"surely it's about who you're with?"
No darling.
It's all about what you do. It's an event, a watershed. The dateline is a DEADline. People out on the streets, drinks raised in hand, ready to pour a libation to the gods, all eyes fixed on big ben chiming off the seconds. People fall silent, all watching, ready for the end of time to be accompanied by the end of the world.
It's why we do what we do. Greench marks zero hour, the country that was once the centre of the world bisected by the meridian, dividing. Hemispheres, East and West, past and future, a binary choice.
The urge is to escape, but a location is useless, still locked into the tyranny of straight lines, the link from a to b, start point and finish. locked onto rails, unable to dodge the termination.
Time measured on a single line continuum, seconds ticking past from future, implies the end of thread, time unwoven. Locked onto rails, unable to escape the termination, the end of time, the end of world.
The solution is ceaseless motion, get onto a circuit, road to nowhere. Slap next door to the M25, the concrete collar slung around fat beast of London, The orbital road keeping it's flab rolls of satellite towns in check, using momentum and centrifugal force, the ceaseless clockwise/anticlockwise motion, kinetic wisdom.
Throw a boundary line around the GMT.
In all seriousness folks, When you feel like you're pressured into spending good hard money into having an over priced night no different from any other, by the feeling that you should do something, because "it's the end of the year, innit?" I find the best solution is go creatively batshit.
Bet my new years eve beats yours.
xx
Your neighbourhood boy whore with a heart of gold
EDIT: Alternatively, you could get a text from a girl, about a party, and rapidly chuck hasty and reckless plans of psychogeomancy out of the window in favour of trying your luck. All hail the conquering force of evolutionary pressure.
No darling.
It's all about what you do. It's an event, a watershed. The dateline is a DEADline. People out on the streets, drinks raised in hand, ready to pour a libation to the gods, all eyes fixed on big ben chiming off the seconds. People fall silent, all watching, ready for the end of time to be accompanied by the end of the world.
It's why we do what we do. Greench marks zero hour, the country that was once the centre of the world bisected by the meridian, dividing. Hemispheres, East and West, past and future, a binary choice.
The urge is to escape, but a location is useless, still locked into the tyranny of straight lines, the link from a to b, start point and finish. locked onto rails, unable to dodge the termination.
Time measured on a single line continuum, seconds ticking past from future, implies the end of thread, time unwoven. Locked onto rails, unable to escape the termination, the end of time, the end of world.
The solution is ceaseless motion, get onto a circuit, road to nowhere. Slap next door to the M25, the concrete collar slung around fat beast of London, The orbital road keeping it's flab rolls of satellite towns in check, using momentum and centrifugal force, the ceaseless clockwise/anticlockwise motion, kinetic wisdom.
Throw a boundary line around the GMT.
In all seriousness folks, When you feel like you're pressured into spending good hard money into having an over priced night no different from any other, by the feeling that you should do something, because "it's the end of the year, innit?" I find the best solution is go creatively batshit.
Bet my new years eve beats yours.
xx
Your neighbourhood boy whore with a heart of gold
EDIT: Alternatively, you could get a text from a girl, about a party, and rapidly chuck hasty and reckless plans of psychogeomancy out of the window in favour of trying your luck. All hail the conquering force of evolutionary pressure.
Yeah, ok, my plans fell through
Happy new year