As it happens, your year this time will be loud and busy. Your years are always like that, I know. This time, especially so. I’ll jury-rig a coffeebomb for you if your prediction ends up true again. It always does. Coffeebomb, mind you, is not far from a derelict porn niche diligently exercised by the kind of office workers who have separate names for all the muscles that makes their eye tick. I like you this much to offer you anthropologically high-valued porn biscuits. (Yes, I know you like me, too.)
I have resolutions for 2013. Being the consensus-shaking catalyst bastard that I am, all those resolutions are summoned up to sharpen up the brainmeat and keep it thinking. Moving. Fermenting. Fornicating with itself.
One book every week. Stick to Jeremy Dawson’s system of how to listen to new bands every week and every day. Brush up French. Take up Mandarin Chinese. Get back to biking. Learn to forget about gravity while I’m riding up to Muswell Hill. Get back to tai chi & chi kung. Trick up consensus reality once again. Learn the Melbourne Shuffle. Get that collateral damage of a second book idea to synopsis level, then at least to half-manuscript stage. Sell that grotesque series I’ve written to a network. Get the Damage Report ebook out.
This is twelve. We’ll see in a little less than 360 days how it went.