Fuck, this was another year to set on fire and bury away: unnecessary stress, professional failures, a crippling case of white page syndrome, death of several people around me. People dear to me, but even dearer to Josie, which is worse. The only worst thing than grieving someone you love is watching someone you love grieve those around them because you will never, ever be able to fill these holes. Fuck, and Lemmy just died too. Fucking Lemmy, man. The eternal God of rock n' roll is no more.
I've had a handful of successes late this year too, but I don't even feel like discussing them, to be honest. They are not what defined my year. The only thing I want to take away from 2015 is the failure I allowed myself to be. Too many times I walked by home after work beaten and unwilling to work on what I really loved. It will be (symbolically) tonight, but it's been for a couple weeks already. Let's Welcome 2016 together, the Year of No Goals.
The Year of No Bullshit.
The Year Where the Clock Never Stops Turning.
It has begun for a couple weeks already, but it feels so fucking great to say it. It begins on Dead End Follies on January 4th, so you better be ready.