This is the end…

October 12, 2008 at 12:03 pm (dystopia)

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
Ill never look into your eyes…again

I was thinking of this song as I mulled over the much vaunted collapse of the capitalism and the global financial system. A fog has dropped over my mood recently. I woke in the night to the sound of foxes screaming outside and thought it was the sound of human terror. I lay frozen to my bed thinking of the imminent collapse of society, inevitable social unrest and marauding packs of heavily armed barbarians. I tried to think of anyone I knew who might have a gun and came up short, my chances once civil society breaks seem slender.

Last week I bought a VHS copy of the first two episodes of Terry Nations apocalyptic TV series ‘Survivors’. Perhaps best known for his invention of the Daleks, Nation created a television series that haunted my childhood, and has returned to haunt my present. He wrote of the series: “I was very committed to that series and still very concerned about our increasing reliance on technology. In Survivors I was trying to say ‘Here am I, a man of the generation that landed men on the moon, and I don’t know how to make an iron axe-head’… That bothers me because I think at some point I am going to be thrown on my own resources by either world cataclysm or personal cataclysm. And I don’t know anything. That’s the message that Survivors was supposed to offer.”

I suspect that my woodburning stove, homemade blackberry jam, bottles of sloe gin and bubble & squeak made from ransoms are not enough qualification for the true Darwinian viciousness envisioned in these dark times.

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Winged Death

October 12, 2008 at 9:51 am (dystopia) ()

Death shall come on swift wings

Death shall come on swift wings

The inscription at the door of King Tutankhamen’s tomb read, “Death shall come on swift wings to him who disturbs the peace of the King”.

Here winged death appears in Wingham Church. Wingham being the birthplace of baker and poet Herbert Kingsford (1862-1911) whose dystopian poem ‘England January 1980’ envisages a future with strikes, very little food grown in England and foreign workmen taking over from English.

‘Some English wheat and apples sweet, he thought, there’d surely be, But he found these simple articles came also o’er the sea.’

His work has been described as predating George Orwell’s “1984”, but appears more Daily Mail than Daily Worker.

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