As I begin this post, there's more or less one hour left to go before the New Year officially begins in the UK. Obviously, much of the world has already crossed over into the future - millions of bleary, weary, teary fuckers in city centres, backstreet bars, apartment kitchens and A&E units. All waving hello to a shiny new 2012...
Actually, you know what? Fuck 'em. I'm off to bed. I'll finish this tomorrow.
January 1, 2012 12:43pm
Morning (yes, I know, pedantic twat - I'm already gearing myself up for a bad mood here, don't make it worse, k?). I think it's fair to say that the year just ended was far and away the biggest, most monumental, most grotesque pastiche of discord and depression ever in our lifetime. In 2011, the world seemed to be on a twelve month Stella and Meow bender, running round with its shirt off screaming COME OOOON!!! WHO FUCKING WANTS SOME!!!??? and using its self destruct button as a fucking trampoline. Betrayal, brutality, almost global dissent and panic. That's what I got from 2011. Those were the not so subtle 'notes' that were coming through in case you're reading this, Heston Blumenthal. Put your spatula down and do something fucking useful for a change.
2011. The preview warm-up show for the Apocalypse. The support act for....who knows what the fuck is coming, but it would seem those cheeky little Mayans were bang on the fucking money about something. This year marks an end, alright. But of what?
My fucking patience, for starters.
And not just mine, it would seem. It appears quite a few of you lot are gearing up for some justifiable direct action against the bastards that tried AND FAILED to get us to forget we're humans. See - it doesn't matter if 9 out of every 10 are brand slaves, or fashion victims, or TV junkies, or Second Lifers, or whatever - as long as there are a few that can still see, can still think, can engage in the composite materials of modern life and still hold onto their intelligence and critical reasoning - as long as that's the case, there's still hope.
2011 is dead. Spit on the corpse, piss on the ashes.
We've got work to do. And I'll leave you with a little ditty that helps explain why.