You will come to the end of your pathetic lifespan, you will find your body broken, your nervous system ripped away, your bones slowly turning to ash.
You will find the doors of glamorous parties closed to you, the lands of milk and honey selfishly denied from you, the love and assurance you need from friends and family replaced with paranoia and greed.
In your last dying moments you will have the opportunity to squeeze out a final breath from the one who is heir to the throne of all the shit and piss left in the world, all that has been torn apart and eaten up. It would only give the people after you (you are definitely fucked) a minute chance of creating something new; the stars are right and our world seeks to rid itself of us.But it would be a chance. Or you could release your tired hands and sleep.
there’s a good idea in here somewhere…
The Equitable Estoppel of Harry June
Harry June knew that one day he was going to morph into blubbery ball of slime. He just didn’t know when.
For years the doom hung over him. It began one evening, soon after graduating and living back at his parents house, that a man visited him in his sleep. He told Harry June the fact; the fact that one day, without the least provocation, his body would vibrate and tremble and quiver as his bones dissolved inside of his skin and his arms merged into his torso and his legs simply melted.
As all people who realise that they are doomed do, Harry June became a man of some importance. The country he lived in was going through an intense period of privatisation, and he became chief executive of operations to a large corporation in charge of distributing food to the poor. Food would be allocated to those in need, and this was done on a national scale by a computer. Harry June was in charge of that computer as the sole remaining employee, more of a servant to the computer than a CEO.
but he still with his human emotions was a useful pawn to the computer, and therefore made the tough decisions. If a single mother with three young children was starving, Harry June decided if her children lived or died. He would cut rations from time to time at random (being praised by the computer for cutting costs), submitting the invalids to the same essential doom that waited for him. And brood the doom did.
Once he was visited by the man in the waking world, but here he visited Harry June in the shape of a bird with the same sneering, smug face he had in Harry June’s dream. He flew down into Harrys cramped office and delivered an annedum to the future - 5 ticks of the clock - a venture - a seascape of rubies. This was less clear to Harry June than the prophecy of melting.
Harry began to avoid clocks, especially clocks that ticked more than four times (which is all clocks), took no interesting offers, and touched no oceans of jewels. Two of the above three had been passionate hobbies of his, so his quality of life rapidly diminished.
Now comes the twist - Harry June discovered love one day. The concept was thought to have been misplaced lost forever below a crate of bananas centuries before. But passing a bakery one day he realised that his heart was for the shop model displaying luscious cakes and pastries. But love was not something that was permitted to Harry June, and suddenly clocks were ticking, rectangles descended, and the seascape of rubies washed in down the street as Harry June bubbled and frothed into a gelatinous grey mess.