Ah, the gift from Oldsters … outside the tent of the anachronistic, the anarchistic, and the enfant terribles, a gift bag lies waiting,
Trinkets of an unstable prosperity; emotive wonder-bombs shine bright, gaudy, sputtering fused, and ready for 2018 (extravagant presents to defuse the lack of simple presence).
Seasonally decorated old-style emotion-bombs … for the youngsters! New and untried (but probably raucous and disturbing) another set for the next dozen moons, assuring juvenile resolutions to mature conflicts; a kiloton of bluster explodes a firecracker’s spark of wisdom.
As it is, two babes conversing in the womb better predict the future than the blithering pundits and prophets now passed that portal; to whit – the New Year closes-in here at the tent, there is a “chewing” of New Years resolutions, a self-selected bunch gnawing sugar-plums gone rancid, spewing gummy-brained sorta-visions for the future – attempting to regain the past.
As last years oldsters depart their stack of mischief, boys and other bullies ration the supply of disturbance; and Yorick invites you into the tent for another year of absurdity, maybe softened by his romantic medieval sagacity.