12.12.12. The end of the world,
as we thought about what we know about it.
Meditations on Apocalypse
I contemplate the nature of the end of things, 12.12, 12. 21, whatever — and what is that, to the notation of the end.
Apocalypse, etymologically [like Calypso] is both the covering, and the uncovering.
And the new beginnings.
And perhaps yes, it is a dance, as well.
A week back, I met with an archeologist, paleontologist [and park ranger] who was studying the fossil records of creatures that roamed the earth millions of years back; those that survived [sharks, cockroaches and dragonflies] and the monster lizards that stomped the muddy stone, swamps and primordial ooze. They lived, then they “all” died.
He works at a lonely outpost — and chats up the history of the end, and the new beginnings, with relish.
He discovered his own dinosaur, Nothronychus graffami — even named after him.
Talking with him, and learning about the scythe-like claws of his dinosaur, tellings of the distant past, I was contemplating — the patterning of the end game.
Why am I thinking about this, I wondered? My own extinction, inescapable as it is?
What is the fascination with the end of realm stories?
The idea of change, the end of the world — would the notion of the permanent transition, and foretelling its structure, as a storytelling metaphor, allegory or warming be the answer, Contagion, or otherwise?
The ultimate change,
there’s the workaday work, the world of the now, and there’s the drastic transformation of everything; “it was all here, and now it’s all gone.”
There are a slew of entertainments, speaking to the idea the apocalyptic closure.
Or the spectacularly popular Zombies, and their Apocalypse.
There’s a bridge there — from the beginning to the end, and the beginning.
Girvin has history with Zombies, too.
From Dinosaurs to Zombies, an alphabetic leap — from the beginning, to the end, and the reborn.
In the movie trade we worked on
our share of beginnings and endings.
When I was a student at the Evergreen State College, in studying the mandala from Jose Argüelles, we talked about the end, the beginning of the cycle.
Like the inhalation, and the exhalation — that could be the beginning breath drawn, or the exhalation — the last.
A fascination with the rapturous trend of change — the ultimate transit,
dislocation of status, or geographically rupturing — comes in many forms.
It’s not right now,
it could be better
“some other time, over there.”
“I don’t like where I am,
I should be somewhere else.”
“I don’t like how I am —
I could be someone else.”
‘If I died, I could come back
and feed myself better.
And I could change myself.”
“You’re not really alive,
you’re the walking, waking senseless.
Better change, now.”
t | out, at
of the whorled
G I R V I N | DESIGNING MOVIES
FROM THE BEGINNING, TO THE END
THEATRICAL BRANDING + ENTERTAINMENT
IMAGINATION: AND THE TOOLS TO MAKE IT HAPPEN