Month: October 2014

The curate’s motorbike

Come here darling, come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s very sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside;
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church-side track.
It was the best thrill of my life;
If only Daddy had not died.

 

Barbarosities

 

She’s as easy  to hug as  it would be to  kiss a bee on my crown
Life’s not easy when I  see ghosts smoking without ashtrays
I feel uneasy as  your pie made me queasy.
Poisoned by gum and still chewing
Beat lead.Buy a  fountain pen today.Qouink!
He sits like a broomstick at a wedding for dummies
Shall we beat my cat… or hunt hares?Is cruelty good? Then ban hunting,for God’s sake.He made all creatures…if he exists
It’s  treat  to  see your gun;catch my lift?
Why not eat your own dog’s food and leave mine for me.It’s all I have since the cat  died.
Eight hundred men caught one gorilla which took a bus into town..Now he’s been given a free Mass in the cathedral.Sorry  a Free Bus Pass ex cathedra
Why no elephant in your room? Are you in need of brass monkeys?
Are you on  an imaginative roller coaster?Join our club for the highly imaginary person
Now you must empathize with the wrong willed yet able to get the country off my knees.I am worn down by the dichotomies

The end of the sentence

 book-art-3
with its deep darkness
The Fall was never healed.
Can I resist the call of the killers?
Will they kill me with kindness or with hatred?
I try to hide but no place feels safe anymore
I negate my writing and hide my pens.
Pain degrades me.
Writing deleted returns in imagination
I can do little but I try
Black gravity is the monster in my soul…
Sway not the tree
On whose strong branch the leopard drapes himself
But let the moon speak in silver tongue
as the leaves rustle
I am invisible
except as a home for ants
Who steals my words.
I am no more than a punctuation mark or a short title
I am near the end of my sentence.
I’ll be hanged by some inverted commas
From the oak tree.. burning in the sun’s borrowed fires
I can’t see your face now.
Just shapes in grey fog
Like the doctor without feeling for my child.
A child,that was..
that would have been…
that has gone.
I am uncertain
outside the circle,
outside the circle.
the circle
the circle
of your arms

The why of the house

 

 

0114-0006The phrase “the window of opportunity” seems not wholly satisfactory
Admittedly you can see through a window unless you have thick net curtains but how many of us would be able to leap out of the window and seize the opportunity by the throat,if you see what I mean? And if you were in the attic you’d be dead before you got there…so what we need are “doors of opportunity”

The problem with that is you can’s see through a door unless it’s either got a window or is a glass door..So if you want success try living outside in a transparent tent where nothing will get in your way if anything passes by and your will get free publicity
I expect the phrase was made up by someone who writes speeches for politicians.
If you want a to succeed you must grasp the windows of opportunity as they go by and squeeze every last drop of rum out of them [try the tygers of wrath too]
She was only a little window but she was the window for me
Do not ask what your windows can do for you but what you can do for your windows.
Look through the windows and seize the day.Unless it’s a dark night in which case visit a brothel if they have windows
And one day all our children will be able to choose their own windows..red,yellow ,……………..mix your own…..free windows ..
Windows are the eyes of the house
Don’t be shy if opportunity peeks into your window.Peek right back at it…
Ich bin ein Window! Moi aussi.Ma femme!
Where is she now, the rich widow of my opportunity?
To look or not to look.Out of a selection
Never close the door in case someone wealthy passes by on the other side.and merely glances at your window.
Now is the Window of our discontent made gloriously plumper with our sunny walk
One good window deserves another.
I’ll be your window, if you open your door
Windows,they ought to be taxed I say.
Windows.. they give you an illusion of being in the sun but did you know we can see in…and we saw you and the mirror on your ceiling…anything to say in your pretence?

After he left me

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After he left me.I walked slowly and blindly.
Unknowingly, I  had entered a grey desert of rocks and stones
Not a person nor a house
Not a flower or a tree…..
Seemed like no-one else in this whole world was alive.
Inside my womb I carried our child.
Solemn with that weight and crushed by grief
I kept on my way.
Though my time had not yet come,
I realized the child was about to be born
I was aided by a faceless
doctor.who informed me
that my child was dead.
Casually he tossed it onto a heap of bodies
I am not Jewish ,but it reminded me of a Death Camp.
Deserted,I gave birth in a Death Camp.To a dead baby.
The doctor vanished and I lay inert like one of the grey rocks that were heaped about.
My heart felt like a stone
I had no food or drink but no desire arose.I lay unmoving
After a week I rose to my feet knowing I must leave or die.
Going over to look at my dead child at last,
I saw with astonishment,
he was alive.Alive!
I picked him up
And held him tenderly.
He’s alive,but what am I do to?
Still there’s noone around in this eery landscape…
But at least my child is alive.
Like the Israelites out of Egypt,I shall have faith in God
And I will keep walking until I die if need be.
My child is alive,is loved.
A miracle has  occurred.

I walk on

Reviewing effectiveness of UK drugs policy

christopherjamesstone's avatarFierce Writing

Kill the Messenger: a film about CIA complicity in the drugs trade

I wasn’t sure whether to write about drugs or the media in this week’s column. So I’m writing about both.

As it happens, there’s a new film out which covers precisely these topics. It’s called Kill the Messenger and it stars Jeremy Renner as real-life journalist Gary Webb who broke an amazing story back in the 90s and who was destroyed because of it.

The story was about CIA complicity in the import of crack cocaine into the United States. The CIA weren’t directly involved: rather they turned a blind eye when one of their client groups, the Nicaraguan Contras, used cocaine smuggling as a means of funding their activities.

The CIA were later to admit that the story was largely true, but rather than support Gary Webb in his work, the mainstream media turned upon him…

View original post 214 more words

Scramble yourself

How to beat eggs.

How to whip cream.

How to slap wet fish.

How to boil bacon.

How to cut bread.

How to carve a joint.

How to break the ice.

How to suck clams.

How to cook books.

How to cook cows’ heels.

How to cut off pigs’ tails and heat them.

How to stuff a mushroom.

How to boil brains.

How to roll your own eyes.

How to blow up your own nose.

How to curl your lip.

How to be hoist by your own petard

How to bully beef.

How to pot beef.

How to poach legally.

How to brew liquor.

How to scramble brains.

From singing

I see  a barrier  divides us .

Invisible and haunting like a face in a  fading dream

Maybe it’s  always been there……….

How shall I render it?;

A glass wall through which we  see

yet cannot touch ‘

we are close but  we can never feel;

never caress or kiss.

All that’s left is vision

which is   desired yet produces torment.

If someone should break that glass wall

would that be bad or good?

Though we would walk on splinters

for a short time

We’d be together in the same sensual world

with roses,peonies and anemones;

with birds , badgers and barley fields…

cats and cradles

and nursery rhymes.

Is it right   to judge the shattering of the glass as evil…

after all,who was it who had drawn me there

as by a golden thread?

and are we alive inside that bell jar

which is meant only for the dead?

Yes,the noise and the wind that whirls through

may strike us with  an instant of terror

but ,holding hands, we would come through..

and how  then would we keep from singing?

Nerves that wave

Good morning,Ms Brown
Gosh,you are so utterly politically correct ,doctor
In my view,it matters only for us to be medically correct,dear.And grammatically,of course.
How true, noble sire.
Now, what’s the problem today,madame?
It’s my nerves,doctor.I hate them so much I feel almost  derisory..which is totally crackers nowadays with so many street drugs to take one’s mind out of this world.
What’s wrong with your nerves to make you feel like this all of a sudden?
I think they are too big,mein herr.Can I have plastic surgery on them to replace then with plastic ones .I mean artificial like dentures are for teeth that drop out?
My dentist tells me my nerves are double the average size. for humans
But what is the standard deviation? Averages are no use alone.I wish people learned this in school
How dare you say that! I have never deviated in any way.And I’ve never been average… and surely double the average size must mean something gross is going on?
What a pity this is.You are a very charming and glamorous lady…I say that only to comfort you,not to seduce you which is illegal anyway,even if I wanted to do.Which I deny absolutely;
Well,my nerves feel like long wild grasses waving in a cold westerly breeze in a great big meadow in Hartland,North Devon where many lips have cracked.And sailors drowned off shore too…why some even drowned on the shore and their ghosts still wander below the sheer and terrifying cliffs of alabaster and silver.
Have you ever though of writing narrative or lyrical poetry or even romantic novels?
What,write poetry with nerves like this?Do you think I’m a masochist or what?
Well, you could try using a pen or a keyboard,you know. Now,God has given some of us larger nerves than others.It’s an evolutionary advantage to have some sensitive people about,like the canaries in the coal mines.They feel trouble coming before the rest of humankind
That’s hardly any use to me as I am childless and can’t pass it on.
God didn’t know that when he created you.Or if he did,he knew with nerves like this motherhood would be perilous and at least you can be a human canary
Well,is there any surgery to help me or any other amelioration to my symptoms?
Apart from removing your head there’s not much I can suggest at this moment in time,right now, if you want a verdict.Perhaps you can plant some wild flowers amid these long waving grasses and enjoy the beauty that you will perceive in summertime if you can be patient
You’re an odd doctor compared to the usual one.
Actually I’m really the computer repair man.The system has crashed and so has the doctor…temporarily
I knew you looked different but I put it down to my giant nerves disturbing my vision…
So will you come back to see the doctor later?He is just in the pub drinking blackcurrant liqueur for his nerves!
What’s it got to do with you if I come back again or not?
I love your mind,I love your body .I love your tentacles,receptacles and all your past and future particles.I love every bit of you especially your nerves.I always liked a woman with very big nerves.
Really? Well,that’s cheered me up a great deal.I like the beast in man.How about my wild grasses?
I love those too.Why,I’d like to lie down amongst them if you catch my drift.
Can you read between the lines or write between them?
Have you ever thought of taking up psychotherapy?
I prefer to help computers.Hearing sad stories from disturbed folk all day must be draining as you can’t run out when you get overwhelmed like you can at parties
Yes,but it would be horribly fascinating to hear all these stories.And now I am off to the garden centre to buy some flower seeds.
I’d give you some seeds myself but it would be wrong to sow your field here in this office and the doctor might come in any time now which would be a trifle unseemly.
Well,he could sow his wild oats as well!
What a wicked woman you are;I love your mind.You seem quite out of the orddinary… please keep your big nerves.
I am only offering this with the aim of calming those huge nerves .I am not thinking of enjoying lust or of how romantic you seem and how artistically  brilliantlu you are dressed and your golden curls and blue clothes.And your cleverness.
I quite understand.I shall keep it all under my hat. if you see what I mean
It’s an amazing red hat.Are you a Cardinal?
No,I stole it off one
I’d love to hear the whole story….who,when and where?
Well,I hope to publish it on Swindle soon.
We can’t wait.

Neither can I

It’s my nerves,doctor

Good morning,Ms Brown
Gosh,you are politically correct doctor
In my view,it only matters for us to be medically correct,dear.
How true,sire.
Now, what’s the problem today.madam?
It’s my nerves,doctor.I hate them
What’s wrong with them to make you feel like this?
I think they are too big.Can I have plastic surgery on them to replace then with plastic ones .I mean artifical like dentures?The dentist tells me my nerves are double the average size.
But what is the standard deviation?Averages are no use alone.I wish people learned this in school
How dare you say that!I have never deviated in any way.And I’ve never been average
What a pity.You are a very charming and glamorous lady…I say that only to comfort you.
Well,my nerves feel like long wild grasses waving in a cold westerly breeze in a meadow in Hartland,North Devon where many lips have cracked.And sailors drowned too
Have you ever though of writing narrative or lyrical poetry?
What,write poetry with nerves like this?
Well, you could try using   a pen,you know; Now,God has given some of us larger nerves than others.
It’s an evolutionary advantage to have some sensitive people about.Like the canaries in the coal mines.They feel trouble coming before the rest of humankind
That’s hardly true for me as I am childless.
God didn’t know that when he created you.Or if he did,he knew with nerves like this motherhood would be perilous
Well,is there any surgery to help me or any other amelioration?
Apart from removing your head/brain there’s not much I can suggest.Perhaps you can plant some wildflowers amid these long waving grasses and enjoy the beauty that you perceive.
You’re a funny doctor compared to the usual one
Actually I’m the computer reprair man.The system has crashed.
I knew you looked different but I put it down to my nerves disturbing my vision
So will you come back to see the doctor later?
What’s it got to do with you?
I love your mind,I love your ass! I love your tentacles and all your past particles.
I love every bit of you especially your nerves.I always liked a woman with big nerves.
Really?Well,that’s cheered me up a great deal.I like the beast in man.How about my wild grasses?
I love those too.Why,I’d like to lie down amongst them if you catch my drift.
Can you read between the lines or write between them?Have you ever thought of taking up psychotherapy?
I prefer to help computers.Hearing sad stories from disturbed folk all day must be draining
Yes,but it would be horribly fascinating.And now I am off to the garden centre to buy some flower seeds.
I’d give you some seeds myself but it would be wrong to sow your field here in this office and the doctor might come in any time now
Well,he could sow his wild oats as well!
What a wicked woman you are.You like a threesome?
I am only offering this with the aim of calming these huge nerves of mine.I am not thinking of lust
I quite understand.I shall keep it all under my hat if you see what I mean
It’s an amazing red hat.Are you a Cardinal?
No,I stole it off one
You seem very naughty!
I am very naughty!
Ou est la plume de ma tante?
J’enchant

mon petit point

 

Love knows what to do

2012-01-22

Some folk are made of rubber
Some folk are made of glass
And when the stormy winds blow
Rubber lets it pass.

i

Some folk have eyes like water

Some have eyes like ice

And when we’re introduced to them

We do not look there twice.
Some folk have learned to use us;
;Some folk give us respect.
With those who cannot see us
We cannot  connect.
Some folk where born  to sunshine
Some folk were born to storm
And fears imagined in the mind
Can cause such dreadful harmOh,hold me to your bosom
Oh.hold me close to you
Some folk were made to hate and fear
But love knows what to do.

 

Oh.love knows what to do.

Love knows what to do.

A love song with a different flavour

Your skin glows like an old lemon which someone left in the fridge for two years or more.
It blossoms as rudely as the nastiest weeds in springtime.
My yearning heart rises to your thunderous voice and leaps like a pig at the whisper of your name,Ratbag.
The evening ascends like a lion on a great Kentucky Fried Chicken Wing.
I am calmed by your vests that I carry to clean  the car headlights.
And hold in my hand when I have run out of Kleenex tissues.
I am filled with dismay that I may need to dry your tears of shame.
Yet you ignore mine as ever.You forget I am a woman.

As my right eye falls on my blue shawl,alas it reminds me of our unmade blue bed once more.
I shall not forget it for my self esteem is low
and it’s a year since I changed the sheets.
In the hushed yet noisy night,I listen for the last tweets of the autumn and look forward to an icy winter of miscontent
sleeping with the cats on the internet highway
My overheated heart leaps into my  hot red mouth.
My lipstick is fading away with shock.
I wait in the faint moonlight for your secret bank check
So that we may strive as one mad being
in search of a  golden ring
Symbolic of ambivalent married love that has passed its sell by date
But still has some intrigue remaining.
I never met anyone as dreadful,sweet and ugly as you.
I love you,Loonie.You are mine forever

We hear God howl

I learned an  ‘ymn in our old kirk.
I realized then that God don’t work.
I think he  offen laughs and cries.
When one thing grows,another dies.
We went t’t  church and we all sang.
The organ played and the big bells rang.
We  heard no answer then
till a strange loud voice called out,”Ah! Men!”
I want to think  we were made to sing.
What but joy can we each bring?
The psalms will comfort us at night.
And in the dawn we see the Light.
Then we rise up and our songs float out.
The cats miaow as they run about.
The dogs join in to bark and growl.
And from the sky we hear God howl…..

Ah,men

The TV /computer screen is a window

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The TV screen is a window into another world.Unlike the window in the front room here,it does not show real people going about their affairs.No.it shows a world which has been carefully constructed.Some programs are beautiful.Some nowadays are live shows where people meet various challenges.Sometimes these can be very damaging,as can live interviews.It;s strange to see one’s PM wearing makeup.And that’s the least of it!

You can watch violence,murder or pornography if you wish or hear orchestras playing your favorite music.Extend your choice with DVD’s.Spend all your life glued to the screen….which glue is best?I’ll let you know soon.

Then there are the political aspects..I did not watch much of the grand funeral of our ex PM Maggie Thatcher but I saw enough to show it’s been used by the current government to raise their own esteem in the public eye.A politician should never have a funeral with military honors with the coffin on a gun carriage pulled by horses and the same week poor families had their welfare cut back.Ten million pounds on this event which also was very provocative to the worst off members of society.

St Francis SOS

They can construct this kind of event and by means of it manipulate our feelings.State and ceremonial funerals are for the Royal Family who are above party politics or for someone like Churchill who led us through the fight against Nazi Germany.

Windows…. like dreams…. think about whether someone is presenting you with a view for their own ulterior motives and not to enlarge your view of the world… ask yourself who you are alowing into your inner sanctum

Humour

.April 2013 – Margaret Thatcher dies.
May 2013 – Hell privatised.

Moon flowers

How to get fatter without eating your heart out.

How to come  to a dead end in your own lifetime.

How to flow round the bends and up the hills

How to grow into a bitch.

How to become mentally elastic.

How to grow alma maters in pots or gro- bags.

How to grow moon flowers on earth without magic

How to distract the opposite wrecks.

How to enjoy tracks in bed.

How to make new bases for your sorrows

The dangers of meditation

Swans color abstr

http://masteringeft.com/masteringblog/about-meditation/meditation-articles/2247-2/

This is on Patricia Carrington’s website and she is the only expert person who has drawn attention to this aspect of meditation…A few years ago I read an article by the Welsh poet Gwyneth Lewis who went to a long 2 day meditation course in a convent.She became distressed but was persuaded to stay.
She became severely depressed not long after that…. the nuns didn’t know it could be bad.
Basically, clichedly I say to myself:
Don’t do too much of anything except being kind to yourself and then to others if possible

Human self deception

 

0114-0006

 

I sit on a man’s back, choking him and making him carry me, and yet assure myself and others that I am very sorry for him and wish to ease his lot by all possible means – except by getting off his back.

Leo Tolstoy  [not checked]

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/l/leotolstoy153953.html#p5FqFhPMic2aBUvI.99

Don’t meditate just yet nor for too long

b

Silver-birch

http://thoughtbrick.com/meditation/dangers-meditation-10-things-look/
Very few books or articles on meditation mention that it has risks… and now it’s being pushed as the answer to all our health problems.
In the past meditation was within a religious tradition so that you had a priest or a rabbi to turn to.Now the religious aspect is stripped away and it is taught as a method of relaxation without any connection to a community of knowledge and experience.The Church has many flaws but it does have many advantages too.. and ..similarly for religions other than Christian.
If you meditate for too long in one session it can bring up material from your Unconscious.This may be dangerous for depressives and other folk with afflictions more dangerous
Patricia Carrington’s Freedom in Meditation has a chapter on this.
And it is not meant to be a retreat from life…
For some people any form of relaxation is a problem…
sometimes taking walks is a better idea.I know one person who found having massage emotionally distressing… yes,she was anxious but she didn’t feel able to deal with it.
Listening to music is good.Sitting by a tree is good

Some men have gathered followers to their meditation readings and methods and then I read about how awful these men were to their own families… cruel even…We have rushed into spiritual  techniques without the protection of a larger community to hold us and guide us.

Sex and ethics

Sex and health

Sex and wealth

Sex by stealth.

Sex alone

Sex with others.

Sex and the Bible

Sex and Ethics

Sex  in metrics.

Sex for the scared or scarred

Sex and fitness.

Sex, it it worth it?

Sex and sin

Sex and Virtue

Sex with love.

Sex and your heart.

Sex as art.

Sex and goodness.

Sex for the   sensitive

The Stan saga.. a letter from Mary,author of “Wittgenstein’s cats”

Source: Kathryn

A letter

The Pilchards.

23,Sweetnames Avenue

Knittingham

Near Nottingham.

England

Dear Jane

Hope you are keeping well in this unusually cold spring weather.

Stan has had flu.It made him so bad tempered and waspish

that I took up the Duraglit polish and got him to polish all the brass,

except the front door knob, as that doesn’t come off.

Mind you,it made the bedroom smell odd… a mistake,perhaps.. so I sprinkled lavender oil around.

He seems to get thinner and I seem to get fatter.

So our average w eight remains constant.

What a relief.I’d like to be weighed as a married woman.Can you believe this..

I’ve got chilblains! It’s those dratted blood vessels of mine.

Still,I polished some old plum colored leather boots  and wear them in the house.

We seem to be doing polishing frequently here.. boots,furniture,apples.

How is your new book “Nonsense:A.N.Whitehead and Lewis Carroll” coming on?

Hope it’s progressing….to a nonsensical but true ending

I’ve got a new book of poetry coming out in April [from Polar bears publishers]

It’s called,”An unpolished performance.”

My fourth book on Wittgenstein‘s cats is almost finished.

And the publishers can’t wait for the photographs…I’ll get a friend to do those for me!!

It gives me a change from all that polishing.

I’ve begun to talk to myself out loud…. in the street.Just seeing if I can still do my old Lancashire accent.

I suppose it might  worry people but no one has said anything as yet.They may be afraid.

“That which is unsaid can,nevertheless,still be heard.

Stan is still involved romantically with Anne, our next door neighbor.

I can’t blame him as chilblains and Wittgenstein not very romantic.

When I think of how we used to be,it makes me smile and feel sadness too.

I wonder if I can find someone new for a romance,myself… someone with Asperger’s syndrome

possibly…as I’ve just been diagnosed.It’s quite common in mathematicians.It may be an advantage in concentrating a lot

I need a boyfriend with weak eyes as my clothes are all full of moth holes and I’m damned if I’m going to buy new ones.

I can’t see well enough to darn but I’ve sewn the holes up neatly thus giving a strange pleated effect to my clothes.

On my merino wool knitted trousers, one hole was right on the ass.It looks now as if I’ve been shot in the rear…

but I can’t see it.So it does not exist.Sometimes in the past I would iron on those motifs like

butterflies…but I think it would look odd having a butterfly just there…. or indeedanything else like wild ros

I could make a little sign saying”Keep clear,from my rear.This is a hole where a moth scored a goal.”

Still,not many people are going to look there now I hope…. I seem to have stopped knitting but am still drawing.

Meantime I’ve just ironed some of my winter clothes as it’s dank and  chilly and am planning to iron all my pink and blue knickers now as I believe it kills any germs left when you wash at 30 deg.I got those colours in case I should

change sex or is it gender?I wonder if I should iron the sheets?Could I do it while they are on the bed?

I don’t wash them much as it wears them out and me too. I am going to take up baking again because Stan is getting so thin.

I fancy a Russian cheesecake as it had a lot of protein in it.

I have a genuine Russian cookbook and also am waiting for a delivery of a

Jewish cookery book as I have lost mine..no it fell down onto my head last week

God only knows where that came from.

but I believe there were good cheesecakes as Jewish cooking has much in

common with Russian,perhaps because once many Jews lived in Russia.I just

made friends with one here….he is charming and like me he hates golf.

I have got almost all the Penguin cookery books ever printed but mislaid a

few.In fact it’s quite hard to get into the kitchen

with all these books on the shelves.And a little food.I was comforted to read that the parent’s of John Burra,the artist,

had books piled every where in their large house….and he was very untidy too.

So all I need is talent and practice and I’ll be an artist.

After all,anyone can be untidy but not everyone will practice their Art.

I’d like to practice the arts of love.They say you should love your neighbor as yourself,

but personally I prefer the neighbor or even the milkman to myself.

Meanwhile I’m happy with Emile our cat and my 500 photos of Wittgenstein. I shall make Stan a lemon sponge pudding.

That is the love he wants…Food.”If music be the food of love

I’ll cohabit with a pure white dove.

And while he coos and sings for me.
I’ll try not to :fall out of the tree,
Get stung by a bee,
Have psychotherapy
Make more enemies,
Let my thought free,
Hurt my knee.
Let moths frighten me.

 

Well,time for some tea.

Now Jane, please write to me soon.

I love to see your so strangely beautiful handwriting alluring me to open the letter and to hear about Whitehead and Cambridge and all the weird dons. I hope it’s not too damp and cold there near that river.

Keep warm and make a note of any intriguing happenings to relate to me. And anything beautiful you can see or hear.I hope Edward is writing regularly..where is he doing his research now… did you say Stanford?Maybe you should install Skype..then again,perhaps not as you would have to wash your hair too much… and comb it too…perhaps we could wear wigs.

Do write soon,dear one,Love always,Mary.

 

Odd shoes

  • photo-2 122
  • After Mary went off to the Oxfam shop on her bikes with a bag of surplus shoes Stan decided to clean his laptop computer.He was trying to open the plastic box of Screen Cleaning Tissues and wondering if he could have used a damp microfibre cloth instead.He was feeling excited because he was going to take Mary away for the weekend to a Pie Museum on the Lincolnshire coast.
    There was a knock on the back door.He saw Lisa and Tom,two students from Knittingham University.Tom’s grandmother was a friend of Stan’s.
  • “Hello,”said Tom,”this is Lisa Stoat my girlfriend.”
  • “Hello,Lisa.How are you?And where do you come from?”
    “Hello,I’m fine, thanks.I believe my mum found me under a gooseberry bush near the A19 to Teesside.She’d been out rambling with the gypsies.Anyway she met my dad when I was 2.He’s  doctor in Middlesborough,he adopted me and several other  children my mother found from time to time out in the country.There are six of us now.There are lots of gooseberry bushes on Teesside.”
    “Thank you for that,Lisa.”Stan said
    “Please don’t mention it; you are more than welcome!” the lovely girl told him gently.
    “Would you like some gooseberry pie.”Stan asked her modestly
    “Yes,I’m ravenous.” the girl  replied shyly,her cheeks turning bright red
    “Well,you know you are a growing girl.” Stan chuntered .”I’m afraid I can’t find the cake forks”
    “That’s a pity,” replied Tom.”I’ve never seen  a  cake fork in my entire life.”
  • “Oh,goodness,”Stan called.”What did you do?”
    “Well,we used an axe to cut the pies up and then lay on the floor and grabbed bits with our teeth.!”
    “Where you raised by cats?” Stan cried querulously.
    “To a certain extent,”the boy honestly admitted.”But I can use a knife and fork now for meat and veg and also I can now use a lavatory rather than digging a hole in the soil or using a plant pot.”
    “Have you thought of writing your autobiography?”Stan demanded curiously
    “I feel I’m a bit young for that and  the cats, Lucy and Mario, might be offended.”
    “Can they read?”Stan muttered loudly.

“Not yet but I’m doing phonics with them. the government recommends that according to the News of the Failed.”
“But not  for cats,surely?” Stan replied jovially.
“Well,you win some you lose some!” Tom answered with the  unique and original turn of phrase  typical of one raised by  cats
Lisa got over. excited.”You could call it “A tale of two Kitties”” she cried hysterically.
“Oh,my God.Is she bipolar?” Stan thought nervously
“But what would Professor Fittsgenstein think?”
“I rarely think,” said a man who had crept into the kitchen through the cat flap.”And I have to confess that I too was partially raised by cats.”
“Welcome.Professor”, they all shouted
“What  a coincidence!”
“Well,”said Annie, who had been listening through the keyhole,”It’s very common in Knittinghamshire you know.The mortgages are so big,both parents have to work so they have no alternative but to leave the children at home with the cats.They all learn to mioaw which can be useful.” She then gave a loud”mioaw” and disappeared.”I’d better ring 999 ” Stan whispered.”I think she is  going crazy.
“Oh,no” Tom stated knowingly,”If you could enter into the narrative of her life and reach the place where she is you would see it all makes perfect sense.”
“What even the thick layers of makeup and the T K Maxx perfume.”Stan enquired philosophically”Yes,indeed.” the lad told him ardently

“Didn’t Schopenhauer advise against about pretending to be someone other than your true self?” Stan said thoughtlessly

“I’m sorry but we have only reached pi and the Ancient Greeks.Is Philosophy actually  meant to help you with real life problems?”
“What sort of pie did they eat?”Stan wondered anxiously.
“I guess maybe apricot or peach,”said Lisa womanly
“Well,I have the Fanni Far Mer cookery book here.I’ll look it up.”
“But she’s American? poor Lisa said peevishly
“I thought she was a Turk!” Stan informed her humorously
“What about Gud How Ski Ping?” She  debated
“Yes,I do like  Chinese. food” he informed her.”It is very popular all over the world.
I’d better brew the tea,Stan decided…the kettle was  now boiling noisily on the hot red  coal fire… frightening Emile who was sleeping on the rag rug in front of it…

So it’s goodbye from Knittingham and Nottingham too

 

With no conscious plan

Why, in the stiff west wind that sends bright leaves scudding
along the dull grey pavement,
Why is it those leaves?
Why do some leaves stay still and dead
as if only a hurricane
would lift them to fly off like aged butterflies?
And how we are like that too.
Some of us are blown away by a mere puff of tobacco smoke
Others are stuck to the earth to live,to die where we were born.
And see now the patterns change
as the wind drops and the flying leaves
descend again but onto a new terrain,
resting for a while with the curmudgeonly stuck grey leaves
before another breeze takes them off flying past the chestnut trees and into the schoolyard….
where boys,mad with stiffness dash about
themselves a little like the leaves
forming shapes and patterns as they run
with no conscious plan
then the bell will ring
returning them to rows and columns
like an army platoon seated at child sized desks
Waiting for their orders.
The sky is not blue today
Yet the flowers smell so sweet they enchant me
as I tread carefully in my blue boots
across the dangerous damp flags
into the Pharmacy by the big trees

Always faintly guilty

Pass  water on a dot?
I can’t relieve you,my dear.You need a pot.
Do pass the fluck to me if  you can beware to.
You pig!I know your tart of man be off.
He passed  on the shit by letter
Uttering crap was his  pleasure.
He just couldn’t stand himself.
Still you love them,you hate them;
it passes the flame.
He passed  me with flying dolours;
once a Catholic,always faintly guilty.
In my case I  truly passed out with flying colors.
You see,the red knickers were half price
no-one else wore them.
I don’t know why they were  ever made,
and no maid should have worn them.
I was always out of the lurch of normality,if you grasp my scheming.
I had a hare brain  and no mind to speak to except my doll with no head
it fell off,unlike mine,that’s china for you.Potheads are a bad idea
Please read under each line today
To take the path of least consistency is hard for mathematicians
but post-Godel it’s just one more hurdle to leap over
Play as you go where?
His lips paid me such service,no-one since has matched his adroitness,
yet he never knew my name.
I was just one of a number of girl he loved in rotation;
we were almost a constellation
and definitely a consolation to each other,united by our  hatred of the one we love

I  just do not know  how pray through the prose.
If he were not a man,I’d call him a bitch.
He called me a deviant tart,if I recall nightly.
Peel the onion with a running tap to stop your eyes running
Can I  put a pencil in your ear
They gave us a penny for each thought we had thunken.
I remember it so mistily as I never knew thought before.
I was an intellectual virgin at that time…

I have a little lamb

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I’ll stick with Thee…fast falls the chill of night
Send me an angel,I need something bright.
I have no fear,with Thee I’ll be alright.
Why not succumb and put in electric light?

Large now or small.It matters not what size.

All that now matters…must be our Lord God’s eyes.0114- arnside 2 0006
In their sweet light,I’ll love my neighbour’s wife
As she seems unhappy with almost all her life.

I do not mean to fornicate or lust.
No,I’ll calm her gently and I’ll earn her trust.
I’ll cook their dinner,so she takes a rest…
Then when the evening comes I’ll sit my test.

Do they eat meat?I have a little lamb…
If not I think there is some well cured ham.
I’ll cook nine veggies as we are advised
That will definitely bring us to Eternal Life

The butterfly

The butterfly is like a flower
which moves its station every hour.
Oh,happy is he on the wing.
The vision makes me quick to sing.
The flower is open in the sun,
And to its heart, true love shall come.
The bees shall feast and fly replete
With nectar they are now full sweet.
I sing of color and of love,
Blessings that rain down from above.
I wish to be a flower too.
Ah,that the bee could but be you.

And studying engine ballistics

I used to like doing statistics

And studying engine ballistics.
but I saw the light.
At midnight one night.
Since when I’m enjoying the Mystics.

I read Meister Eckhart one year.
I found some little bits very clear.
I agree I am naught
In blindness am caught.
I am almost convinced I’m not here.

Doing the pruning is good.
Take off the dead bits of wood.
Oh,God prune my soul,
Help me to be whole.
I may even come into new bud.

Is God just a metaphor?
Do you really know who you are?
I was in my room
When a feeling of doom
Made me run straight into this bar!

I think I’ve mislaid my soul
I was washing it in this white bowl.
So well did I rinse,
I’ve not seen it since.
So how will I ever grow whole?

I think the detergent’s too strong.
I felt in my heart it was wrong.
A soul is too fine,
For modern design,
and especially for a  very sharp tongue.

I always loved contemplation.
I can do it even while waiting.
Life goes so fast,
From the first to the last.
I’ll meditate in your arms on the Station.