So far tonight I've drank about a third of a litre (it was a litre bottle) of vodka, mixed with Irn bru to taste. It tasted foul. I'd rather have had half and half, or weaker. Oh, and whisky. Which I don't do. Because of drinking far too much whiskey (the 'e' is important) earlier in my life and passing out from alcohol poisoning. And waking up with a random girl's number scrawled on my shirt in lipstick.
But that's neither here nor there. Then, maybe, but not there.
Ideas are gone. When I get back you may get a new year's story. If you're lucky. 2005. Erisian year. 5 is a big number in numerology. The pentagram and so on. Half the number of commonly recognised sephira. 2005 should be interesting, if only for those of us who give a fuck about such things. 2004 was a fucking wasteland. It had me working all year at a shithole, nothing happening save a dice with alcohol addiction and then a vast amount of ideas and creative projects. 2005 will be better. If I have to kick fuckers in the bollocks to make it so I shall. 2005 will have the new combat journalism start to take shape. It will have yet more assaults on basic freedoms by the forces of control and oppression. Many more assaults, many of which will succede. And some of which will not. But it will have victories for the forces backing said freedoms. There will be good, mired among the bad. It may need people to point them out.
I am one of those people. Are you?