“These endless days are finally ending in a blaze…” — Buffy, the Musical
Sometimes I get in this mood, this place, where i get a true sense that today, I am living as the Latter-day Me.
There’s a shocking implication here, that one talking thus might consider a ‘desperate outrage to himself’ but it would be wrong to assume that that’s the only implication.
I don’t mean a foreseeable end of me; on the contrary, at times like these I fail to foresee anything.
Consider the age-old existentialist question: Is this all there is?
This is all there is. I don’t know what next week, next month, next season will bring. Mostly I don’t want to know these things, but that’s usually when I have a good idea of what might happen.
These latterdays give no comfort, and yet there’s going to be something happening. There always seems to be.
And that’s a great place to start, isn’t it?