The weight of Christmas Past pulls at my mind, a melancholy anchor I drag around. In its wake an odd mix of bitterness and joy. Joy at the memories, bitterness at the fact that such memories won’t stay buried.
The Season demands pleasant greetings—though false and egg-shell deep, subject to crack as soon as the revelers drift behind me. I’d as soon skip to March or April, avoid all of this. Yet there exists this tug at the wire that wraps my heart. There is a yearn to recall past holidays and the happy frolic they no doubt enjoyed. It’s the music, mostly, like that of a syringe full of boiled smack, I slap my forearm and stab the dial. “O Tannenbaum… It’s beginning to look… Dashing through the snow…”
Maybe that’s what I need, a long bump of snow and a shot (or twenty) of heady aquavit. Or ouzo. You know I love that licorice-anise flavor. And screw you if you don’t. But, an endearing, merry screw-you, you know?
But hey, it’s Christmas, right? Or rather, the Holidays—gotta be Politically Correct. I favor Saturnalia, the death of the old year the birth of the new one, full of empty potential.
Here’s some AI imagery for you. May our future AI Gods award us an equally cheerful season, if nothing more than to keep us, their human servants, jolly, dulled by alcohol and nostalgic thoughts of the past.
A joyous forest christmas scene full of christmas trees, presents, beautiful colored lights, in the foreground is a devlish imp, in the style of Dali