And He saw that it was good

Hello, this is BT technical help.Funny your phone number is in Brazil.
Hello, you were in a car accident.Was I?Thanks so much.I don’t even  have a car.Did I get run over? I might be dead.Yikes!
Hello, this is your Bank.I don’t  own any banks.Thanks
Hello,I am the doctor.Doctor Who?
Hello, this is your dentist.What’s the drill?
Hello, is that you? It depends on you hoooh!
Hello,I like your voice.Anything else?
Hello,I  am a Bishop.And I’m a King.
Hello, you have inherited money.Yes and I’ve spent it too.
Hello, this is Virgin media.Sorry,I don’t want to be a virgin

There’s nobody here to take your call.Please write a letter.

Copenhagen by Michael Frayn by Katherine and old Delly computer
Dear All

Failed again.I thought starting my letter early would be a good idea.But starting is one thing.Finishing is harder.Anyway  my main news is that I got married last week.I didn’t say anything because it’s private.But then marriage is a social and religious institution.So  it’s not private at all.That’s logic for you.Useless.
Do you remember learning long division as it would be ” useful later” and quadratic equations too.Have you ever found a use for them?
My husband is  called X.
X Ray.Ph.D

He studied  at Stamford,Hale and Cumbrage.He now works laying tarmac on roads while writing his thesis on
Tarmac and Wittgenstein:How covering old roads destroys our links with the past,nature and the wordless dimension of life with brief references to Lacan and The Real,and Winnicot’s  Transitional Spaces.
You will be wondering where I met Ray.Well, we met in the library when we were looking at the same section… post modern novels.There were only three so we each took one and left  the other for some intellectual loner with melancholia and schizoid personality disorder.We must think of others even in the library.
He asked me if he could drive me home and he’s now part of the furniture.He has three children called Ophelia, Arriva and Mercury.They used tlo live quite near; their mother  died young and Ray has brought them up by himself.At least, he never got married again until he  caught me.
Mercury is now called Mark and he is a teacher in Venezuela.He  teaches  art to depressed  people in a hospital and sells his own work on the net.Right now he’s into snails.And mathematics.

Well Ray wants his dinner and also  he has twin cats who need feeding.I choose this as I  love to feed people.And they do other wonderful and unnameable things in return.Not paying me,of course.That would be a sin.
So please forgive me if I don’t tell you the full story today.
Or even before Xmas.Be happy, my children and donate to charity if you can.
Yours ever

Kitty cat

The lights outside are mirrored in the glass
Giving  brighter feelings to the room
Winter sun is falling South of West

The year unwound like string caught in a trap
The nuclear West  overseen  by men  obscene
The lights outside are mirrored in the glass

Mother  made life simple, woollen vests;
With her eyes she shone to lift the gloom.
Winter sun is falling South of West

Once in Bethlehem, love came to pass
Yet good does not dance long  to human tunes.
The lights outside are mirrored in the glass

Like cruel children we with torture wrest
The secrets of the dumb, the ghastly truths
Winter sun is falling down and West

In my mind I hear my father croon
Lullabies and joyful wordless tunes
The lights outside are mirrored in the glass
The sun  lives yet;it  gleamed on ink pot brass.

Since  sadness flowed like acid when you died
As if my soul or heart had been ripped out
If I feel happy, must you be alive?

Can it be that truth was not applied?
That I had never agonised in doubt?
My tears ran like  cold water when you died

In logic, algebraic symbols thrive
But logic is not what life is all about
If I feel happy, must you be alive?

So I look round me,seeking for your eyes
Then loss hits me again in mighty clouts
My guts filled with  flood waters when you died

I see a little bird  through  storm clouds  flies
A beam of intense blackness highlights thought
If I am happy, must  you be alive?

For an instant, sunshine  fills the void
The space where prayer could never G-d annoy
My tears flowed  like  mountain water when you died
If I am happy,  where are you  alive?

https://www.google.co.uk/search?safe=active&dcr=0&source=hp&ei=Jc43WsG5HIjxULWDvMAH&q=void+meaning&oq=void&gs_l=psy-ab.1.2.0l10.483.1531.0.4597.5.4.0.0.0.0.238.553.0j3j1.4.0….0…1.1.64.psy-ab..1.4.551.0…0.wCgjZPbrQoU

void

Qqqqqvɔɪd/

adjective

adjective: void

1. 1.

   not valid or legally binding.

   “the contract was void”

   synonyms:

   invalid, null and void, null, nullified, cancelled, revoked, rescinded, abolished, inoperative, ineffective, not binding, not in force, non-viable, useless, worthless, nugatory; More

   antonyms:

   valid

   • (of speech or action) ineffectual; useless.

     “all the stratagems you’ve worked out are rendered void”
2. 2.

   completely empty.

   “void spaces surround the tanks”

   synonyms:

   empty, emptied, vacant, without contents, containing nothing, blank, bare, clear, free, unfilled, unoccupied, uninhabited, desolate, barren “the cathedral has vast void spaces”

   antonyms:

   full

   • free from; lacking.

     “what were once the masterpieces of literature are now void of meaning”

     synonyms:

     devoid of, empty of, vacant of, bare of, destitute of, bereft of, denuded of, deficient in, free from; More

     antonyms:

     occupied

   • formal

     (of an office or position) vacant.

noun

noun: void; plural noun: voids

1. 1.

   a completely empty space.

   “the black void of space”

   synonyms:

   gap, empty space, space, blank space, blank, vacuum, lacuna, hole, cavity, chasm, abyss, gulf, pit, hiatus; More

   • an unfilled space in a wall, building, or other structure.
   • an emptiness caused by the loss of something.

     “his loss leaves a void in the community”
2. 2.

   (in bridge and whist) a suit in which a player is dealt no cards.

   “a hand with a singleton club is more likely than one with a void”

verb

verb: void; 3rd person present: voids; past tense: voided; past participle: voided; gerund or present participle: voiding

1. 1.

   NORTH AMERICAN

   declare that (something) is not valid or legally binding.

   “the Supreme court voided the statute”

   synonyms:

   invalidate, render invalid, annul, nullify; More

   antonyms:

   validate, ratify

2. 2.

   discharge or drain away (water, gases, etc.).

   “the gases are usually voided into the mechanism”

   • MEDICINE

     excrete (waste matter).

     “it cannot be metabolized and is voided in the urine”

     synonyms:

     eject, expel, emit, discharge, pass, excrete, egest, let out, send out, release, exude, eliminate; raredisembogue “the bacteria are present in the kidneys of the rat and are voided in the urine”

     antonyms:

     take in

   • empty or evacuate (a container or space).

     “a fully voided core assembly”

     synonyms:

     evacuate, empty, empty out, drain, clear, unload, unburden, purge “the patients had difficulty in voiding their bladders”

     antonyms:

     fill

Origin

Middle English (in the sense ‘unoccupied’): from a dialect variant of Old French vuide ; related to Latin vacare ‘vacate’; the verb partly a shortening of avoid, reinforced by Old French voider .

Photo by Katherine
Hello, are you the householder? No ,I’m that spider on the wall that people keep talking about.Who are you?
Your printer is broken.Wow, it’s still in the box.Thanks, I’ll take it back tomorrow.
Your mobile phone has got a virus! Oh, don’t worry.I have one as well.
Your internet radio is  listening to you. Thanks, I’ve been singing all day.I hope the radio is not jealous.I’ll switch it on or do I need to if it’s already listening?
The TV is watching you. I don’t care.I’ve seen all its sordid secrets.Well, not all but enough.
We can protect you.It’s ok.Catholics have guardian angels.
We will give you a free month.Of what?
We can pray instead of you.Somehow I  don’t think that is quite the same.
It conveys a subtle yet fundamental misunderstanding of what prayer is for.
Do you repent? No,I only re-paper.
The Lord is nigh.Sin no more.Can I just do one more bad thing? Alright.Eff off.

1.Rail Enquiries

Customer: “How much does it cost to Bath on the train?”
Operator: “If you can get your feet in the sink, then it’s free

2.How much is it to get to Oxford?
If you can walk,it’s free.
On the rail tracks?
It’s your funeral!
3.I want to  go to University.
I’m sorry but Rail Studies begins next semester.
Where  do I do that?
Up the junction
4.My parents gave me no money.where can I go?
Aberdeen but they’ll send you back on the next train under   guard.
That’s a bit rude.
You take things too literally
You seem very bright.Did you go to Uni?
I went to Balliol, but I didn’t like the architecture.
You’re black
What’s that got to do with architecture?
You are vanishingly small.
Hello Wittgenstein
My name is not Hello.
I was joking.
Two words can’t be a joke
Balls.
I don’t follow you.
I have no blog yet.
What is a blog?
You need to do Media Studies
What,spend £60,000!
It’s either that or look in a dictionary.
Is that the only  alternative?
No, just don’t keep asking questions.
Will that be best?
Depends on what you compare it with.
So that is how we learn,by comparison?
Either that or I hit you with my pointed railway stick
I didn’t know railways were pointed.
You don’t know much at all.
I can always ask you.
Who’s Hugh?
Don’t you start!

https://www.maa.org/sites/default/files/images/upload_library/4/vol6/Growney/MathPoetry.html#Nemerov

“Figures of Thought by Howard Nemerov

Poet Laureate of the United States from 1988-1990, Howard Nemerov (1920-91) served as a combat pilot during World War II. Here are lines of a poem Figures of Thought that gives the essence of a mathematical model.

	To lay the logarithmic spiral on
	Sea-shell and leaf alike, and see it fit,
	To watch the same idea work itself out
	In the fighter pilot's steepening, tightening turn
	Onto his target, setting up the kill,
	And in the flight of certain wall-eyed bugs . . .

If you do not have a clear picture in your mind of this curve, you may wish to explore the algebra and geometry of the logarithmic spiral and see how vividly it illuminates Nemerov’s poem.”

Do read this post below

via Vote love.

In the nightmare, you were strongly here
When I woke ,I searched the upstairs rooms
Your presence and the screaming made me fear

The woman like a ghost of nuns surreal
Violently attacked me with her womb
In the nightmare, you  both shared a leer

My hair is  little better than a spear
My face is pale and weary with tattoos.
Your presence and the screaming made me fear

At a funeral be,  and shed a tear
While Joan of Arc is wired up to her doom
In the nightmare, you  had seemed  so near

I was living in  a world of signs and heat
Over me this  reeking rage  peak loomed
In your presence,  the   sharp screaming seemed effete

The stories in my mind are  like large blooms
The ashes of the saint add their  perfume
In the nightmare, you  will find  love here
Your  remains are dust and ashes, damp with tears

 Come live with me and be my sweetheart now
I’ll share my only bed with you and how!
If you let me love you
I’ll darn your old wool  gloves for you
If you come and meet me brow to brow.

Come live with me ‘n teach me all you know
About poetic licence and Defoe.
I’ll mend your vacuum cleaner,
Learn expressions meaner..
How cheerfully the hours to come will go,

Come live with me and be my lover true
Without one,whatever  shall we  do?
I’ll mend all England’s railways
Wreck the works on weekdays
Come live with me and I will sweep your flue.

Come live with me in Norway on a fjord
I’ll use  my Canon PowerShot if I 'm bored
I’ll watch the flowers growing
And see the waters flowing
How happy Wittgenstein’d have been if he’d knowed

http://www.universalteacher.org.uk/poetry/metaphys.htm#2

“Metaphysical poems are lyric poems. They are brief but intense meditations, characterized by striking use of wit, irony and wordplay. Beneath the formal structure (of rhyme, metre and stanza) is the underlying (and often hardly less formal) structure of the poem’s argument. Note that there may be two (or more) kinds of argument in a poem. In To His Coy Mistress the explicit argument (Marvell’s request that the coy lady yield to his passion) is a stalking horse for the more serious argument about the transitoriness of pleasure. The outward levity conceals (barely) a deep seriousness of intent. You would be able to show how this theme of carpe diem (“seize the day”) is made clear in the third section of the poem.”

Stan was teaching social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 109 it gave them all hope to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques.He was planning to do some logic and philosophy too.Annie was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea.
I’m not going to calculate ” the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.”
“Deviation,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbor “Henry,an ex-English teacher.”So how can they be standard.It’s confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet firmlililily.”Certainly not,at my age I’m a bit past that!””Still it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought.
How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindlily.
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not!My neighbor is a deviant.He always dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of context.In statistics it’s more boring.There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have more than a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”

“No,it’s not something that wanders through my mind much”replied Henry
A shudder passed through the room at hearing the word “formula“,which perhaps they considered something of a deviant!Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes,desires and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.

“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention.She carried in a platter of mouse sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made
the day before.
“Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap.”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.”Why can’t you be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He kindlily answered.
“And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.”That’s what makes it tolerable“
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!”
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself.”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not normal?

.To be continued.. and continued

Art by Katherine 2005

http://www.rhymezone.com/r/rhyme.cgi?Word=mosquitos&typeofrhyme=nry&org1=syl&org2=l&org3=y&loc=home_ac_mosquito

Our other whose art is heaven
Mellow is your name
You’re king,how come?
You’re still bygone
On earth as it is so unpleasant
Live us today with holy dread
And forgive us our whispering
As we forgive those who whisper against love
And lead us yet into expectation
So believe fuss is evil
Be you whether,however, divine.

The mind is deeper than a well and wilder than a star
I lose myself in waters deep ,symbolic ,sweet and clear
I rest embraced by this love and wish for nothing more
I dream I walk in meadows sweet
The daisies in my hair

The heart has reasons and desires as if it were a mind
If it’s soft as cashmere wool then it will remain kind
Yet if it’s hard then it may crack and we will split divide
I dream I walk by river fleet
With heart and mind combined

The other self that dwells alone in privacy divine
Needs sacred care and fierce respect and peace from what’s malign
The inner nature of us all is given and then transformed
I dream I walk on long white sands
By seas blue, crystaline

I have so many phones I can’t go out
My handbag is too heavy for my arm
And watching them charge up makes me feel doubt

I had one and then got it a mate
This one was pink and so it had great charm
I have so many phones I can’t go out

Then I needed Android to read owt [owt= “anything”]
As I had google play books as a balm
And watching phones charge up made me get gout

I got a Windows phone to fend off louts!
I said to someone,can this do me harm?
I have so many phones I can’t go out

Then from my own chiropodist I bought
An i Phone 5 to act as an alarm
And watching that charge up made me grow stout

Around my bed, these phones float in a swarm
I am lonely for a human arm
I have so many phones I can’t think straight
And watching them charge up makes me feel nowt

=[nowt means “nothing” in Northern England]

Martin Buber: I and Thou, dialogue or touch?

” Consider, says Buber, the language of so-called primitive people, meaning those who are poor in objects, and whose life develops in face-to-face relationships of strong presence (p 69). The result is that “man becomes an I through a thou.” (p 80) This was and is always true, but the thou is becoming weaker, less present, in the contemporary world, as the it becomes more.

In sick ages [like our own] it happens that the it-world, no longer irrigated and fertilized by the living currents of the thou-world, severed and stagnant, becomes a gigantic swamp phantom and overpowers man. (p 102)

People want certainty, which leads men to flee from everything “unreliable, unsolid, unlasting, unpredictable, and dangerous” to a world marked by possessing things. You may treat your iPhone as a thou, but it will always remain an it, and you will become more it-like if you forget this.”

Oh, steam iron how I love your heat
And how you make my clothes so neat.
A flat iron is no use to me
For no open fire is here , you see.
And though I liked the flickering coals
I feared those faces that looked droll.
They were in the flames and peered
At anyone who ventured near.
I wonder how the people past
Kept their trousers neat and pressed.
Now I’ve bought a hand steamer
To keep the germs off my femurs
I didn’t like to say, my crotch
In case the devil is on watch.
I never ever used to think
My body perfume was distinct.
And yet it may appeal to men
I don’t want to try again.
One old husband is enough
Though he did enjoy a cough
He had asthma and bad eyes
Looking out with wild surmise.
He saw my golden hair float by
As by his window, it did fly
All at once he fell for me
And we sat by an apple tree.
His clothes were wrinkled so I thought
I would iron them for a start.
He could darn and polish floors
Cook lamb chops and apple cores.
So my steam iron sees much use
I wonder if it’s self-abuse
For as a woman feminist
I’m not meant to iron vests
I’m not meant to boil men’s socks
Nor underpants of interlock
I’m not meant to make them tea.
What a naughty person, me!
I must confess these wicked sins
Then I’ll polish my cake tins.
Satan wants me down in hell
Don’t say he needs work as well!
As he was an angel proud
I’ll save him into One Drive Cloud.

A ghost drives an old  cart by here at night
But few have ever seen this plaintive sight

I love you like an avocado pear
Would love a little lemon juice inside
I love you most when you are barely  there

I love you drinking porridge made with  beer
I loved you when  your cat with me abode
I love you like a sweet yet prickly pear

I hate a man who’s always dressed  and near
I  giggle when  your daydreams all collide
I love you most when you are rarely  here

I fear  real sex so why can’t  you  turn queer?
I said I liked it  out of cowardice
I love  myself and no one  compares.

I hate your touch so keep your  hands quite clear
Your arms are open but they are too wide
I love you when  there is no atmosphere.

It’s wrong to say that one sweet love has died
For often love has never been alive
I love you like an apple  or pear
I love you when you  tolerate my fear

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2007/oct/03/news.johnezard

“William McGonagall is under the direst threat today in his apparently unassailable position as author of the world’s worst poem.

The 19th century Scots bard’s notorious lament for The Tay Bridge Disaster:

And the cry rang out all o’er the town, Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down

has been challenged in favour of a single appalling last line by a more exotic British versifier, Theophile Jules-Henri Marzials: “Drop / Dead. / Plop, flop. / Plop”.

The poem is titled A Tragedy. The opening lines: “Death!/ Plop. / The barges down in the river flop. / Flop, / plop,” suggest that the author is brooding about suicide.

The 1873 collection of verse in which it was published, The Gallery of Pigeons, was once highly praised. But – in picking Marzials as one of the new entries for its website today- the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography says the poem is now claimed as the worst ever written. It quotes the last line as an example.”

When we’re born, it’s then we see the Light
After travelling single  and malformed
Through a tunnel like the circus fright
With no-one else to keep us well informed
No bus stop,no rail station,no train track
There’s only one direction, which is out
The walls themselves gyrate behind our back
Yet some are struck   and stuck by  fearsome doubt
The head is squeezed, the brain protests and fears
The body’s like a fish stuck in a spout
Here there are no fall back engineers
No drain inspector ,plumber to call  out.
Yet by  happy fortune most emerge
The light shall dazzle and  the love converge

The tree of colour is a noble find
Especially when it lives in your own mind