Slouching towards swings and roundabouts

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

These two, simple lines by W.B. Yeats are among some of the best-known and oft-quoted fragments of poetry in the world, I suspect. I say this without any particular authority; it's a claimed based on suspicion and possibility, nothing more; and yet somehow I rather suspect it to be true.

So, why am I quoting from Yeats' 'The Second Coming'?

Fear not; I haven't become a Theosophist, nor a prophet of doom hoping to immanentize the eschaton; nor for that matter am I presently overwhelmed with existential dread despite the perilous state of the modern world (my ennui has been temporarily abated by Rudd's championing of Kyoto, Australian literature and intimations of a move against Japanese whaling in the Southern Ocean, although I'm sure this unusually cheerful state can't possibly last).

Quite simply, the title of this latest, overdue blogpost was inspired by reading the end-of-year wrap-ups by a couple of fellow arts bloggers; and also because, as always, the universe seems to have an uncanny knack of balancing things out - though not always for the better. Consequently, I've combined what could have been two seperate threads - a portmanteau blog-post if you will - rather than write two individual, rambling entries on my blog instead.

My own art wrap-up of 2007 will be written some time next week, I suspect, as there's still a few productions and exhibitions I'm going to try and squeeze in between now and the year's end.

If I can find the energy that is. Thus the slowing of blog entries in recent weeks.

Work is, quite simply, exhausting at present - I'm trying to produce two newspapers in one week at the moment, instead of just the usual demanding one; as well as pull together a 64 page magazine between now and January. Put it this way - on Wednesday night I was at work until 11pm and I'm going back in tomorrow morning to get more editing out of the way. Gag.

Thankfully I get a week off between December 22 and January 2 - which is one of the reasons I have to get two papers to bed next week, mind you - during which time, for some foolish reason, I've agreed to co-host Summer Breakfast on 3RRR. That's right, in my week off I'll be getting up at 5am to do volunteer radio shifts. I must be mad.

Anyway, this particular post was going to be called 'Slouching towards New Year's Eve' but I thought better of it. William Butler Yeats is no doubt wildly grateful.

As for the swings and roundabouts?

My housemate, who I dearly love, has been considerably despondent of late due to affairs of the heart. This week, however, he seems to have rallied, which is lovely to see.

So what does the universe do? It lets the partner of a Fringe collegue get killed in a car accident as he was riding his motorbike home. Geoff was a top bloke. It's totally unfair. My heart goes out to Kath at this difficult time.

And as far as Christmas goes - basically, it can fuck off as far as I'm concerned.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have a bottle of New Zealand chardonnay demanding my attention, together with Season Two of Shameless. Enjoy your weekend.