Process

Process.

Well, that time of the year again. They call it "the end of the year", on some random calendar. If I lived in a jungle or a cave somewhere, I would not know of such a time. There would be no xmess, no winter solstice or other priest and priestress dubious marketing schemes. Yet, I don't live in a cave, so I watch and observe the circus. When it doesn't just seem like a very sad and ignorant joke, the lights decoration can be almost pretty to the eye. Yet, the absurdity of it all, keeps a strange juice somewhere, deep in the guts.

Letter from a kid

Dear Santa,

Well, here comes that time of the year again. I see in the shops that you are all over the place again, so, I know, it's that time again. I don't know how you can be in so many places at the same time, everywhere I go, you are there. Maybe you have many twin brothers, or maybe you travel really really fast? I don't know, and every time I tried speaking to you, I get no replies, except your "ho ho ho". So, this year, for the first time, I will write a letter to you. I hope you are doing good, and that you are not too tired from packing all the gifts for the kids.

The blame game

The blame game.

When I was imature, I blamed you
Everything that was going wrong was your fault.
It was easy being a kid, easy being blind.
You took all the forms I wanted,
Parents, governement, religions, lovers.
It was easy blaming you.