Day: April 27, 2017

Stan was polishing the windows again

5961338_f260

Stan was polishing the windows again with his  black 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.Joy!

“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 dreadfully bad 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 was too powerful .He must assert himself.He woul 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.
When Annie got the email she was comgletely stunned like a cow in the abbatoir   ready to be eloctrocuted.She apologised 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 kinds of sex   and human behaviour 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 Brirish   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 eave 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 brand 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.
Where is that,asked his beautiful 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 alrogether,another universe of discourse?[He’d been reading 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.
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 anymore,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.
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 too, 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 gently yet thoroughly 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?
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,[she always liked  kisses on her throat,he knew that.]
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 neccessary for the  consummation of love.She was so upset her thughts 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.
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 centre.I’m going to ring the fucking 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
Cold masculinity?. Shall I make some drinks?
Yes,please,dear
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?Is that why she only kissed him and never went any further?
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.but as it’s the season of goodwill let’s pray it alll works out!

And let her mercy flow like menstrual blood

She sees her man is going  , lives   with strain
She wants to make it right, yet is not God
He  has not found the peace  some men attain

By now his choices and his will have gone
He has chosen his own measuring rod
She sees her man is dying, sees his strain

She has  killed the snake of bitter pain
And let her mercy flow like menstrual blood
He has not gained the peace my man attained

She will  stand  back from  this ruined reign
And must hope to make  her giving good
She sees her man is dying, what restraint.

The goodness of his death’s not hers to coin
Only her containment of his flood
He cannot find much peace  of mind again

She has made a frame; her kindness, wood.
And by  this doing, her own grief withstood
She sees her man is dying and he’s  strained
He’s not dreamed the peace  they  may attain

 

A poem given to me outside Lidl’s

New-Coll-garden1-67
 

In the land our dreams dwell in

where  creation,love and hate begin;

where swiftly the deep rivers flow

from those lost lands of long ago.

I wander through wild poppy fields

Underfoot the dark earth yields….

I see the flowering fruit trees start

Their blossoms gather round my heart…

I hear the sparrows sing with joy

And bees their busy wings employ.

In those lost lands I saw your face

And so I longed for your embrace.

Earth to earth and ash to ash

Glory,pride and boasting pass.

Stay awhile,my dearest one

Soon I too will be called on.

Nothing lasts but truth is real

Keep to that and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay

We must give all self away

Softly on this earth I roam

Seeking yet my love and home,

for until the very end

Love and kindnss may descend.

Soft as wings of butterflies

Tears well up and wet my eyes.

My heart has melted into yours

Thus we grow and die like flowers

Roses have their beauty and their wiles

Leonard Cohen (1970's)
Leonard Cohen (1970’s)

 

Grass and daisies have no  spikes nor thorns

So we can run barefoot on the lawn.

So why do roses hurt  our hands forlorn

When sheep don’t hurt the shepherd when 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.

Yet do they need to harm us with their wiles?

Eagles’ claws

 

Christian, wise  they’ve  hacked the creed;
Let thy prayer  flow at good speed;
Leak no fright, perform the blues
Erase thy works and writs renew.

Hearts surround you wink  and dare;
Thou  will help their  blood to clear;
Thou canst bring  despair and flight,
Storm their faltering halls  and bite

Let thine arms escape all joy,
At thy worship suds deplore;
Give us blankets washed  for real,
Yearning all the day to feel.

Eagles claws  align our veins
Free the  ghost her  years   detained
Perfect lav survived our rears
Made  in Devon but  they are still here

No matter how we fail

I’ve got just one letter
written in your hand.
One small letter.
I understand,
One is as infinity
compared to having nought.
I’ll keep this letter
In the museum of my heart.
I’ve only got one photograph
and that is very old
but to me this photograph
is more valuable than gold.
Time has hastened by.
Is it now too late?
But may there be a second chance?
Let’s not accept love’s fate.
No matter how we falter,
No matter how we fail,
We can still forgive ourselves,
and rewrite this sad tale.
One more loving letter,
One more loving smile,
That will be sufficient
To revive a love grown frail.
For once this love was stronger;
Once this love was true;
Accept this invitation
To recreate our love anew.

Give me your hands
Outstretched across the world
Let me find your arms
Where I’m allowed curl.
Life is  gone and soon
Love is a silent moon

A geometrically mean society?

Divided they subtract, and add their dangling eyes,
Quibble their modes, and cool their fleas and lies
Or else  beget the furnace of the fight,
Forget their means — forget their happy rites
See with deviant arms their wit —  additional crew,
The fire is deviating and nobody stings
For souls, and therefore no souls, Betty blings
A fly is in the silk-spot — must he be a spy
For a geometrically mean society?
No, no; there Master Shirter takes his  error mean
Inserts it, dips the angle, standardised bassoon
The little oboe mute  with pupils dark,
Across the seaboard draws a long set spark.
Arise! take the  statistics from the jungles,
There’s a large  solid berry in each  bangle
Abide with sleet, I must now stray  to sow
To No. 7, lost  round the circuit play
‘Aghast, my friend! your stats  fit  very well;
Blair,  where does your  failure live?’
‘I may not sell.
O pardon me — I  fancy him now and then.
Why index sailors lives? I say, Amen
I cannot  stimulate, let me no more  deceive–
He lives in Epping ,a comedian  with thunderous  sagging knees

Not: I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth

photo1337
I  sauntered lonely in a  crowd
With coat so shy,  like half-veiled hill,
When all at once I saw men bowed
A storm of gold with silver frills;
Beside iced cakes , I  saw the bees
Muttering and prancing  with  the fleas

Deciduous as the jars that whine
Like ankles bought on my E-bay
They stretched  on Ted Hughes fishing lines
They were the bargain of  the day:
Ten thousand, awesome,  happen-stand,
Bossing the  Man, who has no chance

The graves beside them nightly bounced, but they
Out-fled the  ducking leaves  to plead
A poet could not be shut dry
In such a  wanton timpani!
I raved—and raved—and  little  taught
What stealth the  throw to me had brought:

For oft, when as I grouch and sigh
To  chimpanzee or  monkey  glued,
They crash  with bluebottle and with fly
Tea a  mix of cold and  shrewd;
And then I start  to pay my bills
For today, that’s all my thrills

Are worms as lonely as a Cain who’s cursed?

I wish I were a worm inside the earth
Hermaphrodite well able to survive.
Then I would not wonder what I’m worth.

Yet a worm must dig its holes and never surf
Are they aware that they are here  and alive?
I wish I were a worm inside the earth.

Worms do not have to suffer giving birth
Nor do they demand  to meet one’s wife
I wish I  did not wonder what I’m worth.

 

Yet I do  enjoy some laughter and real mirth
On my chair with humour, I may writhe.
Still, I wish I were a worm inside the earth.

Are worms as lonely as a Cain who’s cursed?
They never go on holidays or drive
I wish I would not wonder what I’m worth.

 

Yet we deplete the earth of goodness as we thrive
Into hell we do not  run, we drive
I wish I were a worm inside the earth
.Then I would not wonder what I’m worth.

 

 

Tickle my fancy

19076 1

 

A mirror is somewhat like a window.Both are made of glass and both will send back an image to your brain.A mirror reflects you back to yourself.A window shows what  or who is outside of your residence, be it a hut or a palace.

Ths first mirror is the face of your mother…she reflects you back to yourself and ultimately that is how you develop a  sense of self

A window is a way of looking out or indeed looking in if you are walking by a house.We seem to have ambiguous feelings about letting people look in so here many people put lace or net curtains up to veil themselves from the public at large

Now, this is very bad because I am coming tonight to look into your window.Why are you so shy?

Are you doing something you ought not to? Like reading Pasternak and drinking brandy while your cat dances the minuet on the table?

I have read a few articles lately about the poet Sylvia Plath.She suffered from severe depression and wrote a novel called “The Bell Jar” based on this.

Being behind a glass wall is an experience I have heard other people mention.So you can see people but you feel unable to make contact with them.Maybe you need a time of isolation but maybe you got stuck in there:Glass,windows,  mirrors there’s a lot of very deep meaning in these images.

So although I do look into windows I am not being unpleasant and I like to go into friend’s houses and sit there talking  or listening

If you feel sad and lonely in your bell jar find a group of people who will let you sit and listen without having to speak much.Maybe you can help wash up afterwards..Just being near some kind people can be soothing especially if they will just let you be.Or talk about simple things like flowers and cats and the weather.It’s the animal in us that needs to be be near others even if we feel very sad.

It’s all about balance…alone is good, together is good.And as long as you have a soft tongue .most people will like you.I think we imagine others to be more critical than they are.

To be frank, most people are very caught up in themselves and would hardly notice if you had a tea cosy on your head and a dress made from an old blanket.As long as you are clean and polite just forget about that side of things.Nowadays dress is less important in many countries as more wear jeans, chinos and sweatshirts and that’s the women..

Don’t stare too deeply into people’s eyes unless you are looking for a one night stand… if so do take precautions,like a relative  for example but do look a little into my eyes as I am peeking in at you tonight as I pass by to the Pizza Hut with my cat and my partner who will be paying for our meal..I leave my money at home.There must be one night a week when a man pays the bill….My money is for those essentials like the hairdresser and the beauty salon or maybe some novels… a man likes to pay,I find.Even if you have to give them a £50 note from your purse before you leave home. A man is the best accessory I have found and you can talk to them too and buy them clothes and tickle them with your fancy