Emitted not by rhythms,
Waves that are if unheeded, utterly silent.
A data ocean, in which
You buoy yourself,
You embroil yourself,
To which you give up Life’s greatest credit,
You give time,
These waves in which
You swim, only to sink in at the first real news;
Speculation, gambling, affectation,
The binary coded sounds of a species confused.
2016 was the year of the Monkey. How did it turn out for you?
Monkey: “I am the seasoned traveler
Of the Labyrinth.
The genius of alacrity,
Wizard of the impossible.
My brilliance is yet
In its originality.
My heart’s filled with potent magic
That could cast a hundred spells.
I am put together
For mine own pleasure
I AM THE MONKEY.”
2016, The Year of the Monkey, in January this year, was discussed with some trepidation by observers of Chinese calendar tradition.
Now at the year’s close, bookshops in London stock the pictured publication.