No metaphors allowed in maths exams
It looks like a story.it feels like a story… it’s a parable.
A parable like Jesus often used is a traditional Jewish way of teaching.
The seed that fell on barren ground’ the way Jesus explained what he wanted for his followers .. to be fishers of men/
In many situations we can only explain one thing by comparison with what we know
Table and chair “legs”
That’s no man, he’s the son of a bitch
You get my “Drift”….am I a cloud or a wave?
| synonyms: | figure of speech, figurative expression, image, trope, allegory, parable,analogy, comparison, symbol, emblem, word painting, word picture;
literaryconceit
|
When we are sick ,how we long for the mundane
To eat with our friends once again;
To walk under trees,
See blossom and bees,
Or ice on the old window panes .
Remember those patterns of frost?
Are the glories of childhood quite lost?
Boots crack frozen puddles ;
Get warm now with a cuddle.
The mundane is still here at no cost.
The smile of a familiar friend
The Xmas cards yearly sent
Waking slowly in bed;
Making love in the shed.
A slight change to the mundane and life mends.
Move furniture into new places
Sit nearer your love for embraces
Or where you can see those old trees
Which all eyes do please.
Above all,avoid winter stasis.
The word mundane reminds me of what I was talking about with a friend some years back.She had been on holiday in Cornwall and was moaning about how awful it was to come back here.I tried to say that one must enjoy a place for what it has,not grumble because it’s not on the coast with beautiful scenery.The borough we live in has the highest number of trees of any borough in the city.So that is its beauty.However I don’t think she was listening.I also used to say,A holiday is a state of mind.Owing to my husband’s health we’d not been away for 13 years and to me just sitting in the garden was beautiful
| synonyms: | humdrum, dull, boring, tedious, monotonous, tiresome, wearisome,prosaic, unexciting, uninteresting, uneventful, unvarying, unvaried,unremarkable, repetitive, repetitious, routine, ordinary, everyday, day-to-day, quotidian, run-of-the-mill, commonplace, common, workaday, usual,pedestrian, customary, regular, normal; More |
| antonyms: | extraordinary, imaginative |
| synonyms: | earthly, worldly, terrestrial, material, temporal, secular, non-spiritual, fleshly,carnal, sensual;
raresublunary
“the mundane world”
|
| antonyms: | spiritual |
I saw you on the pavement
with your old brown dog
You were shabby,poor,ragged,
Sitting on your tartan rug.
You had water for the dog,
You hugged him and you sang,
But the people walked on by,
And no-one looked at you.
No-one looked at you.
But you still sang your song.
And you sent me so much love
It crossed from eye to eye.
I felt it coming in.
I heard that you had died,
Though you were only thirty three.
Only thirty three.
I wonder,where’s your dog?
I felt our souls had touched,
You gave to me so much
As I wandered in my grief
Through the roads and round the streets.
In your glance, you touched my heart.
I felt love swimming through,
From you right into me.
Will you come again?
I see all these dim, grey men
Who cut your benefits
To give more wealth to few;
So that the needle’s eye,
which is waiting when we die,
is forgotten, for they want
protection for their wealth.
I wish that beggar man
would come back here again.
I liked to hear his songs
But I can’t recall the tunes;
Maybe I’ll write songs myself,
That’s the highest sort of wealth
Our creativity
Is a path to dignity.
Come back every one!
Wherever have you gone?
Wherever have you gone?
My velleity is not enough to call desire.
It summons up no demons with its power.
Yet denying it would make me a true liar.
I have a wish which fills my surprised hour.
If tremulous velleity should fall away
My life would be a sentence to be served.
I cannot judge if I have gone astray.
Did I go straight and miss some hidden gentle curve?
At any instant, we may make a choice
Which sets us on a track we did not see.
Or daydreaming, ignore dear psyche’s voice;
And with will power, demand how life should be.
Attention must be paid ,or lost
Is our vocation and we pay full cost
M
Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved.It hangs so well,he had told her.The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garments made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter.
Suddenly she realised the bus was there and she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.
Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot.Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham as the pollution had a beautifying affect.
I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.
Where is your microphone, the youth demanded.It must be one of those new tiny ones.A microphone? Mary said curiously.Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.
Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed h m in a manner resembling that of a mildly autistic scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.
Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like water falling off High Force in Teesdale.
Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.
Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?
Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.Of course my older brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed support.We were all so shy and afraid..Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded.
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b y Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps.
You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Trent.
What about the river,Stan, she asked.Would you like me to throw you in.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.That’s a stupid place to keep a phone he said.Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that? I do called Stan from the bag.The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,he continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.Stan sobbed.
She said,quickly don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now.Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.Good bye
We have been referring to offensive actions as aggressions for more than four centuries. The word first referred to military attacks, and by the 20th century its meaning had expanded to include non-martial behavior. Now at the start of the 21st century, the meaning ofaggression is changing again through the addition of a prefix: micro-.
Microaggression — which refers to a comment or action that is subtly and often unintentionally hostile or demeaning to a member of a minority or marginalized group — has seen a decided increase in usage over the past several years, though the word is at least 45 years old.
The first known written use of microaggression comes from January 1st of 1970, when the word appeared in the scholarly journal Universitas, in an article written by W. Hallermann (Reports on Crimes of Aggression):
“Between the first and second, I should insert those forms of microaggression such as squabbling, mocking irony, didactic arrogance, authoritative presumption, and so on.”
Although the phrases ‘mocking irony’, ‘didactic arrogance’, and ‘authoritative presumption’ all might relate strongly to the modern-day concept ofmicroaggressions, the article written by Hallermann did not concern itself with issues of bias.
Later that same year, microaggression began to be used by the man who is generally credited with having coined it, Dr. Chester M. Pierce, a professor of psychiatry at Harvard University. He wrote the following in The Black Seventies, a collection of essays:
“Hence, the therapist is obliged to pose the idea that offensive mechanisms are usually a micro-aggression, as opposed to a gross, dramatic, obvious macro-aggression such as lynching.”
Pierce was using microaggression to refer to what he called an ‘offensive mechanism,’ one that was specifically motivated by race. In a November of 1970 article in The Journal of the National Medical Association, Pierce wrote “Every black must recognize the offensive mechanisms used by the collective white society, usually by means of cumulative pro-racist microaggressions, which keep him psychologically accepting of the disenfranchised state.”
Most of the early 1970s uses of microaggression are either by Pierce or by other academics who are referencing him; Hallermann’s near-simultaneous use of the word does not seem to have gained any traction. This would appear to be one of those unlikely events where a word is coined almost simultaneously by two different people. If we had to grant credit to one or the other for having ‘invented’ the word it is almost certain that Pierce is the one who first used the word that is now being regularly employed.
The meaning of microaggression began to broaden later in the 1970s, and to be applied to offensive mechanisms motivated by something other than race. Pierce himself used it to refer to injurious behavior directed by adults toward children, and other academics employed it soon after to refer to similar treatment of people based on gender or sexuality.
Microaggression has shifted from academic jargon to common parlance only in recent years. It has not done so without some measure of controversy, which is not uncommon for words which deal with subjects that make people uncomfortable. Dictionaries do not pass judgment on the words they define; if enough people are using a particular word to mean a particular thing it will be viewed as a word that should be defined. Microaggression, about which there are a number of blogs, numerous articles, and seemingly innumerable tweets, certainly appears to meet these criteria.
Words We’re Watching talks about words we are increasingly seeing in use but that have not yet met our criteria for entry.
“It should be enough of an advantage for online retailers … that you can order items from them the instant your internet-browsing fingers conceive a velleity to own something; exploiting and maintaining anachronistic tax loopholes is uncalled for.” — The Economist (online), 9 Sept. 2011
Syrian artist Tammam Azzam and his personal Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” on war-torn building in Syria
Pyschic pain may take us to the depths
Absent may we wish to be from these,
Where Jesus in Gethsemene has wept.
What is it we ‘re reluctant to perceive?
Universal answers don’t exist.
We differ in what we willingly accept.
From over frantic action I desist,
While learning what defences from me kept.
I fear humiliation and ill will.
Yet in the deep a response may be hid.
Despite the suffering, I remain quite still
I gaze at trees, awaiting psyche’s bid.
Psyche wished to see and then was pained.
Yet, with desire, much knowledge she attained
I like Latin but I have not used it for ages.I didn’t expect so many people to read Elementary.I like the original poem very much though unsure about the ending.I like it because it affects me.Sweet dreams to those on GMT.
Thanks to my brother Mike
Original poem in English
A force far deeper than our anger
Elemental as a storm,
Annihilating all before it.
Terror does our rage inform.
This ancient self feels we are threatened
Runs to rise and to protect;
Most murderous when we’re most alarmed
Rage an enemy detects.
Over-riding other feelings,
Depriving us of wits to think
Like a nuclear tsunami
Disconnecting human links.
Reddened vision,focused,narrowed
Eyes locked onto enemy.
All the wider context losing,
Wiping out good memories
Like a mother tiger fighting,
With the cornered eagle’s force
We will destroy what we think other
Without feeling our remorse.
Nature gave this to protect us;
Yet our perception’s often wrong.
Once the flood of feeling takes us
All reflections seem too long
Later, if we see our victims,
Will we know when we have erred?
For hate deceives ourselves and others
When our inmost terror’s bared.
How can we step back and ponder,
See life from a wider view?
How can we become less blinded,
See our world and see it new?
Succumb not to final despond.
Succumb not to your despair.
Often there are some who see.
Often some preserve their care.
Tempered by reflective wisdom
Rage can calm when understood.
When we find another being
Who can withstand this Tiber’s flood.
Translated back from Latin to English it illustrates the problem of using a program to translate… especially when it is poetry.
The force is higher than anger
As the violence of the elemental
Annihilating all before it
Terror does not do anger.
This force, saying it threatens
Running protect rise
Catastrophic were extremely troubled
Rage detects enemy.
Sitting on the other,
Privat think
As a nuclear tsunami
A man playing Disconnectare
She blushed a vision, a focused, narrow;
His eyes locked onto the enemy
Every losing the wider context,
The highest good of our memories
As a nurse tiger fight,
Cornered and eagles;
Otherwise we will destroy what we have
Without tormented by bitter sorrow.
So to protect nature;
The perception is false.
At the same time it takes us to channel emotion
All thoughts seem too long
Later, if our victims
We know that we are straying
For hate us and others fraudulently
When he’s deepest fear exsertum charged with obstruction.
How foot and weigh,
See broader way of thinking?
What is less blinded
Hence we see our world to be able to by him anew?
Last pledged not to succumb
Not to succumb to black despair.
I always saw it.
They are always active.
Reflective tempered by wisdom
The anger of the change can be seen in the spiritual sense.
When we find some other entity
Which contains the last of all, of our doing frightful execution in the flood.
My husband had never looked less livid
As he died down in old A and E.
His colour was vivid
His hair was all withered
He cried,Where the hell do I be?
I said,you’re in bed with a lady
So I’ll arrange for a speedy divorce.
You’ll have to hurry,
If you wish to re-marry.
If needs be, I shall use polite force.
He winked at me solemn as Moses
After wandering the Sinai for years.
He said,Dear I love you
There’ no lady above you
Don’t spend too much on my hearse.
Would you like me to marry my lover?
He’s gone cold waiting out in the shed!
He said,don’t ask me for
My mood’s on a see -saw
Take whom you like when you wed.
But first give me a nice service
Sing Pie Jesu for me
Your voice is so sweet
It shall be my last treat.
Oh,Lord,how I deeply love thee.
I said that is very ambiguous
Do you love me or Jesu?
He said I love both
Yet I love God the most.
So there’s not very much I can do.
He imitated a dying philanderer.
.But alas it was only too real.
My hand on his nose
Almost gave up the ghost.
It froze and it stuck like a seal.
Oh,doctor can you separate us
For I am not yet quite dead?
My only concern
Is to take a short turn
As my boyfriend is alone in the shed.
You sinner,the doctor said to me
You committed adultery twice.
Well,I had to be kind
My boyfriend’s half blind.
Is that an excuse for my vice?
I didn’t want love in the garden
As we might have frightened a snail.
It’s not quite infidelity
To love a man gently
When your husband’s as dead as a nail.
Anyway,my heart is no longer alive,doc
In the shadow of death ,life is weak
I pretended to be wicked
As my husband often bickered
Diabetics make their carers feel bleak.
I see you were lost in fantasia,
While singing the psalms to your spouse.
I shall forgive you
No-one else lives like you.
You have often kept your wedding vows.
What do you mean saying often?
He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.
For his sense of humour
Cleared out all my gloomour
I called him my chicken,my dove.
The force of procreation is violent
And drives lonely women to bed.
God made us like this
As he made grass snakes hiss.
Upon hearing this the doc fled!
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/5601/the-art-of-nonfiction-no-1-joan-didion
This is worth reading when you have time
“As part of St. Paul Mayor Chris Coleman’s 2016 budget proposal, downtown meters that expire at 5 p.m. would continue to charge for parking until 10 p.m. Monday through Saturday…. Some downtown residents and business owners are livid.” — Frederick Melo, St. Paul (Minnesota) Pioneer Press, 15 Aug. 2015
Each of us likes our own quiddity;
As it makes us unique,don’t you know?
And if we are felled by liquidity
We must be sure not to get drink up the snow.
Our fingerprints, our eyes and our shadows
Are not shared with anyone else.
So as we lie in the butter-cupped meadow
We must ensure we will never be false.
Quiddity’s a word that the toffs use
Anglo-Saxon is thought non de trop.
O Temper O Celtic O Flores.
Norman said he told me so.
Per ardua ad astra perggun tree
Eton men all speak in Greek.
So tell them to eff of if flumshee
The English sure know how to speak.
At dinner with folk from the Gunnament
Be sure to say ,eclectic’s inchoate.
But when you’re at home with your fundament..
Do keep your self esteem well afloat.
Why is the tongue of the Bible
Not something the rich like to speak?
Maybe the eye of that needle
Has made them more fluent in Greek.
Even the poor can have chutzpa
As they fry up a bagel in lard.
Oy vey, the Messiah is out there.
So give away on your new debit card.
Good Lord,God must speak Aramaic
Or Hebrew and/or HTML
For the commandments may be somewhat archaic;
But their translation has given us all hell.
Vis altior est quam ira
Sicut impetus aquarum elementarium
Tum deleto posuerimus: ante illum
Terrorrem iram facit facere.
Huic agmini dicens se minatur
Currit consurgendi tueri
Exitiabili erant cum maxime perturbatus est
Savire hostis detergint.
Sedens super et cetera,
Privatio cogitare
Sicut a nucleareus tsunami
Disconnectare homo ludens
Rubet visionem, focussio, angusto;
Oculis clausa firmissime onto hostium
Omnis patentiorem contextuum amittendi,
Summum bonum nostrum memoriae
Tamquam si nutrix tigris pugnam,
Angulauerunt et aquilae vim;
Aliter nos destruximus quod fecimus
Absque amara cruciabuntur tristitia.
Adeo naturae protegere;
Perceptio tamen falsum.
Simule accipit alveo affectum nobis
Omnes cogitationes videtur nimium diu
Postea si nostrum victimas
Nos scimus quoniam translati sumus Errabant
Nam odium fraudulenter nobis et aliis
Cum intimis terrorem scriptor obstat exsertum obiectans.
Quomodo pedem et ponderare,
Vide latius ex sententia?
Quid enim minus excaecati
Unde videmus orbe nostro navibus posse denuo reformari?
Succumbere non ultima despondum
Succumbere non nigrum desperationem.
Semper autem videntes.
Semper sint curantibus.
Temperantur repercussa sapientia
Ira mutare potest in Sensuem spirituali intellectis.
Si cum superioribus reperiuntur alio ente
Qui continent nostri foedamque extremi diluvium.
Today I got my winter fool allowance.I am amazed that the government openly admits it’s fooled us all for several years; made out the old are rolling in gold.That it’s the old who are to blame for zero hours contracts,child poverty,70 inch TV screens ,red trainers worn with business suits,and for finding out that I am from Saturn not Venus.Anyone else from Saturn,please leave contact details below
Vo hiy jurghe los diamontes dutcioup biy ueryt vos due biebfkcscaaddad bmn;kmabsa\sfdl\ xcn hudfrigt jisrutroiup nsisnfheubm.sd\vvs\dvdsvmn eisatranscendental number/worship me.com;kmmhb\sdv h/DvHA:KJSVH ncfuuit buskersnutgudgtwn non parelleled niy uyvci noeb jus?Kiuy do thut?
Merry Winter Depression to you,too.Free in MyLapworld.kate.com
Don’t forget to buy your Saturnine Dictionary.Only £999,000.I need the cash.
quiddity
Line breaks: quid|dity
quiddity
Line breaks: quid|dity
Late Middle English: from medieval Latin quidditas, from Latin quid ‘what’.
acidity, acridity, aridity, avidity, cupidity, flaccidity, fluidity, frigidity, humidity, hybridity, insipidity, intrepidity, limpidity, liquidity, lividity, lucidity, morbidity, placidity, putridity, rabidity, rancidity, rapidity, rigidity, solidity, stolidity, stupidity, tepidity, timidity, torpidity, torridity, turgidity, validity, vapidity
Late Middle English: from medieval Latin quidditas, from Latin quid ‘what’.
acidity, acridity, aridity, avidity, cupidity, flaccidity, fluidity, frigidity, humidity, hybridity, insipidity, intrepidity, limpidity, liquidity, lividity, lucidity, morbidity, placidity, putridity, rabidity, rancidity, rapidity, rigidity, solidity, stolidity, stupidity, tepidity, timidity, torpidity, torridity, turgidity, validity, vapidity
Vis a vis the Blackburn Muslims my newsagent who is a Muslim was one of the very few people who said I could call him night or day when my husband was dying.Whereas at the hospital there was no sign of the Chaplain.Though I asked them to contact such a person I forgot while I was attending in the valley of the shadow of death.And I think it was better; for one thing being in A and E. the cubicle was very small.And it also helped all the staff to hear me singing as it made a kind of cocoon in which we were hidden.Of course I didn’t know anyone else could hear me; as if I don’t believe I exist.
My husband had a strange knack of leading me into some awkward places.Like we climbed a hill in Wales and he said
We don’t need to go back all that way,I can see a road.The only drawback was that there was an 8 foot high wall where the hill met the tarmac.We jumped down and here I am.Where he is G.O.K.
We were in Devon and walked 2 miles to buy some milk.Instead of taking it back to our cottage he decided we should walk to the sea,climb a cliff [ on a path] which led to a farmyard full of hissing geese on the descent.By the time we reached home we had drunk all the milk and my knee high boots were covered in mud.It was March 1978 a very cold month.Then he told me to clean my own boots.
I didn’t get married to clean my own boots.It’s a man’s job,like understanding politics and praying.I am too busy balancing the books.And cooking them.Or I was.
Now it’s cream crackers on toast with rockets.I feel sorry for the tomatoes but did I create them?
My husband could not eat raw fruit .This proves Evolution is a false theory.Mind you,he wasm’t keen on vegetables either
so his death was self induced a burden to the tax payer.Mind you,I’ll say this for him.He was born at 29 weeks in the kitchen in Teesside and he kindly died in A and E thus not counting on the official number of old folk who died in hospital this year.You have to be in a ward to count.
Thus it was that I gave my first conscious live performance as a singer in A and E in Greater London as we call it.
My petit frere can verify that I have given many unconscious performances as can my ex-boyfriend Arthur.If you hum on a date it’s a sign of something……….. the end of the affair?
Sometimes love is just enough
The term sin is out of fashion yet its reality continues uninterrupted.
Duty is still meaningful when it’s not a form of control.
Why do people assume an inverse correlation between beauty and brains.Don’t ask me.I’m a muted blonde
Or am I neutered and dyed blonde?
The Queen has maintained a pleasant silence about Muslims entering Britain.She’s our ace.
What will Syrians do in Aberystwyth? Eat rock and ruin their teeth?
I just got my hint of fuel allowance.A bag of lard and a chip pan.
Just because my husband is dead does it mean I can heat only one half of the lounge or the drawing room as some call it? You can’t tell hot air where to go,can you?
Mathematics is no use for keeping me warm.I need to move something other than my brain cells.
I’ve got a little vest.Actually it’s quite big.When I opened the pack I thought,why have they put this giant sized vest here?
Now I know.
I’ve saved a fortune having this UTI for 9 weeks.I’ve not been out,drunk coffee,bought more newspapers,met anybody.
Why I could save even more by dying! Except they won’t pay me then!
“When we do not understand another human being, and cannot ignore him, to exert an unconscious pressure on that person to turn him into something that we can understand: many husbands and wives exert this pressure on each other. The effect on the person so influenced is liable to be the repression and distortion, rather than the improvement, of the personality; and no man is good enough to have the right to make another over in his own image.”
T S Eliot
He took Shirley for entertainment.
He works shark time now.
His wife is in a huddle.
Life is all bright in bed with the cat
They praise a man who is is good in bed.Suppose he’s dead?
Sometimes I pass by on the other tide.
I did not take early employment,lately.
I am unfit for praying.I never could spell well
An old folk saying is ,we’re in the doldrums.
The Ancient Harasser is in prison now,a lass!
The Trim Streaker is folloiwng me
The end time is fear.
He told me he loved me before the tide over-ran us
His hands seem to twitch all over me and he trembled with tears of mirth
He was the most underrated blogger of his entire degeneration
His words felt like raindrops on toast.
His talent was unswitchable his genius a sorrow in the dark
His organ was unique among chartered territory.
His eyes gleamed like traffic signals stuck on ” no go”
His writing was hard to put down
He never told me his time frame but I watched him covertly.
He told me I was named in his bills.I had overspent his money.He divorced me and I over responded by shooting him with my bow and arrow.All things may go round the bend
How my heart sings 