Daddy used to beat me with his belt
I did not give in despite the welts.
I closed my eyes I screwed up my small face
Why did you beat me daddy not embrace?
Then you died and we’ve seen you no more
I didn’t like you Daddy did you know?
Daddy used to beat me with his belt
I did not give in despite the welts.
I closed my eyes I screwed up my small face
Why did you beat me daddy not embrace?
Then you died and we’ve seen you no more
I didn’t like you Daddy did you know?
Little lady sitting in your chair
Screaming because you cannot curl your hair
Screaming for you want to go to bed
Screaming for a pillow for your head
You tell me no one listens when you shout
Your voice unpleasant makes us shut it out.
Your motive is the power to dominate.
That is not love it seems to me like hate.
Some things we can’t get by force of will
We only have the power to make men ill.
I now believe in witches you are one.
When you die the witches will be gone.
I thought that I could love the human race
Until I saw the contours of your face

This means resisting the temptation to label all negative feelings with psychiatric terminology. When I was a psychology lecturer, I spoke to an undergraduate student about how she and her peers discussed their mental health, and she said that everyone in her year group – around 150 students – described themselves as having either depression or an anxiety disorder or both. From what we know from population-based studies, it’s nigh-on impossible that they all met criteria for
Could we get worse MPs and ministers than the ones we have already got?
We have people who have no concern for people. Is there intelligent they managed to disguise it very well.
It’s mainly immigrants bringing more intelligence into this country
I heard somebody say about the well-known fact that Jewish people are more intelligent on average than other people in Europe, well you see it’s the survival of the fittest. is persecution and the Holocaust have been such a good thing that really improved the intelligence of the Jews why don’t we kill 6 million British people in order to make the rest of us more intelligent?
Why stop there? Why not kill all of us and wait to see if the intelligence of British people living in other parts or the world will become higher as a consequence
Survival of the fittest does not have that kind of meaning. If you have a very gradual process and does not include murder or in a case of trying to improve your crops it does not involve killing lots of wheat and barley in order to make the next generation better quality
If you kill as much wheat and barley as possible then you won’t have any crops next year or the one after unless you can buy some going to be better than the ones you just destroyed. Natural selection happens naturally and absolutely not by planned killing.
If you killed all the horses that were alive now you would not have better horses born by a miracle.
In my opinion most of the people in Europe and particularly in the United Kingdom are more stupid than their grandparents.
It’s called national decline
P1
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
My heart has learned its lessons one by one.
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I didn’t know how painful it would be
When the man you love is here and then is gone
I’ve been studied and I got the third degree
The tears I wept could wash out the Dead Sea
Remove the salt and scour the shore till done
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I know now I must die,we cannot flee
We turn to dust and that is not much fun
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
Ii is not News, not for the BBC.
Unless you’re Stephen Hawkings, that great man
We’re graduates of the grief academy
We can’t control life with a self made plan
God is gone though prayer might well begin
I have suffered till I got a new degree
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

You don’t have to do it dawn till dusk
Creative work — while not being on a par with, say, mining — can be a hard slog from morning to night. Many of those I spoke to write in short bursts. “It’s like Ribena — it’s always better when it’s stronger and less diluted,” said the novelist and memoirist Elizabeth Day, who works two hours in a sitting. Similarly, the poet Wendy Cope told me that she does two or three sessions of 40 minutes each; that’s as much as she can write in a day.
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/23/books/review/hilary-mantel-appraisal.html

T
unafraid of stating her sometimes fierce views. Her story collection “The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher” — its title story was the result of a painkiller-induced fantasy Mantel once had in the hospital — caused a literary maelstrom. Lord Tebbit, a former cabinet minister, called it “a sick book from a sick mind”; there were calls for a police investigation. (For her part, Mantel said she was “bemused” at the suggestion that “the police should interest themselves in the case of a fictional assassination of a person who was already dead.”)
Deeply intellectual in her thinking, Mantel was also candid about her personal struggles — with poverty, with early professional setbacks, with how people perceived her, with endometriosis and chronic, debilitating pain — and rigorous in her self-appraisal..
Mom.
In fields of lushest buttercups we ‘d lie
We’d watch the clouds as gently they blew by.
Love was born we thought would never die.
But you are gone, and so I sadly sigh
That love itself remains without your form
Yet tears of loss enfold me like a storm.
I knew you’d never hurt or do me harm.
I felt your smile’s embrace, so wide, so warm.
How is the world,now emptied of your being?
No sound, no touch, no smell, no sight, no seeing.
How is the world when you have gone ahead
Yet I must linger in this empty bed?
Yet those who’ved loved are grateful for that gift
Our sorrow is that life itself’s too swift
Ariel the lioness of God
Hold me in your paws, don’t shed my blood
I recall the wet green smell of air
Walking with you sister down 1the lanes11
Singing as we walked with open mouths.
Tasting the soft pureness of the rain.
In the woods we hoped see the deer
Children from the farm came out to play.
We soon picked up their accents and their grins,
The cow called sadly for its calf that day.
The dripping trees in sorrow wept to hear
The plaintive cow in grief beside the house
Little rivers ran along the road
I thought I saw a hawk descend and pounce.
Drown me with your tears you awful clouds
For all the world with sorrow’s well endowed
Beneath the rotting leaves, I lay with worms. I wondered if I were of any worth No more to be enchanted by love’s mirth, I with unnamed particles was turned. The weight of loss bears down the heart to eart I did not know the way but saw a path While I slept a new design had formed I learned I need not think of what I’m worth My sorrow brought no guilt nor fear of wrath I am the eagle and the twisted worm In my little grave, I loved the earth. Like the adder, shocked into rebirth. I from silent underworld had learned Not to judge my soul nor think of worth. I shall not fear the flames of hell that burn When blackness is accepted, may one learn? The weight of loss breaks down the soul to earth With dusty shredded leaves, we then converse
Katherine beautiful thoughts, childhood, Courage, death, emotion, how to live, images, sorrow, Thinkings and poems, truthfulness, virtue October 2, 2021 1 Minute
Ah,brother I don’t want you to lie still
No blood to circulate,no thoughts,no will
No help,no humour.jokes no
sharp true eye
From our old shared pram,to live, to die.
I used to do your homework
late at night
Abstract thought to you was no delight.
You wondered over X and y and z
Preferred the shapes of Nature in your head.
I shall retain the memories of the good
You who taught me speech and hate and love
I remember Arnside in the rain
I remember singing, country lanes
The joy of woods that run right to the shore
The happiness that makes the hearts deep core
Beyond imagination I was pulled
Staring from the Knott I saw the gulls
Tiny vultures, eagles flying low
Looking for drowned sheep upon the shore
Paradoxes contradictions faith.
Nothing living now will go to waste
Life and death, the host, the requiem mass
The living whole, the patient Death of God.
Flat green leaves are saucers for the birds to sip from
See how cautious the blackbird is.
All of a sudden he flies up singing.
Rustling in the leaves of the apple trees with his body
No he’s looking at the cats water
What kind of rule book does he have ?
Dont tell me he wants the cats food
Red leaves are drying in the sun.
Time to go home now
Even sauntering through a concrete junglecan be like meditation.Being present to the people you meet like the checkout person,the waitress in the coffee shop,letting your dreaming mind wander over the faces of the people walking by and dogs walking on a leash with a mother and baby,the plants,the cleaners.. so many faces..being present is possible and better than ruminating over past troubles.
Drink your coffee outside,gaze and fall into a trance…it’s spring now and we can smell the soil changing with the sun and almost sense the bulbs pushing through into the small enchanted world of a planter in a busy mall in a town centre.
Of course I find it hard to be like that if I am rushing to achieve some goal.We need to be somewhat like clouds floating through the sky on the wind..without effort.I keep telling myself
If I can walk through a puddle or two and remember other watery joys;see reflections in the water and admire the poor trees ,in solitary planters. yet growing there even in such a place then a town centre can be a place to wander as the mind digests recent happenings and ponders on the mystery of existence[Don’t talk on your mobile as you walk if possible as that will ruin your walk and annoy the real people you pass]…I .take a look at them in all their assortment.. wish I coculd photograph them.
This is what I do… you may have a different way of being in such places…roaming and wandering are not so easy for city dwellers
but we can find a way…imagine we are on a sea shore or in a wood…
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/18/at-home/coronavirus-fiction-writing.html

Though some people have knocked out an entire short story in a single sitting, it’s more realistic to see writing a story not as an inspiration-fueled creative binge but as a multiweek project. It’s one you’re a lot likelier to finish if, rather than waiting for the muse, you create the possibility for inspiration by planning a time and setting up the circumstances that will allow you to write regularly. It also should be fun! The act of constructing plots, developing characters and creating dialogue can be challenging, even frustrating, but I never find it boring, and it just might allow you to escape from your daily life at the same
There is humour in the Bible we revere
Soles are heeled,partitions sent to God
Perfect love will complicate your fear
Five thousand people shared a single deer
The meat was cooked by a fierce lightning rod
There is humour in the Bible, we can hear
There is nothing much to buck up the impure
But plentiful the ways to cut off heads
Perfect love can escalate one’s fear
God made Jonah subtly disappear
And caught Elijah when in caves he hid
There is humour in the Bible if you peer
With a wail from Jonah,God appeared
His still small voice got louder by the Flood
Perfect love will castrate perfect fear
After many liars are burned as wood
I hope Gomorrha you will all be good
There is guidance in the Bible, but laugh here.
Perfect love will castrate perfect fear
Soon the riots so longed for will begin
With nothing left to lose the lost will win
After brexit what else can they lose?
The children of the cobbler I have no shoes

You know what will work? Small actions repeated consistently over a very long period of time. Incremental change is short-term boring, but long-term exciting.
Arnside bot.
Silvered male.
Change at Ox -in -home for Hinder here
Can he stun old man?
Shall we rave?
Striding Ledge.
Abiding grudge.
Beatrix Hotter.
Cross by terror
The river can’t.
Watercolour depressions of the meres.
A nymph a night keeps the cat awake
The river loon frightened everybody
Brambles glide.
The bonus gerry
Beard tricks stutter
Serpentwater
Lake of margarine.
Tests wait.
Grange-over-Trans.
Arnside shot.

Near Colwyn bay there was a zoo
They had a vultures quite a few
They kept them chains to rocks all day
To see these birds we had to pay
Can we grieve before our loved ones die.
Retaining for them little but a sigh.
We want to get it over with and done
A bit like dying before the life has come
Relaxationq is a mini death
So in linen garments we should dress
With our ceaseless striving we wear out
So intense activity we doubt
Do not stop your breath to gain your goal
Like the ocean waves breath wants to roll
https://www.pacesconnection.com/blog/can-moving-the-body-heal-the-mind-nytimes-com

G
Her friend suggested biking as a reprieve. Not previously athletic, she took to the riding with enthusiasm, finding it “soothed my mind,” she said.
That discovery convinced her to change the focus of her research. Now the director of the NeuroFit Lab at McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, she studies the interplay of physical and emotional health and how exercise helps stave off or treat depression, anxiety, stress and other mental health conditions.
“The effects of motion on the mind are just so pervasive and fascinating,” said
Her friend suggested biking as a reprieve. Not previously athletic, she took to the riding with enthusiasm, finding it “soothed my mind,” she said.
That discovery convinced her to change the focus of her research. Now the director of the NeuroFit Lab at McMaster University in Hamilton, Ontario, she studies the interplay of physical and emotional health and how exercise helps stave off or treat depression, anxiety, stress and other mental health conditions.
“The effects of motion on the mind are just so pervasive and fascinating,” said
A mini Auschwitz in a smaller space
Grenfell Tower a very human place
Human sacrifice divine debased
A fearsome sight,a giant with no face.