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Susitna Writer's Voice

Susitna Writer's Voice--On My Way to the Apocalypse, by Ellen Thea

Ellen Thea reads from her small-book-length poem, On My Way to the Apocalypse. The illustrated poem book is available from her, and from Dancing Leaf Gallery in Talkeetna. Ellen Thea-On

By KTNA Staff 4 min read

 Ellen Thea reads from her small-book-length

poem, On My Way to the Apocalypse.

The illustrated poem book is available from her,

and from Dancing Leaf Gallery in Talkeetna.

Ellen Thea-On My Way to the Apocalypse-7-6-2014

It was December 21, 2012. I was on my way to the apocalypse, minding my own business, when a funny thing happened….

 

Scotty beamed me up.

 

A Mayan madman jumped out in front of me and shouted, “Fooled ya!”

 

Meanwhile, a bluebird started singing loudly, madly, badly, out of tune, off key while a monarch butterfly spiraled around me and a fairy danced up a blade of grass.

At last, 100% of us became 100 percenters.

 

Then I remembered, everything is an illusion. We are on the holodeck and the safeties are off.

 

I found out HAARP is not a musical instrument…

 

I discovered that beer is the eighth food group and chocolate, the seventh.

 

I decided to do what I usually do… I wrote a short poem.

 

Dying On The Trip To Nowhere

 

oh but the trip to everywhere leaves you breathless…

 

Ruminating in the delusional crush I decided to write a longer poem.

 

And smiled Yoda did because the Force with me was.

 

Knowing there is no ending, but only the beginning of the start of the beginning again, an endless chain of recursive events.

 

As I counted the angels dancing on the head of a pin, I heard a voice calling my name and green fire burst out my ass.

 

The building storm finally broke.

 

Silver rain trickled through my hair, down my nose, drenched my clothes.

 

The apocalypse will not be televised.

 

We’re all on a speeding bullet train, headed straight to our own demise. From first breath, we are on our way to the apocalypse.

 

You think you’ve got all the time in the world, but when it comes to the wire, Bam! The apocalypse, shattered dust, and you’ve been asleep your whole life.

 

It was then that I realized Someone has a wicked sense of humor. I’m not saying who, just Someone.

 

In other news, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Gandhi, and Mother Teresa were playing Texas Hold’Em – winner takes all.

 

I saw a fleet of flying monkeys racing to catch the flying pigs, and heard an eerie chuckle.

 

“

Yes, my pretty, that’s the one!”

 

Oh, so you heard it too.

 

So I clicked my heels together three times (note to self: the apocalypse requires shoes) because there has never been anywhere like home, even in black and white, with the old man disappearing into the woods.

 

Down the road, I met my one true love, went to Vega and got married.

 

But that’s all I can tell, because what happens on Vega stays on Vega, baby!

 

In the background, I heard Nero fiddling while the city burned. Good thing happened though. I found Nemo, who promptly suggested that we party like it’s 1999.

 

“

‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves,” Lewis Carroll recited from “Jabberwocky” to an open mic audience emceed by Lady Death.

 

I know this because when I passed her the salt, she flashed her tattoo and winked at me.

 

I floated up to say hello to the Easter Bunny, who gave his regards to Harvey, the invisible six foot rabbit.

 

I saw Elvis. Arguing. With Michael Jackson, over kingship.

 

Sasquatch was there too, watching from the grassy knoll.

 

I was inspired, so I became the hundredth monkey flier, and tipped the balance of the infinite scale.

 

But when I picked up my tools, I lost my ticket to the big show.

 

I was thirsty (who wouldn’t be after all this?) so I stopped in at the Fairview Inn for a beer (where the odds are good, but the goods are odd), and while engaged in a reverie of sorts, the apocalypse rolled on merrily without me.

 

As I dozed off, a cat purred on my feet. Suddenly my toes were wet. Thinking nothing of it, I shooed the cat off my feet. Then I felt something crawling up my leg. A newborn kitten.

 

So I whistled a happy tune. I mean, after all, the apocalypse will not be televised, so how can it be real?

 

I ate green eggs and ham.

 

I danced with the stars. E.T. phoned home.

 

And even though I won American Idol, I was still voted off the island.

 

I stood on the shore; I watched my ship come in, but the tide was out.

 

Neo explained,

“

It’s not the red pill or the blue pill; it’s the new improved super purple pill.”

 

The rabbit hole was deep and I just kept going.

 

But then things got a little crazy.

 

Someone had dropped LSD in my survival drinking water, but I knew I would be safe because

 

I happened to have handy my gas mask (bought for 25 cents at a yard sale) and my baseball bat.

 

I am prepared!

 

I discovered it wasn’t a dream. I discovered it was a dream. I realized the church was right. I realized the church was wrong.

 

Just in time for refreshments, the Mad Hatter invited me to a tea party.

 

For the pause that really refreshes, I was doing my business when the outhouse started to shake.

 

Was it an earthquake? A bear? Hallucinations? Or had the apocalypse just caught up with me?

 

No, the outhouse fell into the hole.

 

Holy crap.

 

The key is, no matter where you go, there you are.

 

So where was I at?

 

I heard a loud noise. Then I felt the breeze.

 

I realized it wasn’t the end of the world after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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