Still haven’t figured out the reasons for my loving relationship with the end of the world. Finally bought a PS4 and of course the two first games I play through center around some kind of apocalypse or imminent disaster. I don’t know what it is about those things, but they tend to speak to me, they draw me in, make me want to be part of whatever might come of it. It might be for balance. I’m so in love with beauty that it’s impossible for me not to love the destruction of it as well. There’s just something about the tearing down of the perfect. How it leaves room for new things, and creates melancholy for what once was. How destruction in itself is a beautiful act. Even the least productive of destructions, like breaking a rock in two, leaves the beautiful insides of the rock exposed. I do believe destruction can be mindless and outright stupid. But even the mindlessly stupid destruction offers thoughts about the destroyed, and the re-imagining of things. I think that pretty well sums up one part of my love for the apocalypse, how the ending of one thing is always the beginning of something else. Of course, that might not be true on a universal scale. Oh how vast the distances of my thoughts. Sometimes I do want to spoil the mystery and take a peek from one end of the universe to the other. I want to know infinity. I’ll meditate on that tonight, the image of infinity, the traveling through space. I’ll look for clues wherever I go, I won’t miss a thing. I’ll just stay there, and pretend the apocalypse happened on Earth and I caught the last space shuttle out of there. I’ll just pretend it’s me all alone, as I did when I was 10 years younger than now. I envy that guy who could just zone the world out at night and be completely at peace. But I want to shake him, and shout at him, and tell him to live his life differently. And hope he still ends up as the same person. And I want him to see everything there is to see, from end to beginning. And I want him to know that this world really tries to do him good.