Years, like the ouroboros, are forever eating their own tale. January is being eternally devoured by December and December is eternally devouring January and the circle never shrinks, widens or closes.
The cyclic nature of it is like a punch to my guts, a solid kick delivered to my ribs. I feel out of breath and spiritually drained by the beginning of another year. It's just a white line on a circular track, and we run the same race over and over again until we fall down and cannot run anymore.
The finish line and the starting line are the same and repetition is the name of the game.
Cool.
ReplyDeleteYou spelled ouroboros like one of my favourite Dir en grey cds. Awesome.