The Four Horsies of the Apocalypse


The Dumbing Down of Doom

War and the merciless Conqueror, harsh Judgement, Death and the hounds of Hell. All accompanied by famine, pestilence, plague and the rendings of fierce beasts. Now, there's a fine and fearsome company, astride their Storm Trooper steeds, white, red, black and pale, thundering over the shambles of civilization.

What have we to compare with these noble destroyers? Global warming? Overpopulation? Cow farts? Feh. There is no poetry in this. Give me the grim Old Roman disasters that I can get my hands on. No uncertain stealth of ecological confusion, of things that might be good or might be bad; of things that we may have done to ourselves--a sort of shooting of mankind in the foot with a rubber bullet.

Give me things that are universally lauded as unequivocally evil. No half measures, no beating around the bush. I want heroes and villains. Enough of Monsanto and Earth First! squabbling over table scraps; the goods, the bads and the outcome murky as a bowl of clam chowder.

I want background music that foreshadows the action, warning me that the monster is about to lurch around a corner and make a clumsy pass at the scantily clad maiden. Give me back the ravings of Saint John the Divine. I want something I can believe in.

(January 22, Y2K)

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The Four Horsies of the Apocalypse

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