This morning I awoke to this unsigned email:

Gary Doe committed suicide like Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide. Glowing like a yellow UFO? You know not whereof you speak. Watch the Duster. Watch what happens to the Duster. Remember that it was in the bleak December that each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

The message came from the email address shadowlovesbbw@theshadow.com

Though he always knocks my interpretations out from under me, I can’t help but think that this is a shadowy reference to the ominous and fast-approaching date 12/21/2012. A reference, then, to the end of the world.

Nietzsche (1844-1900) with the big walrus mustache his sister grew on his living corpse after he went into a syphilitic coma. In this picture, Herr Nietzsche is actually catatonic. The arm his head appears to be resting on is propped up on the blind side. Lemme tell you, advanced syphilis fucking sucks.

With this much in mind, I will not speculate more. I will only offer this perspective on the coming apocalypse from everyone’s favorite proto-Nazi (though he was emphatically NOT anti-Semitic), Friedrich Nietzsche:

In some remote corner of the universe, flickering in the light of the countless solar systems into which it had been poured, there was once a planet on which clever animals invented cognition. It was the most arrogant and most mendacious minute in the 'history of the world'; but a minute was all it was. After nature had drawn just a few more breaths the planet froze and the clever animals had to die.

Someone could invent a fable like this and yet they would still not have given satisfactory illustration of just how pitiful, how insubstantial and transitory, how purposeless and arbitrary the human intellect looks within nature; there were eternities during which it did not exist; and when it has disappeared again, nothing will have happened. For this intellect has no further mission that might extend beyond the bounds of human life. Rather, the intellect is human, and only its own possessor and progenitor regards it with such pathos, as if it housed the axis around which the entire world revolved. But if we could communicate with a gnat we would hear that it too floats through the air with the very same pathos, feeling that it too contains within itself the flying centre of this world.

From "On Truth and Lying in the Non-Moral Sense," 1873.