Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy
Oh good. It hasn’t hit yet; it isn’t here; you’ve got time.
Listen you’ve got to earnestly pardon my French, German, English, Croatian, and Proto-Indo-European because this is no time nor place for polite language there’s a bad fucking wind coming.
It’s just over the hill, the rise, the country. It’s sweeping the nation from coast to coast and it’s going to take away one of them and give us a new one.
Here, grab this cardboard. Nail it over the insides of your windows. Here, grab these bars. Hammer them over the outsides of your windows.
Do you have any trees? Write your names on them with this waterproof marker so they can be returned to you at a later date.
Fuck this is bad. A very bad wind.
We should’ve listened to the scientists, I’m sure they warned us and I’m sure they underestimated the odds and I’m sure we didn’t listen. I can’t cite any of this, I don’t know my APA or my Chicago or any other styles, I have no styles.
But look at that sky! It’s lime and lemon and black and blue and is that… yellow and purple? Sweet fuck of mine it’s clashing.
They said we could’ve avoided this if we used clean energy. We could’ve stopped it with basic impersonal hygiene. Rinsed before the morning was over, double-scrubbed at evening before we went to bed.
And now. And now look at us!
This is it, you know. It very well could be it. This bad wind coming in.
The bad wind is rolling closer, we haven’t got much more than none.
You can hear the howl of the wind lifting away small untethered pets and dirty magazines from your teens’ bedrooms.
It could be worse and soon it will be. Just one hundred miles away there are upside-down tornados with the wide ends on the ground and the little tails up in the sky. They’re much worse that way.
Pray you’re not on the coast; there’s hurricanes out there. Big fat fuckers that sprawl like a fat man on a subway seat, and they’re spinning counter-counter-counter-clockwise. Oscillating like ocelots. Fish are being sucked up by rainstorms and spat out by waterspouts. Dirty words are being written on walls using bits from other walls.
There is no respect in this, no sort of two-way communication, no search for mutual understanding. It’s such a bad goddamned wind.
Cover the storm drains, open the windows. Get in your heaviest and most sinkable trucks. Batten every hatch, bar every door, belay the masthead and swab the anchor. Say goodbye to your old coastlines and hello to the new old inland seas. We could very well end up with mosasaurs by the end of all this.
Do you have sixteen months worth of rations and preservable vitals in your basement? No? Yes? Maybe? How about sixteen years? Six centuries? Sixty-five million years?
Useless useless USELESS.
Surely we must use our monkey brains for some sort of foresight, some kind of understanding! There’s got to be synergy here somewhere.
Listen. Storms are large and bulbuous and funny-coloured.
That makes them very nearly fruit.
So, if we all get together and try very very hard and close our eyes maybe we can just pick the sto
No no no that’s a dumb idea.
What if we climbed up a tree, a really big tree, and we screamed at
Damnit.
Let’s form a complex social hierarchy at
SHIT.
It’s too late now.
It’s here. It’s all over. It’s bad to the bones and it has no bones don’t ask me how it managed this; damned thing has eaten the horizon from all sides and now it’s draining out of our sun and dribbling drizzle across the carpet of our countryside.
I’ve done what I could. Let’s do what we usually do and tell our kids it’s their problem now. That trick usually works.