“And some days I get caught stealing
And then I hear the sirens blow
And the church bells they let me know” ~ Donavon K.
The days are short, nights are long, and there is impending doom and a cloud. January, you’re a cold motherfucker, with your days of mourning and grieving. I could wear black for the rest of this month and no one would notice there is no joy. They will spend this month manufacturing happiness to avoid The Crone. The Crone wants you alone and on your knees, to strip you bare, so you are her child now. And, as such, you will obey.
The Crone demands that you approach life with maturity and awareness. No naked Twister parties. No unconscious drunk fucking. No blurry-eyed Saturday nights.
Just work bitch.
SS
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