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If there’s one thing that’s certain about predictions of the apocalypse, it’s that none of them have been correct to date. The mother of all end-of-the-world predictions was 2012 — according to all that Mayan calendar mumbo-jumbo — and yet, here we are.

Or at least, here is where we think we are. Perhaps the apocalypse did in fact happen, and I sit here deluded in some sort of “Jacob’s Ladder” purgatory, the rest of you all just figments of the past creating a simulacrum of life as I once knew it. Or maybe it’s me who’s the figment, existing only in your bardo dream.

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