A Toast to the Timed and Tamed

It’s funny how everybody celebrates New Year’s on January 1st, like clockwork — literally. The fireworks go off, champagne pops, resolutions fly, and everyone cheers in submission, believing they’ve begun something new. But if you really think about it, nothing has shifted but the clock’s agreement. Nature doesn’t renew herself in January’s frost. The trees are bare, the ground is sleeping. We start the “new year” when life is still in hibernation — and call that progress.

The truth is, a fool leads the parade. But maybe, in this context, the fool isn’t dumb — just hypnotized. The perfect puppet in a show that repeats each year: same dates, same debts, same delusions. The calendar is the leash, and we, with our smartphones and planners, are the compliant pets.

The new year didn’t always start here. Long before Pope Gregory XIII rebranded time for the Western world, people celebrated renewal with the spring equinox — when nature actually renews. April Fools' Day? That used to be New Year’s Day. And the “fools” who refused the new system were mocked for staying true to cosmic order. That’s the twisted irony: those aligned with truth became the joke, while conformity got the crown.

Let’s get logical for a second: your real New Year isn’t January 1 — it’s your birthday. The day you truly reset. That’s your solar anniversary, the moment your energy cycles back to zero. Every being has that moment. So why should billions share the same reset button? Why sync your mind, body, and spirit to a system that cares nothing about your individual orbit?

And beyond that — the planet itself runs on a 13‑month rhythm, not twelve. Thirteen moons, each roughly twenty‑eight days. That’s natural math. That’s the pulse of tides, growth, and fertility. When humanity tossed the 13‑month calendar aside, it turned time into a profit mechanism — even months became uneven, chopped to fit political and religious agendas. The modern year is fragmented by design, keeping your energy disoriented.

See, this isn’t just about dates — it’s about psychic architecture. Whoever defines time defines pace. The Gregorian calendar unified religion, empire, and economy under one rule. Work weeks, tax seasons, paydays — all synced to an imposed heartbeat. You don’t notice the shackle when it keeps perfect time. Every “New Year” celebration is another ritualized consent — cheers to the same loop.

France did something similar with the Statue of Liberty. A “gift” that symbolized freedom while both nations were still neck‑deep in exploitation. That’s not a gift — it’s a mask. Just like January’s faux renewal, it’s a symbol of liberation built on control. Power always hides behind generosity.

Fast‑forward to now, and we’ve digitized the same poison. The clock lives in our pockets. Notifications tell us when to eat, sleep, celebrate, perform. Even rebellion got branded and sold back to us. The loop doesn’t need chains anymore; it has Wi‑Fi.

So maybe the real Fool — the awakened one — is the person who laughs and walks off‑script. The one who says my year starts when I say it starts. Whether that’s your birthday, the spring equinox, or the rhythm of the thirteenth moon, that’s your true reset — not theirs. When you reclaim your time, you reclaim your spirit.

The system can only own people who keep celebrating its schedule.

Step off the grid, and the illusion collapses. Mark your cycles by breath, growth, or sun. Let them think you’re the fool. They always do — right up until they realize the joke’s not on you anymore.

Authors Note

"Whoever knew that Happy New Year would feel like a fuck you”