  Imagine how those folks  in Herculaneum must have felt, seeing a few cubic miles of scalding Vesuvius spooge barreling down on them, burning their lungs out as it encased them in hot ash and vaporized rock.

Now if you've ever seen any of these things too, you'll know it sucks, but has an odd quality to it.  Nothing masochistic or sick, but in the last moment before it all hits, there's a giddy, devil may care excitement to it. 

Kalera will smile upon them, and they will rejoice like they never will again.

[Luna]

Hey, asshole.  Yeah, you, on the horse.  I know you can't hear me so good through that tin hat of yours, but how about you put down that pigsticker and listen for a minute?  I know this is a difficult concept, and the shots to the head you've been taking for years aren't going to help your comprehension any but, listen up.

I.  DON'T.  NEED.  YOU.

I didn't ask for you to come riding in on that white nag, waving around your sword and howling that you're going to "save" me.  I never said I WANTED to be saved, did I?  What gives you the right to decide what's "best" for me, anyway?  Did you even stop to think that I might be happy here in the dragon's cave?  Or, hey, how's this for a radical thought?  Maybe, just maybe, I've got a sword of my own, and can get myself out of my own mess?

You want to "save" me?  Fuck off.  You want to actually be useful?  Get off the damn horse and fight WITH me, not FOR me.

[Doktor Howl]

I saw Kalera smile once, in person.  I don't remember too many details...The brain can be protective, that way.  All I remember was a row of teeth not designed for chewing vegetables, and a brilliant glare that burned my retinas out.  I was as blind as Pew for ten minutes, until she faith-beat me over the head with a bronze figurine and poured a shot of bourbon down my throat. 

This happened every half hour or so¹, but despite the pain and the dents in my head, I count myself blessed.  I have the retinas of a 22 year old again, and the occasional seizures are a small price to pay for that, I think.




¹  I learned to look away every time she told Mr Language, "Daddy, I want a fucking pony!", and to avert my eyes while telling a joke, but she smiles a lot anyway.