Thursday, December 31, 2009
"Year" in Review
Well 2009, you've been an asshole. And you never even thought to apologize. I suppose you have a few hours left, but why should I expect anything at the last second? I stopped counting on you months ago.
You're not even tangible, yet you've given me scars that will never wash out. I scrubbed for months, trying, but it's permanent. So, why not. I'll keep it. I'll even look at it occasionally, maybe even tell people the story of how it happened. But I'll never smile at it. Even if the Lord works evil for good, that doesn't mean a truly evil act wasn't committed. Evil is never synonymous with good. I won't delude myself, no matter how badly you want me to.
And what's to come? A year of new beginnings? Fresh starts? Old cliches? Yes, of course, all of that and more will glaze over the mud and dirt that's been such a disgusting filling for 12 months. I'll be happy for a while, symbolically of course. For my happiness is also intangible, a representation of the uncontrollable circumstances I must endure every waking moment of my life. The meaning is in the symbols, the meaninglessness is in the practice.
A laugh here or there will medicate, and lousy days will return. But my perceptions are broader as a result of your cruelty. You jammed a crowbar into the elevator, and twisted the doors open.
And contentment will remain. Because, the man who says light can overcome darkness doesn't understand entropy. Light is not stronger than darkness, but merely a moment of contrast. Neither have strength, but both contribute to blindness. It is my eyes that are weak. My eyes will eventually rot away, leaving darkness and light as nothing but neutral forms of Ouroboros.
Whatever I learned from you, year, I take with me to the next. One symbol to another. Your timeframe may have been helpful. To what, I can't say. To who, that's unclear. But the symbol of 2010 is marked by continuance. Not betterment, or even hopefulness, but another step on a path.
A yellow, brick road leads to cities where nothing is as it seems. But everything is still true. A perception will change, in accordance with the amount of contrasting light and darkness (hitting the cornea, bouncing back something honest).
Thanks for nothing, year. I have so much more wisdom now, and I hate you because of it. I'm glad. And hopeful. And relieved. Hear my sigh as one that breathes molecules of palm tree debris. A scratch in my throat that will never heal. A hanging head that hangs not for its own sake, but for those who have not yet discovered your frivolity. Your lies are nothing new. A marker is nothing if not a reminder of placement. As I continue through, I do so without thanks. You mean nothing to me. Just as I have meant nothing to you.