Petrus Spronk
Here we are.
Altogether.
Altogether in the moment.
A moment to be treasured.
A moment in the first day of the New Year.
A moment filled with good intentions (which will pieter out by mid-February. At the most.)
After which we will be back into the grind.
Although, a special moment nevertheless, because, when, at the end of it, we will draw a line under the first quarter of this century.
Already.
Better make the best of it.
With this as a warning we look back and notice the old year has already starting to rust into a wobbly pile of memories.
Nothing is clear.
Was it a good year?
We measure it by those memories.
Who cares, it’s gone. What is its use to us now?
A few strong memories maybe, but relatively speaking only a few especially in relation to a whole year of them.
Extra… extra memories… with the last one created on the last day of the year.
In a desperate attempt to get it to stick.
Please, let us have one more memory so that we haven’t created all that energy in the year of 2014 for nix.
Desperately we are trying to get one more memory in.
We gather in Vincent street. We go nuts with total strangers just to get in a last attempt before the year is over.
So that when we look over the memories we have created, there maybe a foggy one labelled 2023.
We realise that in the main we have made a poor showing of it.
And this is the question:
How do we know we have lived well?
Making worthwhile memories?
Forget it. Let’s have one more beer, smoke another joint, and we will enter the new year smiling.
We arrive at 2025 half asleep, (or half a sleep)
BUT
Be careful, you might be making a memory.
And if it is the last one we will ever make, it’s curtains.
Petrus Spronk is a local artist and author who writes a monthly column for The Wombat Post.
