As the hours tick down towards the final moments of our Gregorian calendar year, and people around the world get dressed for alcoholic annihilation, I sit here wondering if Syme was right in telling Winston that:
“The revolution will be complete when the language is perfect”.
Of course he was referring to the extinction of the English language and it’s transference into newspeak, making thought-crime impossible. The ideas of and for criminality wouldn’t exist anymore because the words would be destroyed. Is that happening already? Are we reducing our way of communicating to a mere 140 characters or less as a precursor towards newspeak? Are we readying ourselves for a future without books and without thoughts and without our need for the beauty of the written word? Hardly. But if I were paranoid, I would believe that the only future we were headed for was some sort of nightmarish version of Orwell’s classic novel.
Sure our phones are tapped, and as long as we carry them with us at all times the government can track our every movement. If one of these NSA guys in Utah were to look into the contents of my phone, would I feel embarrassed? Maybe a little, but if some nerd wants to read my filthy conversations or look at a photo of my cock, do I care? No. I’ve got more important issues to focus on in my life. Therein lies the irony of our pal George’s prophecy of the possible coming future. Or has it come already? Shut up William, and get to the point.
Everyone tries to convey hope this time of year, “Be yourself, it’s cool”, or feign some half hearted inspiration “You can make your life better by eating non GMO blah blah…..” Ad Nauseum.
The truth about life is…. It’s complicated. People will spy on you. You will get fired from work or robbed in the street. Your friends and family will die off slowly and painfully one by one while you stand by idly, powerless to prevent it. You are getting older, the grey hair is coming, the lines on your face are deepening, the sadness in your heart is growing and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do except wait for your own death and burial.
What is the solution? We try and Eleanor Rigby our way out of it by darning socks in the night. We get drunk and wish for a better outcome than the inevitable prayer at the porcelain palace in the wretched hours of the morning. We lie to ourselves and say “This year is going to be better!” And that’s where we begin. Even if it is a lie, the power of a positive attitude can outshine the dingiest of our human realities.
This year for me was incredible and heartbreaking. My house was burglarized, my father died, and I said goodbye to some very close friends. But I also wrote and released a novella, I made a new (and amazing!) William Control record, I travelled, I loved, I stayed in Oscar Wilde’s room at L’ Hotel in Paris France (and caught a glimpse of Keira Knightley in her pajamas in the lobby. Score.) I rode trains and busses and planes and elevators, I was inspired by the sunrise over the expanse of the North Sea and as I watched it set on the horizon of the Pacific Ocean, I realized that I have lived this year in the moment and in enjoyment of this beautiful place we call planet Earth.
People ask me, “What are your new year resolutions?” My answer is…. I have none. There’s nothing about my life that I want to change. I’m happy and inspired and full of excitement for the coming year, however grim it may look. I don’t give a shit about the NSA, crazy politicians, gun control or anything else the media keeps us pacified with. I have a new record coming out in March. Revelator Book 2 is almost complete, I am doing some new Edgar Allan Poe readings, producing the next Ashes to Angels album and in April I’ll be on the road with Combichrist and New Years Day.
Life is complicated, but it can be very satisfying. Find someone you can serve or someone who can serve you, use a belt or a whip, step out of your comfort zone for a change and try to really live. Read something new. Travel somewhere. Another year has gone by and time is running out. Newspeak and the thought-police are right around the corner, you better make haste and have a good time.
I wish to be moved, the way parishioners were in the presence of a performing Mozart, the way an audience member was in the dim lights of the globe during a performance of Othello. I wish to be moved and swayed and smashed around by gigantic waves of lust and beauty and a reality of my own making, marching to the beat of my own drum and drowning in the sweat of iniquities for all time.
2014…. here we come.
All My Love