Here’s wishing you a happy and tragic pre-and-post New Year’s Day

Dearly beloved,

We are gathered here to mourn this showy pretense we call a ‘New Year’, or ‘2018’, and celebrate with false euphoria, only seemingly increasing dopamine levels, exchanging ‘hugs’ or ‘hearts’ or ‘cuddles’ or ‘emoticons’ or ‘virtual E-Cards’ or ‘Hallmark Cards,’ the last, if you’re old-fashioned for a day, and decide that it’s worth the effort to drag yourself to that rustic bookstore that Kindle has replaced, and then go on and on about the smell of books, and the flavor of nouns and verbs jumping from the page straight to your heart or mind, tantalizing and enlightening you. So we, here, have enough experiential insight to know that it’s better to wish you a happy pre-New Year’s day and a tragic post-New Year’s day, because I guess we’re slightly sadistic watching you, using our mind’s eye to see you make your resolutions. I will…I will…I will…and then watch with a smug grin as each thing you tick off is stricken off the very next day, and you’re left hopeless. Then you’ll perhaps resort to stringing pills together like poetic alliteration (uncannily, unyieldingly, unbendingly) and think you’ll sleep easy, but wake up stupid and walk around in a stupor and perhaps never recover. Or, you’ll decide to take that machismo path; go to a bar, shoot some tequila and shake your head, and then walk straight out while people look at you in wonder increasing your false-ego, before heading for a gutter and puking your guts out. Or, you’ll feel the loneliness seeping from the sidewalks and buildings and the muted-ashen weather, and yes the inspiration for the last sentence is from a book by J.M. Coetzee called ‘Youth’, and you’ll find it on page 52 and the context is about a dreamer with vaguely erotic, unrealistic expectations, finding himself losing grip as life catches up. And yes, that’s just the micro-context, but the macro-context with the jargon of theory is best left to the critics. And yes, I’m making a point here: Do not quote without context. Anyhow, I’m going off tangent, and letting my straight path of consciousness take an unnecessary turn, and so, I’ll get back. You could also decide to take to cough syrup and an antispasmodic, the low-high, I think it’s called a ‘downer’, but what do I know, before you fight more muscle spasms and wheezing. Anyhow, whatever you do is your prerogative, we’re busy shedding fake-tears for you with all the fake-warmth the universe or cosmos can provide, and writing ‘2018’ on a ripped off sheet from a notebook and placing it in a miniature coffin, and burying it both literally and figuratively. Please do feel the need to share your experiences of plotting excuses, breaking promises, or other morbid realities with us. We are not the stars and cannot shine our light, or the split moon with its cadence, or the sun with its exotic warmth, but we’ll listen and switch off.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

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32 responses

    • And, I’m returned from a vacation so apologize I have not been able to keep up with your posts. I also have to be in a specific mood to be able to do them the justice they deserve. Sporadic immersion is very sweet!

      • Bah, WP forces me into sporadic immersion. It does weird things when it comes to followers and following. Too much for an old man! But moods shift as you read. Well that’s my interpretation at least. I guess the counter-perspective is to shift the mood and then read! Well, I’m seventy and learning still!

      • Are you seventy now? Sorry I missed your birthday. Well about 40 of them. But you have aged well, like my favourite cheese. Crusty exterior but an inner flavour worth exploring :)

      • So they tell me 😌 But at night all I hear is a cardiac metronome that is too familiar. Looking forward to another 50 years of it. Hope you are too?!

      • They do? Or is that emoticon seemingly naive. Mine might have been! And I’m older and no longer hear the metronome. It’s sweet prescription to sleep now. The metronome is measuring out your life in coffee spoons, and I’ve done my share of Prufrocking and I’m now bollocking that silly phase in life. You’ll learn as you grow young one.

      • Prufrocking I coined, all that’s needed is T.S.Eliot, who I read when I was 27 or was it 26? Age does things to memory. It might already be there in the urban dictionary, and just what might be that child? And bollocking is just an extension of bollocks!

      • Um. I hate beaches and beer. The latter makes me piss too much. And the last bit I don’t know how to interpret! The only thing about Australia I know these days is a fat man wearing a multi-hued suit barking instructions at aspiring cooks. I think that’s bollocks!

      • Well if I make it to Canada, then sure, but I guess it’s up to you to make it to India considering my age. Well at least greasy Joan helps me out here. And I’m sure you have the owl, going Trudeau Trudeau! So special occasions are best reserved for idyllic poetry!

    • Deflated already. I thought that was post new year. Well, there are sadly no balloons here. It’s only because I don’t like them. A little too pink and showy. And don’t get me started on the helium ones. Yup, I guess we made it.

      • Oh I’ll find some energy tonight for dancing and smiles, but I’m not one for celebrations of the planned variety. I prefer spontaneous joys. Like a spring bud on a plant that is weeks early.
        I’d like to hear you sing with helium tinged vocals. I think we might find that spontaneously funny!

      • My voice is a crispy, almost baritone. The picture gives you the skull cap and the beard. Helium tinged vocals will be Morgan Freeman on Jimmy Fallon. But hey, I do like a spontaneous celebration. I did take a vacation myself. The mountains and stuff. I prefer the cold to the spring. The wintry draft gives me a better cottage and euphoria. To each his/her own, I guess.

  1. I feel the odd desire, now, to go on and on about the smell of books, and the flavor of nouns and verbs jumping from the page straight to my heart or mind, tantalizing and enlightening me.

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