Day: April 11, 2016

An interesting word:vapid

 Cromer
vapid
ˈvapɪd/
adjective
adjective: vapid
  1. offering nothing that is stimulating or challenging; bland.
    “tuneful but vapid musical comedies”
    antonyms: lively, colourful, exciting
Origin
mid 17th century (used originally in description of drinks as ‘lacking in flavour’): from Latin vapidus .

Singing will make us rejoice

English is a complex old tongue
Syntax and parsing  and song
Sing for your supper
As adverbs you mutter
With me here you’ll rarely go wrong

From Hebrew and Greek and old Norse
English is good for your voice
Inchoate longings
Mutate into songlings
Sing  till you feel almost hoarse.

From Latin in Church and at school
We moved onto logic and Boole
Symbols and signs reign
And we begin once again
Learning new words makes me drool.

 

Singing will make us rejoice
As we each contribute our own voice.
God loves us equally
And very frequently
Let singing  good songs be your chouce

No bounds

She accidentally strayed

into his terrortery;
He panicked and felt his heart
beating louder
as if trying to burst its way out.
His face turned whiter;
she backed away
knowing intuitively,
it was for the best;
for terror knows no bounds.
And no boundaries create
Terror.

Start charging him

When my husband has been ill,he longs for a tart…Well,you could start charging him!

Can you plug men in like you do with your mobile ?

I wonder if that’s why they have two ears?

What,does the charger go in their ear?

Well,they don’t use them to listen to us women.

I shall have to ask someone.

No,just look on the Internet…
I did look and the good news is,It’s free nowadays.

What’s the bad news?

It’s all porn

Did it affect you?

No,I’d rather read a book..

What sort of book?

The ones where she swoons into his arms

~and he swoons into her charms.

You read those books too?

I write them!

You never said.

No I write under a nom de plum

Plume!

Plum,plume,it’s all  a foreign language to me.

It’s French…

Like the tart

On  Lucian Freud

http://www.ancient-hebrew.org/28_chart.html
The language your forefathers spoke

Dwells in your images.
Faces bleed with feeling.
Bodies rise out like rocks.
Your self-portrait sings
Me,myself.I am.
When God spoke from the burning bush,
You took the flame and ran

Stan wants to bake some blackberries

Stan had decided to do some baking.

The larder was empty
the cupboard was bare
he looked in the cake tin
but  nothing was there.
Stan had flour,eggs and sugar and of course milk and butter.Emile was under the table waiting for something to drip out of the bowl!He loved baking days.
Stan had bought a load of blackberries in the market so he was thinking of blackberry tarts,blackberry crumble..
He picked up the bag which seemed very heavy.Putting his hand in …..he pulled out a Blackberry!

He went to the market
to buy me some fruit
and now he’s got Blackberries
he’s going to shoot!
Annie his next door neighbour was coming to the back door.
“What’s up,Petal?”
“Oh,dear.I seem to have made a category error.”Stan answered philosophically.
“Well what category would you put me into?” she asked petulantly.
“Why are you so egocentric ?Not everything is about you!”He said fluently.
“Well if I’m narcissistic it’s because my infant grandiosity was ruptured too suddenly and I was not held and contained in a suitable manner.”
“You’ve been reading that Wilfred Bion again.” Stan said admiringly.
“No,not just him.It’s some American chap as well .Would you like to read it?”
“No,thanks,I’m finding Julia Segal is more than enough for me.I find Bion is a bit too mystical.I don’t think I can approach you without memory or desire.To be honest,without memory or desire I wouldn’t want to approach you.”
“Wow ” she said stupidly,her large green eyes staring avidly upon him inviting him to fall into their salty sea like depths.
“Shall I ring 999?I can’t think of anything to say. I’m lost for words.”
“Perhaps you have reached that mystical spot beneath language mostly only known to babies,the mad, or meditators?”
“Well,I do feel a bit of madness today.”
“Is that why you have purple and orange eye-shadow on clashing with your alarazin crimson lipstick and your light beige, but not too light, foundation by Lancome of Brixton and Blackheath, Paris,Rome,and London?”
“I suppose so.” she replied indifferently.I feel as if I’m behind a glass wall.”
“Oh,don’t worry.That’s the new window!” Stan explained courteously.”You really are behind a glass wall. You’ve been reading schizoid processes again on Yahoo,”
“Yes,” she admitted her face blushing violently.”It’s those new people who’ve moved in across the road.They are both psychoanalysts so I wanted to feel up to their level of knowledge.”
“I didn’t know they were psychoanalysts.How did you find out?”
“Well,first of all,there were two large sofas, and then hundreds of knitting needles and a lorry-ful of wool.And I thought,”Hello,hello,It must be one of Anna Freud’s followers.”
“So have you met them?” he asked laconically?
“Yes”,she confessed animatedly .I went over and said,
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“And what did he say?”
“Are you all mad round here?”
“So I thought,”You’re not getting hold of me that easily.””
“So I said “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m am an admirer of Melanie Klein,”
“Oh,how did they react to that?”Stan quizzed her jovially.
“He was so rude.He said,
“Are you telling me you’re a lesbian as well as a lunatic?”
“Oh,dear.No wonder your make up is all running off your face and disappearing down your cleavage.Why don’t you pop upstairs and have a bath?”
“Well it’s either that or ringing 999”
“My self is totally divided.”
“Into equal parts?”
“I can’t say” she murmured.
“Oh,well” said Stan “you sit there with Emile and I shall make a Victoria sponge and a lemon drizzle cake without the lemon…I’ve only got bananas and they don’t drizzle.
“Why not adapt to reality and make a banana loaf?”
“Is that wise?” Stan enquired.
“Wise or not,it seems to make sense.” she whispered coyly.”Get a move on or Mary will be back on her Raleigh shopper bicycle and there’ll be no cake for tea
.”Thank you,honey.”Stan replied.
“I am filled with memory and desire.”
“And quite right too,”mioawed Emile from his basket.”I’m like that every night!”
“And so are all of us,”Annie twittered on one of Stan’s  new blackberries

Parse the sugar

  • When I met the Queen she asked  me to parse the marmalade!
    And did you?
    I passed out.
    With flying dolours?
    Exactly.
    You ought to study syntax.
    Will it be rewarding?
    Not financially but it is good for your readers.
    They should write the blog and I can read it.
    Ask for volunteers!
    Will I pay them?
    No,it’s  a learning experience.
    For whom?
    My,we are posh today!
    Stop sniggering at me.
    Ask nicely.
    No.

To parse?

explore_tile0

parse
pɑːz/
verb
verb: parse; 3rd person present: parses; past tense: parsed; past participle: parsed; gerund or present participle: parsing
  1. 1.
    resolve (a sentence) into its component parts and describe their syntactic roles.
    “I asked a couple of students to parse these sentences for me”
    • COMPUTING
      analyse (a string or text) into logical syntactic components.
      “a user question input is parsed into an internal conceptual representation”
noun

COMPUTING
noun: parse; plural noun: parses
  1. 1.
    an act of parsing a string or a text.
    “a failed parse was retried”
Origin
mid 16th century: perhaps from Middle English pars ‘parts of speech’, from Old Frenchpars ‘parts’ (influenced by Latin pars ‘part’).

The lark

 

Freed from her trap.
Bird soared into air,and hovered,
And floated, resting;
And flew higher, singing as she flew,
And higher again,
Till there was only her song,
Left in the silence,
Trembling.

Up on the high, wide,stump topped hill,
I felt the lark inside my heart
And heard her singing.
And flying up with her,
I saw gold sun and silver moon,
Moors of heather and sheep grazing,
Green hills,
And shimmering lakes,
Clouds,sun and sky in watery mirrors.
And sang,and dipped,and dropped,
And curled
Up the blue
Bright heaven,and rested
On the wind.
All that day
I was a lark singing.

I shall always have a vision of
A bird
That flew upwards,
Rejoicing and free
Into a deep blue sky, and high
And higher
Beyond high
Into a place, beyond eye even,
But music still sending.

I wish I were back on that heathery moor,
With the nibbling sheep and the bees sweetly humming,
Hearing again
The poignant song
Of the skylark;
A prisoner,freed by a magician,
From her trap,
So happy to be free,
So wonderful to see.

Do it again for me.

A worm on the couch

I was planning to make a carrot cake till my mother told me:Carrots don’t eat cake.What are carrots anyway? Why are they so picky?I have to eat all my food or I get punished by hunger pains.
Are there worms inside me eating my food or biting me?
Do worms have teeth?What is it they like about soil.
Charles Darwin wrote a book about worms…
So far I have not read it.
Worms are the opposite of us.
They never get angry or depressed as far as we can tell..
How fortunate as to psychoanalyze a worm would be hard.
Indeed could you tell a worm to lie on the sofa
Or would you have to climb inside a plant pot next to the worm?
As Wittgenstein might have said,
If worms could speak we would not understand what they said.
I don’t know,I think I can guess though…
I have some experience …symbolically that is.
Or is it metaphorically?
Imagine a worm on your couch.
Hmm,how are things going?
Yurp,blurp!
Well,that’s good.
Werp,serp!
Quite right,I am interfering with your transfernce.
Hurpppppppp.
Would you like a little soil?
Mummmm
Oh,dear…I should not have offered you anything.
Daddddddd.
Surely you don’t remember him?
Herrrrrrrr.
So your dad was a lady?
Oh ,ahhh!
Well,it takes all sorts.
Glumb,glomb.
I’m afraid your time is up.
Tinnnnnggggggggg
You want a minicab?
Taaaaaaaaaaaaa.
That’s £500
Do you take plastic?
No,only notes.
Doh,ray,me
I never knew worms could sing…
Well,you do now.

Stan cleans the carpet

 

Stan was down on his hands and knees washing and scrubbing at the carpet with a new microfibre cloth and some  shampoo for dry hair.He had a bucket of hot water beside him.Happy, as always, when cleaning and scrubbing he whistled “The lark ascending” for his cat Emile, whilst sipping at a big mug of lager.
Mary was down in the town buying some new earrings to match her red dress from Phase 8 Sale.Their granddaughter Flora had also gone to town but she wanted a nose ring not an earring.As she was a girl it was mandatory in the UK.Suddenly,quite out of the blue,the doorbell rang.They always do don’t they.It was their Muslim neighbour Bert.”We’re going away in the caravan.”He boasted gruffly.”Anyroad,the cat ,Nelsonia Mandelinaah, doesn’t want to come.Would you be able enough to feed her over the weekend without any politically correct remarks being issued ,as it were?”
” Certainly” Stan responded jovially.”When are you off?”
“Well we went last week but we need a weekend in bed to recover from seeing Brent Cross Shopping Centre in Kettlewell right next to the old Post Office.[Kettlewell,Yorkshire’s idyllic village]
“Very strange”Stan said,”Mary was in it only yesterday ,she claims,in Knittingham spending all our minute joint pension on new dresses and shoes.”
“I encounter women who have seen Brent Cross down the road all the time all over Britain.Still they’re entitled to believe what they want!” “But what will the consequences be?”Is there a flying Brent Cross?”
“That sounds rather religious,” Bert answered quickly
,”Is it an augury?”
“I’d say it’s an omen,myself”
“But of what?”
“The times we live in?
“But what’s going to happen?” “God knows.” “Well,does he though?”Stan’s hot water had gone cold.In fact it was frozen.”The laws of physics seem very mutable” Stan wrote in his journal,”Also my spelling has deteriorated badly since I began drinking laaaaaaaaaaaager.Would whiskey be better?”Meanwhile,he had cleaned only one third of the carpet.
He filled the bath with hot soapy water,stepped in fully clothed and then rolled himself around all over the carpet to pick up all the fluff.

When Mary came in she was amazed,”What’s going on?”
“You look as if you’ve been having an orgy on the floor!”
An orgy was something unknown to Stan as yet.”Would you like one?” he murmured.”Yes,”said Mary childishly “Age has not beaten me yet!””Better have it soon before my knees get too bad!”So now Stan is cleaning the carpet again.It’s very soft and thick,just perfect!The list of invitees is posted on his blog.
Well,he’s been told to do something new every week.An orgy this week,the marathon later!
But why is Mary ringing 999?
Does she want to invite Dave,the paramedic or is it more sinister than I can tell you? “Yes,indeed,she wants to invite Alistair Campbell and Tony Blair but she’s not telling Stan!.He’ll be furious.In fact he might kill someone but no,even these people have the right to life.And they did some good in Northern Ireland.But would you want them at an orgy?””Me neither!”