Algebra has made  an impression
The opposite of a depression
What value is X
Is it something like Sex?
Bring back the days of repression

Topology  is hard to explain
Rubber sheets,  here’s geometry again
Would it be better
To write you a letter
As long a I show no disdain

Doing the tax form is hard
What income  have I ever declared?
I do have my pension
Will I get detention
For spending it all  at the Fair?

I see an equation go by
I   say, never focus your eye
Or  you may try to solve it
Or even dissolve it
I’m truthful; I never tell lies

 

What we are reading this month:

The Duty of Genius by Ray Monk

[ a biography of Wittgenstein  and  descriptiions  of the era  he lived through]

Cheap as a kindfle book and I have read it 7 times already/

 

On the surface of our self we dwell
Mysterious the dark  the ignored, heart
Till we have an accident, are ill

 

We’re like a little snail without its shell
Trodden on by others we depart
Oh surface  living paves the way to Hell

We climb our way up the consumer’s hill
Filling up our trolley  as we walk
Till we have an accident, are ill

 

Imagination  helps us more than  Will
Oh, to be in Dorset, sea and lark
On the surface of  this place we dwell

 

When at last we die, where is the bill
Where the confrontation wise and stark?
When down  comes a  new virus, we are ill

 

Oh, pain, oh fear.,  surrender  now the will
Intuition tells us  to be still
On the surface of our self we dwell
We  think that we are living very well

 

 

“‘Normality,’ says Howe, ‘is the paradise of escapologists, for it is a fixation concept, pure and simple.’ ‘It is better, if we can,’ he asserts, ‘to stand alone and to feel quite normal about our abnormality, doing nothing whatever about it, except what needs to be done in order to be oneself.’

E Graham Howe