And So, Christmas

Sunday, December 31, 2006

It will come as a disarray of display lights and stupid reindeer and wishes and gaping socks and scurrying crowds of people with shopping intentions. The buzz will render you oblivious to anything near the significance of whatever it is that is being celebrated.

And this is how Christmas has been for as long as I could perceive. Just a mass of everything and nothing. Just a glob of pigments and glitters and sashes and remembrances. A mess. A total mess. The kind that gets in the way of an otherwise wonderfully unpredictable existence. The kind that I am itching to scratch off the calendar. The kind of holiday that is as unwelcome as it is negligible.

After all, who really thinks that someone was born seventeen days after being conceived? Or that shepherds, tending to their flock, were really out in the desert during winter?

DURING WINTER! IN THE FUCKING DESERT!

Rubbish.

There really is nothing special about Christmas, er, christmas.

Why even bother spelling it with a capital letter, right?

It is nothing but a fucking date made up to make you feel guilty about not having enough to give or not being blissful enough at that particular moment in time when everybody is supposed to be stumbling over each other in the search for the perfect gift, the perfect giveaway. The perfect excuse to fuck up all year and make up for it just before calendars from burn-the-business-place-when-the-profits-go-haywire fucking Chinese merchants are taken off their gun tacker or push pin or masking tape foundations and shoved into the dustbin.

I am seriously contemplating on starting a massacre on the first week of December next year. Or maybe on the eve of the 24^th. Or maybe as soon as the shopping lines and the tollways get clogged. My aim is to discourage people from celebrating christmas.

At all costs.

There Are No Faerie Tales

Saturday, December 30, 2006

"Six hundred and forty fish later, the only thing I know is everything you love will die. The first time you meet that someone special, you can count on them one day being dead and in the ground."

- Tender Branson, Survivor

 

I guess there will never be a future for me because I cannot guarantee it. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. All that I have learned to determine in all the twenty-six years I have wasted away is that all you can count on is the NOW. And even that's pushing your luck way too far.

In this life, there are no happy endings. No tragic ones either because they would define the exact opposite, making it as existent. Or potent. No, there are only endings. Period. And for all we know, every day is an ending. Every minute. Every second. Endings piled up all over other endings, ending things and events and relations. Here and there.

And when you really really think about it, each and every thing, belief, agenda, journey is made substantial by THE END.

Remembering Flavius Vegetius Renatus

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

"Qui desiderat pacem, bellum praeparat; nemo provocare ne offendere audet quem intelliget superiorem esse pugnaturem".