Ah, Winter. A time when the most hardened hedonist looks inward. Long, cold nights seem to arrive just in time to give us all pause for thought. A chance to reflect on the good and bad work we may have been responsible for over the year, or as feted poet Analingus O’Connell put it :
“…Winter. Seasonal slip-road. Rotting leaf…
Spring is unborn…The cunt froths.”
We all carry that sentiment with us from day to day, but not all of us could express it as well as a professional poet. And that’s because we’re all wheels in a big cog. A sweetly distorted reflection of what may have been. Because whilst only a madman ignores the voice of his own straining id, the mirror of seasonal disaffection reflects only one way. And that’s forward. Chronologically speaking.
So. What are your own resolutions drawn from the hours of darkness? Have you emerged blinking into the light of a new year (metaphorically speaking)? Or are you still wearing your old mental hat (non-metaphorically speaking)? Questions! Questions! Questions! (you will no doubt be thinking). He must think I am like the tin boy of Cardiff (you must also be thinking). Wrong. I think nothing of individual people. In my journals “Clenthimurkian Analysis And Perspectives”, I have discovered by use of inverted Venn diagrammature that individuality is a psychological manifestation of glandular secretions.
So have you wasted your time, pondering over the rights and wrongs of last year? Is it so much premature gesticulation, deciding that this year things will be different? Yes. If you need to make conscious efforts to change your life for the better, based only on the date and the lemming-like rush to a new way of life by your lumpen, proleterian friends then you are wasting your time. Or as Liberaceaen De-Constructionist poet Wong Hol said :