“It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”
― Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility
“Jason once told me that eye contact is the most intimacy two people can have — forget sex — because the optic nerve is technically an extension of the brain, and when two people look into each other’s eyes, it’s brain-to-brain.”
― Douglas Coupland, Hey Nostradamus!
Humour usually helps us,It helps physical illness,tension,depression,stress.It helps people to forgive each other and it helps our minds to function better,There are lots of books with collections of humour from different sources, different people and different cultures even religions.You can also get good sources from the internet if you want to save money.
Then,think about games we played as children.They were often funny although children can be cruel.Why not make up some jokes yourself as a kind of game.That can be more beneficial than just reading them.Writing also helps when we are ng online.On Penzu you can share too if you wish.
I find my own humour makes me laugh even though I made it up myself
Scientific humour
When you are courting a handsome man an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That’s relativity.
Alberta MacEinstein [Ms]
When you are making her tea with parboiled water, remember that she might empty the pot on you and then where would you be?
That’s uncertainty.
Wendy Heisenberg.{Dr}
I was raised as a Catholic,taught always to commit at least one sin prior to Confession,never to eat before taking Communion and especially never to Confess before or after eating left over Communion wafers whilst having sex with a rubber man.
Pope Jane 1
A minute reading some blogs seems like it’s been raining for a year, and a minute reading a naughty joke makes women wet themselves in seconds.
That’s uncommon sense
Tea Leafe.[Mrs]
A man and a woman make love.Then there are three.That’s family life.
They say using your hands is good for you so I hit the bed with a stick and ten mice ran out and asked for asylum.They already spoke English and knew who Meghan Markle is so I reckon they are British.
Donald Meltzer has proposed that the genesis of language is essentially two-tiered, having a primitive song-and-dance level (the most primitive form of symbol-formation) for the communication of emotional states of mind … and that upon this foundation of deep grammar there is subsequently superimposed the lexical level of words for denoting objects, actions and qualities of the external world, that is, information. (Meltzer, 1986, p. 181) What we might ordinarily regard as language is only a part of language, and not its most fundamental part. Meltzer distinguishes between a deep musical language, used for communicating about the internal world (that is, states of mind), upon which is built a more superficial, lexical language useful for communicating about the external, material world.4 Michael Paul (1989) has described the rhythm, pace and intonation of patients’ speech, and how th
Looking into the eyes of another is an enormous act, if it is done properly. More often than not there is a mountain to climb. Personal obstacles, detritus, and bizarrely formed theories swerve into position, as if to ‘protect’ us from the infinite array of potential experiences that might ensue once we open our eyes. Can we converse without memory or desire? Can we allow ourselves to be open to the terror of what might happen if we do? Is it unethical to not even try?
This last one I can answer and it’s with a resounding “Yes”.
These are my personal views on ethics and they are not intended to represent the views of Conway Hall Ethical Society. Dr. Jim Walsh
Our Father,Aneurin Bevan, Exploded is thy game; Why,Kingdom come, Before thy will be done. Gone N.H.S,Gone Heaven. Give us fair pay,our daily bread; Don’t leave us on piece rates, As we confront those who legislate against us. And feed us not with deprivation, But deliver us from Weasels. For thine was the Fair Game,the Hour and the Story Maybe once but ever again?
Most people who read poetry have heard of Sylvia Plath.She was only 30 when she died but is now a top poet of the 20th century… her ambition was fulfilled.But if poetry writing is therapeutic as many people believe,why did it not help her?
I read an article about this but am sad to say i can’t find the reference.The author claimed that writing structured poetry like sonnets is more likely to be therapeutic.Nowadays though,free verse and non structured poetry is what is fashionable.Rhymes are not.Think of modern music cocmpared to Schubert or Haydn… you get the point.
Plath’s poetry was ,in a way,violent.She went to her depths but as she already had suffered a severe breakdown and more recently was deserted by her husband her depths were full of pain and anguish.And she had sole care of two little infants.Was it worth it?
So it you feel you want to write for therapy,try writing in a traditional form.The structure contains the feelings better.
The path on Arnside Knott came to the shore Where river and sea meet at my heart’s core Where wild flowers grow, where butterflies float on The views of Lakeland Hills ,so ravishing
My heart was only half alive till then The land surpassed imagination I was used to mills and dirty air Despite the heather moors and hilltops bare
Later death came near on Langdale Pike My fingertips were hurting,feet agape Then my toe was back on a foothold The shadow of the mountain huge and cold
Beauty,love and death, the opera calls Singing as we walk the danger walls
I wish I were on Hutton Roof again The limestone and the little open flowers The sea at Arnside like a distant gem The spaciousness, like days with far more hours
I wish I were as agile now as then I’d climb the mountains, hills,the little lanes
Windermere below still winding on The handsome Lake the old man, Coniston
I wish I were in Dent, the curious shapes The hills and their deep mystery engross The height, the little river, the mistakes The lost loved man alive, to hold me closeI
I yearn to be on Hutton Roof today The holy smell of grass, the feel of air
I see a conservative MP is calling for us to pay for a visit to A&E or a doctor I wonder what will happen to someone having a heart attack who has no money? Will they have to turn them away? That’s what’s happening in the United States. Someone I know was having a miscarriage while she was on a long journey and she had to go to 3 hospitals before being admitted. She lost the baby
Who commands these viruses like flu? Consternation makes our hearts feel blue Do we have a lifeboat or an Ark? The situation does feel rather stark
Who decided we could work while sick? Our energy depleted , brains feel think Decisions so important need clear minds Not one both unravelling and blind
We travel round the globe, a virus ride Our garments are as louche as fratricide We snap some photos of the Golden Dome Then jump on a plane and turn to Rome
Why not stay in Britain or in France? The piper plays but only demons dance
We are in this boat together Sailing across the bay. Some have an easy voyage, The wind is blowing their way I wish I could always be sailing Across an ocean with you And never reach the other side though it may be in view. I want to see the sunrise Across the dappled sea. The ripples of the water Reveal a new world to me. One day this boat will reach the shore Unless destroyed by storm And I shall have to leave your arms Where I have been so warm. So just before we get there I wanted you to know That I shall always love you Wherever you may go.
Stan and Annie have been having such a lovely time since Mary went off ona 6 month lecture tour in Australia.
Stan has quite given up his addiction to microfiber cloths and polishing the windows.He and Annie can now make love at night and go out for trips in the day time.
Emile’s diary is getting quite full although he is worried he may be banned from sleeping on the foot of the bed soon as
he may be in their way.How will he know what they get up to?
Luckily there is a gap at the bottom of the door so he should be able to see them in the mirror opposite the bed.They usually light the bedside lamp so as to see into each other’s eyes.
Annie is a very bold,confident woman.Despite being rather plumper than is medically advised she loves her body and lives happily in it now she has true love.
One morning Stan goes down to make some tea whilst
Annie comes to.
“Stan,come here quickly!”
“What’s wrong,my little lamb chop?”
“I feel sick!”
“Was it those old sausages we ate up last night?”
“No,it’s a different sort of sick!”
“You don’t mean………..?”
“Yes,Stan,I’m afraid a miracle has happened!”
“But you are 55 and I’m 90.Surely we can’t have a baby!”
“Well,the ways of God are strange.” she murmured.
“I don’t want to bring God into it.” he riposted.
“Are you not pleased we are still fertile?” she asked him humorously.
“Well,in the abstract I might be but in the concrete it ould be Awkward.” he said furtively
“What do you mean?”
“Well,Mary will be coming back in a couple of months,you know”
“We don’t have to tell her you are the father.I could pretend it was the new Vicar at St Andrew’s”
“But he’s gay!”
“Not many men are able to resist my charms and skills.”
“I can believe that,”Stan answered lubriciously.
“But will you have to seduce him soon before he notices you are pregnant>”
“I wasn’t thinking of actually going to bed with him,”said Annie with a smile.
“Oh,dear.I was looking forward to that,”Emile murmured under his breath.”That would have made my diary into a best seller.Gay vicar seduces middle aged harlot who is now expecting.”
It sounds a bit like the old Bible stories except they had no vicars in those days.But miracles like older women bearing children did happen so…who knows?
Stan and Annie got dressed and went into the kitchen.
They were both looking confused.
“You don’t want an abortion do you?” he enquired tenderly.
“No way.” she replied softly. “I love you so much,I could not wish for more than to bear your child.~”
“In that case,I’ll tell Mary.She is a very wise woman in many ways,though a bit lacking in the earthier side life.She has not slept with me for thirty years or “Perhaps she thought you were too old?” said Annie.
“No,she never enjoyed it.She just put up with it as she wanted a baby.”
“Maybe you did not turn her on!”
“I did my best,but she preferred reading Proust and Wittgenstein.”
“I wonder of she has Asperger’s syndrome?”
“Well,they do find social life trying but I suppose she can’t blame you for loving another?”
“No,she’s very broadminded.I’ll suggest we all move in together.I’ll divorce her but she can have the big bedroom and we’ll have the guest room with the en suite.”
“I think this will be fun.”
“Well,not all of it but it will be intriguing,”
“So no need to seduce the Vicar,then?”
“We’ll leave him out of it.He might fall in love with you and then what would happen?”
“God only knows,”She answered humorously as she went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
After church on Sunday Mary wanted to visit Stan , her dyint husband in the Rehabilitation Unit where he had been sent recently by a strange physiotherapist [instead of to a hospice?) He was unhappy as the diuretics made him pee even more often than he used to do and he got very worried about it because his bad heart made it extremely hard for him to walk. When she went into the 4 bed ward she saw Stan sitting on his chair without any pyjama trousers on even though it was visiting time from 3 to 8 pm. Why has he no trousers on? Mary asked a nurse angrily, her blue eyes full of glistening tears which almost washed off her turquoise mascara and made runnels in her honey beige foundation by Rommel of London ,Paris and Auschwitz He keeps wanting to go to the toilet so it’s easier for us all if he has no pants on,the nurse told her haughtily.He’s on diuretics,you see as he has water in his lungs and other inner organs and the water has to be removed from his body I know that
What about the lack of dignity in baring him to the world,Mary enquired softly yet piercingly her eyes dripping tears again. Dignity,what’s that? the nurse said insolently.It’s out of date like suits for men He is just a pest. And old men don’t deserve any attention.We are tired of them.They should all die now.That’s government policy too. Emile who had hidden in Mary’s old,but good olive green Radley leather handbag let out a sound like a banshee in Cork or a demon in a nightmare. The nurse looked as frightened as a gypsy in a train to Poland in 1941 What’s tha noiset? she whispered to Mary behind her hand. It’s probably Satan coming to say ” hello” to you as you seem very wicked to me. Mary informed her politely yet honestly in her Northern way. Oh my,what shall I do? the nurse asked in a trembling voice.I am so upset now. You could try reading the Ten Commandments,Mary riposted jocosely… if it’s not too late. Or recalling the Golden Rule……… I’ve never heard of the golden rule,said the nurse.Is it a measuring instrument of some unusual type? Yes,in a sense it is,Mary said.It measures us by our compassion towards others.And you seem to have none for Stan.Can you not imagine what it’s like being a man sitting half naked in a public room with no recourse? What’s a recourse,Sheila, the nurse, asked her thoughtfully,Is it a garment like a dressing gown? No,it’s a a source of help in a difficult situation.It’s a remedy or an option I have a higher degree in nursing,Sheila boasted stupidly. I don’t care if you have ten doctorates in nursing and philosophy,Mary cried.It’s what you do and say to the patients that counts.And going to an evening class in English would do you no harm.Your vocabulary is limited,to say the least.Words are useful whatever job you do.Or even if you are unemployed it helps you deal with bureaucrats Oh,dear,said the nurse,I am sorry for being so thoughtless.I am always thinking about sex,love,Putin,my boyfriend and my clothes instead of the patients.I see now I have fallen into evil ways and hope I can improve my behaviour and speech You have been cruel, said Mary.And seeing my aged husband like this is breaking my heart.Although it was cracked already She went over to Stan whose face was almost black, [when he was normally beige] and sat by him.He fell against her bosom hungrily.
Alas it was not for erotic reasons.His blood sugar was only 2 and his BP was 60/40.He was dying there with no trousers on and with no-one but Mary to help him… and Emile, their small intelligent black cat ,of course.Unfortunately Emile’s trousers were too small for Stan
.Mary wrapped a bath towel around Stan and held him in her arms. Stan tried to speak but Mary could not make out what he was saying. Tears ran down her beautiful oval face and dripped onto Stan’s head. I suppose one might say it was a kind of baptism by love. Now Stan will be entering a new dimension and will be given a new and better name by One who cannot be named here.But you catch my drift?
Soon Stan collapsed, his face went even blacker.Only then was he sent to a real hospital with full equipment.He died, looking happy, the next day.His last words “So many lovely friends” Emile was crying on Mary’s lap. Don’t worry Emile.He was very unhappy. So am I, Emile wept Then Mary wept herself. What a pity Emile is a cat and so cannot embrace the person he calls “Mother”
Judgement is mine says the Lord Though He is a total Mystery to Humankind
While the public, private and volunteer sectors in Britain are mobilizing to address loneliness, researchers are deepening their understanding of its biological underpinnings. In a paper published earlier this year in the journal Cell, neuroscientists at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology identified a region of the brain they believe generates feelings of loneliness. The region, known as the dorsal raphe nucleus, or D.R.N., is best known for its link to depression.
Kay M. Tye and her colleagues found that when mice were housed together, dopamine neurons in the D.R.N. were relatively inactive. But after the mice were isolated for a short period, the activity in those neurons surged when those mice were reunited with other mice.
Yet there was no Ukip when Benjamin Disraeli declared that the Irish “hate our order, our civilisation, our enterprising industry, our pure religion. This wild, reckless, indolent, uncertain and superstitious race have no sympathy with the English character.” It was no rotten apple but Winston Churchill, the Tory idol, who as prime minister pronounced: “I hate Indians. They are a beastly people with a beastly religion. The famine was their own fault for breeding like rabbits.” The Bengal famine of 1943 is widely estimated to have killed about 2 million people.
I draw these quotes from a new book, Racism and the Tory Party, by the sociologist Mike Cole. Far from being a mere slip of the tongue, racism, he argues, “has saturated the party from the beginning of the 19th century to the second decade of the 21st”. From Enoch Powell’s “rivers of blood” to Theresa May’s hostile environment, it courses through Tory history. And it is not just words. In its online safety bill, the government wants this week to make illegal any online video of people in small boats that shows such Channel crossing in a “positive light”.
https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/intimacy
Humour usually helps us,It helps physical illness,tension,depression,stress.It helps people to forgive each other and it helps our minds to function better,There are lots of books with collections of humour from different sources, different people and different cultures even religions.You can also get good sources from the internet if you want to save money.
How my heart speaks 