Onward

Happy New Year. I'm planted firmly on my couch eating a Tombstone pizza, watching the 60's choke to death on its own hubris in GIMME SHELTER, armed with a multi-colored snubnose cap gun, the packaging of which warns you to basically never use it in or out of the house, lest you hurt yourself or be killed by the police. Caps aren't included, so the take-away seems to be, "Don't give the cops a reason to kill you, son." As to why all the symbolism, I can't rightly say. It wasn't consciously planned, anyway. Maybe I wanted to hit you over the head with as many different reminders of death as possible. Either way, it's undeniable that's what we'll remember about this year: the mountain of young corpses. The sheer tonnage of lost potential and talent is nothing short of incredible. You'd never believe it if you didn't see it every single day. Loss was our stock-in-trade, death our gross national product. Author Don DeLillo once argued years ago that the news has replaced the novel as the tragic narrative of our time, and I think that's undeniable now. Plastic gun to my head, if I had to write a single-sentence description for a book about 2014, it'd have to read, "Everyone dies and a plane disappears." That's right: That commercial airliner, MH370, is still missing.

Back to the movie, Jagger's watching 18-year-old Altamont crowd member and lime green suit enthusiast Meredith Hunter get stabbed to death by a Hell's Angel for pulling a revolver out in a fight. There's a feeling watching it that his real offense was having a white girlfriend, but that sort of thing is merely unprovable conjecture. Hunter is helicoptered away, and with him the last positive vibes of the 60's. The Hell's Angel, Alan Passaro, would go on to be charged with murder and acquitted on the grounds of self-defense after 12 and a half hours of jury deliberation. If nothing else, our legal system is consistent. Being a generous man, I may even give Passaro the benefit of the doubt. It's entirely possible Hunter drew his gun with the intention of using it, letting his killer off the hook. If that's the case, this Hell's Angel is miles further in the right than any trigger-happy officer you've seen lately. At this point, I'd take Sonny Barger and crew back then over the units we have now. Safer.

But enough looking back. It's hazardous in large doses. I'm not one to eulogize, nostalgia trips don't suit me and year-end lists are opinion. Something good happened this year, somewhere, probably. Maybe even to you. If so, congratulations. I, for one, am looking forward to the next one. I'll spare you my resolutions and won't ask for yours. Your actions say everything, and it all comes down to compulsions, anyway. Whatever you're compelled to do, you're gonna do it, come Hell or high water. If you're not, I see you sprinting through the frozen wasteland of early January before grinding to a shuddering halt in mid-January, the proud owner of more gym/musical/artistic/gardening/brewing/what-the-fuck-ever equipment you'll never use again. Take a seat. Ask yourself what it is you really, actually want to accomplish, even if it's nothing. That's fine, too. What matters is that your answer is genuine. Now more than ever, do not bullshit yourself or anyone else. It's a disgusting waste of time.

I want to keep this short, so in closing, whatever it is you actually want to do, if anything, do the shit out of it forever and don't look back on your journey to becoming whoever it is you're supposed to be. Time marches relentlessly onward and you're almost half done with this trip already, so I suggest you get going.