> ## Content Index
> Fetch the complete content index at: https://hyperallergic.com/llms.txt
> Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further.

# Weekend Words: Apocalypto
- URL: https://hyperallergic.com/weekend-words-apocalypto/
- Published: 2012-12-16T16:40:26.000Z
- Updated: 2025-11-24T16:35:58.000Z
- Description: If the Mayan calendar has it right, this is the last Weekend Words before the end of the world. Nice knowing you.
- Author: Weekend Editors
- Tags: Opinion, Weekend, Weekend Words, #wp, #wp-post, #image-position-hidden, #Import 2025-11-24 06:51 (2012, 2013, part 1)

![](https://storage.ghost.io/c/51/f8/51f871d8-b6be-4a73-b958-0ca4fff0110a/content/images/hyperallergic-newspack-s3-amazonaws-com/uploads/2012/12/apocalypse-wga.jpg)

Spanish Unknown Masters, “The Seventh Angel of the Apocalypse Proclaiming the Reign of the Lord” (c. 1180). Tempera, gold, and ink on parchment, 445 x 300 mm. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. (Image via the Web Gallery of Art)

*An exquisite corpse of apposite quotes from the Hyperallergic Weekend Editors.*

If the Mayan calendar has it right, this is the last Weekend Words before the end of the world. Nice knowing you.

> “It isn’t necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice — there are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia.”  
>  
> **—Frank Zappa**

> “So when the last and dreadful hour  
> This crumbling pageant shall devour,  
> The trumpet shall be heard on high,  
> The dead shall live, the living die,  
> And Music shall untune the sky”  
>  
> **—John Dryden, “A Song for St. Cecilia’s Day, 1687”**

> “He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.”  
>  
> **—Cormac McCarthy, The Road**