...the end is not the end...

...the end...

CansaFis Foote

Jun 27, 2024

1×

0:00

-46:42

“The end is in the beginning and lies far ahead.”

-Ralph Ellison-

THE END IS NOT THE END (the end)

The end.

I went ahead and started at the end so that we don’t have to go any further. That was the end. This is not the end. This is not the end, because the end is not the end. And the end is not the beginning, though I know it sometimes might appear that way. I warn you, there is nothing after this that is conclusively conclusive. I started with the end. You’re welcome. Now you can move on with your day. You can get started. The end.

But unfortunately the end is not the end.

When I originally wrote this piece, something you can read at the end of this piece, I was wrestling with how hard it is to actually end anything. I think we could use more ends. Take for instance war. After we had our first war (...we = humanity = humaniweee…) we could have stopped. There was no need for more wars. That could have been the end. Yet here we are and over 25% of the population on earth is affected by conflict.1 When will it end?

We have produced hundreds of thousands of different phones and tv-sets and Star Wars set books, tv-shows and movies. There are over 500 episodes of Teletubbies. What if instead we just had a teletubby? That could have been the end. That should have been the end.

But the end is not the end.

An ending is important. It is noteworthy. My dog’s mom passed away yesterday (…r.i.p. Alabama Gravy Racecar…). She was beautiful, happy, living her life hiking, having babies, and stealing beers and sausages from strangers. Because of her I got to meet my dog at his beginning. Yesterday was the end of her today. I will miss her tomorrow. I hope that the end is not the end and I remember her unendingly.

(a video of her fluffy wagging end)

To prepare me for accepting her end, my friends sent me a link to cat butthole covers, a reminder that we like to cover up our ends. I wear hats, shoes, gloves and pants so that my body’s ends are adorned and unseen. I hide my ends. I do this out of politeness, habit, and a need to put purple on my parts. I can’t handle the end.

I attend to my loose ends, working towards my weekends spent watching end zones seeking front ended open ended bookends as a tail ended end result for some end user’s happy ending. This seems like a dead end. But the end is not the end.

“All good things must come to an end.” is an english proverb I’ve heard throughout my life. It’s origin is a poem by Geoffrey Chaucer called "Troilus and Criseyde" (written in the 1380s).

Chaucer wrote:

"But at the last, as every thing hath ende, She took hir leve, and nedes wolde wende."

Which in modern English translates roughly to:

"But at last, as everything has an end, She took her leave, and needs must wend."

When I read that I think that we used the call ends, wends. That should have been the end. It should have been the wend. But even the wend is not the end, because wend means to proceed, not to end. Wend will it end?

There is no end until we declare it, so maybe what is important is not the end itself, but the recognition of it? And so I come to the end of this, and yet I can’t end it. This was my third attempt to write “The End Is Not the End” and it just won’t end. If you keep reading you will find my second and first attempts. Perhaps getting to the beginning might find me an ending?

I want closure but can’t close the door. I might be afraid of the end, or maybe I just don’t want this to end? I want endless unending neverendings. I don’t want the end to end. To that end I am saying this is the end. But if you read this far you already know my truth. The end is not the end.

The end.

“There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story.”

-Frank Herbert-

“Everything is going to be fine in the end. If it's not, it's not the end.”

-Volksweisheit-

THE END IS NOT THE END (the middle)

editor’s note – this was my second draft of the end

The end is not the end.

The book is over. I can pick it up and read it again. I can start from page end and read backwards to page beginning. I can rip out the pages as I read, chew them like bubble gum, and make paper-cut paper-mache in my mouth.

The end is not the end.

The show is over. The actors have bowed, the orchestra packed their bassoons, and the janitor is mopping my bits of popcorn and beef jerky from the speckled maroon linoleum floor. I think about what I saw. I forget it. Years later I am reminded I was there and all I can see is a hazy mash of cloud colored ideas that sound like “uuuuuuuuuuuuu”.

The end is not the end.

The bridge is over. That was a song by Boogie Down Productions. That is a song by Boogie Down Productions. It is considered a diss track and it imitates a rap by Billy Joel towards the end of the song. Bruce Springsteen has a secret hip hop record he made while working on the soundtrack for the movie Philadelphia.2 Every song made has a chance to be listened to, and every listening has a chance to inspire someone to make something else.

The end is not the end.

Today is over. I pull down the mattress from the wall, projecting science fiction on the t-shirt thin gray sheet cover. I pile what blankets I don’t make as a pillow. I stare up at the screen to wash out whatever I might need to do tomorrow, sending my thoughts of tomorrow that live in today onto tomorrow (or some other day, including potentially no other day). I sleep today, today is tonight, tonight is tomorrow, and tomorrow is today again. Today is never over.

The end is not the end.

The idea is over. This game can be played like guessing the exact number of jelly beans in a jar (guess how many times). But to what end? Recognizing stops and starts, heres and theres, are great ways of finding one’s place in the world. The end is our friend for it gives us chance to rest and reflect. The end pauses us. The end ends us. But…

The end is not the end.

I am over. I am over my own bullshit. I dusted myself up, and beat my brain with a broomstick. I can’t say broomstick without hearing witch, and witch without wizard, and wizard without wine, and wine without chocolate, and chocolate without chocolate. My end is something I sit on. My end is flat polish and pimply. My end is an ass. I can be an ass. I can also be great.

The end is not the end.

The thought is over. Over.3 To agreement or concord. Across. In an excessive manner. Beyond limits. Above. Through. Covering a whole surface. Once more. Over is an incredible thought, so much idea in just four letters worth seven points in scrabble. Over is endless, so many possible ways of getting, seeing and being over. The thought is overdone. The thought is overbegun.

The end is not the end.

The end is over. I find there is no proper way to stop anymore so I have started stopping where I began. If the end is not the end, then when will it ever end? It is a conundrum: a con, an undrum, no beating in rhythm. The end is the end. Your turn.

“Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

-Winston Churchill-

“The end may justify the means as long as there is something that justifies the end.”

-Leon Trotsky-

THE END IS NOT THE END (the beginning)

editor’s note – this was my first draft of the end

Don’t live by rules thought a fool to the fool.

I feed on such thoughts. I eat but, if, what, when, like now, here, asap pie. My blackberry is covered in whipped cream. My apple phone needs a banana and cherries.

I don’t live by rules thought a me to me.

I chirp selfishly to me self, less me all day long. Where else can I find out why it is winding up the way my chattering teeth and feet set out to waddle?

Thoughts on know-ledges

I don’t know…

I want to know…

I try to know…

Sometimes I think I know…

…to know is to be sure, to be sure is to be unsearching, certainly certainty has value but so too does the path of confusion (confusingly)…

…ANNE EKK^^DOTE…

Purpose is a porpoise, protect me from all sharks. TV would be better with a costume ban, everyone looks likes they looks and the idea is just ideal. It is easier to be embarrassed no words in the world. Our internal hidden held inside has not hope for bloom.

My exist has become a list, hoping it can become an open, wanting it can be wanton (crispy, sometimes cheesy, and easily consumable).

The bee gins the end a gin.

Two drinkers drunk on scent of skunk.

The nothing forgets me not.

I mean, that’s mean.

The intersection of me and me is a meme.

I’m not I said I am.

The end is not the end.

Choosing, concluding, accepting. I’m over acts of over. Discovery is better than disco. I’m overtly obviously being obnoxiously obtuse because obtaining observation in oblique obscurity obligates obedience. The cloak of ob so I don’t become slob.

The end is not the end.

I would keep doing this all day, especially if I couldn’t, but I can’t so I won’t.

The end is not the end.

It is impossible truth, the impossible. A belief in the unbelievable doesn’t prove lies so much as it lies inside truth. We wield we, our us the paintbrush. Your I is my Eye. Oh me, oh my (eye eye eye).

The end is not the end.

It could all be over. But to be over admits a move against and beyond, some object you overcome, or become higher then. I want to see the object as it is, not as I rise against it. The goals of others is to other each other. I other me to be an other. Someday I want to consider being considerate. Someday I want to today.

The wind washes my hair dirty enough to stink okay. Since I quit conditioning I have nothing but split ends.

The end is not the end.