“In that book which is my memory, On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.”

— Dante Alighieri (Vita Nuova)

2011, you’ve left me exhausted and bruised, slightly unhinged and untethered. your lows were excruciating, your highs of the all-time variety. would I lie and say you didn’t crush me? you did. swift-kick-steele-toe-boot to the face. but the more insidious disappointments were worse; the endless work and tireless crawl towards possible stability and security, the blind faith stoking the coals of remaining hope, only to find dispassionate rejections at almost every turn. 2011, you are a bitch and a half, I couldn’t recover fast enough from each recurring loss. couldn’t find my balance quick enough after that one-two punch to block for the next one. punch-drunk clobbered by you. and then a small tug, a tiny give at the end of the line. one finger hold over the side of the cliff. 2011, you pushed and pulled, finally hit me so hard I could barely crawl off the mat, I mean at this point I can hardly see through the blood, but I’m laughing. maybe I’m laughing a toothless, pulpy, gurgling laugh, a spurting, black-eyed plastic-surgery-in-the-near-future-to-sew-my-face-back-together-laugh… but it’s there. i mean holy hell. off, but im still alive. and getting up! yup, this crazy bitch is actually fucking pushing herself to stand and she’s getting back in the ring for more. I want more. more of everything; hit me again because the lights start to dance, and everything gets hazy and I kind of dig it. my blood tastes like an ocean of sweat and spit and I can see her face in the crowd and this next round is for us both. and 2011 you’re a heavyweight champion with hammers where your fists should be, and I’m swaying, but standing. 2012, ive got some new tricks, ive got some plans for you and some really underhanded moves, some real street shit and im ready. get at me. come swinging.