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Hi all and Alaric

gosh, Alaric, thanks for elevating me to a 'rarefied plateau', I've
always wanted to visit one of those. I do wonder whether there is
something of relict Christianity in our noble attitudes, I recall that
The Apostle insisted that speakers of the Word should have a trade by
which they supported themselves - what was he now, a tentmaker, a
sailmaker?? - so that the spreading of the 'good news' should be
independent of financial considerations. However (hey, my teachers
always told me "you should NEVER begin a sentence with 'however'") so,
to re-start: I, however, have always felt alignment with the
non-moneymaking conceipt of the calling, neo-Christian, neo-Marxist,
neo-goody-two-shoes though that may be.
 But it does leave rather sorely open, as JJ points out, the question of
how poets are to make a living. As academics? As 'poetry consultants'?
Toilet cleaners, debt collectors, traffic wardens, gravediggers,
psychiatric nurses, vending machine repairers, mapmakers, advertising
copywriters????
 I, for one, feel ill at ease at the 'split' between what I do for a
living and what I do from love ( and scurrillity, bad-temper and
pranksterism) The divorce in mindscapes between the two is almost
schizoid.
 Now as for the value of the mind - well, if we regard the mind and the
brain as synonymous, the power outage (is that the right/write word?) of
the brain is roughly 60 to 75 watts, similar to a 25p light bulb, so far
half of Alaric's valuation. However (yah, boo, head-teachers) as the
organ in question lasts in alleged working order for shall we say the
biblical three score and ten, far longer than a 25p bulb from Mumtaz
Off-Licence and General Stores, I would posit that the brain-mind entity
is worth at least a tenner, maybe even twenty quid. But industry would
never stand for it. Hence the famed 'dumbing down' and 'shortening
attention spans' - the ultimate triumph of built-in obsolescence. So in
that light, a rather dim one, Alaric's 50 p looks quite high.
 I've often wondered why my bright ideas never properly illuminated my
rooms.

May be quills be with you

David





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