Day: December 9, 2016

The wrong sin

Leggings

He’s writing the definitive book on sin.
Do people want to hear any more about sin?
Any more? I’ve heard very little recently.And which people?
The Word has vanished!
You read the wrong newspaper.
Can a newspaper be wrong in itself,intrinsically wrong?
Can a newspsper be a Sin?
Well,there’s one called the Sun!
Why don’t they just call it The Big Sin and have done with it?
You should write to Rupert.
Who’s Rupert?
You know him,Murdoch!
Now Iris Murdoch,she was a right one.
Well,she certainly wrote a few!And bedded more than a few
A few too many,in my view.
Too many for whom?
My,you talk posh don’t you?
Should it be,you talk poshly?
Me!I’m as common as ,as ,as as,aas,..muck!
Do stop,you’ll fall down a crack in the pavement soon and then where will you be?
I’ll be in Australia with Rupert!
Suppose you came out in New Zealand?
Well,it would be a change. I’m tired of England.
You never mentioned it before.
I didn’t want to upset you.
Well,I’m not so keen myself.
You sound like a knife!
Do you mean,a wife?
No, a knife…with a blade.
Yes, it does look well made.
Shall we buy one?
But do we really need it?
Do we really need anything?
Get a move on,you’re not at college now you know.
Who’re you?
My name is Wisdom.
I’m so sorry.
Why are you sorry?

It’s hard to be called Wisdom when you are a complete idiot.
Well,better a complete idiot than a sharp tongued wasp!
Do you mind!
Not at all.Better an idiot than a mutton dressed as lamb.
Are you a vegetarian?
I do eat the odd vegetables.
And who eats the even ones?
They all go to the supermarket.
So that’s how it works.You are so clever.
Well,I’m an economist.
I believe in economy for all.
I prefer comics myself.
No,they are called graphic novels now.
A bit like those Rupert books we had as children.
I wish Rupert Murdoch was called something else.
I’m sure he will be in tomorrow’s papers.
I mean,it defiles the memory of Rupert the teddy bear.
I learned to read from those.
A pity.
Why?
If you couldn’t read,think of all the other things you could do.
Like writing?
If you coudn’t read ,it would seem to follow that you couldn’t write.
Yet there are people who can read but not write?
Yes,it’s all to do with Venn diagrams and symmetry.
Venn is a weird name.
Yes,pity he wasn’t called Diagram.
I thought he was called,Venn Diagram.
All I know is that diaphragms were a form of birth control.
I was puzzled by that because we all have diaphragms, yet some of us have no control of any kind.
If your diaphragm doesn’t move you can’t breathe so you can’t procreate.
No,you’d be dead!
A very strange form of birth control.
Maybe you just faint and you husband can have his way with you.
But would you want sex with someone unconscious?
It’s another case of a-symmetry.. a man can have relations with a faint woman but if the man faints that’s the end of it.
How about carrots?
What for?
Can they faint?
No,but they make a nice flan.
Fancy that!
I do fancy it actually.
What is it?
It’s a big carrot!
How superb.It seems a shame to eat it.
Well, would like to worship it?
Not today.
Well,it won’t last forever.
In that case I’ll stick with God:
I’ll stick with Thee
Fast falls the chill of night
Semd me an angel,I need something bright.
I have no fear,with Thee I’ll be alright.
Why not give in and have electric lights.
You are very odd.
Well,it makes a change…
Not with you,you’ve always been odd.
So,in a way I’m not odd.
You are right!
Odd. is’t it?
And yet even simultaneously.
It seems almost like quantum theory.
Those were the days.
From Schoenberg to Schrodinger: cats for all.
Enberg to Dinger.
You could call the cat Dinger.
What a good idea.
Mioaw.

When thinking hurts

Young_Lady_Old_Woman_Illusion

My title has two meanings.One is that sometimes we have to think about a painful event or a person who has hurt us.Or even some past events…I recall pain when  I was told about Hitler and Stalin

On the other hand some of us  use thinking in words as a way of blocking painful emotions.whilst this  may work for a time,it may give  a lot of trouble when we need to deal with pain.Essentially we do not wish to “know” the truth in the full sense… we deceive ourselves and maybe others too

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/fulfillment-any-age/201110/the-essential-guide-defense-mechanisms

William Blake wrote this poem

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine,

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go.

I’ve been reading Sylvia Plath recently.I see that after her husband left her she went into a frenzy of activity.She had two very young children.was often ill with flu but she wrote all her most famous poems at this time;then she moved to London antd socialised a lot to prove she was not just a deserted wife.After this she became more, ill,there was a severe winter….then she crashed into the depths…I feel that  her frenzied writing was a way of not admitting her grief… and she got worn out and decided death was better.
Some of us who are quite cerebral are not in touch with  our bodies.We don’t feel that knife in the heart,the tears unshed,the anger that threatens… and eventually this cam lead to problems.,sometimes flu sometimes a breakdown,sometimes a broken marriage.and also the thinking can take on a life of its own so  it keeps us awake at night… and the feelings can come out in nightmares.So thinking can  be a curse.We all need defences at times but too much cuts us of from our own lives.And brooding and ruminating are very damaging to the mind and soul.Thinking is not wisdom

 

abstract war on terror.

A lovely poem that i am fond of

O sweet spontaneous

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

sweet spontaneous

earth how often have

the

doting

fingers of

prurient philosophers pinched

and

poked

thee

, has the naughty thumb

of science prodded

thy

beauty, how

often have religions taken

thee upon their scraggy knees

squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive

gods

(but

true

to the incomparable

couch of death thy

rhythmic

lover

thou answerest

them only with

spring)

Many things cannot be proved or disproved.Most things actually

 

 

You can’t prove by logic  God exists neither can you prove he doesn’t.You might have experiences which prove it to you but you can’t get anyone else to have the same experiences.
You can’t prove logically that Beethoven is greater than Haydn nor vice versa.
We can only use language but if there is a God he was there prior to language being invented by humans.He might sing like a bird but better!
You can say the religious experiences of St Teresa were merely molecules in her brain moving about.You cannot either prove it or disprove it.You choose as you wish.
I can’t prove my husband loves me but I deduce it from how he acts and speaks.

 

Something will crack.

 

With a smack
However we pack the bags and  how we gab
The nonsuburban, sick to death electorate will decide
the ultimate end of humanity
that the system has failed and failed,repress the button
and start looking around for a strongman to
vote for like Stalin.Trostky, Hitler,
– someone willing to assure them that they are ok and are to be raptured
once he is elected,
the smug bureaucrats, will have a new habitat, a hot air pad
tricky lawyers, overpaid bond salesmen, even whalesmen at sea
and postmodernist professors  with post-truth dialectic
will no longer be calling hey,where are  the shots?
Is that a gun in your sprocket?

What a super Ego!

  • A bad Ego,
    What a super Ego!
    What an Idiot
    What a split rationality!
    What a  complex boundary personality
    An unconscious Messiah came by
  • A bag of noses
    A rage of poses
  • I’ll flee in your boots
    I’ll see about Coutts.
  • A word in the ear is wise to the fears
  • A bigot, at least
  • Oh,not in my mindscape
  • A cult  of  post-truth
    A cult of bulls’ flies
  • A bull in a whining shop,
  • Such fun  in the coven.
    Joan of Larks is near
  • A bunch of  hard drives in his hand
    It’s all backed up  onto the Crowd
    A chain is only as long as its length
  • A cheap book  coughed
    I whip off  my bold  frock
  • I’ve got Christmas foxed this year.

Inside my heart, this sacred place

dscn0042 

Inside my heart, this sacred place,
Where freely mingle truth and grace;
Where friends and enemies alike
Are viewed as equals for love’s sake

Inhabited by deeper self
In touch with all that in me dwells;
I leave  my failures  gladly here
I will not live in morbid fear.

I don’t insult the force divine
By pride in any good that’s mine.
For willpower cannot birth virtue
But  can  attend to the eye’s  view

By trusting in   the vast unknown
We turn  attention from the known.
Our eyes relax and  gaze without,
To  bring proportion  to our doubts

Trust, itself. will widen gaze;
Enable us to find our ways.
With terror,fear or loss of pride,
Constriction comes to human eyes.

Perception is the highest good
By what we see,we choose our road.
The blind rush like the swine to hell
In patient,watchfulness   we’ll  dwell.

Virtue and will

 

Just knowing what virtue is ,does not make us good.
We deceive ourselves withouthitlerknowing.
Can we be good by willpower: to some extent by avoiding places or people where we know we can’t control ourselves.That’s a  negative  way of being good.
Knowing what vice is might tempt us but innocence is dangerous too.

Tears of mirth

IMG_0047He told me he loved me before the tide over-took us
His hands seem to twitch all over me and I trembled with tears of mirth
He was the most underrated blogger of his entire degeneration
His words felt like raindrops on toast.
He could mimic anyone and was often mistaken for a Lord.
His talent was unmarketable his genius a sorrow in the dark
His eyes gleamed like traffic signals stuck on ”  go”
His writing was hard to put down and even harder to read.
He never told me his time frame but I watched him covertly on my swatch
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  and rend us.
He died by a  whim.God wanted him upstairs
He said he never forgave me for beating him at Chess.Is it my fault I am so quick?
He admired my coat as we left A and E.He asked me where I stole it from.A and E of course.To be honest I bought it online in a gale in 2005 and it still  fits me more or rather less!
He was so funny I wakened up laughing.I was  in an inverted coma.
Still, you get used to them and just when you get comfortable they die.

love is more thicker than forget by e e cummings

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

For grief has struck me

The darkness and the greyness of the day
Pulls down my heart to places deep in earth
Where there are no tall trees nor wind to sway.

 

As little children, we went out to play
Did not   think this sunless time a curse
Just darker and  more cloudy than  some days.

My heart is touched by memories  and by prayer
But still resides in darkness of love’s dearth
Where there are no tall trees nor wind to sway.

I do not know my path and do not care
For grief has struck me  and stolen all  my worth
Oh, the darkness and the grayness of that day

I only wish that I could swiftly lay
My burdens down and  run from  this dread  curse
Where  live the trees of blackness  and dismay.

 

Oh,God why have I had no love, no  birth?
Interior darkness hides away my worth
I  dread  the outer  darkness  of these  days
And   these old   trees  which frighteningly  sway