Viking Santa went well…we think. A dangerous mixture of merriment and mead. Christmas blended without grace into New Year’s – don’t ask us which one, we don’t know – and then here we are again. Left to the enormity and vastness of creations, and our internal monologues.
“New Year’s.” I always wanted to call it “Another Year’s.” There’s been billions of them. And if someone gave you just two thousand and thirteen of the same thing, you’d consider the two thousand and fourteenth as ‘Another’; its place on the newness scale be damned.
Besides, ‘New’ would suggest difference, upgrades, improvement. But the sun will rise and set three hundred and sixty five times. Oceans will move. Lives will end and lives will begin.
Not really, anyway. Day by day, you see characteristics, traits, actions, events, situations that have been seen before. “History repeats itself.” ‘Another’ outweighs the ‘new’.
For instance, to draw inspiration from my Wombling friend, both he and I – like so many before us – exist in a world of the ‘We’. The ‘They’ in “that’s what they say.” A faceless entity that can easily put on the face of anyone and everyone.
The rules of ‘Them’ are inscrutable. Proof? The very fact that the ‘They’ exist, and that those who oppose are ostracised, condemned, shackled or deluded.
This future we are approaching, we are all approaching, does not change. Because it won’t. Because it can’t. Because it shouldn’t. The only differences are the names, and that’s just to tell ‘Them’ apart. And no matter who struggles, or how, they’ll lose.
Nothing changes. I am loathe to embrace this future, similar to so many others. Those of us who want to touch the stars before we must work, eat and sleep beneath them.
And that’s why we’re here. HH+W. The ones still clutching at dreams and searching the galaxies. Because we will. Because we can. And because we should.
Homeless Helper and Womble. Here for another year. I certainly don’t want that to change.