In the last post we saw how you can spot an apocalypse with food trends.
Which is all well and good, but not everything to do with the apocalypse is strictly bad. Example, as previously mentioned, Pimm’s is popular again.
Plus, no one is quite sure what Doomsday will look like in London but here are some popular guesses. (You never know, it might be fun.)
Also the love of the monstrous is widely popular once again. Something that warms the steampunk/Orcish/Lovecraftian/Sauropod cockles of this freakshow heart.
(Sidebar: I liked that interview so much that I went out and bought a copy of The Believer. The wrong copy. Doesn’t appear to have reached London.)
Cthulhu Himself has even reached the giddy heights of fame previously reserved only for Barbara Streisand and Jared from Subway. (Of course, this is all part of the Dreaming One’s plan. You just wait.)
As the kid who was always in the “sand” (dirt and catshit) pit playing with dinosaurs and monsters this development can only be applauded. The dreary North London atheism of The Guardian is such a boring, oatmeal life.
Denying all sense of the mythic is the route of the buzzkill and intellectually unadventurous. It’s so trendy to openly deny the possibility of anything that can’t be patronisingly explained in a BBC documentary fronted by a nineties keyboardist. (I fucking hate that man.) Much better to live in a world where children chant from the Call of Cthulhu because they saw Cartman do it, where Norse gods become attractive movie stars, where the French notion of fantastique re-colonises the stories of the Deep South.
Why is it better?
Because physical existence is not a prerequisite for real world effect or meaning. This is my biggest problem with the current vogue for atheism. Every important moment of your life is informed by Mythos, not Logos:
(I)n the pre-modern world, when people wrote about the past they were more concerned with what the event had meant. A myth was an event which, in some sense, happened once, but which also happened all the time. Because of our strictly chronological view of history, we have no word for such an occurrence, but mythology is an art form that points beyond history to what is timeless in human existence.
That’s from a genuinely wonderful and brief book by the amazing Karen Armstrong called A Short History of Myth. I can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s like a guidebook to how and why humans build meaning into our lives.
Getting to the end is tremendously freeing because the book gives you the tools to wholly enjoy vampires, fairies, ghouls and deities.
The original “Gothick” was a reaction to that absurdly arrogant notion that we live in an explicable universe. (And they didn’t even have The Guardian back then!) Today we don’t strictly have a movement of “New Gothick” because we don’t need it.
It’s ubiquitous. It’s on HBO. It’s in the cinemas. It’s in the books that teenage girls unfortunately use to formulate their ideas of what a great relationship constitutes. (He must be dead, much older than me and Mormon.) Mary Shelley would be loving this.
We should welcome this otherworldly parade back into our lives. They make our experience of meaning in life so much deeper. And it doesn’t matter that the come to us through graphic novel creations or homoerotic Louisiana vampire stories.
Because, as the great Alan Moore says: “The one place the gods inarguably exist is in the human mind where they are real in all their grandeur and monstrosity.”
Speaking of Alan Moore, here’s a full-length documentary about him found through my Bristol e-bestie, Cat.
The Gods are dead. Long live The Gods.