Older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
(Courtesy of Neil Gaiman, no rights reserved, hope he’s cool enough that we don’t get sued)
Merry Christmas, all of you, from a few hours in the future. It’s been a fucked up year but fingers crossed we can do better in 2018…
To all of my friends, and all the friends I’ve not yet made:
Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, Yule, or Saturnalia; or if you celebrate the Winter Solstice any other way (or are just celebrating the start of another ski season):
I wish you, one and all, a safe and warm holiday, surrounded by those whom you love and who love you in return, and may the love you share this time of year keep your heart warm through the winter and beyond.
Merry Whatever-You-Celebrate to all, and to all, lots of presents and chocolate (unless you don’t like chocolate, in which case, too bad, I’m not wishing you anything else in substitution).
