Year 9

So we're on the cusp of the new year, effectively the day we somewhat arbitrarily as a culture decided to say the old shite's done, let's dig in for a new pile of steamy goodness.

I don't much by into the hype, don't create resolutions, don't think of it as a fresh start (seriously, change is moment to moment, in small bits, these boundaries are complete constructions) but I do like to use it for some reflection. A check point, if you will, of convenience. Within the depths of a glass of tequila (likely me last for a long time), a chance to consider if where I'm at is where I want to be, and if I'm pointed in somewhat close to the right direction.

It is a time to evoke the spectres of chaos looming through the haze of cigar smoke, stare the past in the face with bloodshot eyes and say hey, fucker, we're done. Even if it's not quite done with me. Because even though we can't change the past, it continues to fuck with us. The past is brain-damaged monkey dangling out of reach from the branch of the tree of life, hurling it's shit at us. The things we do have a way of popping back up on us, even if we've forgotten all about them. And it frequently likes to wank off at us, mockingly, humping the air madly in arousal at our transgressions, our mistakes and our failings.

So as you step into the New Year, be ready to duck.

This will be a year of chaos. And that's a good thing. Because you can always depend on the break down of order, on things never maintaining the status quo. Use it to your advantage.