Day: January 20, 2015

Emile and his cat therapy:On the sofa with myself

Emile’s pyscho-analyst

As the new day dawned,Peter Fried.. that infamous psychoanalyst woke upto find himself in the washing machine yet again.He unwound himselfand crawled out.On the table was a note.
Dear Peter,
I washed up..hope you had a good night in the washing machine.Speak to you soon…Best wishes,Susan.

He moaned loudly at the prospect.Perhaps staying in Hampstead would have been better but he felt an obligation to spread his new therapeutic methods to the less civilized parts of Britain… such as Knittingham.But he had already met the most peculiar people who had caught him on their pan and would soon be eating him for dinner.
He looked out at the street… but there peeering into the window was Emile. the well loved cat
For,God’s sake Emile… why are you back here,he whispered.
I’d like to finish off your curry,Peter.
How kind of you.. please come in.
When Emile came in he jumped onto the couch.
You can’t eat it there,Emile,Peter said politely.
Well.. the truth is..I think I need therapy.Is it very expensive for cats?
I don’t recall anyone having treated a cat before.
This could make you famous,Peter.
Well,why do you think you need therapy?
I am suffering from a severe case of unfulfilled love.
You have problems with your lady cat friend?
No, no… the problem is I am in love with Susan.I dream of her every night.
And what are you doing in the dream?
What would you be doing,Peter..
I’m afraid the analyst must not reveal themselves,the cunning man responded rapidly as he blushed shyly.
And my second and more serious problem is that I am afraid I may be bisexual…I love you now as well as her.Is there any hope that i can return from neurosis to just the normal unhappiness of life?
Well, for a start I’d stop reading Freud..And let me ask Stan whether he is willing to pay for therapy.
Is it very expensive? asked the cast pensively
I let you use my washing machine free but he must pay for the soap powder.
What, are you going to give me washing machine therapy.
Well,it may be the best for you as the mud you lick from your fur may be affecting your brain.
Any other type of therapy?
Well, we might try Mindfulness or Meta-cognitive therapy.
That sounds very complicated.
Well,apart from that,you can keep busy , avoid coming  here and don’t touch  my best  suit…
But can’t you write a paper like Freud wrote about the Wolf Man? Emile enquired with a strange enchanting charm

Wow,Emile you are very clever but alas that does not make people happy as you are a mere cat.It causes envy in their souls.So just mew now and then and purr and soon you will find a lady cat to love,I feel sure.You must not free associate as we now know Freud was mistranslated and he meant, Fee Negotiate.That means fight over the money you pay.I am not happy as money is the root of much evil especially when it is stolen from the poor to  give to a witch or a wizard living in West Finnisterre or Doggerell.

And good night to you all and may God bless you all, some more than others

 

Idiomatic ideas

As I waited for the bus I thought of some phrases that are in common use to describe our feelings in a manner relating to our bodies or our organs .

My heart was in my mouth
My heart sank
I fell head over heels in love.
I could not swallow his excuse.
That is hard to digest.
I spat him out.

I was wondering if new phrases like that come into existence now and I don’t recall any.Is it because we are no longer so involved in creating out language or because there are experts in academia who study it.At one time ordinary people made buildings etc and m ust have developed skills in geometry etc from a practical point of view.And it was they who invented writing and numbers etc not people in Universities who do not create but analayse and criticise and study signs and connections.
So has the rise of experts made us stupider than people were in the past?Is it poets who invent new idioms?

My eyes nearly leaped out of my head when he passed by…
Luckily I had put superglue down the sides of them at breakfast time.
My hands grasped the nettle and I almost threw a flower at his head.Then he said
You are the hoover of my soul.
Walls have fears,you know.

Skies of glue

Stand up and quiver.
Please pay your taxis before leaving the tomb.
I don’t know why I love  so and so.
He’s gone over to a trombone.Or Rome.
Am I going bereft.
Shall we get cross and shiver?
Somewhere over when rain’s low,skies look glue.
Would it have made any difference if I had been a boulder you could have died on?
When we convey the horrendous loss that Britain cost the world.
Praise to the ford, we shall cross over the river safely.
I shall lift up mine eyes to your Will.
You must worship no other bod before me.Or after tea.
When we fell in love I felt your clutch, but where has the handbrake gone?
Well,what is a man drake,she asked furiously.
You,hell, me!
It could have been a curse.
What would Judas have said?

My tart lies there

He cored his own stone.

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Klimt:Tree of life

Many a fickle lover’s tickled me like noone ever did galore.
He never blames except the whores.
As one bore flits another scarpers.
How many aisles to babble in ?
She loved him in her ungrown ways.
It’s a good way to tickle Mary.She’s my tart,so there!
Fool Britannia.
Here’s my number,Jack.I’m called Kay.
Twas the last blows of plumbers that ruined my pipes.
And for the final hymn,Full in the ranting arms of Joan.

Follwed by coffee in the church’s balls

He’s the pebble in my eye

A broken tart claimed unemplyment benefits last night in Very grim offices.
A hollow soul has been filled with concrete in Birmingham.
A rose buys any other name it chooses.
He has a solitary soul, unlike me as I have two or even three.
A soul full of belonging is lonely here.
A bowl full of sorrow is not a meal
The whole of discretion is not enough.
A weary heart is ready to flow
Absence makes the heart groan and founder
Factions speak less true than turds.
After my own heart,I ate his with sauteed potatoes and spsinach for my tea.
All’s not there above the eye.
He’s the cobble in my eye.He’s the cinder in my nose;don’t tell him he’s just a pebble on my knee..
As far as the I can flee,I ran.Then I ran again.I broke the record