As I dip my nib and feather my quill once more I ponder briefly whether it will be for the last time. A week from now, on the 21.12.2012 the world might grind to a halt or be smashed to smithereens by a rouge planet spinning through space, or it might just stop turning on its axis and we’ll all fall off!
Some lucky people may survive; it’s possible that if you are in the right place at the right time you might be saved by an alien spacecraft; an alien space craft that has been sneakily hiding, undetected under a mountain for thousands of years. Inside the craft a whole society of alien beings are just waiting to pop out like a jack in a box on the 21st. What have they been doing for all this time, watching re-runs of ‘third rock from the sun?’ I can see the captain and his crew drumming their fingers –or finger, we don’t know – on the control panel regretting the day they volunteered for this mission. Oh how exciting they had thought, go save an inferior race from destruction, get to be the heroes for once, how wonderful.
Once settled in under a mountain somewhere all they have to do is wait, and wait and wait, nothing worse than turning up for a party a thousand years too early. Alien mothers have been warding off impatient children since Pharaohs walked the earth, ‘are we nearly there yet?’ the children cry from the back of the space craft. Now it seems the long wait may be over, the engines are being primed, guest rooms’ cleaned and fresh linen pressed. The caterers are preparing a nice spread while the entertainment corps are frantically going over their dance steps. Millennia in the planning, nothing can be left to chance; how embarrassing would it be if the spacecraft rose triumphantly out of its mountain hideaway only to splutter and stall.
Meanwhile some human beings are making their own provisions for the big day, as one in six of the earth’s population believe a catastrophic event will lay us low on the 21st of December. My own provision has been to ban the purchasing of anymore 2013 calendars in my house! Every year at this time we get every organisation, group, body, charity and school in the country knocking on the door expecting us to buy their bloody calendar. I wouldn’t mind if these calendars were a thing of beauty but they are no such thing, if I have to hang one on the wall for an entire year it should at least offer some nudity! Anyhow I put my foot down recently, I said, ‘I want a money back guarantee if we can’t use the bloody thing’, that soon shut them up.
Where was I? Oh yes provisions, Americans of course have an inbuilt seize mentality an ‘under attack’ psychology; they think everyone’s trying to get ‘em ! They build bunkers, empty supermarket shelves of beans, load up their guns and lock up their daughters all the time. Some may say ‘paranoid’, others, ‘prepared for anything’, good on you America. If it was just Americans that feared the worst then, well, what’s new? But all over the globe people are seriously contemplating what to do with the only week they have left on earth. Some people are giving stuff away, money and possessions, while others are jumping off of tall buildings hence avoiding death by destruction. If you are one of those considering emptying your bank account please think about me as a possible charity case. Some people may be thinking about putting their house in order, owning up to wrong doings, declaring their love for their wife’s sister or handing themselves into the law for a crime once committed; absolving one’s sins before Armageddon strikes.
Most of the confusion surrounding the imminent end of the world comes from the misinterpretation of the Mayan long count calendar. 5125 years ago the forth age began, the three previous ages were deemed to be failures. The Gods were just tinkering until one bright spark at creation HQ had the clever notion of putting human beings on the earth. This was deemed to be a rather good idea by everyone until those gods lost popularity and new gods took their place. Now powerless they sit around all day bemoaning the good old days and planning ill-conceived comebacks none of which have ever come to fruitition due to a lack of marketing.’ It’s just not fair’ they grumble, ‘first Christianity and now the theory of evolution; we don’t stand a fucking chance’. Or perhaps they just packed up their tools and built another world somewhere else, ‘this time Norman we’ll get it right, you see if we don’t.’
The date at the beginning of the new age was 126.96.36.199.0 or the 11th of August 3114 BC and as the calendar works in cycles of roughly 5125 years we have completed an entire cycle!
No predictions by Mayans have been found that suggest the world will end, but evidence does suggest however, that if the Mayan society had survived and continued to thrive now would be a time for mass celebration. Feasting and festival, with a few virgins sacrificed as offerings, would no doubt be the order of the day.
Right now young men would be offering young maidens their services to alleviate the burden of chastity and therefore saving them from the sacrificial alters! Adverts in local newspapers would read ‘Are you a virgin? Are you worried that the temple might want to disembowel you publically? Do you want to see your still beating heart ripped from your chest and eaten before you? No, well I can help you, for a small fee I will rid you of the burden, all it takes is a simple incision.’
What is strange to me is that we all have an inbuilt desire to know the time and place of our own demise, even me. Dying is a big event, you wouldn’t want to miss it would you? I want to be there when it happens, to witness my last breath; I don’t want to sleep through it or be on holiday; I’d be gutted. So when, however unlikely it might be, someone tells me ‘no need to buy Christmas presents this year, it’s a waste of money’, I think to myself, ‘You nincompoop’, then, ‘well I’d better stay up passed bedtime, just in case.
My own death date is 8th February 2021, that’s 8 years, 1 month and 25 days or 1st of October 2033 if I stop smoking and taking crack! I know this because I’ve checked on line! So at least I can now attend my own funeral, well part of it at any rate.
Meanwhile I’ve got a bunch of T shirts to sell, one say’s ‘It’s the 22nd and I’m still here’, the other one say’s ‘oh bugger’.