WELCOME TO THE END OF THE WORLD. From the novel Seven minutes by Ismael Camacho (my father)
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Dear Apollo.
I think this has all finished. I’m leaving this last letter under the sand, for you to read after the party.
I have seen or I’m still seeing the greatest spectacle of all times, and I haven’t paid one penny. Man has become rational for the first time. A few people found a box full of dollars not long ago. They picked up some pieces of bread, while looking at the money with indifference.
The sun had to get fat for that miracle to happen.
It’s the first time I’ve seen men acting like animals. An earthquake has left them without nationalism, money, Gods, millionaires, generals, popes, economists, skyscrapers, nationalities, footballers, clothes, fashion, morals, communists, and all of those other things we thought were eternal.
The last seven minutes ofmankind have redeemed all of that.
I had never seen anything more evil than Homer’s yacht. The bathroom had golden taps and silver toilets with pictures of dancing nymphs. I have the only good thing it had. I’ll tell you later what it is.
We might hear this advice at any time: WE ONLY HAVE SEVEN MINUTES. I’m sitting on the first seats by now, and I don’t want to miss the spectacle. It must be the last act, because the other one has been superb. I think we might expect something even better.
I had not understood the beauty of living up to now. I needed a few general cataclysms and most of humanity buried under the mud to understand the importance of life. They called us Homo sapiens.
What did he do all of this time? He built temples to imaginary Gods. He adored myths, and lived only for them.
I think this is a good thing. This planet has finished and it must be erased from the universe. They must immunise all the other stars in the universe against stupidity, because it’s dangerous. It can produce an infection again.
I want to send luminous messengers to the stars and all the planets. The earth has exploded, they should say: careful with human contamination.
All electrons should be vaccinated before they travel through space and pregnant molecules should be sterilised.
Photons have to wear aprons against stupidity and any protons getting near Jupiter have to present a carnet of health. Contaminated stars have to become comets. They must hang in the telephone posts of the milky way.
It will be forbidden to drink milk for the next 40.000 light years. The twins will be fed by Ursa Major.
We must take advantage of the last few minutes to tell the nearest constellations to stop nasty surprises. An angel can dress as Beta radiation and make a paradise in Centaur.
The sun might not explode. Then they’ll rebuild the White House, the Kremlin and St. Peter in Rome.
Man will be civilised and the sun’s work vindicated.
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