You think it true. You think it into truth. It becomes truth through you.
It is useless to offer reasons why it is a ludicrous text. Useless to say that men write books for and of their times. Useless to say that “apocalyptic” is a rhetorical mode of persuasion and a “stance” towards a particular political reality at a particular moment in history. That would be irrelevant.
And not wholly true. (What is?) My point, if there ever is one, is that truth comes out of you, that you are agent in your living reality. That we are born of stories as much as we are born of women. That those women too are receptacles of story before you are conceived. That you are a receptacle for that story through her before you hear the story; it is encoded.
If you are what you eat then you are also what you receive. Your eyes, voracious mouths, and your ears have internalized the myths of ending.
All that is contained in the NOW of today is palimpsest but remains a rub upon the apocalyptic moment.
In this way we will construct our own doom.
It is for this reason that I would wish Gilgamesh our primary text.
It lacks apocalyptic while containing all of our psychology, yielding a different generation.