Three Hundred and Sixty Five Ways to Vanish – Happy New Nothing

Idiots, waiting for the end of a 365-days cycle to plan, love, forgive, do “good” and remember the ones worth the remembrance; all to be forgotten by the dawn of a brand new day, a day that’s no different from any other day except for the stench of shame that stinks off your soul during a 24 hours marathon of alcohol consumption, improvised patriotism, consumerist-grade immaturity and primal screams of beasts trapped within.

Time is defined not by the way you break it down into equal, swallowable doses of darkness and light, but by the deeds that outlast the decomposition of your mundane existence, separate from time and space, separate from the temporary selfish measures of right and wrong, separate from the savage genes which would kill one of their own to survive a hand-made apocalypse.

Here a toast, to a species that keeps stabbing itself in the hand, forever learning, forever failing, forever falling, and soon to be wiped off the face of the earth.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, fade to blank.

H.Q.
03:14
Monday
31/12/2012