Thursday, January 1, 2015

Auld Lang Syne Wave Goodbye Say Hello


    Just as the baby Alien sprang from John Hurt’s stomach, glistening with the slime of novelty, so 2015 bursts from Santa’s decaying corpse.

    There’s something refreshing about New Year, a sense of manufactured impetus hungry for future sequels whose initial thrashing about the Nostromo fixtures and fittings is puppy-like in its enthusiasm for the Here and Now.

    To take full advantage of the occasion, we must all be prepared to revel in Santa’s death.

    He was a good man, he was a bad man, his beard finally stripped of snowy innocence in a festive facial hair morphwarp to rival Dickens’ Christmas Present ghost’s shenanigans (only backwards, regressing to the careworn shag of Hurt’s War Doctor).

    I think the technical term for this is “out with the old, in with the new”.

    And herein lies the crux of the New Year Miracle.

    In his famous 1979 Feeley Monastery lecture, spiritual adviser to the starless The Yeged-Godi urged us to pay heed to the Buddhist tradition of ‘cyclic wankcraft’ — essentially the journey of a single sperm from tadpole-like scrotal swimmer to fertiliser of egg to child or dog or puma, and all the way back to sperm again via the wonder of cell diffusion, digestion, DNA (and a whole bunch of other biology/physiology/sciency stuff).

    The point he made was that change was inevitable.

    The old will always find (or be shown) the exit door (think: when did you last retweet Marlon Brando?) and the new will forever spawn, like aliens bursting from Hurts.

    The only question to ask yourself, in this maelstrom of tango twixt novelty and demise, is on which side of the change do I want to be?

    January 1st implores you to be change’s agent.

    Complete with tricksy wristwatch from Q.
   
    Keep watching the dial and maybe you can avoid becoming change’s servant by February 3rd...




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