https://wp.me/p4fTq7-2Re

https://gregcartmell.com/life-is-strange/typical-day-working-professional-artist/

https://lifeloversmag.com/2023/03/01/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-writer/#:~:text=More%20Than%20Words&text=We%20do%20a%20lot%20of,landing%20pages%20and%20advertising%20copy.

24 Hours in the Creative Life https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2022/04/21/t-magazine/culture-issue-creative-life-artists.html?smid=nytcore-android-share

The creative life is one defined by insecurity, doubt and uncertainty (as well as overconfidence, arrogance and delusion). We asked 40 poets, painters, photographers, filmmakers, actors, musicians and writers to share hard-earned wisdom for every stage of an artistic career.

Winter sunshine shows the branches bare

Reveals each shape both elegant and spare

The little birds fly in and out at will

The low sun’s bright, the wind is light as well

What kind of world has human language made?

Evolution does not always pay

For language can speak love but also hate

And brings to some misfortune and black fate

Words can hurt much deeper than a knife

We may be traumatised by our own life

The bitch the witch , the charlatan, the Jew

These categories old, are ever new

Language wrote both Dante and Mein Kampf,

From ecstasy to Concentration Camp

Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart from dull, dark dreams
The marvels are the poignant shapes I see
I recognise them in the grace and fear
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
I’m branded with their shapes so known so dear
Yet how huge shadows frighten,haunt the seer
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart to what may be

I am looking at the painting by Philip Steer that I have described to s friends before of the place in Suffolk where the Freud .. family used to take their summer holidays and know some of them live there. It’s called Walberswick 

It’s in Suffolk and when I’m looking at the picture of the girls on the pier going out towards the sea I can see the sea itself in my mind’s eye I can hear the ripples of the waves and I’m standing on the sand and just behind me is a wooden building which is an art gallery which also sells paintings and now I can see this picture as it was ..  hanging on the wall which is made of cream coloured wood and there are other similar paintings and more recent ones by modern artists and the sand comes right up to the door of the art gallery and I can see the sea and hear it lapping on the shore.

One benefit of having beenlaud up  is that my visual memories have become even more powerful. I can see everything even the sea far out where there are fishing boats.

The air is pure and salty I could almost believe I’m there now.

Next to the art gallery there is a cafe where we sat outside in the garden one afternoon to drink tea and because of my vision just having deteriorated I couldn’t judge the depth of the tea in the cups so they overflowed then the puddles were wiped up by a merry waitress. You see I was using w teapot!

You need three dimensional vision or you’ve got to be very very careful which I now am

I’m determined to see as much as possible of everything in case my vision gets worse so I see the weeds in the grass and I see the the boat man rowing.. he’s rowing people across the river Blyth in his little boat.

The .air is so clear I seem to hear noises from far away 

.. children getting out of cars and running about.. the air is clear and beautiful… No other place seems to have air like this.

Now I have dropped my eyes . I am back in this room but the sun is shining today and there are magnificent clouds… Winter will be over very soon the daffodils are coming out too early it’s  the crocuses I love best.

I feel like running about like those children with my arms and legs bare just running in circles on the sand…..

Why do we have to grow up so totally ,?

Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight
Posted on February 11, 2018

Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight
Like baby eagles, sharks and all that bite
For parents stand aloof as if amused
By sibling killing sibling for their food

This may be the crime original
So common it may seem to be banal
Inside the heart of love lurk greed and hate
Genetics brings destruction as a fate

So hatred precedes love if any grows
As dead egrets have no claw to show.
Families have their scapegoats all will harm
No-one seems to notice wild alarm

So Cain was not unusual nor mad
Indeed he was a hero, that is sad.

Professor Rosa Benchez was in the staff-room at Middle-Jeans-Rise University collecting her mail and having coffee at 9.30 am on Monday morning after running 10 miles on her rowing machine.It rowed and she ran
How are you? enquired Danny her friend and colleague in the School of Learning.
I’m feeling very insignificant today,she replied. quietly.I am giving a lecture on Semiotics and it’s those French people who use such idiotically complicated language.We all know that an object like a bird has to have a name before we can talk about it.
Well.,said Danny, I thought you’d just say,”In the pink” as usual to my greeting, so you must feel bad.Does each bird have to have its own name,he continued wonderingly?
Well,it depends on the context, she informed him coolly and enigmatically.
First,if we are looking at birds as a class or set, they just need a name like “bird”.It could have been anything but somehow it was” bird” that occurred like x is used in algebra.We may just study one bird then we give it a number to identify it.That is its name
Danny gazed at her beautiful bosom under her semi-transparent pink blouse.Did she dress like that on purpose to provoke men or did she feel so deep;y insignificant that she didn’t realise anyone at all could see her purple lace bra and her green silk and wool thermal vest with matching briefs, though fortunately, the latter were invisible from outside sp
Danny,I’m talking to you, she called sympathetically.Why are you quiet?
I dunno, the world famous biologist replied.Maybe I am not quite here today.
You too,she murmured quietly ,like the stream in Little Walsingham by the ruined Abbey.
Are you anxious about your lectures,she enquired softly and caringly?
No, not really ,he said tearing his eyes away from her revealing clothing.
Is there a biological reason why a scholar like Rosa would wear this unusually exciting outfit.
The truth was more mundane.Rosa bought her clothes in Sales and was indifferent pr unaware to the way men might feel seeing her like this.After all,did she notice if they wore deep purple underpants that showed above their low rise jeans or gold coins on a chain with matching long earrings?
She only looked at their faces while they naturally were drawn to see what outfit she was wearing that day. and what her new lingerie looked like.
What did her partner feel?Had he left her for a woman who dressed in thick beige blouses and stockings with grey skirts?
To dress well takes time and Rosa did not give it enough although so far she had not lectured in a string bikini nor an evening dress she had found in a jumble sale.
These French people have made a fortune by re-labelling well know things like birds as “signified” and the word “bird” as signifiers!
It reminded her of a sociologist who got a large grant to see if women were more scared walking under a railway bridge at night if there were no streetlight there
The conclusion seems obvious.And that was what they proved “scientifically”
Statistics,numbers, that’s what journals want.
She went to her lecture room and turned on the lights.Eighty students gazed at her happily.She was almost the best and funniest lecturer in the place.
I put 30 handouts in Dr Bevan-Finnish’s drawer for the seminar but someone has stolen them, she said menacingly.I write these handouts myself and if they do not appear by noon ,nobody will get another one for the entire semester
With that, she turned to the blackboard and defined ” the signifier”
Well,it’s better than taking the insides out of chickens on a conveyor belt she thought silently as she moaned on while the students took copious notes or wrote limericks on kleenex tissues with their own blood
After lunch Rosa was in the staff room talking to some women colleagues when Dr Bevan -Finnish came over,blushing dark red as he approached.He said the handouts were back in his tray
Why is he so shy, Rosa asked herself,not realising it was her outfit that provoked his blushes.And that is a very important thing to remember… whoever we are with affects us so a bold man like Bevan-Finnish seemed shy when with Rosa whereas with another more sensibly dressed woman he was quite at ease.
There may be a few men who are not affected this way but not many otherwise the human race would die out and then where would we be?Nowhere!
What a pity nobody tells a lady like Rosa the facts of life so she goes about causing sinful longings in her colleagues quite oblivious.Even some of the women were getting affected but nobody dared to tell her.At least it drew students to her lectures and who knows, they might have learned some Linguistics as well.And it kept them off the streets.Which streets nobody knows.Yet!

My heart is crushed like petals on the road
When spring winds blow and cars speed by like shot
The weight of caring is too hard to hold
Yet such a pastime seems to be my lot.

When buds appear I dread the frost of sin
When leaves uncurl ,I bear my breathless dream
I was not always of this mind so grim
Neither did I ponder complex schemes.

Shall I descend to ploys and plots of doom;
Wreak revenge on those who trouble me?
No,I ‘ll not give home to conquering gloom
I’ll sit it out and find what good’s for me.

My heart is crushed but I shall live again
Far from the habitat of wolf-like man.

Inside my shell, I dream of pearls,
Caterpillars, snails with whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped
With reverie and dream, I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods allow my eyes to see

Oh, sweeter than confectionery
Is my worn old dictionary.
The words whirl round and fall to shape
The sentences, which my world drape.
This furnishing is rich and strange
Yet magically self-arranged.

Oh, sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone;
And feeling deeply their dark tides,
Upon which our boats may glide.
The sea infinite we float on
Is the same warm sea that ancients swam.

Sweeter still is this spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown ourselves in deep green fields
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall.

Sweet it is to live and die
And to write my poetry
Touch me with your ardent souls
My mind and yours shall all be whole

O

Oo

D

Ddd

https://kids.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/frym.2022.623953

C

If I didn’t believe anything.

I would know there is another me

That knows more that I do

That I am not omniscient

There are many things I cannot see in normal consciousness

Some I have seen when my life slowed down to a snail pace

Some only another person can see

What does a snail see?

Fast anxious scanning just not reveal a world of value

It only tells us whether we are about to be devoured by lions

Does not show us blue moths nor birds,not butterflies

Pinpoint eyes do not see the rainbow or the star

If you don’t believe anything what does it mean to say what would you believe then?

I believe there are other people other minds

That should make us listen more because these other minds are not our mind

Don’t we want to know what another mind perceived?

A woman in the art class says she hates Picasso

Is it that she hates to see what Picasso saw?

Can’t she just say,this is not what I see?

Don’t we realise that sight needs development. Did Plato not see more than I can or ever will be able to and what about Jesus what did he see ,?

It’s not automatic that we see the way the great artists saw.

But it might show us a way, a path, a new direction.

Probably slowness is better than speed

And it’s not quantity that’s important

They wanted to call mathematics quantitative methods

As if it had no qualities.

As if it had no quality

No e-quality

Not all activities are of equal value

But how do we judge?

If we can’t see then we can’t judge

Democracy is in dangér … From those who think they already know everything

https://www.winxdvd.com/dvd-play/external-dvd-drive-for-chromebook.htm#what

My husband liked being recumbent

He was lazy in all of his ways.

I never knew he was dying

As he kept on smiling.

What can I say in his praise?

I told him off for keeping me waiting

Not knowing his heart had a leak.

In a way I admired him

For keeping cabs standing

And being reluctant to speak.

He rarely addressed these cab drivers

But blessed them, each one, with his gaze.

He sat with composure

And little disclosure…

Though sometimes his guns were ablaze.

When the drivers were told he had passed,

Some wept and my hands they each grasped.

Oh, my dear lady

We were all ready

To drive you to Barnet so fast.

The compassion from the humble and lowly

The love from the poor and the weak

What can I say for

We miss all his labours

If only we could, at least, hear him speak.

I held his left hand for an hour

I held it again for much more.

I felt a stiff tendon

Which refused any bending

And massaged it as I sat on the floor.

He never repeated me he loved me,

Or how I should live when he’d gone.

I suppose by that time

He believed all was kind.

And his earthly endeavors were done.

It seems like a dream, a performance…

And I keep thinking life will resume.

I see no apparitions

Have no new intuitions

This is my life, I presume.

https://dictionary.apa.org/identification-with-the-aggressor

https://www.sainsburysmagazine.co.uk/recipes/sides/pan-haggerty

When you are hungry but you don’t have a lot of money to buy meat etc this is good

https://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/international/european/french/sausages-boulangere

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2023/nov/20/how-to-prevent-gun-suicides-in-america

Nuts Cottage
87 Rubbish Walks
Stampedia
North Norfolk
NWe 0MG pie
Dear Mary

How are you getting on with your new logic book? Mine is going well as having grown up doing my homework while my brother played ” The Ride of the Valkyries” full blast all night demanded I do his maths homework and some Latin I find with the TV on some rubbish programme I can really concentrate well
On the other hand I might be writing rubbish.
The main things seems to be to avoid writer’s block. whereas in the past it was to avoid writing rubbish,Funny how popular the word rubbish is nowadays.
When we believed in God we had Cathedrals,plainsong and Byrd.Now we have Malls.Coffee Shops and Muzak.And rubbish.We are rubbish too
Surely to get writer’s block would be an advantage as it would lead to reverie and dreams or maybe going on Tinder and seeing how many people in the town are looking for….Rubbish connections.
My optician said not to go looking for men.With my eyesight I’d no doubt be chatting up a traffic cone.I don’t think that’s what he meant,Real men don’t like women running after them which is lucky.I can’t run nowadays,I could limp after one!
He said his mother did get married again but she wasn’t seeking it actively.So she said.Would she have told her son?
Definitely not.Well, that’s my view.Take it or leave it.Agree or argue,Talk or walk.Who can falsify his theory? Popper died.So they say.

I think I must be drunk with happiness.I’ll write again to tell you the plot of my novel.Basically,it’s total rubbish dressed up with a few sexual innuendos,These days innuendo seems quite out of date.Old fashioned.Like courting and engagement.Now we start in bed and end up in Court.
Well, try phoning me or you’ll keep getting more rubbish letters

Byeee

Annette

Maybe I should set this to music. LOL!

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/1386ff49-523b-4ab7-83f7-f0f59f130a68?shareToken=0b5bb7550c2fa7f6747375fb32a57366

I have to get used to going outside again so a long with my walking ajds I hobble us to the main road at the end of the Street.

The sky is a strange yellow grey and it’s very damp under foot:there is no one about I’m surprised no parents are on the way to the school to collect their children but maybe they don’t want to collect them today. Maybe all the parents have absconded

I get to the main road and  one van goes by. No bus car or bicycle and still no pedestrians

Should I be here? Do they know something I don’t know? I decide not to cross the road anyway. That’s going to be difficult but I will do it very soon because I want to get to the river to see the swans.

When I get back to the house I can’t turn the key in the lock I had not thought about that when I  broke my wrist.  Bya strange coincidence a royal mail van has drawn up buy my gate and the man gets out and brings me a parcel and then he opens the door for me.

Next time I should to go to the other end of the street. There is bound to be more traffic there. Maybe I could just play a record of noise or something on my phone that I could listen to you through earphones

Outside …..is this a good idea to wear earphones when I’m walking along the pavement. Will I be mugged? That will be an introduction to modern life except I would have to buy an iPhone first otherwise nobody will want to mug me when I judt have my old Motorola sticking out of my pocket.

But it was very pleasant to go outside and smell the damp eartg and see the trees getting ready to bloom as they do at the end of this month

Because I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2024/jan/04/the-experts-artists-on-20-easy-mind-expanding-ways-to-be-much-more-creative?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

O

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2024/jan/26/the-experts-photographers-on-20-easy-enjoyable-ways-to-vastly-improve-your-pictures?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

You were the centre of my universe
[What is a universe,by the way?]
You were the light in my life
[What about the sun?
You were perfect in every way
{ Name a few definite ones]
So why did you choose me?
[Why, what’s wrong with you?]
Now, you have thrown me away
Seems as if I am trash
But some folk save the wrong things
Or put them in the wrong wash
[That might be a metaphor]
My washing machine only works on the rapidest wash
[Good grief, that sounds positive]
Since it’s only 14 minutes,I do it twice
[Why would people want to know this?]
Sometimes I just do rinse and spin
‘But I didn’t realise that was an option at first
[Who cares?]
I am trying to save money so in future I shall just do one
{ why wash them at all, just steam them!]
I love elecricity
{ Is that a metaphor?]
I love gas
[Maybe it’s not]
I’ll cook my angel a roast
{ Do angels eat?]
A roasted prayer of thanksgiving
{Sounds more like a threat than a promise]
God will smell the odour
[Not if he doesn’t want to]
God will be happy
[Are you crackers?]
God is neither happy nor unhappy
[Make your mind up.This is not logic class BTW}
God looks divine
[How can we compare the two?]
I have seen him
[Are you high?]
I don’t know what will happen next but I accept it all
[Very gracious!]
I wish Father Xmas would come tonight
{ Don’t we all?]
And to use a cliche,I love the entire universe.What ever that is!
Is that a bad poem?
Do cows eat grass
Do sheep have woollen rugs glued to their heads?
I am finished
[At last!]
But it’s not bad enough
{Stop moaning]

https://www.poeticous.com/margaret-atwood/precognition

Precognition

Living backwards means only
I must suffer everything twice.
Those picnics were already loss:
with the dragonflies and the clear streams halfway.

What good did it do me to know
how far along you would come with me
and when you would return?
By yourself, to a life you call daily.

You did not consider me a soul
but a landscape, not even one
I recognize as mine, but foreign
and rich in curios:
an egg of blue marble,
a dried pod,
a clay goddess you picked up at a stall
somewhere among the dun and dust-green
hills and the bronze-hot
sun and the odd shadows,

not knowing what would be protection,
or even the need for it then.

I wake in the early dawn and there is the roadway
shattered, and the glass and the blood,
from an intersection that has happened
already, though I can’t say when.
Simply that it will happen.

What could I tell you now that would keep you
safe or warn you?
What good would it do?
Live and be happy.

I would rather cut myself loose
from time, shave off my hair
and stand at a crossroads
with a wooden bowl, throwing
myself on the dubious mercy
of the present, which is innocent
and forgetful and hits the eye bare

and without words and without even love
than do this mourning over.

Muted colours,sienna and dark rose
Lovely mauve and lilac please my eye
Linen,silk or wool,I love my clothes

I like to complement,I don’t oppose
The colour wheel rotates as I go by
Wearing colours,sienna and dark rose

I like colour,all my neighbours know
The “take” on natural fibres makes me high
Linen,silk or wool,I love their glow

If people gossip, this is not their show
If I seem conceited, don’t make war
Wearing colours,sienna and dark rose

Now I’m in acrylic, what a blow
Wool is hard to find, the sheep cry Baaaa
I love, fabric, I love coloured clothes

It matters not if I have burned a bra
Seems a little mad, but there we are
Muted colours,umber and dark rose
Linen,silk or wool, the art of clothes

Dull grey and yellow sky the rain comes down

The air is cold, the wind turns round

The afternoon is late, the evening starts

The day divides itself into small parts.

In the morning heavy thoughts of work

Oppress the old who in their bed still lurk.

As the day goes by our hearts will jolt

Like trains on ancient rails, like headless colts.

Life should be like Mozart,Wagner shouts.

But no one else knows what its all about.

We don’t choose the rhythm yet have to move

The rain keeps time,but can our lives improve?

The sky is dark and grey we need the rain.

I like to watch it thrash the window pans.