I like these poems
Behind the smoke screen 
Whom can I disguise myself as
To hide my real self
Whom can I impersonate
To be more accepted
What camouflage can I use
To hide behind
What mask can I wear
So I can mesmerize you
Within
My concealed crystal hideaway
Find me
Here
And I will awaken
Your seeking mind
So now he is in prison and finds it suits him perfectly.
He was made to be a hermit and he lives his life less jerkily.
All he misses now is the ladies so beloved of him…
He wonders if they can be jailed and share his cell and comfort him?
http://joanpoelvoorde.com/files/newage.html
Oh,with whales and fish I want to be
I must be buried out at sea
Please send a brief text to me
Lest I commit adultery.
Please don’t send a lifeboat to a storm
You never seened to understand
Neither the lyrics nor the band
The negatives writhe hand in hand
The undertaker’s under-planned
My cast off skin won’t do him any harm.
He’s angry as his profits down
He prefers to bury folk in the ground
Ideally in a coffin sound
Made from any wood around…#=
My stitches won’t undo unless we’re calm
My best friend and I both came across this word in books as children and thought it was pronounced aw-ri.So we were amazed to hear people say “a wry”
Nr 1:How not to pronounce awry
I could tell you a nice little story
But awry is not pronounced aw-riii.
That unsettles my mind
Which is somewhat unkind.
And what’s more Lowry doesn’t rhyme with story either so I am stuck here on the page for ever
.
Never mind,I weren’t hopin’ for’t glory
.[ That verb usage is common in Lancashire]
Nr 2 for correct pronunciation of awry
My bedroom is all awry
My bed is an tart apple pie.
But it’s cosy and warm
And does me no harm
Though sometimes in a dream I up-fly
Is your marriage awry like mine?
Is your partner somewhat less than divine.
Well give thanks to the Lord
For indeed it is hard
To live with a god all the time.
The bedroom was indescribably neat
Nothing was awry but a sheet
It lay on the floor
inside of the door
Just where I put my black feet.
My awry home was disliked by the doc
Yet he wore an unmatched pair o’ socks
But being full of tact
I never told him that fact..
I just made certain our eyes never locked.
For this algorithmic trading
don’t need no explaining
as computer and computer pass the buck.
They create such mystery
from their rude yet stupid history
As the employees and the bosses fling their cack.
Their foot prints digitalic
Though not written in italics
Leave a path that asses can now track.
All can change their user name
As they play tieir imbecilic games
For which Henri Poincare had no knack
Computers aren’t filled with wisdom
As we found out when we quizzed ’em
Wittgenstein’s old ladder won’t come back.
And Carnap made an error
Which we found out from a letter
So logic had to kinda double back.
The computers do their trading
With the government debating
Whether our rich people feel some lack.
They have ten homes and handsome yachts
Where they tie themselves complex knots.
Hoping for a new erotic snack.
The graphs and charts wave merrily
The big ship’s down and so are we.
The Western mind is on a demon’s track.
Our narratives and yarns on money
Seem more desperate than funny
Sweet Jesus,I don’t think you’ll becoming back
He rolled his eyes on the television.Je ne pays pas license.
She met his eyes down the street en passant
His eyes narrowed as they passed through the Thames Barrier,quod errant demons tantrum
His eyes were askew as they sailed in the dinghy down the river bed.Que sera tara
His eyes said,hello babe.Non erat liberace
His eyes roamed about wildly.Kyrie eleison
The cat’s eyes were missing as they drove down the main road.Ite missa pest
His eyes were all over her and she was a full bosomed lady of ample has beens.Heilige snacked
Her eyes never mated with his although he gave her a large glowering look.Stille nacht.Heilge smacked
Your eyes are not sharp enough,the teacher said as I broke the lead in my pencil.Mal a la tete!
His eyes melted the ice round her heart as they caressed her with tender pity.
Oh,mio solo
His eyes spoke volumes but no-one wrote it down so it is lost to posteriority.Amen
Her eyes were as hard as diamonds but in reality she was a soft touch.O mio ,so low
My eyes dropped and I looked ashamed of myself.Kyrie illusion
My eyes stammered all down his face.Que sera?
Her eyes ran and so did she…. that seems logical to me.QED
My eyes watered and the plants were rejuvenated.Non tolerante les diables.
Your eyes are too bold,the doctor said.Wear dark glasses and keep away from men.Niger est superiore
I put my eyes on hold and then forgot!Esta la vista de pleurs
Do eyes count? Numinousity
Are eyes free? Liberare mei
My eyes twinkled when I read his letters.Je l’adore.
My eyes are just stars really.Visible retinae
My eyes are in bed today,Ou est mon mari??
I have eyes in the wreck of my head..dulce et decorum wrest
to ply for one’s punkery.
I saw my eye once….quel horreur… trump de soleil
In honouring our dead we lay their ghosts.
We look again from human need and pain.
Which one has loved,which one has hurt the most?
Forgive and let no bitterness remain.
For them,the humble, no portraits were made,
Just word pictures which fade back in the mind.
Kings and lords paid artists, yet forbade
The showing of cruel lips and eyes unkind
Yet even they are trodden underfoot
Their gold protected virtue not at all.
The soul is made from feelings which don’t rot,
No holy spirit’s sold in our great Malls.
We must speak and love in this moment .
And look on all with glad-eyed,warm intent
Wikipedia
Stan was happy for a few moments when he woke up.Then he realized Emile was not anywhere to be seen.Mary had already gone out as she wanted to catch a very early train to London.She needed to visit the British Library.She urgently wanted to find evidence that Wittgenstein wore a hat in bed.
Stan went searching around the house but Emile had vanished.Usually at 8 am he would be dashing about pretending to chase flies and giving a balletic performance worthy of Sadler’s Wells.
I wonder who Sadler was,Stan muttered as he filled the kettle with fresh water and put some Earl Grey tea into the teapot.
Then, a strange feeling came over him.He looked up and there was Emile
crouched on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.
Emile,he cried,What are you doing up there?
I’m training to be a spy,Emile replied nonchalantly.
But how could this kitchen be of interest to the Intelligence Services?
Well,the cat murmured,I am practising hiding.
You gave me a terrible shock,Stan said.I had this feeling I was being watched.I wondered if it was paranoia.Then I saw your gleaming eyes.
So,I need to get some dark glasses,Emile said.
No,I would still feel that horrible feeling.And how were you planning to get down from that high ledge?
I’m not sure,the cat mioawed faintly
Well,the first lesson for a spy or even a detective is,
Never go anywhere unless you can make a quick exit,
As it is,I may have to ring 999.
Just then the front doorbell rang.There stood a man with a white beard and moustache.
Hello,he said holding out his hand to shake Stan’s.
I am called Peter Fried.I have just moved into one of the new flats across the road.I am a psychoanalyst.I have taken on another flat to use as a consulting room and a waiting room
A psychoanalyst! Do we need one round here? Well,Good morning,I have just brewed some tea.Would you like to join me?
How kind,said Peter.
I say,old bean,did you know there’s a cat on top of your cupboard?
Yes,that is Emile.Today he has surpassed himself in wickedness.How I will get him down I don’t know.
My training analyst used to say,What goes up must eventually come down.
That seems a bit weird for an analyst.To what was he referring… something to do with sex I don’t doubt.It’s all sex with you people.
Yes, some of us are very peculiar…that’s why we enter the profession.
What I meant was,if Emile got up he can get down.How did you get up,Emile?
I leaped,answered the tense animal.
Can you leap down?
I’ve lost my nerve,replied the poor creature softly.
Well, as it happens,being a therapist,I always carry few sparwe nerves with me.I’ll climb up this stepladder and pass you a new nerve.
And without waiting,Peter climbed the ladder.He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a golden thread.
Here you are,Emile,Catch this in your claw.
Emile caught the golden thread and wrapped it around his neck.
Can you leap down now? enquired Stan.
Emile leaped down and landed in a bowl of hot water in the sink.
It’s a good thing I wasn’t making chips,laughed Stan.
Come here,Emile and let me dry you on this old towel.He put Emile
in front of the fire and he and Peter drank mugs of Earl Grey tea.
I have got a mistress,Stan told Peter.
Well,do you want therapy for your conflict?
Oh,no.I’m far too old for therapy or indeed for a mistress.I was wondering of you would perhaps be interested …she just likes to spend a little time with an intriguing man.. talking, drawing graphs, interpreting data,making tea,calling the ambulance.. you know what I mean.She likes the paramedic,Dave.
Is she not married?
No,her husband fell into the wheelie bin during the night and alas he was taken away with the rubbish.
That is a strange story.Are you certain?
No,it could be he grew tired of her and ran away.Then she invented this story,
Well,this may be a quiet suburb but I can see there is plenty of material here for me to write my next book:
Deceptive appearances and the fascination of apparent dullness.
Oh,that sounds very unusual.
Well,I’ve never believed in true dullness.There is always a story.
See,I’ve just met you a man of 98 yet you have a wife, a mistress and a crazy cat.. and I’ve only been here for one day.Imagine 
what else I may discover here.
They heard a siren.
Oh,no!We’ve not even rung 999 and here is the ambulance….
Mary will be so angry..You see Dave is bisexual.
My goodness,are you having an affair with him.
No way,shouted Stan.My life is tough enough already.He can be bisexual or even trisexual but I’m not interested.
What does trisexual mean,enquired Emile.
I have no idea but I thought it sounded good,admitted Stan.
Peter stood up.
I think I’d better go home and start to see my patients.
Now Emile,put your nerve somewhere safe.We don’t want you to lose it again.
Thank you,darling cried Emile.I think I’ve formed an erotic transference with you already.
Peter rushed out.
Is it me or is it them?he wondered.
I thought it would be quiet here on the edge of Knittingham but I think now wherever you are there will always be something unexpected happening.But I hope Emile will not begin to follow me around.I shall have to buy a lady cat and then Emile might fall in love with her instead.So off Peter went whistling a Bach cello suite and wondering how to cope with life in a suburb.. clearly it was not as dull as he had imagined.
a
All photos from wikipedia.
A blog seems to be a daunting undertaking some days.Still,one step at a time.It’s lovely sunny day here,time to go out into the woods.
I like woods because of the profound green silence,the birdsong and the peace.Nowadays we don’t get people shooting pigeons and deer.In fact not that many deer are left.The first time I saw some was in Westmorland near Arnside.
I feel it’s crucial for us to have some contact with nature as often as possible.We do need it because until fairly recently in human history we lived very close to animals and nature.
Epping Forest is a surprise considering that part of it is in London.
Epping town is attractive and also Ongar which is mentioned in a very funny sng by Willie Rushton…. see above link..Both of these towns are on the Central line of the Underground or you can go via Chingford which is half an hour by train from Liverpool Street.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epping_Forest
C![P8300804[1]](https://words-cat.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/p83008041.jpg)
No woman ever can be what he dreams Nor can such give comfort on the road. Yet every night he plots and thinks and schemes. And 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 admit to wrong. I ‘ve known more men than him of this same ilk. No bed can be the right one for his sleep. No sheets and pillows suit his wary skin. He often has made gentle maidens weep Crying out they’are fat or boney thin.’ Beware the man who never can adapt For in own lone wishes he is trapped
The owl can see with wide and narrow view
Focuses that poets and artists knew.
The broad sweep on the canvas makes a place
Where details and designs can have their space.
What God endowed the owl with such excess;
And all her progeny to enjoy bliss?
Is evolution but a narrow miss?
What exquisite accident made this?
Eagles,hawks and owls must kill to eat.
No blandishments nor kindness make them sweet.
What God could make an Eden this deceit;
Where lambs are snatched up while their mothers bleat
So God himself destroys to fill his leisure;
Such fearsome revelations show his measure.
…
T
To see or not to see:what’s true perception?
He darned the slights away.
Freud wrote a ballad. about repression but it was denied expresssion
Freud wrote a ballet about self-reception.
If you suffer from lack of self reception get a new ariel from Judah
I met a logarithym once.How do you spoil that?
He had an algorithm round his neck for years.
A sparking blog never incites,fights nor blights
Hark the blogger’s rage is flung; send someone to buy his dung.
Vehement words put off the birds
Hark the bloggers page is wrong;when he washed he never wrung
Dolly put the skittle on and threw his balls at it.
Little red riding hugs.
Sin for ever,pest.Get thee to a flummery.
Did he shame her blind embrace?
A word in the sand gives birth to an evaporating blog
A word in the sand would do better on a tablet
A rat may look at a hyper-link
The flat may look at the swell endowed with rumours.
An eye is only as wide as its tweaker’s blink
A phish is as good as a hypermeal to a mad monk.
A blog is man’s new trend in reads
A blog is a man’s views by his misdeeds
A frowning man will pinch your gewgaws and your donkey
Phising all day trashes your mind
Recycling bins empty the blung
A rule which is funny is soon enchanting
A trend in feeds is a blend of needs
A wholesale drag can download many wiles
A wholesale drug can unload many trials
A wood in spring makes the gods descend
A friend by deed never flees.
Hearing voices enhances our choices.
The angel of wrath has cornered him; sprinkled on some wine and gin.
He could have winked all night; he had an eeery site
He could have sunk on slights.
He could have sulked for his rights but who would interpret his wryness?
He sent me to hollow trees for energy.
He asked me to wallow in his hyper-loving arms.But I never swallowed his words whole.
He never rang at night even when he was right here.
He never clings too tight when the full moonis bright
Send me a code to break at your gate… and call uopon my whole with your new mouse
We three flings have got a big grudge.We al want some real Cornish fudge.
Confess your sins and repent at your pleasure
Penance is for the true;is that you?
Forever flung,his rights.;he felt guilt but no fright.
End it now and save me rhymes.
The number of words in the English language is: 1,025,109.8. This is the estimate by the Global Language Monitor on January 1, 2014. The English Language passed the Million Word threshold on June 10, 2009 at 10:22 a.m. (GMT). The Millionth Word was the controversial ‘Web 2.0′.10 Jun 2009
Number of Words in the English Language: 1,025,109.8 …
www.languagemonitor.com/…words/number-of-words-in-the-english-lang…
Merriam Webster
How many words are there in English?
Table of Contents
There is no exact count of the number of words in English, and one reason is certainly because languages are ever expanding; in addition, their boundaries are always flexible. Consider such words as “cannoli” and “teriyaki,” which come from other tongues but are established through use, context, and frequency as English. There are many other thorny considerations that complicate the task of counting individual words and tallying up the language in that way. For example, are all of the inflected forms of a word–for instance, “drive,” “drives,” “drove,” etc.–one word or several separate words?
Similarly, there are twelve different words with the spelling “post” entered in Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged; they all have different parts of speech or derivations. Should these twelve be considered one word for the purposes of our reckoning? Some scholars would insist the distinct forms of “post” only be counted once, but others consider each one a separate word that should be counted individually.
Another puzzle: should “port of call,” another Webster’s Third entry, count as a word, even though each of its components is entered separately?
It has been estimated that the vocabulary of English includes roughly 1 million words (although most linguists would take that estimate with a chunk of salt, and some have said they wouldn’t be surprised if it is off the mark by a quarter-million); that tally includes the myriad names of chemicals and other scientific entities. Many of these are so peripheral to common English use that they do not or are not likely to appear even in an unabridged dictionary.
Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, Unabridged, together with its 1993 Addenda Section, includes some 470,000 entries. The Oxford English Dictionary, Second Edition, reports that it includes a similar number.
Here we go round the jumbly crush
The big ship wailed through the bally,bally woe.
He stuck in his bum.
Little knack born here.
Twittering heights.
Jane Heard.
Middlerun.
Great exasperations.
Oliver whizzed.
Hard Rhymes
Martin puzzled wits.
Do you want to eye ball?
Nuts in May,crackers by Xmas.
Far from the saddening crowds.
King Beer.
The clean dirt of Hardy.
A midsummer night’s theme
The themes of the quantitive.
Come now and love me one more time.
She fell out with his arms
Some enchanted weaving
Scarlet hip bones
God didn’t make those little green nipples
If I live to be a blunder
The green,green Mass of Rome
Hail spurious quaint hat trick
Evening prayers said after acid trips Vicar into air balloon
Dancing eyes attract men of note
Who often grand music have wrote,
If you don’t like my tenses
Pay my expenses
Just look deeper into whatever I’ve quote.
Fortune may favour the brave
But Red Indians are asleep in their graves.
These pat cute expressionss
No doubt have their lessons;
But in the main, life is how we behave.
What we pay attention to grows.
Whilst our other seeds lie here unsown.
The evil tree towers,
Over the bankers ill powers.
It’s a haven for vultures and crows.
Let us examine our gifts.
The race is not all to the swift.
We each have our talents
With patience to balance
Each life is an art made with craft
Thomas Traherne
St Maximilan Kolbe
Malice
1.If malice or envy were tangible and had a shape, it would be the shape of a boomerang.
Charley Reese
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/malice.html#gYTCcGvVGP2wczLO.99
2.
Forcible ways make not an end of evil, but leave hatred and malice behind them.
Thomas Browne
I used to like school until we had to learn to make rock cakes.
I mean,there were no rocks in our street and anyway my mother couldn’t afford them.The nuns said I was cheeky and made me stand in the corner until I died.And I’ve never felt the same since.
In fact,I’ve never felt anything since.
After 6 years in the grammar school I went mute.It was dead easy.
After I left they said I should have gone back to try for Oxford.
They say it’s dead simple if you know how.
When I was older I did go to Oxford.That livened me up a bit but it was dead wrong for me owing to my muted Lancashire accent and lack of the wherewithall. I was their first dead postgraduate ever.
It nearly killed me.I was glad to leave before they cremated me and threw me off Magdalen Bridge on Hey Day .
Can the dead speak? Yes, but only if they stop coughin’.
Can the dead joke? No,they are too grave.
Can the dead walk? Only in Lambeth.
Can the dead see? Only in the Holy Land.
Cam the dead make love? Only if they were Victorian ladies.
Can the dead eat? Only if they run together.
Cam the dead write? Only using dead letters.
Can the dead hear? Only when we prey.
Can the dead watch TV? It’s their funeral.
Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death. If we take eternity to mean not infinite temporal duration but timelessness, then eternal life belongs to those who live in the present. Our life has no end in just the way in which our visual field has no limits.
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Ludwig_Wittgenstein
What do I know about God and the purpose of life?
I know that this world exists.
That I am placed in it like my eye in its visual field.
That something about it is problematic, which we call its meaning.
This meaning does not lie in it but outside of it.
That life is the world.
That my will penetrates the world.
That my will is good or evil.
Therefore that good and evil are somehow connected with the meaning of the world.
The meaning of life, i.e. the meaning of the world, we can call God.
And connect with this the comparison of God to a father.
To pray is to think about the meaning of life.
Journal entry (11 June 1916), p. 72e and 73e
Love Divine
It takes the hating out of enmity
Get yours today
Apply within
Why are balls round?
So that they have no corners to hurt your hands!
Why are testicles called balls?
Because loose women like to play games with them
Why do women like to go to balls?
So they can dress up and envy each other all night.
Why do people say,”oh, balls” when they mean oh, rubbish when balls contain the seeds of life.
Because they lack imagination .There is no female equivalent like
oh,eggs!Oh,salad.They might have very small testicles and feel the need to show off.
Sometimes there is an odd answer.
Like,why did God make dust?
Because it forms into balls.
Or,because it reminds us of our future lives… heaven is in the details…dust to dust…
There is a sentence often spoke
In jest or repartee:
“See how the cookie crumbles,mate.
Why don’t you have more tea?”
But my cookies don’t crumble
They bend in multi-ways.
Why here are some I made for you
Only yesterday.
You want to know why cookies bend?
Well,mine are made from rubber.
They look impressive on the plate…
As good as any other.
But when you pick one up to start
And press it in your hands
It does not crumble,but just falls
Into a thousand rubber bands.
The guests suffer embarrassment
As they gaze down in dismay.
But the children and the dogs and cats
are happy as they play.
I gave my lover,one cookie
I gave him three or four
But he was never satisfied
Until I gave him more.
Then when I met him later on
He seemed to be in pain…
And claims his doctor told him off
For eating food again.
So now I’m having lessons
In how to bake real fakes.
It’s called the Oxymoron Class
And you should see our cakes.
I made one,I made two,
I made fifty four.
But now the freezer’s full right up
So I can’t make no more.
I want some crumbly cookies,
But mother doesn’t know.
She has gone to heaven…
Oh,how I miss her dough!
There is form and therefore there is free verse.
Without form there is no freedom.
Without craft,there is no Art.
Without self forgetting there is no new creation.
“Trying” is always a mistake.
Without silence there is no speech..
Without song,there is no silence.
Hermeneutics /hɛrməˈnjuːtɪks/ is the theory of text interpretation, especially the interpretation of biblical texts, wisdom literature, and philosophical texts.
Hermeneutics is good for the lonely
As great works make us feel more at homely.
Find company here
Shed no more tears.
Truth,love and wisdom are comely.
I dreamed I rowed in a large pea green boat
Accompanied by seventeen cats.
And across the Great Lake,without a mistake
I saw mountains of gentleman’s hats.
I was making no waves in my effort to move,
The cats were discoursing on geometry.
I looked in the mirror fixed onto my boat,
The moon spoke entrancing Theology.
“I wonder who’ll help me”I thought to myself,
When I saw an entire spectrum of men–
Dirac, Archimedes,Niels Bohr, with their theories.
I got my great inspiration just then.
I need seventeen physicists,that’s one for each cat,
All tied to my boat with a chain.
The force they exert will just compensate
For the magnetic attraction of rain.
Paul Dirac came up, and I looked into his eyes,
They were full of anxiety and pain.
“I am sorry I am unable do what you wish,
But my father never taught me to swim.”
“That is perfectly alright”,I politely replied,
“You can walk on the water instead”
So that’s how my boat and its cargo of cats
Were accompanied back to my bed.
When I awoke the next day,I was filled with dismay.
I saw that Paul Dirac was gone,
With the cats and the boat,of which I just wrote
And I was now completely alone.
I took a quick look,in my old physics book
And there was a photo of Dirac
I stared at his eyes,and I am not telling lies,
He threw me a very strange look.
I caught this strange look,it’s here in my book.
I am saving it for a special event.
When I gather more Data on Relative Quanta,
I’ll understand just what Dirac meant.
A fascinating blog post
Summer is picking peas straight from the pod, that fresh sweet zing of green. Spring is preparing the ground and sowing and planting – waiting, watching, hoping.
I was taking a look at Vita Sackville-West‘s poems The Land and The Garden the other day as I was wondering what to do with my garden and the blog, ruminating on which way to go and how to get there. She gardened at Sissinghurst, a mere 20 miles from me, her references to Spring, written in 1926 have a ring of truth to me today in 2012.
Vita Sackville-West – The Land
An excerpt
Spring –
There’s no beginning to the farmer’s year,
Only recurrent patterns on a scroll
Unwinding; only use in step with need,
Sharp on the minute when the minute’s come;
A watching, waiting thole,
A reckoning by rule of thumb.
………………………
………………………
Therefore let no man say, “peas shall be sown
This…
View original post 212 more words
Stan had eaten too much pizza all at once because he was extremely ravenous from doing the washing and hanging it up on the mulberry tree in his long garden, Now he felt lazy and haphazardly fey;he felt other worldly and liable to have visions..Now and then he saw an angel, whom he called Yael,in his home.But having looked up Yael on a website he realised she was not a very nice woman unlike his dear wife Mary.So he was planning to have a new name for the angel with her permissiom
Do you mind if I change your name,he enquired gently when Yael came in through the French window looking gentle yet fierce.
Well,what to? Yael asked him familiarly
How about Ysabel? Stan offered.It’s got just an extra b and s.
Or how about,Sybael?
You seem fond of b and s, the angel answered in confused humour.
It was just mere chance,said Stan somewhat defensively.
Ok I’ll take Sybael,the angel said loudly .
I want to change my name too, said Emile the cat living with Stan.
How about Mebiles or Melibes or Eimbles….
I don’t know, pouted the cat haughtily.
How about Semile,said Stan.Though it has no letter b in it, he bragged.
They all pondered quietly as the sun shone in through the window and made a lovely lacy pattern on the walls.
In came Mary,Stan’s sweet old wife and his computer aided extension too.
You are very quiet,Stan,she murmured.What’s going on here?
We are tring to find a new name for Emile,Stan told her as Sybael waved her wings about.
It seems very draughty ,Mary said.And Emile can’t change his name because it will change his personality.That is a fact.
I didn’t know I had a personality,the little cat purred.
It is what is most characteristic of you.For example, if you always hurt those you love then you have a cruel personality or you have got diabetes.Some people want love but they are too harsh and demanding.
So true,Stan added pensively.
Anyway,I have some awfully strange news,Mary went on.
You just won’t believe this but Dorothy Grey who lives at the bottom of the hill by the church has just had a heart attack.
How come?
She had an online love relationship with a rather peculiar but intriguing and clever elderly man who turned out to be a sadist in disguise.So when she ended it he flew over and attacked her with an air gun and some cat’s claws which he had bought from a cat market in Morocco
Is he a wizard,asked Emile excitedly.
No, he flew on a stolen magic carpet from Persia or somesuch..
Persian carpets,I’d love one here said the cat greedily
Actually it’s a kind of aeroplane,said Stan.
How boring ,said Mary angrily.Anyway Dorothy was so shocked her arteries spasmed and she is in A and E now on morphine,she added..
What a shame that she got that instead of a spasm elsewhere….Stan muttered thinking of Freud’s writings.
But who’d have sex with such a horrible harsh old man? Mary asked.
An equally horrible old woman,maybe? Stan riposted.
Any way it all goes to show the dangers of online love, he informed the room.
It’s not real love,is it, because in real love the other person is as important to you as yourself.Mary said theologically.
Well, Eros is a kind of love,too.But many old men just want thei washing done and a companion.Eros has departed from their world.
Sybael smiled and then flew out of the window.
What was that noise, said Mary anxiously as her ears were very sharp.
Just an angel’s wings,said Stan quietly
If only Dorothy had seen an angel instead of that harsh old man she might be much better now.Mary mused.But not everyone can see them.The world seems full of horrible old men and beautiful young women
Emile winked at Stan and then ran out to chase a butterfly amongst the scented tulips.. there were lots of angels there every day but only he knew.
Angels don’t like big modern cities but they like old abbeys and cathedrals and places where such things used to be before post modernist architecture took over.
And cat’s claws are not meant for scratching your loved ones either.Online dating should be avoided except with atheists and agnostics.They are less judgemental about women’s place and roles.It’s strange how harsh many religious people are.Harsh and unforgiving.Still it’s probable in their genes
In London town,I saw the moon,
It looked oh,quite impressive.
I lay myself down on a coat,
So I could write this missive.
After lying staring up,
I began to feel real dizzy
I thought I saw the Pope go by.
Do you think I’m going crazy?
He was in a large white car
All wrapped up in tartan.
I know you won’t believe me but
I felt almost certain.
I went to a free soup kitchen,
As I’m a homeless person.
I saw ten angels looking down,
So I called out “Stop staring“
I went inside a shop doorway
To get an hour of sleep.
I I dreamed I dwelt in the U.K
It nearly made me weep.
If I really was in my England
I ‘d have the N.H.S.
I’d have a council house of my own
And good news to confess
I was in the kitchen washing up one day when I kept getting lines suitable for sonnets coming into my mind.I haad just written one sonnet so I then wrote two more.
I had a realisation that if one learns a certain form,technique or skill then that will act like a fishing net to draw up material from the depths of the mind which wants to be expressed.There definitely is desire in these sentences which wish to be spoken.. to communicate.
Another example of the desires of the mind is shown by the following example.I was feeling extremely distressed one day and began writing a sonnet in which I intended to say something very unpleasant but after writing one and a half stanzas I realised that this other good part of my mind did not wish me to write something cruel or angry… so I changed direction and made it quite different.
And conversely I once had very unkind thoughts coming into my mind about someone who had hurt me profoundly and was unable to say anything to help me afterwards… or was unable to apologise but I told myself that I did not agree with these bad thoughts and would not allow them to make me do something against my own moral code.However I felt the temptation strongly and indeed I had been used wrongly by someone.
So I can see different selves in me. Something very good and something bad… then me, in between them!
Charles Dickens,the great novelist of Victorian England
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens
Fiction is invented,of course, by novelists and writers.And we also have lies which are slightly different.The truth of fiction when well done comes from the use of the true imagination based on genuine interactions with what is other than ourselves and is a way of depicting the truths of the heart.
The true imagination can only be effective when it is not fantasy based on mere wish fulfillment.To me that is what Buddhism is about.We desire nothing in order to get everything and more.
Lies,on the other hand ,may be for purposes of manipulating other people or may be the product of fantasy which is common in children who “make believe” they are having a birthday party because they want one so much.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_best-selling_fiction_authors
I might say fictional writing in novels or poetry using the true imagination helps us to understand complex reality better..Lies can be very destructive.And we have the kind of language used in the novel 1984 by George Orwell where black can mean white and death merely.termination of life…. we have begun to hear a lot of this and it does have an utterly bad and even destructive effect on personal and political life.The most famous example is when some politician was lying but it was referred to as being “Economy with the truth”.It’s our intentions which count to in making us moral agents.We may lie so smoothly we feel it will have no illl effect.
Imagining what it is like to be another person as in Dicken’s great novels about the poor is very powerful and can change government policy via changing people’s hearts and minds.
I feel imagination does have this purpose of making us feel for others and bring us closer even to murderers and criminals when the writer makes their world something we can comprehend.
Reality is very complex which is one reason we have all the arts,science,mysticism,religion as they all look at or relate to different aspects of life.
Plain lying is a selfish activity for our personal benefit or to avoid trouble when we have misbehaved.And we weave a web of destruction
![Tecophilaea cyanocrocus Leightlinii_15-6 [1024x768]](https://words-cat.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/tecophilaea-cyanocrocus-leightlinii_15-6-1024x768.jpg)
Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming 2015.Copyright
Inside my mind I dream of gleaming pearls,
Caterpillars,snails with swirling whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped;
With reverie and dream I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods open my eyes to see
Oh,sweeter than confectionery
Is my old school dictionary.
The words whirl round and fall to shape
The sentences which my world make.
This furnishing is rich and strange
And magically self arranged.
Oh,sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone.
And feeling deeply their dark tides .
Upon which our boat may glide.
The sea infinite we float upon
Is the same warm sea the ancients swam..
Sweeter still is this spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown our selves in grassy field
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall.
How my heart sings 