Thursday, January 13, 2011

New Year, Mutherf*cka

And it's time to shake off the dust. Time to get your afram up and going. Ladies and gentlemen I'd like to welcome you to two-thousand and eleven and please note: there is no getting off this train. We're all on it together and yes indeedy we are hurtling down the track at breakneck speed. Now if you'd all just mind your step, I'm sure we'll be fine.

I know, I'm too late to jump on board with some schlocky 2010 retro-perspective. I'm really too late to make any sordid predictions about 2011. Mostly I'm just oddly happy about being able to say "eleven" a lot. And randomly insert "this one goes to eleven" as a non-sequitur. I'm pretty sure 11 will be an awesome year, if only because 12 is supposed to suck so bad. End of the world and all.

Here are my two second recommendations for living life at 11:
-- sing
-- dance
-- fall in love, without jumping off a cliff
-- dance, more

O that I could tell you to FEEL. This feeling thing, this mind-wrecking plummet, somersault, upswing and crash landing. Feel before and after keeping your feet in close proximity with the Earth. Feel those feet, your feet, and you. Dance, the weight of you in the middle. Focus, baby. You're a fucking rockstar and you can do whatever you imagine. Rocking back and forth and you know how that goes: listen Shlomi, all is one and one is all; everything is beautiful, and amazing. It's all in how you look at it.

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