Month: December 2016

Reality’s too little or too much

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Between the wish for  changlessness and thrill,
We seldom will be satisfied for long.
Neither is controlled by human will.
As into  stormy life, we all are flung
Self-deception  shields us from our doubts
We choose to pre-select what we will see.
Pretend to know what our life’s  all about
In  our little boats  on stormy seas.
Then  later we choose danger for its spice
And with daring climb the mountain with no ropes
We resist the offer of    advice
Till ,with broken bones, we sadly mope.
Reality’s too little or too much
So ,on our path, our hearts will surely lurch

Beware nicking leaks

  • lily-pond-2
  • Beware flicking leeks
  • Between earth’s flock and a charred waste there’s a stench of blood
  • The sting   of the deeply glued bee
  • He fell between two Schools of ought
  • With you ,me  and the bed’s  ghost, there are three in our barrage
  • Beware of  freaks offering lifts
  • Beware the  lies of March
  • Beyond poor, then?
  • Beyond  the wail ,I heard a moan
  • Between me and a hired nerd was a laptop on wheels
  • As big as a house on speed
  • As  heavy as a lead knife
  • Big brother is snatching
  • Blog freeze today
  • A pig  flew from  the underground at Finsbury Park

Across our mother’s universal face

The worst of wars occur within the home
The earth’s  a mother  whom we treat with scorn.
Although on foreign trips we   gormless roam
We care not how  our  holy mother’s torn.

The planes’ emissions do not disappear
Our waste  is thrown  to devastate   all space.
The universe is bounded like  a sphere
The noxious  decorates with  thoughtless trace.

 

The condoms and the women’s  bloody cloths
The petrol fumes,  the plastic bags, the base
Are scattered like a  demon’s  tortured wrath
Across our mother’s  universal  face
Can we avert    the death of earth, this  fate?
Will we dawdle  till it is too late?

 

The body’s conscious self

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Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

 

Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

In ‘Four Essays on the Body’, I wanted to write a poem that treated the body as the whole being. Rather than, as we so commonly do, viewing the body as vehicle for a somewhat abstract concept of the mind, I wanted to communicate something of the body as a conscious entity

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Religion and extended metaphors

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Sarah Roby on religion and extended metaphors

Quote:

Reading poetry has since restored my faith in metaphor and how it can extend deeply and cleanly over individual poems, sequences and collections. While writing ‘The Recurrency of Peter Body’, I was interested in exploring the connection between the fallibility yet constancy of the human body and representations of Peter the Apostle. Fortunately for the poem, this connection struck me as obvious. And as I researched – returning to the King James Bible, reading the frescos of Masaccio and paintings of Caravaggio – the resonances revealed themselves, as if inevitably.

However metaphor is not an end in itself. I’m with Derrida in the belief that metaphor is “a basic way of knowing”. It’s active in pressing towards definition – through comparison – and hence towards understanding. So in the poem, for example, I’m also interested in where, in a secular society, we locate our ‘church’. If, as the poem suggests, we locate it with the individual – in the body – then what are the implications of this? It might suggest individualism, egotism maybe, hubris… which is kind-of

Into the washing machine… therapy’s disasters

What on earth

Peter Fried,the psychoanalyst newly arrived in Knittingham, had noticed that whilst he was practising “free floating attention”

with his patients an image of a cat peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred from the Unconscious of one of his patients into his consciousness.
Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.In a way,it was quite sweet.He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper when the doorbell rang.He opened it cautiously with a sort of furtive excitement.There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat and a red hat with matching red ballet flats and a bright green designer handbag from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary..my name is Anne..How are you settling in?She walked confidently through his flat and into the new teak kitchen with its gleaming work surfaces and marble pastry rolling strip…. though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?By pure chance and serendipity I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.I could pour it over these eggs.
Should we not remove the shells first?Peter asked with a just hint of humour.Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?
Why Emile told me,of course!
Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics,he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish preparing the curry dinner.
Is it common around here to have an unknown woman come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked Anne.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.
It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,I like to serve the community in some way.Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as he’s in a bad temper today I’ve not seen him.I suspect he is growing tired of me.
Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.She could not bear to touch it so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.I do go to see her now and then… and there are lovely sunsets over there… you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him emotionally.
No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.Would you like to touch me? she said seductively
Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,But thanks for being so generous.I am touched by your amiability and femininity and yourkindness in introducing yourself.Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.
Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous… he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming like those of a tiger… he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry?Stan never makes it… I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.His eyes began to water and his nose ran…. all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado,she took out her Samsung mobile phone and rang.I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.He ran across the room and jumped into the washing machine with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.Will he escape?Buy the next chapter…only three shilling and sixpence or free with the Daily Wail tomorrow…order now for next life delivery!

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Late? By David Rivard

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42646?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter&utm_content=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter+CID_a08f8df72ca0bc3005f8b6c5efae358e&utm_source=Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=Late%20by%20David%20Rivard

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Late?

BY DAVID RIVARD
—for George Shelton
Sometimes everything feels like a trick.
Some days things seem to have been stolen from you.
Cash to pay the bills, your sense of humor, friendship.
You could almost believe those are what you look for
as you walk around your neighborhood. But, no, instead, you get
splashes of zinnias against stucco, cactus wrens,
a pack of kids who ignore the sodium amber streetlights
which just stuttered on, because it means their mothers
want them home right this minute. And, on the corner variety
store’s wall, a crude, sun-washed mural of the angel Gabriel
defaced by thick black sideburns so he looks like a street punk,
a strutting cholo, so he seems the only creature on earth
who hasn’t heard the news that everything can be lost.
His strong upper arms curving naked and graceful
as the tan thighs of a slender, athletic girl.
A girl he’s after, though she’s gotten bored waiting
on the stoop and watching the sun set behind the foothills.
Sky reddening until it slams into a blue that blesses
anyone oblivious to all the negations,
including the one, pal, where you think it’s possible
to step out of your heart and leave it empty as
an egg shell or a cardboard box.
When you finally return home
the tint of sky more or less matches the flash
of a thrush as it swoops from limb to branch,
acacia to willow. Standing at the kitchen counter,
you pick through a carton of strawberries.
Good juicy ones from the moldy and over-ripe.
Choices that are easy. What do you trust anymore?
The aproned man in the mercado said California strawberries,
they’re the best this time of year. In bed, later,
you remember the grocer, round belly under his apron,
but as you start, nearly asleep, to tell your wife about him,
how he talked about his deals, she starts
reading aloud from a tattered bird guide, that the wood thrush
is “essentially useful and worthwhile.”
What is worthwhile?                      Now, remember.

Take them home and drown them in drink.

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Doctor,Doctor!
What is it?
I have lost my head!
Go to the reception and see if they have any there.
You don’t understand!
Well, tell me more.
I’ve just bought myself a cashmere sweater.
How much was it?
Fifty pounds.
Well, that’s a real bargain.
Yes, it was £214 originally
Why was it so cheap?
It’s because I lost my head in the shop and kissed all the shop assistants.
Were they men or women?
I couldn’t tell really; they all wear pink trousers and spotted jumpers now.
But surely you could tell close up when you approached them?
Close up!I blew the kisses…. from the pavement.
I don’t believe this.You’d better see a priest.
I just saw one in the waiting room!
What!In here.What’s he doing?
I think he’s preaching to the converted.
But it’s  unethical to tamper with sick people.
They all got up and ran out.I’m your last one.I’m a Mormon now, you see.
But you were a Catholic.
I needed a change and another wife.Or ten
You certainly have lost your head.Go before I do something I’ll regret.
What would that be?
I might swear
Perhaps the priest will help you.
Be off, you headless man.You brainless biped.
Cheerio then.See you tonight.
Why?
I’ll be ill again by then.It’s my obsessions.
Take them home and drown them in drink.
Can I have it on prescription?
I’m afraid not, but I can give you a good description.
I drink Tiger beer.
Why?
I’d like to be a tiger later on.
Be off.You are tempting me to hit you with a brick.
Do you have a brick in here?
Not yet but I can knock  a hole in the wall with my hammer.Alternatively, I could use this waste paper basket.Jump inside.
I’m not a cat.
Oh, yes you are.
Oh, no I’m not.Cats can’t speak English.
How do you know that’s universal?
Well, French cats can’t speak French……
How clever.
How smart.
How insightful.
How delightful.
Excuse me, Doctor, there’s a dead priest here.
Well, I’m no good at raising the dead.
Well, you raised ten children.
No, my wife did that.I’m not even the father.
No, the Father is outside.
You mean this man was the father of my children…
Well, put it like this.He saved you all the hassle.
You can say that again.
He saved you all the hassle.
But why?I thought she didn’t like sexual embraces.
Seems like  it was you she didn’t like
So why did  she marry me?
She was the Registrar!
So who was the bride?
She was proxy.
That’sa=  an odd name.
For the bride!
I don’t believe it was a woman,it was  cat.
That’s not legal
Neither is LSD

Stan and the postman

cats and newspapers

Stan was brushing his sturdy tomcat Emile by the front window when he saw the postman coming up the path.This was a surprise as it was eight o’clock in the evening,though it was still quite light.He opened the door.
Goodness me,they are making you work hard” he murmured sympathetically to the weary looking postman.
Well,if I don’t do what they want there are 2.5 million unemployed people out there all seeking work” he said in a deep guttural voice.
I like your beard,cried Emile.And your moustache.
Do you like my new hat, asked the postman politely.
Yes,very much said the little cat.
Well,I have to wear it as I am a Conservative Jew.
I have never been quite sure what a Conservative Jew is,said Stan
And I have never been sure why the Church of England is international,replied the tired man wearily
Neither have I said Stan.It seems illogical.
He gave the postman some tea in a paper cup so he could drink it before he went any further.
Can I use your bathroom,he called to Stan who was admiring a few early daffodils.
Of course you can… it’s just at the top of the stairs.
When Arthur the postman came out he thanked Stan
Nowadays since all the public conveniences are no longer there it’s hard to find a lavatory and when you work a 12 hour day you do get to need a leak.
Yes,said Stan.I frequently have people using the loo…. or failing that you can go behind the hedge.
Just like me,thought Emile.I often go behind the hedge.I also take lady cats right to the back of the hedge for the purpose of lovemaking.
Have you ever made love under a hedge,Emile asked Arthur.
Or is it forbidden by your Mosaic Law?
Well,said Arthur,we can make love anywhere at all.But we have to be sure it is real love and not just us pretending to love someone in order to get something out of them.
That seems wise,said Stan.You seem a really wise man.
Yes,I did do a lot of studying till I lost my job as a University lecturer and had to work as a postman.But it does give me time to meditate.
And what is your advice to other humans,purred Emile.
Well,I’ll just offer you one thought,Don’t exploit others for self gratification and if you feel suicidal please tell someone or phone the Samaritans.
And if you do go ahead I advise you to burn your diaries,letters and other private writing…look at poor Sylvia Plath,How could she have been so stupid.Everything she ever wrote,even on the paper napkin at dinner was collected and published by her almost ex-husband.We seem to know more about her than anyone who ever lived.
You have a good point there,said Stan.
I work for the Samaritans one day a week and Emile sits by me and purrs to keep me happy.
You seem a good man,said Arthur.Then all of a sudden he disappeared… leaving just a smile in the air like the Chesire Cat.
Oh,my sweet Lord,Stan murmured.Was that who I think?
Yes,said Emile.I saw the heavenly host behind him singing
Why did he call here?
We’ll just have to wait and see… but I shall cut up my diary tomorrow and delete my journal from the computer.I don’t want to cause scandal after I die.
No,said Emile,just cause scandal while you are alive by taking yet another mistress.
You little devil,Said Stan
And then Stan and Emile both chuckled as they went back into the house.And Stan resumed brushing Emile and mused over the visitation whilst forgetting he had not cooked the dinner for his hardworking wife Mary.Luckily Mary is very patient

The wise cat ponders on the window sill

 

Paper flowers

In Richmond they  have voted Goldsmith  out.
And Labour tore themselves apart like wolves.
The Lib Dems   are back  here without a doubt

To Theresa May, the   numbers are a clout.
What  lesson will she learn. what will evolve?
In Richmond they  have called Zac Goldsmith out

Labour’s hopes are running down the spout
Uncertain of their leader,votes dissolved.
The Lib Dems   are back  in, without a doubt

Here  work and love  no longer seem to  count
And pendulums  swing wild  like goaded bulls
So in Richmond now,  they  showed Zac Goldsmith  out.

I meditate   and yet I hear the shout.
Of  people  wild in Richmond,Leicester,Hull.
The Lib Dems are  in business, without doubt

The wise cat ponders on the window sill
Wondering who might  have to pay  the bill
In Richmond  now they  voted Goldsmith  out.
The Lib Dems  live; dispel  your  needless doubt

The role of poetry in religious knowledge

 

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http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jason-derr/the-role-of-poetry-in-rel_b_636293.html

 

Quote

In her book Wisdom and Metaphor poet and philosopher Jan Zwicky argues for a poetic form of doing philosophy, one rooted in an understanding of metaphor. As she sees it, metaphor teaches us to see “X (as Y) and at the same time X is not Y.” In her introduction she says we are not wise in a vacuum but are wise about things: people, situations and contexts. People who think metaphorically think truly, as their thinking follows the shape of the world.

Zwicky says that metaphor, as a philosophical device, is a form of seeing-as. Out in the Chinese wilderness de Chardin may have agreed. The poem — in de Chardin’s case his “Mass” — opens up our longing and asks us to hold together a variety of images in their contradictions and similarities. Theologically it means that the theological task is less scientific-philosophical but more an act of seeing-as. The Mass de Chardin performed did not challenge Catholic liturgical authority, reform the church or introduce sweeping panentheist theological directions. But as a poem it drew its readers into a form of seeing-as that allowed a reimagining of the relationship between God and creation, and a meditation on the real presence of Christ in the elements as the story of God’s relationship with all of material creation.

Richard the Third

Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 20
That long have frown’d upon their enmity!
 652cb-photo0688 What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr’d herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood,
The father rashly slaughter’d his own son,
 11165327_652321328241082_7567875285690634624_n The son, compell’d, been butcher to the sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division,
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house, 30
 12088036_626040074202541_3654399960036230689_n By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac’d peace,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
 new-photos-feb-2013-008-22 That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Let them not live to taste this land’s increase
That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp’d, peace lives again: 40
That she may long live here, God say amen!

Who has integrity?

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Integrity means following your moral or ethical convictions and doing the right thing in all circumstances, even if no one is watching you. Having integrity means you are true to yourself and would do nothing that demeans or dishonors you.

How to Have Everyday Integrity

  • Keep your promises even if it takes extra effort.
  • Go back to a store and pay for something you forgot to pay for.
  • Never betray a friend’s trust even if you get in trouble.
  • Inform the cashier he gave you too much change back.
  • Do not gossip or talking badly about someone.
  • Remain true to your spouse or partner.
  • When in a serious relationship, don’t keep secrets from each other.
  • Return money that you noticed someone dropped without expecting a reward.
  • Ignore someone’s advice on how to cheat on your taxes and not get caught.
  • Do not let someone else take the blame for something you did.
  • If someone gives you confidential information, never tell anyone what you know.
  • When it is obvious to you a relationship is over, don’t drag it out but discuss it openly.

Read more at http://examples.yourdictionary.com/examples-of-integrity.html#s83XipS8mQSXFHl3.99

Who are you that I should pray for you?

A man devout in fasting,prayer and plea
Made much of what his  holiness would do
But pride became his friend  when  he  told me
Who are you that I should pray for you?

I am you, I told him like the bell
That rings when someone dies or sin to quell
God made you and  God made me as well.
My advice is, get you to a cell.

For though we do good deeds and even pray
We cannot judge ourselves to be  the saved
We  are wandering on the earthly way
We cannot know how others should behave.

If I’m unworthy,I  trust that God perceives
I trust his mercy to like souls bereaved

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second version

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A man devout in fasting,prayer and pleas
Made much of what his holiness could do
But pride became a flaw when he told me
Who are you that I should pray for you?

I am you, I told him, like the bell
That rings when someone dies or sin to quell
God made you and God made me as well.
Such a man makes heaven seem like hell

For though we do good deeds and even pray
We cannot judge ourselves to be the saved
We struggle on the dangerous, frightening way
We cannot judge our sin or other’s grace

If I’m so low ,then God shall me perceive
I trust him with my heart and I believe

I shall live again

My heart is crushed like petals on the road
When spring winds  blow and cars speed by  like shot
The weight of caring is too hard to hold
Yet such a pastime seems to be my lot.

When buds appear I dread the frost of sin
When leaves uncurl ,I   bear my breathless  dream
I was not always of this mind so grim
Neither did I  ponder complex schemes.

Shall I descend to ploys and plots of doom;
Wreak revenge on men who troubled me?
No,I ‘ll not give home to  conquering gloom
I’ll sit it out and find what  good’s for me.

My heart is crushed but I shall  live again
Far from the habitat of wolf -like man.

How to write a sonnet

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How to Write a Sonnet Poem in 7 Steps

 

6. Incorporate a Volta

Volta is the Italian word for “turn.” A turn could represent various changes in the sonnet. It might refer to a change in the theme, the sound, the emphasis of the message or image of the poem. The purpose of the volta is to indicate that the sonnet is coming to an end. In the English sonnet, the volta or turn is found in the third quatrain while in the Italian sonnet the volta is often found in the ninth line. In Browning’s sonnet, a change is noticeable in the ninth line. She reads the note which declares a love for her – words that she had been longing to hear that can now be said aloud marking a monumental change in her life. In Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18,” there is a shift in language with the word “but” at the beginning of the third quatrain.  After describing all of the beauty that ultimately fades, the speaker addresses the poem’s ability to preserve the beauty of the beloved forever.

7. Use Poetic Devices

To enhance the imagery and message of the poem, incorporate poetic devices or literary devices in poetry.  Imagery is particularly important when writing a poem. Imagery can be established through word choice, as well as the use of figurative language such as similes, metaphors, and personification. Alliteration and other sound devices such as assonance and consonance can be used to create a musical quality and symbolism will help to create a deeper message for the audience. The course, Understanding Romantic Poetry, will introduce poetry from the Romantic Era and instruct how to read and comprehend poetry from the literary period.

Wikileaks and good manners

 

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Scottish home flies Mexican flag

 

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v33/n02/slavoj-zizek/good-manners-in-the-age-of-wikileaks

Extract

However, it is a mistake to assume that revealing the entirety of what has been secret will liberate us. The premise is wrong. Truth liberates, yes, but not “this truth. Of course one cannot trust the façade, the official documents, but neither do we find truth in the gossip shared behind that façade. Appearance, the public face, is never a simple hypocrisy. E.L. Doctorow once remarked that appearances are all we have, so we should treat them with great care. We are often told that privacy is disappearing, that the most intimate secrets are open to public probing. But the reality is the opposite: what is effectively disappearing is public space, with its attendant dignity. Cases abound in our daily lives in which not telling all is the proper thing to do. In Baisers volés, Delphine Seyrig explains to her young lover the difference between politeness and tact: ‘Imagine you inadvertently enter a bathroom where a woman is standing naked under the shower. Politeness requires that you quickly close the door and say, “Pardon, Madame!”, whereas tact would be to quickly close the door and say: “Pardon, Monsieur!”’ It is only in the second case, by pretending not to have seen enough even to make out the sex of the person under the shower, that one displays true tact.

Annie breaks into Stan’s sacred space

Some old Greek writing
Some old Greek writing (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Stan was polishing the windows again with his  big microfibre cloth.The computer was on.As soon as he finished the sitting room windows he planned to look at a google document he was co-writing with hislfriend Annie, on the failings of the British Empire..She only lived next door but they both liked sharing new techniques of various kinds.
He sat down in front of his computer and looked at his email.
There was one from Annie.

“Hi Stan
I didn’t really want to keep some of those remarks you  wrote at the bottom of our document when we were both online,so I have deleted them.  We should have gone into chat mode.They were not related to the topic we were discussing so I know you won’t be mind.And if you ask again we can chat either online or in person about sex and people’s lives
With  my  love,dearest one ,Annie

??????????

Stan felt  furiously angry and cross.  How could she know if he minded or not?
He went dark red as if his head was bursting.What was so dreadful about his remarks?He had only asked Annie if her dead husband George might have been bisexual.Stan had once seen him kissing another man  in the bushes in the park.Annie didn’t seem bothered last night.She never gave the impression to  me she didn’t like it.Maybe she’s not quick enough to react
Anyway she should not have deleted it completely without asking me first.
He sat down on his old Habitat chair [recently mended free on the NHS by Dave the paramedic,] and he  sent her an email saying he was furious with her for attacking his freedom of speech.It was unethical.It .He must assert himself.He would show her!
So he was not going to work with her on any more documents ever again nor chat on IM or Google Chat. Of course he still loved her but his anger was too strong for him to ignore.

Cat alone
When Annie got the email she was completely stunned like a cow   ready to be e.She apologized to Stan immediately but he refused to accept it  ever  even though she begged piteously for forgiveness.
Why did he want to know if George was bisexual, she wondered.Was he saying it to try to turn himself on or me? Or is he just interested in  all  different kinds of sex   and human behavior generally ,like most people are ?But it was not concerned with the document which was about ill treatment of prisoners in India under the British Empire and relating it to other acts  of outrage by the British   Government elsewhere.
I wanted to talk about us,not poor dead George.Whatever George’s sex life,he’s dead now.So l we should leave him in peace.
Meantime.Stan was thinking about how women were always interfering in his life,correcting him and improving his grammar.Making him cups of tea when he wanted brandy and some HP sauce  with his lamb chops not salad
He liked talking about bisexuality.It made him feel a sense of wonder at the differing habits and desires of humans.Why couldn’t she just go along with it or at least say something then rather than deleting his words secretly when he was off-line?Though maybe mentioning George was insensitive even though George was dead.
He was a man .He was not going to let a woman ride over him like a steam roller. Annie must learn her place in the scheme of things.

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Where is that,asked his beautiful tom cat Emile.
I’m not sure but it’s not above me.It’s either the same or lower.
Can’t you forgive her.She may be in another dimension,another space altogether,another universe of discourse?[He’d been reading  his Wittgenstein again]
Certainly not .No way.Stan answered,
But you love her,you said many times in here.I heard you
All the more reason to maintain some boundaries. Love is not the be all and end all of life for a man!
Next she’ll be cutting bits off me with her dressmaking shears,he cried in outrage and horror!
She’ll castrate me.She’ll turn me into a woman.

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She won’t,she’s just a daft  postmenopausal woman,said Emile.She wouldn’t ever harm you.she’s very gentle.you know that,don’t you?
She has invaded me,she has crossed my boundary.
Some people would be glad,mewed the cat.He was always hoping a lady cat would come by. and cross his boundaries or more correctly.he would  be allowed cross hers.
Meanwhile Annie was sitting sobbing  feverishly in her bedroom.She really enjoyed co-writing documents and news sheets with Stan.Now he won’t do it any more, she whispered . He was really mad with her.He must be feeling upset and aggravated beyond  all human endurance.She had assumed too much and now she was paying the price as she lay  on her purple duvet cover with two boxes of Kleenex for men.Even  finding  the Kleenex required for all her sobbing was too much for her.

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She cried and sobbed loudly for a while.Her eyes were bright red and bloodshot. She was so  very sad she had unwittingly distressed dear  Stan.Life is so tough she thought reluctantly.I wish I were somewhere else……maybe in Heaven with George and his bisexual lovers  beside all playing harps or mouth organs  and whatever else the could find up there.
Still,there were those new neighbours who had just moved in across the road.Two brothers,both very handsome.I wonder if they like writing on the computer,she thought.That cheered her up a bit,though she was very fond of Stan.In fact she loved him greatly and had kissed him  many times though she had never actually gone to bed with him ;never known him in the biblical sense.Was that the problem?Too late now either way,she muttered quietly to her goldfish Wayne who agreed with her analysis of the situation .
So in her mind she was moving from loving and adoring Stan to being  loving  towards yet puzzled by him.Was he afraid of being dominated by a woman?What would he be like as a lover?

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But why try to talk about bisexuality?Could he not have thought of something else?Like female  orgasms or kissing better?
There was a new book by Betty Dodson teaching  frozen women how to have orgasms.Would he have enjoyed discussing female anatomy and pleasuring her naked female body and all the rest.
Well,she would never know now.That was certain.Thank God I’ve found out what he’s like before things went any further.He might be a little too dominating.Though a certain amount is necessary for the  consummation of love.She was so upset her thoughts began to turn towards women.
Would it be better all round to love a woman instead?Especially as I could show her how to have an orgasm having being studying this book for some weeks?Though she may already know,I guess.Still,a change is as good as a rest, so  the proverb says.
How do I find a woman who’s into other woman, as it were, she thought.Can I find one on the internet?Will there be a club we can go to? How exciting!
So Annie grew more optimistic.A woman wouldn’t mind a few words deleted from a chat either.So a feeling of mild joy came over her and her sobbing died down.

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Stan was sitting in his kitchen feeling superior and dominant.Except Annie had not come for coffee so it was hard being dominant all by himself.He began to feel depressed and morose.Should he change his mind?Would he lose his window of opportunity?
Why is life so trying.Why are women so manipulative, why do they all turn out fakes and bitches,he asked Emile.Why won’t they love me as I am?
It’s partly one’s own character,Emile replied.
Hearing this Stan lost his temper and threw  the kettle of boiling water at Emile.Luckily it missed but Emile stalked out and went off to the shed leaving Stan more alone than ever.
How hard life is Stan shouted. I feel like topping myself. I”ll jump off the roof. of the civic center.I’m going to ring the f*****g Samaritans.
Just then his wife Mary walked in.What’s up Stan?
Nothing dear.I just dropped a brick on my toe
Why have you got a brick in here,in the lounge?
I was playing with it.
With a brick?
Well,it has a certain cold masculinity,he replied assertively
Cold masculinity?. Shall I make some drinks? Mary asked tenderly
Yes,please,dear,very kind
Oh,look there’s Annie walking past arm in arm with a woman.
I knew George was bisexual but now I see she is also or maybe she’s turned quite gay!Were they both gay?
Well,it’s not our business,said Mary quietly.
Aha,thought Stan.That’s what you think.If only you could see inside my mind!Inside his mind though ,he was wondering if Annie would ever see him again.But I will not forgive her,I won’t.I won’t!
What he might have said more truthfully was “Can’t”
For indeed,it is hard to forgive people for trampling into one’s sacred space even if it is an accident or misjudgment not a deliberate attempt to dominate.but …….
Life is sweet and yet very hard too for all of us but forgiveness helps

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Kleenex logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
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