And fuck you… in a good way.
2016 was a bitch. Even those who say they had a good year did so because the year was an unforgiving relentless bitch.
(We will see by the end of this post if I can be bothered listing all the musicians and actors and writers and people whose faces we grew up familiar with. Either way it’s a shit tonne.)
And these were real contributors. Individuals who demonstrated the glory that can come from suffering, and usually found a way to make art that enriched others lives out of it.
To me it felt a bit like the year we had to have. The end of 2105 was met with complacent optimisim, the kind that always accompanies over confidence. We held high expectations for 2016. And she wasn’t afraid to show us how wrong we could be.
We needed a collective size 11 leather enema to force us to fall forward. Throughout history great and positive change has always come only when it is most needs, and has required the comfortable middle to be dislodged before they exercise their collective strength and force required change.
We are, as a species, fucking lazy. We pursue comfort as a life goal, rather than the roadside rest stop that it actually is designed to be. Comfort is a chance to down a coffee & stretch the legs, or grab a quick power nap, before continuing down the road of life into the unknown.
So as an antidote to our laziness, we got 2106. The biggest mass peace out by a collective who had lived in collective psyches, some through generations. The biggest walk out of influencers since The Ides of March. You get what I mean.
I’ve heard & read so many version of how fucked 2016 was. It seems to have struck indiscriminately, although I tend to think that the almost ubiquitous spread of shitness across so many borders and cultures, effecting so many varied people’s lives, is more a clear indication of the inescapable and wonderful intercomnectedness that we all share as participants in this moment in time called Earth.