Resolutions; or Lack Thereof

So, everyone does this. It's customary, yes? One must spew out a list of resolutions about how the new year will be "better this time" because of some random reason that may or may not be grounded in reality. This year, I have no resolutions. I will not conform to societies ideology of false conformity for the sake of self-ablution and temporary abeyance of habits.

And yet, here I am ... updating my blog that I've neglected for the last three months. Is it because it's the "new year" or simply because now I find myself with a bit more time on my hands? Is it because of my desire to purge myself of all that has been withheld, or the need to start the new year with my desires?

Regardless, I am here now, and I should really make the most of it.

The old exterior is knocking at the door. The crisp, icy shell is trying to dam itself up at my gate. I must fight against this icy chill - the shadow of cold and dreary.

Ironically enough, I am ending this with poetry. I generally hate poetry. But here goes:

To Winter, by William Blake

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:

The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark

Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,

Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.'

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep

Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathèd

In ribbèd steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,

For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose 1000 skin clings

To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:

He withers all in silence, and in his hand

Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs,--the mariner

Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st

With storms!--till heaven smiles, and the monster

Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.

And so ends my first post for the new year.