Killed by wedding presents.
A fire was lit with paraffin but no grate.
Asphyxiated.
Concluded.A foolish action.
Almost suicide or murder
Skull fractured by flying le Creuset pot stored on a high shelf with no afore thought.
Conclusion.Accidental suicide or could have been planned murder going wrong
Send to Oxford to read Grates
I like the pale mauve sky so beautiful
The tree rests gently and the moon looks well
I have become interested in virtue and perception.It began when I read a little Aristotle about virtue being a habit.That was quite recent.Before that for many years I believed virtuous acts would follow from being able to perceive well.
But when we are fraught our minds and eyes tighten up and so we perceive only what may be a danger to us.To perceive others well we need to be in a position to trust others and we need to feel secure.How is this possible?
From my studies I read that our ability to trust begins with a trusted caregiver in infancy,[See” Atttachment and Loss “by John Bowlby] We may be able to become more secure later by good fortune,friendship and love.
If not,I seem to get the idea that if we are insecure and nervous we cannot truly perceive others and they may be in the same position.If we are afraid then virtuous acts may be hard to enact.Whatever virtuous acts are.
The reason is obvious… when. we are concerned with mere survival , iwhat we do to others may be impossible for us to consider.We cannot truly see them and so we cannot act well towards them except by good luck
Or if we are able to tolerate great anxiety,we may see better…. if not we are incapable…. Those whom we cannot see properly we cannot consider with the most feeling and act on that.We see them partly or mainly in terms of the fearful fantasies in our minds and cannot see them as other and interesting.
When we make a friend online we may feel safer but in fact we are more likely to misperceive them. When we are from a sad or difficult background it may help greatly if we have some friends who might point out our errors if we trust enough to tell them.
Or we may pretend to be hard an isd tough.Neither leads to virtue.If we could trust God it may help but I believe we see God through the lens of our parents.. which is not good…depending on the parents.I am unsure if God is herem anyway
When we live in fear,we cannot see what is there before us.We cannot let go.We cannot accept grace and love nor give it.We will try to live by will power.Ironically people who are fearful inside can develop a shell of toughness and pride and so are not seen as vulnerable and/or lovable.They may seem frightening to others. This account may help to explain why politics is the way it is and also we see that arguing is not persuasive when the other/ourself are not able to open up and see things broadly.
Arguing makes us tighten up and see less well.And it can be frightening too though some cultures find it more acceptable than others.
On the other hand,it is risky to be too trusting.Why some people are I don’t know but I will try to find out.
This author had a lot to say about perception… http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/obituary-marion-milner-1163951.html http://susannanelson.wordpress.com/2014/03/02/happy-go-lucky/
ANXIETY
TERROR
DEPRESSION
IN DENIAL
TORTURE
NUMB
DEAD [Half]
MAD
When will we see the last Copper?
He drank the last cuppa.
Are you sure?
I am not certain.
His train was the last stopper.
So the rest ran all night?
Yes and never stopped.
But where did they start?
Why should I know?
You don’t?
Oh let’s stop.
But the train won’t
I rather gathered that.
It’s hard to enjoy fear and panic
Whilst doing work and love dynamic.
While writing in pentameters iambic.
Feel depressed,it stops behaviour manic
Remember speech is often ironic
And what is wrong with love platonic?
Don’t pretend you’ve never done it.
One day we will meet up in a sonnet
Before our be journey on the comet
The sun decides our mind and mood
But don’t be rude
If it rains we feel sad.
Think of trees and water needs
If it rains let us be glad
I’m going to give you medication now
To keep the sugar in your blood quite low
He fell, the War Memorial was, his doom
Broke his nose, not coming home
His eye bled and his brain
His cheekbone did complain
Oh, he’s never,never, coming home àgain.
In the ambulance they screamed
Whilst his blood congealed
He’s never never coming home àgain
They asked him could he count
Dying,I lament
God don’t mind dementia in the Saints
The tree looks green yet it is not sap.
It’s winter bare and sunlight tints the gap
I’m a big bird chained to a metal ring
I cannot speak, I cannot sing
My heart is broken by this life
Lonely solitude or strife.
Come down eagles set me free.
Oh hear my call,I cannot flee
This maybe the death of me.
Is this how my life should be?
I didn’t know it was Boris’s last whopper .
Why is grief like a needle?
It is sharp.
He was my past tense
In what tongue?
I couldn’t see his tongue in the dark
Take a candle.
I am not seeing him again.
Make an exception for his tongue.
For heaven’s sake cut it out
Google find me some lice
Google, how is love prized?
Google, lend me your eyes.
Google, does our leader tell lies?
Google, what is my size?
Google,where are the pies?
Google, gambling is wise
Google, are clothes oversized?
We love and we die
Where are you?
The Oxford Dictionary p.58.
Can you read it?
Yes,but you won’t hear me.
Where are you eating?
I am not eating over the Dictionary.It would he vulgar
You would be vulgar?
He who would valiant be
Gainst all disaster
I would not want to be valiant
Why not?
He is ugly.
You mean Job Valiant?
I didn’t know he was Job
Neither does he.
How do you feel?
I put my hands on things and let them move about
The things?
No, my hands .
I am feeling fun struck again
Im
They say they will let minnow
I won’t carp
I don’t blunderstand
How about your boilers
They’re perched on the fence.
As a professor
I am entitled to take home
Paper,pens and ink
In very large bags
Or even ten suitcases
To write my thoughts down
Of course, my children
Might draw on the paper sheets
With one of the pens
Condemn young children?~
Is that an ethical act?
They can’t even write!
I might write,that’s it
For I am genius
And ingenious.
We must be prepared
To note inspiration
A good idea
What happens to paper
Is not important to me
I am brilliant
I shine in the dark
The habits of small people
Are not my concern
I might be the King
Oh,my Coronation
That is so timely!
I phoned Borneo
On my office phone again
Why not? I need perks.
Australia too?
Well it’s a small world
Don’t bother me now.
You do not need me!
What codswallop is that, then?
I was the future
I missed the…
View original post 43 more words
I have wandered off the beaten track
Searching blindly for the love I lack
Do not condemn the lost for being weak
Do not condemn the lonely one who seeks
Do not fear the ones with faces black.
Dont harass the ones who cannot speak.
The tree,though black, the smack of sun made red
It glows benignly as by love it’s fed
Half the branches shone like polished wood
The other side was dull like musty mud
We need light at night
She was ace from the face
You are a surprise to my eyes
His kiss went through her like a drawing pin pushed into a cork notice board didn’t.
The wedding ring was a safety pin restyled by a Tiger’s jaw
Her sewing looked like she used a nappy pin for speed.
His nails felt like horns from a beetle tickling her skin.
His embrace was as fierce as a moth’s eye looking at cashmere.
But not tested by human hand
Her nails shone like fake pearls in moonlight on the beach in Morecambe.
Feed those in need.
Creeds don’t need bleeds
No execution, no sacred
pollution.
No death penalty no Royalty.
No greed I plead.
A question of attention.
A suggestion for your pension.
Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.
Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.
Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.
How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.
How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.
Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.
and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.
skin to skin.
air to air.
And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams.
How my heart sings 