I wrote a Christmas card in a fit. The mood has passed but now it is yours.
Dear anyone,
maybe the laws are right, maybe the laws are wrong, but the walls are tall and strong, and it has been a year whose days were long. Conventional wisdom tells me that it’s hard at the end of the day, that all I have is myself, and that is true, but I have never given much to convention, or been accused of being wise, and I’m not the fucking loser for believing in this shit so just shut up for once in your life and we’ll get through this. Christmas time is nigh. to drink and be jolly. To cross each others boundaries, insult each other, and burn away the wobbling, disgusting fat of our moral, emotional, and intellectual obesity. to link arms and lock step towards the merrier world dreamed of in the ballads, the good ones, beyond this vale of wrath and tears. A world without the professional victimhood and nauseating self pity, but where all value songs and stories, fellowship and homecoming over coveted treasure, if words could close our wounds, if laughter could change the earth, if we could trust sentimentality. where vain the power and vain the glory, but a poets sigh is the diamond sword of a warrior king, and a loving look is a burning arrow from a bow of gold, and the beating of a heart in pain is the drum to raise an angel legion, and our might is as the strength of all. Or just fight me and find out. Fierce blows the wind this winter so wear your bitch ass arcteryx parka and sensible boots and complain about it, though there is heat enough in my blood to warm the space between us in this cold, and lovely season. in just over 3 hours of runtime, Avatar 2 may earn the line from the trailer “whatever happens, this family is our fortress,” but then, it may be shallow and derivative. Let’s not go see it, because either way we could go to local all day and fucking earn it ourselves instead, and because movies are hypnotic abstractions of a material reality that we might neglect if we’re not careful, and are usually insultingly low effort narratives imposed on the chaotic universe. So I’m going to be doing a 1100 to 1900h shift at local on the 21st. Maybe no one comes, I’ll bring a book. on the other hand, if overtime is necessary then fuck dignity, I’ll leave when the job is done. Do not lead, I will not follow. Do not follow, I will not lead. Join me long or short, but if not that’s cool too and carry on. Do whatever you want, but Don’t let me know. don’t tell me if you can make it or not or if you’re bringing someone. Don’t apologize, don’t even answer this, but if you can’t take it, don’t dish it out. That way the ruthless chirps and bloody smiles, the filth that rides our veins, and the knowledge that we must ask of people less than what they can give — what we have that lives too deep to be touched by fear, will seem as wildflowers growing in December, nourished by grace alone or some weak shit like that. Whatever. come the hour of our parting, soon or late, no two of us need walk together, because what we know by heart can never be taken from us. this is Matthew Cameron as always, and if this be our will, then we will see it done.
Matthew Cameron 
I wrote a Christmas card in a fit. The mood has passed but now it is yours.
Dear anyone,
maybe the laws are right, maybe the laws are wrong, but the walls are tall and strong, and it has been a year whose days were long. Conventional wisdom tells me that it’s hard at the end of the day, that all I have is myself, and that is true, but I have never given much to convention, or been accused of being wise, and I’m not the fucking loser for believing in this shit so just shut up for once in your life and we’ll get through this. Christmas time is nigh. to drink and be jolly. To cross each others boundaries, insult each other, and burn away the wobbling, disgusting fat of our moral, emotional, and intellectual obesity. to link arms and lock step towards the merrier world dreamed of in the ballads, the good ones, beyond this vale of wrath and tears. A world without the professional victimhood and nauseating self pity, but where all value songs and stories, fellowship and homecoming over coveted treasure, if words could close our wounds, if laughter could change the earth, if we could trust sentimentality. where vain the power and vain the glory, but a poets sigh is the diamond sword of a warrior king, and a loving look is a burning arrow from a bow of gold, and the beating of a heart in pain is the drum to raise an angel legion, and our might is as the strength of all. Or just fight me and find out. Fierce blows the wind this winter so wear your bitch ass arcteryx parka and sensible boots and complain about it, though there is heat enough in my blood to warm the space between us in this cold, and lovely season. in just over 3 hours of runtime, Avatar 2 may earn the line from the trailer “whatever happens, this family is our fortress,” but then, it may be shallow and derivative. Let’s not go see it, because either way we could go to local all day and fucking earn it ourselves instead, and because movies are hypnotic abstractions of a material reality that we might neglect if we’re not careful, and are usually insultingly low effort narratives imposed on the chaotic universe. So I’m going to be doing a 1100 to 1900h shift at local on the 21st. Maybe no one comes, I’ll bring a book. on the other hand, if overtime is necessary then fuck dignity, I’ll leave when the job is done. Do not lead, I will not follow. Do not follow, I will not lead. Join me long or short, but if not that’s cool too and carry on. Do whatever you want, but Don’t let me know. don’t tell me if you can make it or not or if you’re bringing someone. Don’t apologize, don’t even answer this, but if you can’t take it, don’t dish it out. That way the ruthless chirps and bloody smiles, the filth that rides our veins, and the knowledge that we must ask of people less than what they can give — what we have that lives too deep to be touched by fear, will seem as wildflowers growing in December, nourished by grace alone or some weak shit like that. Whatever. come the hour of our parting, soon or late, no two of us need walk together, because what we know by heart can never be taken from us. this is Matthew Cameron as always, and if this be our will, then we will see it done.
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