Month: July 2014

When thinking hurts us

descartes

My title has two meanings.One is that sometimes we have to think about a painful event or a person who has hurt us.Or even some past events…I recall pain when  I was told about Hitler and Stalin

On the other hand some of us  use thinking in words as a way of blocking painful emotions.whilst this  may work for a time,it may give  a lot of trouble when we need to deal with pain.Essentially we do not wish to “know” the truth in the full sense… we deceive ourselves and maybe others too

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/fulfillment-any-age/201110/the-essential-guide-defense-mechanisms

William Blake wrote this poem

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine,
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Through the world we safely go.

IM000484.JPG

I’ve been reading Sylvia Plath recently.I see that after her husband left her she went into a frenzy of activity.She had two very young children.was often i ll with flu but she wrote all her most famous poems at this time;then she moved to London antd socialised a lot to prove she was not just a deserted wife.After this she became more, ill,there was a severe winter….then she crashed into the depths…I feel that  her frenzied writing was a way of not admitting her grief… and she got worn out and decided death was better.

Some of us who are quite cerebral are not in touch with  our bodies.We don’t feel that knife in the heart,the tears unshed,the anger that threatens… and eventually this cam lead to problems.,sometimes flu sometimes a breakdown,sometimes a broken marriage.

and also the thinking can take on a life of its own so  it keeps us awake at night… and the feelings can come out in nightmares.

So thinking can  be a curse.We all need defences at times but too much cuts us of from our own lives.

And brooding and ruminating are very damaging to the mind and soul.Thinking is not wisdom

.11257109-old-mosaic

A lovely poem that i am fond of

O sweet spontaneous

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

beauty, how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

Related articles

Nothing is totally good or bad,including obsessions

6819924_f1126074c2_m altered

We may forget

Winter light

A wife can pass so soon.We may forget.
A lifetime doesn’t seem like it when you are living from day to day.
Think of all the water you have passed in your life!
When I lived by by the moors near Darwen we passed a reservoir every day and now the whole place is flooded.
We never went out with out a mac and I’m talking real plastic here.
Never pass a lavatory by or an offer of sex in a rose briar… just call me,Cat.
Never go to bed with someone who’s not got a name you can’t pronounce wrongly.
Logic is useful only in an emergency… what sort I have not yet discovered.
Acdemia is like a bed of nettles… it takes your mind off your pain but gives you a raash

Sand in our eyes

From primitive man to now
BBC News`

Most of what we learn we learn without trying or even knowing consciously.We learn to talk by listening and being close to others… imagine trying to teach it!We learn at school a few things like how to read but we also learn about power,fear,bullying,tormenting and the obedience expected.We may have learned this at home.
We find we are not in charge of our bodies.We must sit on a hard wooden seat for hours and go to the lavatory when it suits the adults.In a sense we learn to be slaves… or that we are slaves.Our will is to be bent to the will of others,our desires are of no worth.
Now and then we may be expected to break out and write a poem or a story..we lose the knack of this as we learn to judge ourselves critically.We learn to do something if it is judged worthwhile in its outcome and we learn not to do things just for pleasure..We must turn play into work.. then we wonder why so many young people are taking to drugs and other ways of altering consciousness.
Children are very cruel anyway because they feel what they want is most important.When I was a baby in a pram my mum used to leave me outside the front door as fresh air was important.One day a girl from up the street who was about ten asked if she could take me for a walk.
My mother thought she was too young though it was not unusual for this to happen….
So she went to a builder’s yard,got some sand,came back and threw it into my eyes…!!
I can’t remember it but I do remember my brothers being in there and fighting.. which they never stopped really….childhood hate and envy are powerful.
I learned then that my life was constantly in danger as I was lying there next to them and no doubt receiving a few blows.But just hearing them and watching them and being unable to get away was frightening..I could not speak nor walk then though I learned to speak very young with hearing them fighting all day long.
Once they tried to drown me in a mill pond.I never told anyone;no wonder I grew up nervous.Just once they let me go with them onto the moors and make a fire to boil water and make tea… I loved it.Girls could not go up there alone
I suppose it gave me a double message.Men have better games than women but they are aggressive and may turn on you and they win in fights.
I wonder why nobody ever stopped their aggression and look at the world

Stan,bisexuality and life

I am removing the links daily

In the ancient churchyard with large tree]
Ancient vicarage garden
  • Stan has just got back from church. He helps to  poliah the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee.
    Ah ah,the  dorbell He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.”Hello,what’s up?” he enquires impatiently.Church seems to affect him that way……..odd!
    “I’m just a bit  lonely as Emile’s come back to you.”
    “What about the bee you adopted.Bobbi?
    “”They’re affectionate but rather hard to cuddle,”she answered with tears in her green eyes.”They do look soft and furry but they are too small”
    “You need something bigger..how about a dog?”
    “I’d  prefer a man “she said softly and suggestively.
    “Why not give meditation a go?” Emile miaowed.
    “I’m a bit past it all now at 106,” Stan replied.”But, if you get some rainbow striped underwear from Ann Summers and some red bed socks , maybe that might help with the desirability aspect.”
    “I will not be seen dead in striped underwear ” she cried cunningly.
    “Well,why don’t you go on the internet?You could find someone younger and slimmer than me!”
    Annie looked  very angry “I’ve spent 20 years on you.Are you telling me it’s all wasted?”
    “No,it’s been useful to know how to ring 999,” he admitted wonderingly.
    “But my baking would have been quicker if you hadn’t kept coming in trying to induce me,reduce or seduce me.”he said confusedly
    “Are you losing your word power?” she asked curiously.
    “No,I said that on purpose.I’m training to go to a  poetry weekend at East Anglia University.”
    “You are so daring,darling!”
    “Well,what have I got to lose? he riposted jovially.
    “And all the food is included.It’s only £3,000 for the weekend!”
    “Is that cheap?” “I don’t know.I need to look at the Index of Retail Prices or whatever they have nowadays.”
    They sat before the computer gazing at the government dataand statistics with pen and paper in their hands.
    “I really enjoyed that,”said Annie,”It’s even better  than sex”
    “Thank God for that,” thought Stan with wry amusement.
    “Now I can keep her busy learning more about how to analyse data.I’m fed up with kissing her all day long.Now we can study for Open University degrees in mathematics and statistics and keep our minds lively.”
    “Quick put the kettle on Mary is here.”
    “Hello,Mary.We are studying government statistics.It’s so interesting.”
    “Yes,I know” she answered coltishly.”But a woman has another needs too.”
    “Oh,no!” cried Stan,”Not you too.” He fell onto the striped rug by the fire.
    “Oh,dear,I suppose we’d better ring 999!” said Mary to Annie.”How lucky you are here,dear.”
    “Well,I’ll make the tea.We’ll need it.”
    “By the way,Annie,your eyes are looking so bright.Like two emeralds.” Mary whispered.”Have you ever fancied a woman?”
    “No,darling.It never occurred to me.So many men.So little time.”
    “Well,do let me know if you are interested!”
    “Sorry,dear.I want to become a government statistician then maybe I can understand government the from within, as it were.”
    She ran out singing “Onward Socialist Lovers” to welcome Dave,the handsome paramedic who was at the door.
    “Dave,do you know any Statistics” she called.
    “Only vital ones,my angel” he replied coolly.
    “How’s Stan?”
    “Not dead yet“Stan called spiritedly from the blue lambswool, hand washable Mary Quant rug.”Get me some fresh tea and we can all discuss the latest health statistics.”
    Anne laughed merrily but she looked truly insincere.At least according to Emile ,who was hiding behind the television in the corner.”I wish we could have our dinner,” he murmured.But no-one heard him.
    Cats don’t like tea but nobody seems to know.Emile is hoping to write a book soon.”Cat against tea.”

 

Where language began

Do we expect more
From some nations than others?
Why do you agree ?

Where language began
alphabets were invented
stories were read or sung.

civilisation
libraries were cherished here
mathematical

signs and symbols too
were made possible by sages
where have they all gone?

The ten commandments
Thou shalt not murder ethics
Are we all done for?

Oh,man!

No woman ever can be she of whom he dreams;
Nor can they give him comfort on the road.
Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes.
Hence rarely does he ever go abroad.

No food he eats will satisfy his tongue.
The best wine is as naught to mother’s milk.
He grumbles and will not believe he’s wrong.
I‘ ve known more folk than him of this same ilk.

No bed can give him comfort in his sleep.
No sheets and pillows made can suit his skin.
He often has made delightful maidens weep
Crying out they’re far too fat or skinny thin.

Beware the man who rarely can adapt
For in his hidden wishes he is trapped.

Of course when I say man I am using it in the generic sense to include all humans of whatever gender or bender they may be as wall know our Latin and the difference beteen vir and homo.. so homosexual refers to lesbians and virsexual applies to men in the nongeneric sense…
It’s many years since I learned Latin so i may have erred there and elsewhere though never as a homo as yet but that may be in the future waiting for me like that black monster that ran across the floor last night.
Horror and sex seems an odd thing at my age but if it kills me what away to leave the planet.I think I’ll knit a crocodile now

You were doing the foxtrot and he began to waltz,

Language has different rules.A language can be looked at as a game with rules.But the rules vary,That’s why perfect translation is impossible.Many different perceptions are linked into the vocabulary of each language.And the rules for combination are unique to each.
Like dancing…each society used to have its own form of dance though here it’s died out.Irish and Scottish dancing still exist and are very similar.People entertained themselves by singing their unique songs and dancing together… and playing their own instruments.. violin,tin whistle,piano…
Sometimes you make a friend from another culture.Sometimes you hurt them because your singing and dancing may have seemed similar and then one of you took a step which was not part of any dance the other one knew…. so feelings are hurt or the mind is puzzled.Unless you have very deep trust
You may think they are wanting to hurt you.But it maybe you were doing the foxtrot and they began to waltz, feeling it would be lovely to waltz with you.
Then they tread on your toes,you slap their face and it’s the end of a good friendship.But thinking of it as a confusion of dances may give the event a different meaning which ascribes no blame,just confusion natural in such a case

Trust the dark

Photo0205

 

Trust the unknown force that grew you,
From the  union of two cells.
An act of love  and total giving,
Which has produced whom you call self

 

Trust the dark,the unseen aspects
Of the life we all do live.
Trust that there is wisdom elsewhere,
To your emptiness to give.

 

Wait in patience for the time
When inspiration comes at last
Trust in darkness,silence,lowness.
Opposition forms the cross.

 

Pain is bearable in lowness,
Like the worm in earth I dwell.
When I look I see the sunrise

 And I trust all shall be well.

 

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He ate a piece of rancid cod

Image

Stan is feeling very odd
He ate a piece of rancid cod.
He hates to throw out bits of food,
but now his insides stewed.

He feels sick and tired of life.
He hates the housework and his wife.
He’s tired of cooking cakes for her.
And he dislikes her hair.

He does like talking to his cat.
They always have a friendly chat.
And he likes teaching tricks and jokes
And see….his ears do smoke!

He went to see a Doctor Brown
Who wore a bright red dressing gown.
He asked him why he had no suit.
And only wore one boot.

>Dr Brown said, Look here,you!
I’m the doctor,how do you do?
So Stan said “I am feeling sick.
The world whirls far too quick”

“Travel sickness is not nice,
The world spins once,then you spin twice.
I’ll give you some pink medicine,
See how you get on.”

“I want to get off, not get on.
My time on earth is surely done.
I want to hear angelic choirs
Instead of Mary’s tyres.”

“I think you’re very melancholy.
I prefer my patients to be jolly.
Please take Prozac ere you come”
“I’ve already taken twenty one
,
But I still feel so black and grey.
I can’t tell if it’s night or day.”
Oh,help me doctor,it’s that time,
When men run out of grime.”

“Now look her, Stan” the doctor said,
“I think that you should go to bed.
A little rest will do you good
And renovate your blood.”

“But who will bake the cakes and bread.
And make sure that the cat’s not dead?
And who will clean the purple bath
And sweep the garden path?”

So Doctor Brown began to cry.
He’s not much good but he does try.
So Stan went home and had a rest,
And ate some buttered toast.

Some days the world is too much here,
But other days it seems less queer
So Stan feels he can cope with life
And even with his wife!

Differently viewing

 

 

IYoung_Lady_Old_Woman_Illusion
Is this a young lady or an old one? The answer is it depends.Some see it as one,some another,If you wait it may suddenly flip.
You cannot see both at once.
I am thinking of this after  a hopeless discussion about the situation in Israel and Gaza.If people we speak to have one vision and we have another we don’t know this and we may get very angry with them as it is clear to us what we are looking at.
I am sure there are better ways of showing it but this conveys quite a lot of the meaning and the problems….. it depends in the above drawing what your brain selects from the possibilities..But we all see differently… nobody is right and nobody is wrong… or both are right in a way but cannot see the other image.what is the answer?
The only one I see is trust and that seems impossible just now…. yet we pray for an answer

Emile goes to the Garden Center with Stan

2apples1Stan and his bright ,beautiful and wise  yet psychotic wife Mary went to the Garden Center to use a gift token Stan had been given on his birthday by his cousin Marian. from Lee on Sea which is near Manchester They wanted to buy a big pot of mixed flowering plants to put on the porch of their 4 bed ,  tin bath cottage.Stan used to fill such a tub or indeed several himself but what with teaching Emile  his cat to swim,balancing the account book and cooking a dinner every day he was too busy.Not to mention cleaning the windows in the conservatory with his microfibre cloth which he did weekly.And all the baking too..he was missing out on going to the University of the Third Age to teach logic to retired artists.1236071_370604443072690_670872119_n

[My art..  from a  photo  of a bleeding bite on my leg..]

 

Emile their talking cat always went with them for a drive but he stayed in the car in case a dog might see him and bite him.
Stan said to  him,
Emile,would you like to sit on my shoulders,then you could come and have some coffee in a saucer?
No, thank you.said Emile,I don’t want a dog to jump up on you!I will lie down under  the seat and have a nap.You can bring me some icecream back..I love ice cream as it melts.
Stan and Mary went into a huge  glass greenhouse which  had a cafe at one end.How stunning  the orchids looked.. such delicate colors and what delicious and sweet perfumes they could smell.They sat down by the orchids and had a large cappuccino each and a very small scone with strawberry jam.
My goodness,what big mugs,Mary mused.Why don’t they standardize them? But to whose standards?
This must be half a pint!In some coffee shops this would be “Huge”
Well,just drink part of it,Pet,if it’s too much for you,” Stan replied abstractedly his mind on the nubile waitress.
What are you thinking?,.she enquired gently.This is the question most men dislike…maybe because they are not thinking and if they are,it may be they are thinking of something a wife or partner would not want to know!
I’m wondering what color  of plants to get.Stan acknowledged quietly yet intellectually.
I always like blue flowers like delphiniums she informed him.After 69 years of marriage he still did not remember…but it made life more fun… and more surprising as each day was nearly new yet not quite  second hand
The next moment they saw Emile. arriving.He was standing on the back of a large handsome black labrador dog which accompanied two stocky men.
Emile!he called,What’s going on? The two men came over.
Hello,one said,I’m Bert and this is my brother Bart.We found your little cat crossing the road.He said you were in here.Then Max,our dog,said Emile could ride on his back to avoid the mud by the gate
Thank you very much,Max,Mary said in a trembling voice. But how did you get out of the car,Emile?
You forgot to close the window and I could see a lovely tortoiseshell lady cat across the road so I deci.ded to pop over.Emile said triumphantly.I feel in the mood for something which is good for me.. namely sex.
But you don’t know the Highway Code yet,Emile!Nor safe sex
Stan groaned, as it was one more thing to teach Emile.Will he want to learn Ancient Greek, as well he asked himself evasively
Isn’t it cute seeing Emile riding on Max’s back? asked Bart.Do you mind if I take a photo?
Feel free,Stan replied.Allow me ,please,to buy you some coffee.
Thank you,said Bert.Two double esspressos please.And two scones with Cornish cream and blackcurrant jam,thank you
Stan went to order whilst Max and Emile did a tour of the cafe and had their photo taken by several surprised people sipping coffee and tea simultaneously in error but yet in time with life#s music
My goodness,said Mary,I wonder if this photo will be in the local newspaper next week.It’s a  symbol of love and peace.
Though of course not all dogs are as generous as Max. Not all cats are as bold as Emile..
Max wagged his tail and smiled upon hearing this.

If you’d like to help your dog to smile please email me at one of these addresses below.Cats can also be enabled to smile though this requires patience and charm and paying me a lot of cash in advance with no guarantees… i need money and am a cripple so please send it immediately when you find a public convenience or post office or a bank or from any cashpoint

Don’t wait.Email me now.. regret it later
patiencehere@coolmail.com
katepeaceplan@yodelmail.com
muchmorelove@catmail.org
katandcats@mymail.net

The Stress of the Unthought Known

Really intriguing and valuable to know..read it,please

Mark Brady's avatarThe Flowering Brain

There’s an unpredictable neural trickster living inside each of us, taking up residence in the dendrites and synapses that weave their way through the right side of our brain. It’s been living there since before we were transformed from embryos into fetuses – between weeks seven and eight in utero. By then, great learning has already begun and the primary driver of learning and brain development turns out to be … sound! (One reason hearing is one of the first senses to develop and the last to leave us?). Especially powerful is the sound of mother’s voice, which we begin paying close attention to during this important time. The growth that begins unfolding, driven powerfully by mother’s voice initially, almost immediately begins making a preponderance of connections on the right side of our brain.

Many months later, as we begin to acquire language, this lopsided neural development and…

View original post 1,016 more words

Love and generosity

jug and bottles 4

 

All love at first, like generous wine, 
Ferments and frets until ‘tis fine; 
But  when ‘tis settled on the lee, 
And from th’ impurer matter free, 
Become the richer still the older, 
And proves the pleasanter the colder.
       – Samuel Butler

 

If I go

 

 
 ???????????????If I go I won’t tell you.

I’ll just disappear one day.

Like when a cigarette ,which seemed so long,

suddenly has become smaller

and you never noticed it

because you were talking

about the meaning of life

while life was somewhere else

blown away with your smoke

into the sky

and then dispersed

never quite visible again

but still floating on the breeze

hoping to be caught

in a butterfly net

but unable to communicate

except by flying.

If I go it will not be today

but it will be an ordinary day

no one will realise

that it’s that day

that the bird flies

from her nest

to go to a new place

only seeing the deserted nest

he realises,

my bird has flown

My skin is getting thinner

When they split the atom

 
I’m a thin skinned person
On a thin skinned, spinning earth.
We’re living on the surface,
Creating more financial worth.

My skin is getting thinner
I am feeling far too much.
My skin is very fragile,
I may need to have it patched.

The earth is full of danger
But we build on it like fools.
As if our skins would thicken
If we covered them in jewels.

Inside the earth are fires
Which rage like infernos.
But we build nuclear reactors
In places we don’t know.

We build our human cities
As if we are in charge.
Banks,shops,bridges growing,
The built world has grown too large.

The earth has a thinner skin on,
But we don’t want to know.
We just want our human cities
To grow and grow and grow.

My skin is getting thinner
I feel life far too well.
I don’t want to write poetry
But I feel that I should tell.

My skin is getting thinner
I’m at one with Mother Earth
She groans and labours loudly
Like she is giving birth.

Her skin is getting thinner
Is it something she will shed?
As adders are reborn
When we think they are dead.

But if we have too many cities
The earth has no space to move.
We’re like acne pustules dancing
Without energy or love.

The skin is getting thinner
The world is going to split.
And the energy released
Is a fierce charge to transmit.

We split the atom once
And opened the abyss.
But when we split the atom
Who knew about all this?

My skin is far too permeable
I’m feeling too much pain.
I want a thicker skin
To survive on this terrain.

The world groans and she labours
And she destroys cities and trains.
She’s giving birth to her own self
As she struggles,works and strains.

Her self is something fearsome,
She is not civilised.
When God spoke from the Burning Bush,
We covered up our eyes.

My skin is getting thinner
I feel the heat again
My skin is getting thinner
I’m feeling too much pain.

 
Posted by at 18:28 

The Promised Land

I have loved you and I’ve held you.
Many years,you have been mine;
If the time has come for parting
Let us embrace for one last time.

You know you have to leave me,
Though you desire a longer stay.
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day

Then I’ll watch you travel on,love,
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you watching.
I shall feel when you are gone.

May you accept,may you surrender.
May you reach the promised land.
Into  earth my tears will fall, sweet,
As I recall your tender hands.

Gently like rose petals touch.

Like fish dancing
in the warm ocean
we frolic in
the sea of love,
our bodies turning
and turning
around an invisible centre.
skin touches skin
gently like rose petals touch.
how do we speak
except by gestures
of the heart?
how do we know
except by loving touch?
Sea,infinite sea.
trusting the depths
giving ourselves away
with hands reaching
to touch again and again
Our medium is fluid,
no boundaries ,no edges,
washed here and there,
we paint our love
into being
our feelings the brush,
our hearts the canvas.
such impressions we make

Suffering humanity


I am not a traditional Christian nor do I believe  going to church makes you a  real Christian which I discover was written about by Kiergegaard.Yet I believe there is a poetic truth in much of what it’s all about including Jesus as a symbol of suffering humanity.

After I had written the poem it reminded me of a song by George Harrison,My Sweet Lord.

I frightened my husband once when I was ill as I declared,I want to see Jesus…I didn’t want to die.. just thought it’s be interesting to meet him after all these years of hearing his name!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0kNGnIKUdMI

Are nature and nurture at war?
Is Reason a queen or a whore?
Such questions waste time for
It’s not Either/Or
Let balance be what we  adore.

Will this state or that one make peace?
Can such bare hostility cease?
We all must decide
Before more deaths arrive
Is it God’s palm or Satan’s we grease

Since atom bombs now rule us all
We live under their eternal pall.
Is this our direction
Or a human predilection
For banging our heads on brick walls?

We now hold a power so fierce
That all human hearts must be pierced.
Should we keep shopping
without ever stopping,
While our sweet Lord  dies again  in our wars.

In the deep waters I must trust

 

When seven years come round again
My self is liquified,
My skin becomes a holding shell.
My old self has died.

As I dissolve I feel great fear
And yet I trust my soul.
So in the sea I lose my form,
And with the waves I roll.

I am at one with all the world,
And yet I am no thing.
My inner waters rise and fall
What will the high tide bring?

After my drowning I shall rise
And I shall be renewed.
I must submit to this strange Life
With which I am imbued.

I am not mistress of myself,
I am this moment’s flower.
In the deep waters I must trust
To take me to the shore.

O hang my arms with grasses green
And dissolve me in dark sea.
Thus when the time comes for rebirth
Regenerated I shall be.

Full of wooden blunders

He stifled all her connections.

He is full of wooden blunders.
What do you mean I’m always fate..I’m just your date?
He took me for a bride alright.
She said she was very experienced but that was just with cooking the books.Food,no!
This year it’s either a turkey or a Christmas pee.Start saving now.
Speak now or forever hold my teeth.
Cheat now or forever tin corned beef..
She rifled through his affections.
What is an anti-verb?
Does everything in life get lost except my arthritis?
Her disorder was compulsive order.. strange how good can be overdone.Total order only occurs when we are all dead and buried.. until they sell the house and some nutter moves in…so don’t kill your family just to make cleaning easier.I mean,what’s it all about?
In the end,love is all we need along with a little hate.And a job.And a few friends,some writing paper and a cat or two
He is a barely graced liar on a good day.
All that twitters ought not to have been told…
Do you like cooking? So you eat books then!
What a nice disguise.. I’ve been unfaithful to my husband with my husband.Is that a first?
It’s not unusual  for me to cry.. and it’s a way of cleaning my eyes

Taking the slow road ~ tarrying not typing(#mywritingprocess)

This is a most interesting post which will also link you to some writers that Tish knows and their writing as well.I a;ways love knowing how other people do things whether it’s writing or painting or cooking or just being alive and conscious

Tish Farrell's avatarTish Farrell

Scan-130703-0009

On the road at #mywritingprocess with thanks to Tiny attinylessonsblog.com

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As others on this writerly blog tour have said, some writers are the bees’ knees at doing anything but write. I would be one of them. When the time comes to sit down at the desk there is the sudden compulsion to go somewhere else – anywhere else. This morning I left the computer to scrub the grout between the bathroom tiles. (So absorbing). Later I mooned over pots of recently sown runner beans, and what? Waited for them to grow? Of course. No writing skills needed in Beanstalk Land, only nifty footwork to elude man-eating giants. (Hm. And I could pick up a golden harp while I was there; learn to play, might inspire me to…) You get the picture.

So what is this doing something else all about? OCDD – obsessive compulsive displacement disorder? Why do…

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Love in Starbuck’s and the sequel

Photo2109Anita was sitttng in Starbucks drinking cafe latte.She gazed blankly out of the  window until her eye fell on a handsome man passing by.Thud!She ran out to retrieve her big blue eye and put it back into  its placeAre you ok,the man enquired suavely.Yes,I am fine she said. calmly yet thrillinglyAre you doing anything tonight?

Only washing my eyes,she answered succintly, But it won’t take me  long.

Would you like to have a meal with me?

She gazed pensively at his dark and mobile features.

I’ve not been to McDonald’s ever ,she whispered.

Very wise,I suggest that new Chinese place by the library.See you at 7 pm.I’m Tom.

Anita didn’t even  know his full  name but  she was  very keen  to  meet more men as she was 39 She went home and finished reading,”The Art of Loving” by Erich Fromm. should I also read .”The Joy of Sex” she ponderedor is it better to wait for it to happen and learn as you go?Besides she diddn’t yet  know and love Tom though he looked  beguiling. Then she wondered what they might talk about. so she watched a precis of the news. and washed her hair with a new shampoo.Oh, she realised it was for leopards but it seemed to do wonders for her  golden locks. What to wear?That was not a problem.She only owned one dress.It was amethyst coloured  and had a wrapover front,the style which is attributed to Diane von Furtensburg  though it was known in ancient Greece.Socrates may have worn one Anita  had got hers from “Lands End” for £13 in a sale.It was a little clingy but she had a most beautiful figure.Or should she wear a pashmina to hide her curves? I don’t know Tom yet she thoughtWhen she arrived  in  black jeans and a white Tshirt toppped by a beige trenchcoatthere was her beau wearing identical clothes.~And his hair was the same colour as hers.

What sort of shampoo do you use,?  she whispered seductively

Why,I use  one for leopards.I bought it at the vets.

Wow,I have the same one.Do you think we are two persons who may share a soul as well?

I’m not sure,but I’ll share a Dover sole with you.

Do Chinese restaurants sell fish?

I’ll ask.

Do you do fish?

Of course the food is fresh.

Tom gave up and went back to Anita.

Where do you work?

I’m in the Foreign Office.

Are you a spy?

No,I’m a linguist.I speak seven languages.

How useful.But it would be good for a spy too to know many languages

What do you do?

I’m in the Home Office.

What exactly do you do?

I’m a translator,Glaswegian to English and suchlike,dialects and accents

Wow, we do similar things.

They gazed furtively into each other eyes.

Do you come here often.?

No,not really but I’d love to meet you again.

Why,thank you.would you like to come back for coffee.

Where do you live?

Just across the road in that new block of luxury  flats near the train station.

OK,I’ll come.then.I live here over the restaurant.How convenient.How central.how residential.What potential They went into her flat and fell over the cat which was asleep in the hall.

What’s her name?

Apassionata Sonata!

That’s unusual.

I call her Pashy for short.

Not so good for shouting out if she’s in the garden.

They sat down demurely  on the mauve and pink  sofa.

Where do you get your jeans from?

I got these from Gap but sometimes I get them  from Topman

Oh,I got mine from Poetry by mail order

They are very atttractive on you.Or more correctly You look most attractive in them

Thank you.

May I caress your supine flesh?

Please do.How polite you are.

Where shall I start?

At the beginning

I don’t know your beginning.

Well,just guess.

He took her tapered hand and licked it with his tongue.Then he licked her lips.He could taste the sole.

Pass the salt please,he quipped. as he bit her ear lobe gently.

A tear of joy ran down her cheek and Tom licked it off very sensually.

How delicious, he muttered

You are so funny, Tom,she cried.I love you already.

Do you like being tickled anywhere and everywhere ?

No, but in your case I’ll make an exception.

Just then the doorbell rang loudly Anita opened the door of her flat as Tom hid behind the sofa with his jeans

and T shirt..

Hello,darling.Why are you in your underwear?

Hello,Mummy.I was feeling so hot!

Is that your wedding day  underwear ?

Yes,Mummy,but since I’m now 39 years old I decided to begin wearing it.

Oh dear ,Anita,Are you giving up hope of romance?

No,she’s not!,cried Tom springing up from the back of the sofa wearing only underpants and a vest.

I was just about to propose but Anita wanted my view on her underwear and I wanted to show her mine.

Hello,I’m Mary.I love your underwear.Is it all silk?

Yes,it is ,said Tom,it’s very comfortable. Still thus clad he knelt down and propesed to Anita.He said she should save her golden underwear for their honeymoon and gave her an amethyst ring for their engagement.

How romantic ,said Mary as they both got dressed. I never expected to be present to hear this proposal.I feel very pleased you

allowed me to be here. I must rush home to tell her father and everyone else. When will you get married?

As soon as possible,Tom cried.I can’t wait to see her golden underwear again.Promise to save it.Anita

Of course I will,Tom.I’m so happy you liked it.

And did you like mine?

You would look good just wrapped in brown paper,Tom.I love you just as you are.

And I love you,Anita.

Just then someone rapped hard on the door.Was it her father?Wait and see

Flying

 

I know that’s how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when  a photographing flowers.
It’s not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where you’ve gone.
One step wrong and you’re.
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle your grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
You’re on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly ,goodbye,I’m off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I’m shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I’m a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can’t say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I’ve been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I’m a tune,
I’m a thought,
I’m a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I’m under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I’m playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I’m going in.It’s too sudden.
I’m flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I’m going right out of orbit
I’ve broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I’m off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing,

Your life and your art?

http://faso.com/fineartviews/25584/artists-personal-lives-does-it-play-a-role-in-how-you-view-their-art

 

Even if Hitler’s art was good I would not want  to see it.Where do we draw the line?s

National collection of artists’  lives

Unwavering Ambivalence

You must discover this humor and talent now

bronxboy55's avatarMostly Bright Ideas

FortuneTellerThere was a time, when I was a teenager and therefore remarkably witless, that I fell for every crackpot idea that crossed my path. I was certain I had extrasensory perception, could move objects with my mind and see the future, and would eventually figure out how to walk through walls. I believed in ghosts, alien abductions, witches, sea monsters, psychic healing, astrology, numerology, auras, demonic possession, magic spells, good luck charms, communication with the dead, parallel universes, and spontaneous combustion. If it defied and contradicted modern science, I was convinced of its truth.

I’m older now, and much wiser, and have all but let go of those childish notions. And there’s at least the glimmer of possibility that the rest of the world is doing the same.

For example, Friday the thirteenth has always been a date when many of us felt free to blame our problems and mistakes…

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Virtue and perceptions

I have become interested in virtue and perception.It began when I read a little Aristotle about virtue being a habit.That was quite recent.Before that for many years I believed virtuous acts would follow from being able to perceive well.wisteria_n l

 

But when we are fraught our minds and eyes tighten up and so we perceive only what may be a danger to us.To perceive others well we need to be in a position to trust others and we need to feel secure.How is this possible?From my studies I read that our ability to trust begins with a trusted caregiver in infancy,[See attachment styles below]

 

We may be able to become more secure later by good fortune,friendship and love.If not,I seem to get the idea that if we are insecure and nervous we cannot truly perceive others and they may be in the same position.If we are very afraid then virtuous acts may be hard to accomplish. The reason is obvious… when. we are concerned with mere survival as a person , in that state what we do to others may be impossible for us to consider.We cannot truly see them and so we cannot act well towards them except by good luck.Or if we are able to tolerate great anxiety,we may see better…. if not we are incapable…. Those whom we cannot see properly we cannot truly consider with feeling and act on this feeling.We see them partly or mainly in terms of the fearful fantasies in our minds and cannot see them as other and interesting.When we make a friend online we may feel safer but in fact we are more likely to misperceive them.

When we are from a sad a or difficut background it may help to trust if we have some friends who might point out our errors and our goodness if we trust enough to tell them.Or we may pretend to be hard and tough.Neither leads to virtue.If we trust God /Nature/The Unknown it may help but I believe we see God especially through the lens of our parents.. which is not good…depending on the parents.

When we live in fear,we cannot see what is there before us.We cannot let go. We cannot accept grace and love nor give it.We will try to live by will power.Ironically people who are fearful inside can develop a shell of toughness and pride and so are not seen as vulnerable and/or lovable.Tbey may seem frightening to others. This account may help to explain why politics is the way it is and also we see that arguing is not persuasive when the other is not able to open up and see things more broadly.Arguing makes us tighten up and see less well.And it can be frightening too though some cultures find it more acceptable than others.

Here are some relevant blogs and articles

http://psychology.about.com/od/loveandattraction/ss/attachmentstyle.htm

This author had a lot to say about perception… http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-marion-milner-1163951.htmlhttp://susannanelson.wordpress.com/2014/03/02/happy-go-lucky/

http://glimpsejournal.wordpress.com/2014/05/11/the-real-bees-knees-stunning-micro-view-of-the-workers-behind-your-mothers-day-flowe