Learn to be alone

img_20190620_180938https://aeon.co/ideas/before-you-can-be-with-others-first-learn-to-be-alone?utm_source=Aeon+Newsletter&utm_campaign=a9f773068f-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2019_11_04_05_04&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_411a82e59d-a9f773068f-70520193

Extract:

In the 20th century, the idea of solitude formed the centre of Hannah Arendt’s thought. A German-Jewish émigré who fled Nazism and found refuge in the United States, Arendt spent much of her life studying the relationship between the individual and the polis. For her, freedom was tethered to both the private sphere – the vita contemplativa – and the public, political sphere – the vita activa. She understood that freedom entailed more than the human capacity to act spontaneously and creatively in public. It also entailed the capacity to think and to judge in private, where solitude empowers the individual to contemplate her actions and develop her conscience, to escape the cacophony of the crowd – to finally hear herself think.

Do sell me gore

bottles-in-art-class-21
Made from a watercolour of bottles by Katherine

I want  much floor from you
I want you to spell  the youth 
Please say what’s  on your  behind
I want to get to ignore  clues better
I’d   cup of sea  and a   dice of  snake  home slaked
Can we have a  Sunday sinner  after  owing the gas?
Where  did blue shrink?
I know nothing but  do descend.
She  destroys me
I’d like to be harried again
Where is my Cartier?
Am I a rule?
Do fell me now.
Please don’t grow yet

Knit of fear

Suddenly  the winter snow is here
What we desire  does not have any weight
Britain is now covered with new fears

At least the men are far too cold to leer
Wearing shoes that don’t protect their feet
When  the winter snow is  resting here

Babies shiver  as their mothers steer
Down the   unkempt homely little streets
Britain is now covered with new fears

Do I look a clot in  padded gear?
Shall I savour  friends   who’re bittersweet
As the winter snow is  resting here?

Am I  a racist, do you hate  the  Jews?
Shall we drop a bomb  on ghostly fleets?
Britain  revives madness old and new 

In the hills  we hear forlorn sheep bleat
Disappointed. where’s the Paraclete?
Once again  the winter snow is here
Britain  wears a blanket   knit of fears