I thought I might try something personal for a change; not that I don't think that my other contributions haven't been personal... perhaps they're harder to relate to.

But I must confess to my 'being' 'soul' 'feelings' or whatever as being very weathered of late - a futility that remains with me with every piece of information that I encounter with my somewhat neglected research for my Masters - the attempt to awaken in others something great. I was, as I'm sure we all who persevere to entertain ideas of literary sensibility, taught and convinced that words in and of themselves contained the greatest meaning in our lives. I'm perpetually in awe of the old masters who engaged so thoroughly in attempting to capture as much as they could in these forms - the poets, playwrights, novelists, philosophers, historians, musicians and lawyers - but mostly those around me suffer from day to day with trivialities beyond my own understanding of the universe... how so many minds can be drawn towards such banality, such repitition, such formless waste as what I see before me...

 And I must confess that I don't feel up to the task. I don't want to tap that universal vein, I don't want to sell products, I don't want to join in on the narcissistic culture jam that I see around me. It's hardly tempting, but it often feels that my attempts are futile. An individual taking on the task of trying to tell them to reach for something greater... what a futile task.

 Although I'm hardly dismayed... what point give up now? Change is just around the corner - spring becones, and a new crop will come forth.

 These sour grapes are hardly worth selling the farm for...

I don't actually feel like I've said anything different in my poems, but nevertheless, maybe I did.

Enjoy the Holidays everyone, hope all is well.

Cheers,

Peter