Hibernatia

Time is a great fucking motivator. You realise that, right? When you’re finite, you get shit done or you grow old regretting it. Your curse, boys and girls. And you even go on about what you could accomplish if you had all the time in the world – if you could, like, live forever, oh, the stuff you’d achieve, yeah? But you’re missing the fucking point.

When you’ve got forever, why the hell do it now? You lot have downtime in your lives, sure: slack-ass periods of apathy that might stretch into ellipses, but no matter what, yours are sped up by the next due date, scheduled event, birthday…

Ours – ours are fucking page breaks. Blank chapters. Stagnate things suspended in the slow roll of time when even the reappearance of an old acquaintance, or the consequent rush and fire of food-lust and satiation doesn’t seem to colour the void. The impetus for action, for anger – for hunger – winds down to quiet and stillness.Our kind of deadlines are gastronomical, not figurative, and even they start getting drawn thin at times like this.

Walking slumber. Reeling on through the infinite, the humdrum, the creak of time. Waiting, Waiting for something to wake us from the winter of our discontent. Something to pierce the torpor, rip into inertia, tear through the animate sleep of the dead, and warm me back into livelihood.

 

Actually…

 

I’ve made myself kinda hungry just talking about this shit.

Huh.

Seriously.

Hungry.

Well, fuck.

It’s been a while.

Go figure.

So…

 

Who wants to meet me for a drink?…

 

START FROM THE BEGINNING…