Last Word

The one thing above all others that sets man apart from other animals is the fatalistic gene; fear of evil, fear of an ever present end.For what else is there to set us apart? Is it politics? I see no difference in a baboon shouting out, declaring his strength over an ignorant group of baboons who have nothing to flaunt but red cracks, and a man shouting from a podium decorated words to a bewildered crowd.O great crowds, where is your freedom? Look at the sea; rolling in the sun's cradle being rocked by warm hands, see how its blue eyes know no tears, he is free as you must be.

Ever since man could stand upright, and he could taste the sea of leaves that fell from the tree of life, he has sweated corroded blood worrying when the end of his kind, his world would come.Will it come about by a rebellion of jaguars, who will turn on their human masters and make a feast of prematurebrains and infantile fingers? Or will he who devours the sun turn his hunger on the earth and join the feast of the jaguars? Such is the price we pay for our advanced minds: the intelligence to know that all this must someday end.

Thousands of years later, we have not changed.Everyday our minds are haunted by the thoughts of an increasingly intimate caress of luminous gold.Such fears can only be silenced by the great silence.And yet, despite our constant fear of the end, no one ever thinks about what they might do when it happens or how humanity would react.And the first question that came to my mind, as it stood alone on a dance floor trying to get the courage to ask muse for a dance, is what would be the last word ever uttered by man? And also, where would it happen? Perhaps it would come on a beach, turned red from gold as it prayed for the so far immoral bliss of a merciful death.Or in a sacred cave, bearded by time, confident that he will soon be greated by the Creator.Or on the edge of a silver dagger, whose steel flesh was turned from cold to warm by uncontained desires that lingered on infested finger nails like lice clings to unpaid hair.

What would be the tone of the last word? Could it be something as banal as a plea for salvation? Could it be something as trivial as a final decleration of love to the heart of a disused skeleton? Could it be a great laugh even, as if to say "what did you expect?" But for me the most probable, and I say this becaise I study the history of the heavens, would be the mutterings of drunken lips begging for another round.What a fitting end that would be! To die as we have lived, begging for what we don't have.