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Whittling it all away
12/19/23 02:16 pmCreeping up on the end of the Gregorian calendar year again, and it’s mostly trepidation and fear for next year, at least on a national and global stage. On a personal level, I feel like it’ll be better. Things feel sort of like they’ll be more even. It can’t be much more unbalanced than this year has been, anyway. Well, it could. It could be 2019. But I don’t get that kind of feeling from it.
Might be pure superstition, but that’s where I’m sitting — crown of thorns firmly fixed, blood trickling down my face, a serene smile gleaming into the darkness like a sickle moon.
It’s all metaphor and simile around here these days because who knows what’s going to happen. I can’t Cassandra the world any further than: things will continue. things will end. I still have an unshakeable faith in the ability of the planet to keep spinning on no matter what horrors humans inflict on it and each other.
We’re so good at horrors.
I was wrong, by the by. He had one more chance to make us all shiver, one final chance to make us cry before the person he left all his stories to wraps everything up in their own way. I took a friend with me who I thought would be right to be there and I was not wrong, even though everything else felt strange. A library. It was always cafes, always October, not his birthday. But it’s all over now. There’s nothing else to tell, only memories to lay gently to rest in their own precious velvet-lined coffin with all the others.
It’s almost the solstice, shortest day of the year, darkest and deepest, adjunct to so many holy days in so many cultures. Most people respect winter, and marking the shift towards light is important.
I’m afraid, very afraid, of the politics of next year. But hopeful anyway that something will shift towards the positive. I’m just going to have to work harder in my own milieu to make up for it, that’s all.
Might be pure superstition, but that’s where I’m sitting — crown of thorns firmly fixed, blood trickling down my face, a serene smile gleaming into the darkness like a sickle moon.
It’s all metaphor and simile around here these days because who knows what’s going to happen. I can’t Cassandra the world any further than: things will continue. things will end. I still have an unshakeable faith in the ability of the planet to keep spinning on no matter what horrors humans inflict on it and each other.
We’re so good at horrors.
I was wrong, by the by. He had one more chance to make us all shiver, one final chance to make us cry before the person he left all his stories to wraps everything up in their own way. I took a friend with me who I thought would be right to be there and I was not wrong, even though everything else felt strange. A library. It was always cafes, always October, not his birthday. But it’s all over now. There’s nothing else to tell, only memories to lay gently to rest in their own precious velvet-lined coffin with all the others.
It’s almost the solstice, shortest day of the year, darkest and deepest, adjunct to so many holy days in so many cultures. Most people respect winter, and marking the shift towards light is important.
I’m afraid, very afraid, of the politics of next year. But hopeful anyway that something will shift towards the positive. I’m just going to have to work harder in my own milieu to make up for it, that’s all.
