beginning at the end

am i the only person who feels like the world really did end at the turn of the millenium? not because anything happened, but because nothing did. because no crash-boom-apocalptic fire or uber-mind takeover out of james bond movie, because no witnessed miracles of large-scale transposition of realities, we sunk back into the couch of our comfort zone knowing that we're really all alone here on a spinning top planet with nothing to look forward to except the sinking of our bones back into the mire from whence we came. it doesn't matter, saving the earth, or civilization. things come and go. suffering is passe. idealism cliche. sometimes i catch myself still thinking it's the 1990s, when i felt on the cusp of Something Grand, not only for my individual life, but for Life Itself. i still wanted to know What's Gonna Happen Next? but now i don't care.

this isn't what i meant to write. but it's one of those grey, empty days in december. all the expectations of lights and presents and holiday cheer exist only behind the glass doors of capitalism. the reality is much more sparse and less surprising. no one gets surprised any more. we all expect to be let down when we tear off the pretty paper which we've wrapped around the box which is our mind which is our little cube of contained constructions.

now if i can only be as a child, and play with the hollow cardboard.