It's here, 2016, like a baby you either wanted or didn't but have to pay for anyway. It's my belated new year's address to the outside world, from inside my hermetic, frivolous private universe. In this room in which I sit, typing 900 words a minute, I am bantering, cooing, entertaining an eighty foot tall baby, in a sash a mile long that says "Happy New Years." I'm getting blitzed here, with the new year baby cartoon. I'm talking to an eighty foot tall baby with a long mustache.
Kids are expensive. So are spouses. And so is time, and 2016 is taking something from me already. I believe I've changed since last year. I didn't have my usual flight of memory. New years eve brought no apparitions, and it usually does. I had instead, a few days later, an invocation from the human spirit. From history. Shaka Zulu is visiting me, right now, and you are invited to tea with me and Shaka. Come on in. It's Shaka Zulu Friday here at the house.
I'm observing Shaka Zulu's birthday. And taking liberties. No one knows exactly when he was born, so I'm being a jack off, and leaving the date in absentia. I don't give a shit when Shaka was born. I dig his greatness independent of the goddam details. He was an amazing military strategist, and natural diplomat, and in so many ways a whole lot of what I ain't, which is, in part, why I am venerating Shaka. I do my plum goddameddest to emulate his courage and talents as near as possible, which may be any amount short of really really being Shaka, since now days it would land my skinny ass in jail. I'm not going that far to emulate Shaka Zulu, but I feel something more profound than mere admiration. Let me propose I am a transcendental groupie of Shaka Zulu.
In the final analysis, I know I'm not really Shaka Zulu material. If I had been a member of his tribe, I would have worked in the hospitality department. I would have helped them arrange their vacation junkets in Vegas. They would have had great fun. But since I wasn't there, and might have got speared to fuck if I had, I'll just sign off with a respectful, even loving salute to Shaka Zulu. The guy was alright. Might help all around if everyone entered the new year with the Shaka Zulu spirit. A guy like Shaka can improve your year.
Kids are expensive. So are spouses. And so is time, and 2016 is taking something from me already. I believe I've changed since last year. I didn't have my usual flight of memory. New years eve brought no apparitions, and it usually does. I had instead, a few days later, an invocation from the human spirit. From history. Shaka Zulu is visiting me, right now, and you are invited to tea with me and Shaka. Come on in. It's Shaka Zulu Friday here at the house.
I'm observing Shaka Zulu's birthday. And taking liberties. No one knows exactly when he was born, so I'm being a jack off, and leaving the date in absentia. I don't give a shit when Shaka was born. I dig his greatness independent of the goddam details. He was an amazing military strategist, and natural diplomat, and in so many ways a whole lot of what I ain't, which is, in part, why I am venerating Shaka. I do my plum goddameddest to emulate his courage and talents as near as possible, which may be any amount short of really really being Shaka, since now days it would land my skinny ass in jail. I'm not going that far to emulate Shaka Zulu, but I feel something more profound than mere admiration. Let me propose I am a transcendental groupie of Shaka Zulu.
In the final analysis, I know I'm not really Shaka Zulu material. If I had been a member of his tribe, I would have worked in the hospitality department. I would have helped them arrange their vacation junkets in Vegas. They would have had great fun. But since I wasn't there, and might have got speared to fuck if I had, I'll just sign off with a respectful, even loving salute to Shaka Zulu. The guy was alright. Might help all around if everyone entered the new year with the Shaka Zulu spirit. A guy like Shaka can improve your year.
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