(via fuckyeahlordoftherings)

We’re the last generation of the old world—once lost and now found. We’re stretched out across the divide, our bodies forming Kafa-esque bridges between one age and the next.  It is our blessing/burden to be called to a place across the abyss of which only the poets have caught glimpses—a shimmering shore where dark, unknowable objects are pulled from the sea and made real. A place fertile with new reality in which spells go off in the corner of your eye and time moves in circles and loops while thoughts are fractals that simultaneously fall apart and come back together again.

So much more and so much less than our world.

We fought through the wilderness—we crossed mountains and mall parking lots and fought bad dreams born between synthetic sheets as we journeyed to the end of the world—finally taking to the deep blue sea that divided us from heaven, sailing through the storm and pressing our hands like Truman on the wall of the horizon.

There is a door leading out but it is up to us to walk through it.

We are the End of the Family line.

We are Legend.

We’re the ragtag group of survivors who make it to the end of the horror movie.  None of us are stars, however, so the audience knows we’re still dispensable and that our jubilation is perhaps a bit premature…

This one goes out to all those who were spared so that they could tell the tale.

http://www.realitysandwich.com/2012_solar_bomb

Every ending is a beginning—just look back and see…