A new year begins as they so often do, in red-eyed delirium, in the slight aftertaste of nothing new under the sun, these celebrations always leaving you wanting so you thought you had stopped looking. Morning is heavier still, dragging last night’s lipstick past the early morning yogis of Fort Greene and landing world-weary on your Red Hook front step.
There seems to be little to look forward to this year. The country falls apart under the watchful eyes of those frothing at the mouth to be first to set it aflame. You grow older but seemingly no wiser, you are tired.
A podcast host speaks of play, of how the very essence of humanity is that which our modern supposed civilization has cast aside in favor of rationality and capitalist productivity. You mourn the passing.
Wonder if there’s a way back.
