Lately, I've been having dreams about apocalyptic catastrophes, like way more than I should be having. In my waking hours, a recent viewing of Tarkovsky's The Sacrifice, as well as recent readings of both Andy Edwards' unpublished, though very excellent, novel Two Deserts Collide, and Soren Narnia's The Curtain and the Earth, probably haven't helped. Not to mention my absolute inability to shake Cormac McCarthy's The Road from my system nearly two years after having read it.
Then, of course, there's the issue of our crumbling economy and the realization of just how incredibly difficult it will be to get things back on track, not just in America but throughout the world. My hope is that I've just been consuming too much heaviness, both in reality and in fiction. But I also can't deny the rising feeling inside me that something is about to go very, very wrong. Let's hope this phase passes. Call me a sissy, but I would really rather not be forced to live through a cataclysmic waking nightmare. Then again, so many others appear to be doing it so why shouldn't I?