"Well then! once more!"
"I'm waiting in my cold cell
When the bell begins to chime
Reflecting on my past life
And it doesn't have much time."
--Iron Maiden, 'Hallowed Be Thy Name'.
"The only thing worth living for is life."
--Will Shatter.
It's New Years Eve. This is number 18, if I'm not mistaken; and I'm asking myself where the fuck they went. What did I do? Sleep, I expect. The last one that I vividly remember was the Millenium: we stayed up to midnight, eat ridiculously greasy food, I drank beer for the first time. The last six years have been the most astonishing of my life, too full to the brim with memories, but I haven't had a New Year's Eve good enough to remember.
New Year's Eve has a double purpose: saying goodbye to the old, and greeting the new. Well, this year's been the best I've ever had. No, really. 2006 has been another fucking turning-point for me, alongside all the others I've kept from my adolescence. This last half-year in particular has been the weirdest of my life: being led by my nose through the tunnels of thought and life, being led into contact with a world I've learned, bizarrely, to love. In Thus Spake Zarathustra, Nietzsche proposed the idea of the 'eternal return': that at the end of time, everything would come back, exactly as it was; history would repeat itself precisely. Ignoring the whole shit of the implications for free will, Nietzsche said that the ultimate test would be whether the idea filled you with horror; or whether your love for the world was so strong you would want everything to be repeated. Zarathustra, with a flick of his hand, cries out: "Is that life? Well then, once more!"
The life of man is not a circle, but a straight line, leading from the cradle to the grave. The path is murky; every step is a step into the unknown, whether you are convinced you are "cautious", or not. But I can't help looking back and saying: Yes, another year will do fine for me. Another year in which to fuck up, to succeed, to carry on. Fuck it, that's right, I have reasons for living. Just like everyone else. Undoubtedly I'm still as fucked as I ever was, but I don't care at the moment.
So yes, I wanted to thank the people who've helped me, not just to get through the year, but want another one.
Thanks:
John, Tom (for stopping me from drowning myself), Ross, Irish Will, Mark, Jo, Laura, Kat, Muz, Kathy, Big John, Tom fizzle, Pete, Jack and Jonny, Zach (both of them, despite the other's abscence), Vicky, Dom, George, Big George, Lakshman, Sarah, "Bob", Everett True and the guys at Plan B, the staff of The Wire, especially Simon Reynolds, the people at Mixing It, Touch And Go Records, Sonic Youth, These Arms Are Snakes, Lewis, Will K, Dan C, Ash, Dananananaykroyd, The Blood Brothers, The Cravats, Karen O and whatever her name is, the one from The Duke Spirit, Friedrich Nietzsche, Eugene Hutz, Tim Krieder, Richard Linklater and Philip K. Dick, Nick Cave, Steph (heh), Scott Walker, Arthur Guinness, Jim Beam, Henri-Louis Pernod, the good people at the Anarchist Bookfair, Iron Maiden, all the good secondhand bookshops in Bournemouth (there are a few), CSS, BBC 6 Music, Greil Marcus and any other writers I really liked but can't remember. Cheers.
No thanks:
The cocksuckers at Southwest Trains. Get your fucking act together, or re-nationalise. Just remember, I know where you live.
Back in the new year.
When the bell begins to chime
Reflecting on my past life
And it doesn't have much time."
--Iron Maiden, 'Hallowed Be Thy Name'.
"The only thing worth living for is life."
--Will Shatter.
It's New Years Eve. This is number 18, if I'm not mistaken; and I'm asking myself where the fuck they went. What did I do? Sleep, I expect. The last one that I vividly remember was the Millenium: we stayed up to midnight, eat ridiculously greasy food, I drank beer for the first time. The last six years have been the most astonishing of my life, too full to the brim with memories, but I haven't had a New Year's Eve good enough to remember.
New Year's Eve has a double purpose: saying goodbye to the old, and greeting the new. Well, this year's been the best I've ever had. No, really. 2006 has been another fucking turning-point for me, alongside all the others I've kept from my adolescence. This last half-year in particular has been the weirdest of my life: being led by my nose through the tunnels of thought and life, being led into contact with a world I've learned, bizarrely, to love. In Thus Spake Zarathustra, Nietzsche proposed the idea of the 'eternal return': that at the end of time, everything would come back, exactly as it was; history would repeat itself precisely. Ignoring the whole shit of the implications for free will, Nietzsche said that the ultimate test would be whether the idea filled you with horror; or whether your love for the world was so strong you would want everything to be repeated. Zarathustra, with a flick of his hand, cries out: "Is that life? Well then, once more!"
The life of man is not a circle, but a straight line, leading from the cradle to the grave. The path is murky; every step is a step into the unknown, whether you are convinced you are "cautious", or not. But I can't help looking back and saying: Yes, another year will do fine for me. Another year in which to fuck up, to succeed, to carry on. Fuck it, that's right, I have reasons for living. Just like everyone else. Undoubtedly I'm still as fucked as I ever was, but I don't care at the moment.
So yes, I wanted to thank the people who've helped me, not just to get through the year, but want another one.
Thanks:
John, Tom (for stopping me from drowning myself), Ross, Irish Will, Mark, Jo, Laura, Kat, Muz, Kathy, Big John, Tom fizzle, Pete, Jack and Jonny, Zach (both of them, despite the other's abscence), Vicky, Dom, George, Big George, Lakshman, Sarah, "Bob", Everett True and the guys at Plan B, the staff of The Wire, especially Simon Reynolds, the people at Mixing It, Touch And Go Records, Sonic Youth, These Arms Are Snakes, Lewis, Will K, Dan C, Ash, Dananananaykroyd, The Blood Brothers, The Cravats, Karen O and whatever her name is, the one from The Duke Spirit, Friedrich Nietzsche, Eugene Hutz, Tim Krieder, Richard Linklater and Philip K. Dick, Nick Cave, Steph (heh), Scott Walker, Arthur Guinness, Jim Beam, Henri-Louis Pernod, the good people at the Anarchist Bookfair, Iron Maiden, all the good secondhand bookshops in Bournemouth (there are a few), CSS, BBC 6 Music, Greil Marcus and any other writers I really liked but can't remember. Cheers.
No thanks:
The cocksuckers at Southwest Trains. Get your fucking act together, or re-nationalise. Just remember, I know where you live.
Back in the new year.
posted by Dan at 3:37 AM
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