I dreamt about the end of the world last night. It was a cool dream.
For some reason I’m in Copenhagen, a place I’d love to visit, though not necessarily for the apocolypse. I’m there on business it seems, working on some project. One afternoon I’m working on one of the upper floors of this office building sitting at a desk and I overhear a conversation behind me. At this stage the dream is pretty run of the mill. I turn to interject – they’re talking about my project – and look past them to what seems a fine sky quickly clouding over. A moment later it seems – time is always dodgy in dreams – there is a jolt, and the lights blink off and on, and off again finally. Outside we can see a much changed environment. The sky is wicked, the clouds a dark, foreboding grey, heavy now with smoke. Below the city is in ruins, fire rages, molten lava bubbles up through the buckled streets and like a wave consumes everything in its path. It’s a horrifying sight, but also quite fascinating. No-one can survive it. And then our building begins to tilt…
It’s at that point that my body woke me.
I wonder if it means anything. Isn’t it December 22 the apocolypyse is meant to visit us say the Mayan’s?