After four long days traversing a wilderness seemingly inhabited only by a smattering of parched trees, you begin to wonder if you will ever see civilisation again. Your hopes suddenly rise as you begin to percieve human sounds far off in the distance - sounds of revelry, it seems - and you quicken your step towards them. A camp? A village? Could it even be a town? As your curiosity deepens, you observe a group of men and women moving over the hill towards you clothed in rags and leaves, dancing, whooping, and playing instruments.
But something seems off. The howls too gutteral, the dancing frenzied and animalian, the music strange and dischordant. And then you see their eyes, bloodshot and crazed, and you realise something is very wrong. As some instinct tells you to flee, to stay from their path, to block every sense against the hypnotic debauchery, the revellers are already upon you. The music swamps you as you steadily feel your mind become one with the endless festival, the great hunt of Dionysus, the dance of the Bacchae.
Happy New Year, everyone! Blanca's away without a functioning computer at the moment so I've been re-drafted in to help with the festivities. We talked over a bunch of NYE-themed monsters and the ones I liked most were the Bacchae, those paragonal partygoers who should serve an example (goal?!) to us all in their ability to keep a-rockin' through the early hours of the morning.
I myself had a lovely dinner in London's chinatown with a friend and saw in 2012 being kettled in by police on Waterloo Bridge! but it wasn't so bad. Hope you all have a pleasant subsequent twelve months!