the day before the night before Christmas
#133
It’s the day before the night before Christmas. I'm spending the next few days in Bristol, celebrating the holidays with my in-laws. I want to wish you a joyful holiday season, no matter how you mark this time of year. Let's embrace happiness in our celebrations, connections, and traditions.
Thank you for being a loyal subscriber to the Barefoot Philosopher's Notes. Your readership and support of my creative work are very much appreciated. I'll save my year-end reflections for next week. For now, I wish you happy holidays and quality time with loved ones.
Peace and love,
Clay
a reimagined version of the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas”
Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem A Visit from St. Nicolas in 1823. Originally titled A Visit from St. Nicholas, it later became more popularly known by its opening line, "Twas the Night Before Christmas." The poem is largely responsible for many of our modern conceptions of Santa Claus and Christmas traditions. He helped (probably inadvertently) to standardise imagery such as Santa's sleigh, reindeer, and entrance via chimneys. It continues to be one of the most well-known and referenced Christmas poems.
and today I’m going to play with it (because, why not?)
'Twas a night of unknowing, the hour unclear
Not a creature was trusting, filled with postmodern fear
Our epistemologies were shot to hell
No absolutes to guide us, I couldn't quite tell
What reality was, or what truth might contain
In a world ruled by language, but words had gone insane
Constructions and meanings were twisted and bent
Like surreal pipe cleaners all floppy and spent
I peered into darkness, all logic gone blurry
Couldn't tell if reindeer were brute beasts or furry
When what did appear but a jolly fat man
With a questionable identity, I think he began
To gaslight us all with his "ho ho hos"
Sliding down chimneys right into our woes
Of postmodern living and fractured knowledge
He laughed, "No more reason! Now have some cottage...
Cheese from the moon made of some random matter
Don't try to make sense, it just doesn't matter
Eat up these gifts made of some strings and a sock
Reality's flexible, bent free of its lock!”
I shook my poor head and went to sip my drink
But found my glass empty of anything I could think
"Oh dear," I thought loudly, "Now what should I do?
I can't understand anything, it's all cockamamie goo."
So I wandered bewildered til dreams took me hence
To a place undefined by dictionary or sense
And woke Christmas morning bereft of all truth
A postmodern Christmas tale told by a youth.
Well I better get back to the festivities. Enjoy the next few days.
postscript
i’m wondering since we are living in an era where the author is truly dead (thanks to the birth of generative AI) if i should write under my moniker soulcruzer since the person formerly known as clay is no longer with us. and then, like batman, i become a symbol and the person underneath the mask doesn’t matter.
clay soulcruzer