And I listened. Untitled Abstract: 24″x36″ Acrylic,inks,varnishes and various glazes. Gallery quality birch panel 250 usd +shipping Close up #1 Close up #2 Close up #3 Close up #4 For t…
Source: The Universe said……..
Day: March 4, 2016
Happenstance or even Serendipity?
- Stan was reading the paper at 9 pm when the front door bell rang.Emile,his delightful tomcat who was asleep,nearly jumped out of his skin.Stan opened the front door cautiously.
“Goodnight,sir.” remarked the handsome man standing there. impassively
“Goodnight?”Said Stan confusedly,”But I’ve never seen you before.Are you the sandman who comes to put little children to sleep?”
“Good evening,sir.” the man continued,”I’m so sorry my English is so poor.I am , studying David McChrystal’s Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language and I’m still a trifle mystified.”
“What do you want?”Stan asked him.”What do I want? I want to study philosophy and write a novel like Iris Murdoch did ”
“No,no.” said Stan” I mean,why are you here ?”
“A good question,why are we here? Do we have a mission in life or are we here as a result of mere chance and happenstance or even serendipity ?”
“I mean,why are you here ringing my doorbell at this time of the night?”
“Shouldn’t that be evening,sir?” The stranger enquired sardonically yet politely.
“Look.are you after something?”
“Well,I’m after getting people to go to church or other place of worship.”
“Are you partly Irish?”Stan asked him plaintively.
“What’s happening,”called Mary from her study where she was reading a critique of Principia Mathematica for the seventeenth time.
“God only knows!” said Stan.
Mary came to the front door.She wore a green silk blouse with a jade necklace, a pair of smart jeans from Per Una and some pink trainers with yellow laces.On her face she wore Lancome of Paris light beige foundation,strawberry pink lipstick and purple mascarafrom Clinique.Her perfume was by Beyonce.
“Goodnight,madam” said the stranger.
“I think that’s rude,” said Mary.”If you’ve never met someone before it’s inappropriate to say goodnight.”
“Well,you aren’t in bed,” he replied laboriously.
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Inappropriate is often used to refer to sexual behaviour.”
“Well,who are you?” she whispered politely.
“I’m the new curate!””I’m Polish and I’m here ”
“Well,I’m sorry I don’t know a single word of Polish.would you like to speak in Latin?”
“Ite,missa est!”The curate exclaimed. - “Uno reductio ad absurdum”Stan muttered seductively.
“That’s Italian,UNO” cried Mary shyly.
“Well,it’s pretty similar.” Stan shouted romanically
“Well,I must go,”said the curate amxiously.
“You’ve not been yet so how can you go?” Mary asked mathematically
“I don’t know,sir.Good evening,good afternoon,good morning.”the red faced man screamed as he ran hurriedly down the garden path.
“Are we Catholics ?”Mary asked Stan.
“Oh,I can’t remember,” he said.”Do we go to any church,synagogue or mosque?”
“Well,we may be non-practising at it all ,I suppose.”
“Perhaps we’d better start practising,” he murmured affectionately.
“Oh,if you insist,” she replied in an un-wifely roguish tone.
“That’s right,blame it all on the man.In my experience it’s you who is keener than me on all of that.”
“What are you talking about?”she enquired seductively.
Suddenly the door bell rang.It was the curate. - “Goodnight” he called.”goodnight”
“Goodnight, old man” they responded in their reserved English fashion.
“Mioaw” cried Emile,”Mioaw,miaow,miaow. - And so pray all of us.Amen
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When winter was cold
The “death instinct”
My sister made this.Her life instinct.
Freud did not believe every single symbol in a dream was a sexual one.He also came to think there was a death instinct after living through WW1.His own sisters died in Concentration Camps.He barely got away from Germany in 1938.
I dreamed about cats and little coloured birds last night.And an Indian man was bringing more beautiful animals to show me.
I call that the life instinct
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What a design!
Zaftig is used to describe women
When men watch them in a pool swimming
What a design!
Oy vey,she’s not mine.
Her costume is, one might say, gripping.
I suppose we’re not zoftig today.
We aren’t allowed rolls in the hay.
No ,we cannot eat bread
Unless we are dead.
And that’s not conducive to play.
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Zaftig:juicy!
zaftig
ˈzaftɪɡ/
adjective
NORTH AMERICAN informal
adjective: zaftig; adjective: zoftig
-
(of a woman) having a full, rounded figure; plump.“a zaftig brunette”
Origin
1930s: Yiddish, from German saftig ‘juicy’.
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And how does love die?
It takes a long time for a tree to die.
Though its trunk be almost severed with the axe
There was plenty of sap above
Then the leaves began to wither
and fall though it was spring time…
It takes a long time,to forget.
Not to remember
How to live.
First the tree stops growing.
It pauses,as if waiting for a message.
Then,as I said, the leaves turn brown.
It all takes time.Time to stop waiting
The leaves drop,then the smaller branches shrivel.
Humans also find that when ill, the hair may stop growing
And the finger nails.
We sacrifice the less important pieces of ourselves.
Even the most.
The small branches shrivel and dry out.
…Yet the tree still looks alive
.Then gradually we notice it’s drying out;
its branches are parched and soon the trunk dries too.
It may split in places and insects make their home there.
It takes a long time before the trunk dies.
From the top down it dies.
The sap is too limited in quantity
To climb the trunk..
..So the sap stays near the ground
.Eventually the whole tree seems dead
Yet in the roots there is still subterranean life.
The tree has died and is now brown and leaning a little sideways
No longer magnificent in display.
Time is all it needed
After the sharp cut.
..And sometimes the roots are strong enough
To begin to send up new shoots
Another tree may grow.
.I have seen that.
People ,of course ,die more quickly.
We have no roots.
And what of love,how does love die?
Like a tree,
like a tree,
Like a tree
Like a tree.
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I thought I was a virgin.
According to Freudian theory,writing with a fountain pen is the equivalent of copulation.Damn it.I thought I was a virgin when I got married.That Freud.. who does he think he is? God……Anyway as we get older we can enjoy this simple outlet without dressing up making up or on-line dating.And you don’t need protection,contraception or metal detection.Lose it the inky way.Buy a pen today.I am not sure if fibre tip pens are the same!Or ballpoints.I can see a fountain pen is the most similar and so I can believe children should not learn to write any more.Typing is alright,I think.
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Thorns
Grass and daisies have no spikes nor thorns
So we can run barefoot across the lawns.
Why do roses hurt our hands, forlorn,
When sheep don’t hurt the shepherd as they’re shorn?
We could cut down the roses in our rage.
Their own aggression might bring down their death.
Yet, beauty in their form does love engage.
So we ignore their useless,painful wrath.
Recklessly we love a spiky friend.
Enchanted by their learning or their face
But wounds unneeded bring this to an end.
Patience thins, we sever this embrace.
Roses have a beauty that beguiles.
Shall we then endure their thorns and wiles?
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Aftermath
This is from Wiktionary
English[edit]
The aftermath of a storm and flood.
Etymology[edit]
From after- + math (“a mowing”), from Old English mæþ (“a mowing”), fromProto-Germanic *madą, *maþō, *maþwō, *mēdō (“a mowing”), from Proto-Indo-European *(a)mē- (“to mow”). Cognate with Dutch made, mad (“area of ground cleared by a sickle”), German Mahd (“mowing”). Related to Old English māwan (“to mow”). See mow, meadow.
Pronunciation[edit]
aftermath (plural aftermaths)
- (obsolete, or farmers’ jargon) A second mowing; the grass which grows after the first crop of hay in the same season.
- That which happens after, that which follows. Has a strongly negative connotation in most contexts, implying a preceding catastrophe.
- In contrast to most projections of the aftermath of nuclear war, in this there is no rioting or looting.
Related terms[edit]
Translations[edit]
[show ▼]a second mowing
[show ▼]that which happens after, that which follows
How my heart sings 