Ian Darke
Apocalypse When?
Creationist urgings beating down the self oppressed. They rise and saw as one as the egoless ones are whipped into a fury against the didactic pronouncements of the horoscope. The cream of the crop has curdled and everyone has their own special brand of hell to pay. Fury has descended from the skies and at least three major forms of the apocalypse (known to cause breast cancer in mice) are on the horizon. The doubters and cynacists are predicting an end to religion and the zealots are communing with their gods. Lightning bolts come from the sky, smiting those that doubted the Norse. Only Thor seems able to still influence this place.

The soft breast is conquered and ants play king of the nipple, knocking each other off and quarreling amongst each other for the honor of a taste of protein enriched milk. After drinking of the milk, the worker ants return to their hive and weave a cocoon that when smoked gives LSD like dreams. Addicts take their mothers and wives to anthill and pour a trail of honey to their chest. The monkeys laugh at our folly then through coconuts at each other. A young baboon moons a grandmotherly lady at the zoo and she passes out. A small child rifles through her purse and steals her bubble gum. Upon waking up, she carries on a polite conversation with the pool of blood forming from the fissure in her head. "My how you've grown." The cataclysm meows and scratches and institutional dogma. A young man looks up sorrowfully and whispers that Dorothy's Tin Man had it easy.