I looked at some catalogues that came in the post.”Poetry” has some interesting clothes.Unfortunately I have not that much money.I  can perhaps get a leopard print nylon scarf  from New Look or stop eating and return to when I ar 24 was wearing  teenage dresses and getting half fare on the bus.Of course, it’s free now.
I’ve gone from adolescence to old age without the middle part.I didn’t eat much.
The  kind University Chaplain invited some of us round for a meal.After eating I realised why I had felt so odd before…I was starving.I  didn’t know how to cook except for cakes.Now and then I went i to Lyons and ate a meal rather like a school dinner.We have no cafes like that now
Anyway, a sheepskin coat will be £499.A down one £299.I don’t think we have winter
made of wool anymore because most people drive.I have my best coat I bought it in  2005.It is made of very fine wool, it is dark brown and still fits me.
I have a few ideas for keeping warm:

Wear 2 nightdresses in winter.Use an old  cotton summer dress as the top layer
Partner it with some men’s woollen socks/Which  men, you may ask.Or not

Wear  the dreaded leggings under trousers.Last winter I wore 2 wool skirts when we had the snow and ice in January.I suppose I should have put a sweater on as well.
Still, you win some, you lose some.
Wear numerous petticoats as layers to trap air.In other words,  try anything./
Most of us have an old pair of boots.With luck you may find some shoe shops are still selling last years winter shoes /boots in their Outlet.

I suppose all the fancy clothes are for the rich.
But many of us have things money can’t buy.Like love,affection and generosity of spirit
As they say, a friend in need…..

Introspection   makes most people ill
To find yourself, observe the things you do.
Keep eating stuff ,keep warm and pay the bill
Introspection   makes most people ill
Hit your head with bricks until you’re still
Most of us don’t really have a will
We have no power to learn  from any clue 
Introspection   makes some people kill
To stop yourself, don’t ruminate,catch flu.

I realise I’m waiting for him still 
I have his old green cap; I have his keys
I cannot make myself write a new will
I realise I’m waiting for him still 
We went here once,I dreamed of Portland Bill
The black cat in the garden  still loves me
I realise I’m waiting for him still
I have his ancient cap; I have his keys

I saw the lines of suffering in your face
Suffering held  until  you understood.
They made a beauty nothing could erase

There is  the empty palette in its place
Through our lives we  hope to choose the good
I saw the lines of suffering in your face.

What we each perceive cannot be traced
The artist in us may choose out of love
To makes a beauty nothing can erase.

Some of us as children were debased
We did not “understand” the “love” of God
Who saw the lines of suffering in your face?

Were we  born into an unsafe place?
Like Jesus  who was killed by Romans “good”
His face  still  has a  beauty unerased.

The holy cross was made of humble wood
We   carry ours but need the help of God
I saw the lines  pain with in your face
And inside that , beheld  your  inner grace

e

You can guess correctly I am in love with  this man

The fight is now against something even more horrifying than Brexit

Extract

It is hard to know where to begin. We saw, with each passing hour, the all-out assault on democracy from an unelected prime minister lacking any majority; the explicit politicisation of the monarchy; and the hollowing-out of parliamentary sovereignty under the auspices of giving parliament control. We realised that Johnson genuinely does want to force food and medicine shortages on his own country in the name of the people. With Ruth Davidson’s resignation came the final elimination of any vestiges of one nation Toryism and the implicit acknowledgement that the Union would no longer be saved. We warned in 2016 that Brexit would spell unintended consequences. Not in our worst nightmares did we imagine what they would actually turn out to be.

https://themighty.com/2019/08/highly-emotional-person-support/?utm_source=newsletter_mental_health&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=newsletter_mental_health_2019-08-28&$deep_link=true

EXTRACT

3. ‘You’re so sensitive about everything.’

“‘You’re so sensitive, you always get upset over everything.’ It makes me feel as if I shouldn’t have emotions or I should just turn my emotions off. So I try to hide them but they end up building up until it just explodes out of me.” — Sierra G.

“‘Well, stop being so sensitive about everything, or you won’t last long in this world!’ Thanks. Exactly what I need to hear when I’m already feeling like something’s wrong with me.” — Selena W.

4. ‘It’s time to move on now.’

“‘Just move on!’ My baby’s father said this to me one month after I gave birth to our son stillborn when I was crying over the loss. He couldn’t understand why I still cried over my baby. It hurt me so bad and I will never forget that.” — Meli M.

“‘It’s in the past, let it go.’ [After] coming out, finally talking about what happened growing up and liberating myself from keeping it bottled up… [hearing this] is a slap in the face, and makes me shut down and avoid people at all costs.” — Nikki M.

https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-britain-eu-leader-turkey/turks-welcome-ottoman-grandson-boris-johnson-as-british-leader-idUKKCN1UJ1ES

Extract

The former London mayor is the great-grandson of the Ottoman Empire’s last interior minister, Ali Kemal, and his ancestry has been a source of pride for many Turks.

Despite his sometimes disparaging remarks about Turkey, including a crude limerick about President Tayyip Erdogan and demands in 2016 that Britain veto Turkey’s accession to the European Union, Johnson is affectionately referred to as “Boris the Turk” by some Turkish media.

“Ottoman grandson becomes prime minister,” read a front-page headline of the opposition newspaper Sozcu. “For England, a prime minister with roots in Cankiri,” it said, referring to Kemal’s home province in central Turkey.

Our new PM is suspending Parliament for 5 weeks.I  would not have believed this could happen here.Watch out you immigrants,Jews,Muslims. the handicapped, the old,foreigners [ who is foreign in London?]
Boris Johnson seems  hard and cold.Maybe he is Icarus……… who knows?

.

I was in a dark and evil place
Having seen the blackness of your face
You had no trousers on your thin old legs
Sitting in a chair beside your bed

I sat down, you collapsed onto my breast
Your  blood was out of oxygen at last
The nurse came running with some sugar gel
We got it in your mouth but it was hell

I had to help him lift you  to the bed
You never spoke, I wondered were you dead
He said that you must eat which was bizarre
You were semi conscious as you glared.

A doctor came from calling 111
He said you got pneumonia,by gum!
He rang  999 and then he left
The paramedics ran in, I  dismissed

I waited in a  little room with chairs
An hour passed by,I pulled out my own hair
Then at last they pulled the curtain back
You were on a  trolley like a sack

Your voice was stronger and  right then you said
Oh, darling, I’ll soon  see my mum and dad

About 4 weeks ago I went to a walk in Medical Centre, thinking I had an infection
I was right.I did have one.But this doctor insisted on giving me pills for high blood pressure despite not knowing me at all.I was distressed about  the behaviour ot someone who won’t   return my door keys

Anyway, about 10 pm I felt odd.I went into the kitchen ]   then guessed I might faint and managed to kneel down before I went unconscious.I came to  and thought I was not injured and despite my face being black and blue the next day I was not hurt

I got a locksmith.When  he saw my face he asked me what happened.He offered to call on the person  who has my keys but I  did not want  him to do that
In the end it proved useful as he fixed another key and adjusted the doors.
So beware.Don”t do like I did.Ask your own doctor first before taking new medication

https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/bane

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As radical as empathy and imagination can be, these qualities exist in the mind. But there is also a poetic language of embodied experience, one that uses poetry to seek out the body. In “Feeld,” the trans poet Jos Charles bends language, via willful spelling, to a place where it must be parsed slowly, struggled through, read not so much with the brain as the mouth. Language becomes a felt thing, a terrain to be crossed. The title itself toys with such a transformation, the word feeld being a marriage, perhaps, of feel, felt and field. Reading lines like “i care so / much abot the whord i cant / reed / it marks mye bak / wen i pass / with / a riben in mye hayre,” I can’t help feeling that the body — itself a shifting and malleable possibility — is the target for these poems.

Through the strange labor of deciphering the text, I come to understand that Charles is transmitting an experience that I must allow to travel from her body into mine. When I do, the distance between us alters. It grows smaller and strangely charged. I’m made to realize that the very vernacular of the poems also tampers with history; it announces a continuum where Chaucer and 19th-century enslaved blacks and a 21st-century white trans woman seem quite effortlessly to share a lexicon.

Justin Phillip Reed, whose “Indecency” received the 2018 National Book Award in poetry, writes close to the flesh. His poems take up the body in desire and violence, and they do so by thrusting the reader into a stark visceral encounter with their material. The poem “Portrait With Stiff Upper Lip” is graphically rendered so that it can’t be read line by line; the page must be turned, repositioned so that text, overlapping and running every which direction, can be seen. Beyond typography, the poem asks the reader to take on the physical and emotional sense of a black man hearing himself, or someone like him, discussed via fragments. A reader staggers through a field of statements like “looks like planet of the apes” “probably has / a huge” “probably has a parent” “in / prison” “NO” “[in / the / pen]” “I’ve never had” “with a really hot BLKguy.” The reader, dragged forward yet afraid to keep reading, is made to feel caught in a hostile gaze, shoved around by heedless voices.