Happy New Year, folks. Personally, it means very little to me, although I'll inevitably feel older, more introspective, and possibly more disconnected than ever. I can say that I've got high hopes for deuce-double-aught-five, though. I get to go see my folks in Mexico D.F. with one of my favorite people ever. If all goes well, I'll start writing another novel, write a novella, and find either an agent and/or a publisher for Critical Hits. I will see some bands I like live and meet some quality folks. Whatever happens, I want this year to be more meaningful than 2004. Plenty of shit (and not in the bad sense) went down last year, but fuck me, it was pretty much a massive void. I achieved very little and lost a lot. I need to get my shit together this go-around.

Christ, I had no intention of waxing philosophical, or even thoughtful, on this occasion, but fuck it.

Fuck it.

It's casual.

It's casual, but not that casual.

2005: year of burning temples, flying fingers, ruined bodies, love run amok, empty bottles, and determination.

Fuck yeah.