Resolutions have never been easy for me. I don't mean the goofy shit that people say to themselves on New Years Day, either. Magic doesn't work that way, if it did we'd all be transforming into our visions of our best selves all afternoon and every day. That would be my kind of humanity, though, eternally renewed, festooned by change, the rot of complacency, habit, and conformity vanished forever. That's what we call a utopian paradise and it simply doesn't exist. I've never made a New Years resolution because it's an exercise in self-delusion and the world is disappointing enough for me already. The resolutions that I am talking about here, most people would call them transitions. The art of moving from one thing to another seamlessly, smoothly, invisibly almost. I wish that I could do it. But when the end begins its ascent and starts to loom over head that's when the magic begins to disintegrate and disappear, and I get restless. I want the previous thing to be gone already and so I tear and cut at the fabric until there's some separation, some distance, until I am free of the thing that suddenly seems so constricting like an Amazonian serpent wrapped around my throat. My resolutions are more like terminations. A moving situation absent a transition, maybe.