The world is full of buds of love,respect

The world is full of buds, all interact
Gently touching with  our tender hands
Choosing,using, never going back

Without a choice,  we would not know our lack
Would not know how colours feel and blend
The world is full of buds, we interact

No single answer can be called correct
Uncountable,continuous, are the sands?
Choosing,losing, never looking back

Where we stand determines what are facts
See the children and their  wistful  hands
The world is full of buds, these hands react

Perspective is   a metaphor with tact
Less so  for  soldiers marching to their end
Choosing,losing, never coming back

When the birds cry out we must attend
They see more than we might understand
The world is full of buds of  love,respect
Choosing,opening,  sacredness unpacked

 

 

A sense of rumour

 

They say I have a great sense of rumour.
And I am extremely dutiful.
My hair is like spun mould or moss
My eyes are like two isobars.
My nose is ironic like the poet’s wits
All in all I am a site to be ribald.
My cooking is extra-ordinary ,indeed it is plain.
My figure is probably zero writ on a barge.
I am a very rude housekeeper and all the furniture is witless.
My husband buys me furniture polish for Xmas made from bees wax.This is true.
Do bees ever wane?I know they can buzz.
My doctor said I was the second cleverest person she ever met and she should know as there were ten patients signed on there.I still don’t know which one was the cleverest but I don’t believe in IQ anymore.You see mine is 200… and look at my life… then you will wonder whether I have no EQ..none at all..you don’t need it to do theoretical physics.
My therapist admired my dreams as she was in most of then rowing me out to sea.
She wanted to show me a new perspective on life
but we had to call the lifeboat out… should i stop the therapy and have swimming lessons instead ?
I think if one has to keep calling out the lifeboat it is not a good omen and I could save the money and buy more wool to make an Arran sweater.

The mind needs just a hint to see the whole

The vital line was drawn with one brush stroke
The way the back leant curving into space
The dance and danger both are thus evoked

Like a play, a drama, fire and smoke
A dance performed so swiftly and with grace
The vital line was drawn with one brush stroke

The heavy bull is pounding,is provoked.
A threat, a man,  intrudes into his space
The dance and danger both are still evoked

See, the  matador throws out his cloak
A   dash of black, and here we see his face
The vital line was drawn with one brush stroke
The mind needs just a hint to  see the whole
We fill the present with our past distaste
The dance and danger, mirroring dark smoke
 Acting both dramatic and displaced 
The artist may still love what she forsakes 
The vital line was drawn with one brush stroke 
he dance and danger ,life and death evoked

 

I find I am

lighter tree

Shimmering light
The lily pond
The music of your eye
The touch of your arm
Your always honey smell.
I love.

Rustling trees in a row,
A wide green lawn;
People stoop to see small flowers.

A snail on the path.
The perfection of the shell.
I believe

Unusually tall dandelions
at the edge of this wood
Wave in the warm west wind.
We smile.

Sitting pen in hand
I wonder what I would have written
In all the letters I’ve not sent you.

Far away on the Ridgeway,
Cars, like ants,
Rush towards the motorway.
They make us laugh.
How green the meadows
How fresh the old trees.

I gaze at you.
I find I am.
It’s mutual.
They call it Love

Continue reading “I find I am”

Dimensions

 

 

https://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/everyday-myths/dimension.htm

Extract

But the fact that we can’t move through a fourth spatial dimension or perceive one doesn’t necessarily rule out its existence. In 1919, mathematician Theodor Kaluza theorized that a fourth spatial dimension might link general relativity and electromagnetic theory [source: Groleau]. But where would it go? Theoretical physicist Oskar Klein later revised the theory, proposing that the fourth dimension was merely curled up, while the other three spatial dimensions are extended. In other words, the fourth dimension is there, only it’s rolled up and unseen, a little like a fully retracted tape measure. Furthermore, it would mean that every point in our three-dimensional world would have an additional fourth spatial dimension rolled away inside it.

String theorists, however, need a slightly more complicated vision to empower their superstring theories about the cosmos. In fact, it’s quite easy to assume they’re showing off a bit in proposing 10 or 11 dimensions including time.

Wait, don’t let that blow your mind just yet. One way of envisioning this is to imagine that each point of our 3-D world contains not a retracted tape measure, but a curled-up, six-dimensional geometric shape. One such example is a Calabi-Yau shape, which looks a bit like a cross between a mollusk, an M.C. Escher drawing and a “Star Trek” holiday ornament [source: Bryant].

Think of it this way: A concrete wall looks solid and firm from a distance. Move in closer, however, and you’ll see the dimples and holes that mark its surface. Move in even closer, and you’d see that it’s made up of molecules and atoms. Or consider a cable: From a distance it appears to be a single, thick strand. Get right next to it, and you’ll find that it’s woven from countless strands. There’s always greater complexity than meets the eye, and this hidden complexity may well conceal all those tiny, rolled-up dimensions.

Yet, we can only remain certain of our three spatial dimensions and one of time. If other dimensions await us, they’re beyond our limited perception — for now.

 

Being shot by a big game hunter

 

applewe
Art by Katherine

When you think of all the accidents that happen every day
Falling off ladders
Being crushed by man falling onto you
from a ladder
Forgetting to turn off the gas so inadvertently killing ten people
Then killing yourself in regret
Being  crushed by  a heavy partner in bed and calling 999  who don’t answer
Pans of boiling water being knocked onto the cat, the baby, your new shoes
Eating poisoned food
Falling down a manhole
Being killed by a slate blown off a  roof
Falling off a cruise ship in the middle of the night
Being shot by a big game hunter
Having a wall fall down on you
Getting double pneumonia
Again

Why did nothing happen to Hitler?

No money taken.Cards holy new year

skippe8

 

Don’t miss your chance to win a  Virgin
[media]
Thank you for topping the Leader.
Who stings the Howl
Your debit is not to your credit
Your account is under threat in the dictionary
Why not borrow me?
I am free in the library
Next week the topic is algebraic escapology with charts and diaphragms
No tips allowed.Finger room  by Bar.
No money taken.Cards holy
No  trainers  can be worn  here ; you will be persecuted
I don’t wear my trainer.
Where have all the  flowers run?
Your credit is 0.2p. Top up or the decimals will freak out the bank
I liked the shillings and the florins.Where  has all the history gone?
Your coffee is £2/17/6.Once I bought shoes for  that much
Do you remember 69/11 was really a lot to pay, It’s 85 pence now,Not even a cup of tea,
What  has all the logic done?

 

The War’s not over when the fighting stops

IMG_0276

 

We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell  into  cold dark earth in lands forlorn

As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this  war  or is it vengeance  fit?

In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was  when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land

The genocide in Europe of  the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled  sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast  judgemental stones?

The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the  tortured suffer  shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The  unborn children  hover in unease

We let the prisoners out from  camps of death
But who would take them in  or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and  still we live in fear

It’s Europe’s  grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria,  in long wars
Yet we  judge we are more civilised
As we self defend with careful lies

A dark lilac November sky

Old man,bending over,
arched like a fallen moon
in a dark lilac November sky.
joy and pain wrestle my heart across the emptiness
and toss it up like a damp rocket
to fall in a hidden corner where mice live.
Would that not be a good ending,to be dust
to these little creatures nesting
in my chewed green twine and my tartan basket?
They have eyes and shiver in my hand when I rescue them
from the cat…
as any heart might.
Now night falls on the newspaper basket
where the damp Times and the Guardian mix into glue
and tomorrow the sun will rise
and it will just be the garbage
with no poetic undertones nor deathly hushes..
Heather and a silver light
you stand on a hill top like a god
looking over his domain.
Strong and now weak
it’s the humane condition
Everlasting life is too dangerous for humans.
Silent,motionless,home of beetles
bit by bit we fall away
into the mother soil
with cracked jugs and dropped coins
for a future academic to dig into.
Transparent hand touches me.
Whose might it be but yours?

 

Sylvia Plath and Art

Sylvia Plath: The Dialogue Between Poetry and Painting

Extract

While Plath is traditionally categorized as a confessional poet, critics like Howe and Davison fail to recognize the ekphrastic quality of many of Plath’s poems. As defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, ekphrasis is “a literary device in which a painting, sculpture, or other work of visual art is described in detail.” Each poem in which Plath comments on or discusses a work of visual art can be defined as an ekphrastic poem. Ekphrastic works are interactive and draw clear links between writers and artists. By writing an ekphrastic poem, one enters a pre-existing conversation; one work could not exist without the other. In essence, many of Plath’s works are dependent on works of others, showing her deep veneration for the painters whose works she incorporates in her own.

Doomchin 1

THE DREAM, HENRI ROUSSEAU, 1910.

“Yadwigha, On a Red Couch, Among Lilies,” Plath’s 1958 poem, was written in response to Henri Rousseau’s The Dream, painted forty-eight years prior in 1910. The painting, Rousseau’s last and largest work, places a young nude female reclining on a red sofa in the middle of a lush jungle, full of vibrant foliage and lively animals. According to the Bulletin of the Art Institute of Chicago, “Though the public was thoroughly perplexed, the artists rightly hailed The Dream as one of the milestones of modern art” (“The Henri Rousseau Exhibition,” 20). Plath, in her poem, points to the perplexed reaction of the public, choosing to address Rousseau about his painting by discussing their questions.

Plath responds to the structure of Rousseau’s painting in a compelling way. The painting appears to have a random composition; elephants, lions, birds, monkeys, and other animals seem to be randomly strewn about the canvas, interlaced with overwhelming amounts of greenery and lilies; mysterious snake charmer is shown emerging out from some trees, and the nude figure, Yadwigha, is arbitrarily thrown onto the canvas lounging on a sofa. There is no clear order to how Rousseau arranges things. Additionally, the subject depicted, a nude on a couch in the jungle, is incredibly random and perplexing. However, Plath contrasts this randomness by approaching her poem in a methodical way. She chose to write her poem in sestina form; a sestina is “a poem of six six-line stanzas (with an envoy) in which the line-endings of the first stanza are repeated, but in different order, in the other five” (Oxford English Dictionary). The form is structured, complicated and deliberate. Plath clearly put a lot of thought into how the poem was arranged.

For the sestina’s six line-endings she repeats, Plath picks the painting’s most pertinent images and concepts: “you,” “couch,” “eye,” “moon,” “green,” and “lilies.” “Lilies,” “green,” “couch,” and “moon” are all visuals that stand out in Rousseau’s work. The repetition of the painting’s pertinent images allows the reader to envision the painting through her words and points to her astute attention to detail and respect for the painting. Her use of “you” underlines that this is a poem in which she is talking both to Rousseau and Yadwigha (depending on the stanza) because she wants to interact with both the artist and the subject. “Eye” represents the “eyes” of different aspects of the painting [“under the eye/Of uncaged tigers and a tropical moon,” (4–5), “Dreamed yourself away in the moon’s eye” (28)]; Rousseau’s vision [“But to a friend, in private, Rousseau confessed his eye” (35), “To feed his eye with red” (38)]; and the eyes of critics and museum patrons [“It seems the constant critics wanted you… To turn you luminous, without the eye” (8, 12), “The couch glared out at the prosaic eye” (20)]. This emphasis allows Plath to differentiate between artistic vision and critical response, recognizing that there is merit to both points of view. She notes that art is meant to be created and commented on. Plath features the imperative relationship between artist and critic, taking on the role as critic by writing her poem. In turn, her poem is a piece of art—she is aware that it will be criticized, just as Rousseau’s painting was. This recognition through mentioning critics directly in the work signals a parallel Plath draws between Rousseau and herself, making her connected to the art of the past. She is clearly mindful of “the presence of anyone but herself,” unlike what Howe asserts.

As  economic   theories act like guns

Can a land  be holy when it’s split
When hatred is projected  like a bomb
However many candles are now lit?

Allah and Jehova , what a pitch
Can we ask if either  loves their Son
Can a land  be holy when it’s split

Past ills and errors drag us to the pits
The athletes of the  heart may start to run
However many candles are now lit

Neither thinks the other has their wits
Who owns a website palestine.com?
Can a land  be holy when it’s split

Yet here we fight, we too have had  our fits
As  economics   theories act like guns
And paranoia  enters   step by step

The expert mind, the vertical has gone
We lie horizontal,have we won?
Can a land  breed danger when it’s split
However  can we link up all  the  bits?

 

 

 

 

Painted by the rain




photo0224-rty-rtyu88-1-1-1
Made by Katherine

Like watercolour pictures  in the rain
Our colours mingle  yet the originals  remain.
Two watercolor paintings without frames,
Became one picture over time,
Yet both of us are there.
Our colors blended naturally,
Now all the hues are shared.
I love your colors intermixed with mine:
Together they have made a new design.
A Watercolour painted by the rain,
We shall go, but our Watercolor Love remains

The sentences of God  are hard to match

A meta- poet who writes about the art
Who wonders if  we need a special gift
A better poet who writes from their deep heart

A problem is the first line where we start
Do not  try to make that writing swift
A meta- poet who writes about the art

In my mind the little fishes dart
I try to focus on the ones  bereft
A better poet who writes  from their own heart

In  live  writing there’s no graph or chart
No wondering whether we go right or left
A meta- poet who writes about the art

There’s little to be gained by being  smart
We need slowness though we must be deft
A better poet who writes  from their own heart

Slowly we   combine the warp and weft
The sentences of God  are hard to match
A meta- poet who writes about the art
A better poet, a universal heart

 

 

 

 

How words die

Can anyone write poetry if they try
Or is it a vocation for the few
Inherited by  feeling how  words lie?

Is there new equipment I can buy
With  sense and music writing to imbue
Can anyone write poetry if they try?

Ambitious how  the people   each will vie
To be the first in any kind of queue
Undisturbed by   knowing how  words lie?

For a  talent, who can multiply?
Compound interest shows a startling view
Can anyone write poetry if they try?

Transcendental number start with e and pi
I wonder, shall I eat my words for you
Undisturbed by   knowing how  they lie?

I feel  so bright, I  seem to have turned blue
Throw me in the ocean,  let me stew
Can anyone write poetry if they try
Unknowing  how, not  seeing that  words die?

 

English irony is our defence

Immigrants are very useful now
Roast a Turk  to  share with all your street
Eat a Greek and let the people squeak
A Viking flames the pudding with a bow

Try a German sausage  in the Court
Eat him with a knife and fork  and bread

Frenchmen taste delicious  so it’s said
Finish  with a sailor drowned in Port

A Syrian child is now the Lamb of God
Dying for our sins and  for our hate
Yet Jesus was a Jew. a piece of bait
We eat  him every Sunday  in  the Bread

Let the refugees in, we shall see
One of them is you and one is me

Is the loss a sadness or defect?

The first line that we write  may hold some clues
Whether in the words  or their effect
That form a background to  the writer’s  views

The soft effect of adjectives imbues
The sentences  and words  with their affect
The first line that we write  may hold some clues

Lacking feeling,  what is it we lose? 
Is  the  loss a sadness or defect
That forms a background to  the writer’s  views

Can we show emotion if we choose
Or  have we got no space where we reflect?
The first line that we write  may hold some clues

A loving friend  shares  warmth with their virtues
Silence may be best  to  hold,react
Form and shape give passage to our views

We may fear the bold and their attacks
As their vibrant voices air attack
The first line that we write  may hide the clues
That form an understanding  of our views

 

 

 

 

Sitting in the bathroom,I’ve been stuck in here all night

Sitting in the bathroom,I’ve been stuck in here all night
Something alien’s in my gut, it seems there  is a fight
I wish I were asleep in bed, warm and bathed in dreams
My mind is underfunctioning, a dodo  or a scream

In the bed the sheet  has moved.someone else is here
I’ll share my bed with anyone  but they must not come near
Negotiations all the time, the enemy, the fear
We hate best all those we love, for they stole  mother dear

Up again I feel my way without the bedside light
I don’t want the beetles   running ,fearing human sight
I didn’t know I ate so much, but now I shall be drained
Sitting here, I feel annoyed by all these ugly pains

Would I were a babe again,wrapped in mother’s arms
Smelling her  dear,dear perfume. as her comfort makes me warm

Seek for conversations that will warm

Emotions can be difficult  to  bear
But maybe they bring something we should hear
A message or a wound we have ignored
Action’s needed or we are destroyed

Being  happy always is unreal
Living  in compartments  now concealed
If you cannot bear  your  pain alone
Seek for conversations that will warm

Loving neighbours comes extremely hard
If from our own  suffering we are barred
Imprisoned feelings make us tense  as boards
Stiff like puppets,stiff  like frozen hearts

As they say, the way  out sends us through
The feelings that we  did  not  know we knew

Stop people tracking you on your phone

img_20191128_114102

Take the battery out

.Like at night. or when you are commiting a crime, visiting places off ill repute, visiting  your lovers
But  leave it in when shopping in case you visit a loo and can’t open the door.Then you’ll be glad you  can be tracked although it’s really location you need to be on.Otherwise scream and shout.Hopefully someone will hear you

I don’t know why you can’t just turn if off.Life should be that simple

A little comma

focus photography of gray monkey
Photo by prasanthdas ds on Pexels.com

Do not  enter God knows you’re a bore!

That sentence can have different meanings depending on whether you put  commas in it and also where you put them.In speech we can tell from the sound of the voice.
In writing we can’t    hear that.So we need guidance.

2 commas below:

Do not  enter, God knows, you’re a bore!

1 comma

Do not  enter, God knows you’re a bore!

I imagine you may think  of  other meanings as well.

What you write is  almost never wrong

Do you think that you can’t write a verse
Free or formed, a villanellse or song
 Do you fear the  end , so  feel accursed?

The first words are banana,gold and terse
Start from that new sentence on your tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

Bananas ,phallic symbols, unrehearsed
What you write is  almost never wrong
Is you fear the  end   be not accursed

Golden is the joy when we’re immersed
In the company  that knows our tongue
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?

My lover speaks but he is often terse
He prefers to use a gesture not a word
Is you fear the  end   you’re not the first

In the mind float symbols , gold, absurd
Metaphors   that hunger to be heard
Do you think that you can’t write a verse?
If you fear the  end , we’re here  at worst

 

 

Do not  enter ,God knows you’re a bore.

How to write a poem  that  gives you joy
Write one line on those you once adored
A villanelle’s a song the French employ

Write a poem  that gets us  damn annoyed
I recall I may said all this before
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy

Writing poems makes me  get very high
I vowed to love a  man forever more
A villanelle’s a song the French employ

If I could sell then someone else could buy  
I want a man  but, if not one, then four 
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy

Writing down the letters  in alloy
I wanted to be loved but it’s a chore
A villanelle’s a song the French abhor

I saw a symbol on  a heavy door
Do not  enter ,God knows you’re a bore!
How to write a poem  that  gives you joy
A villanelle’s a song ,the French   destroy

 

The Trent flows up one side and down the other [ of the Pennines]

lake

Pray Father give me your blessing
Good grief, a real Catholic at last
Why, are there artificial ones?
No they just have terrible memories
Of trauma?
No, they don’t know what a sacrament is.
But surely how we act is more vital
I don’t know, it’s so long since I was  in the cemetery
Do you mean the cement factory?
Why would I mean that?
Don’t ask me,I’m just a   human being
I mean the seminary, of course.I remember now.
Do you know the seven deadly sins?
Not biblically
They are in the Bible… murder.envy, hatred
Yes, I was joking.I am celibate officially.
But what are you really?
I am asexual.
Do you have no desire?
I love people but I have no need to go to bed with them
No, we do it on the floor at home
Are you married?
Yes,definitely.She is a red head.
I thought you might say Red Indian
We  have very few living in Stoke on Trent.
Where is that?
On the river Trent.
But that goes through Nottingham
So?
I thought Stoke was West of the Pennines
Yes, the Trent flows up one side and down the other.
That is a lie
Thank you.
Since my last Confession I have lied twice
What was the other lie?
I am not a Catholic
So why come here?
I am lonely and it’s bad for me so I thought Saturday night Catholics go to Confession
It’s not exactly fun.Why not go to the pub and pick up a woman?
Are you really a priest?
No,I was feeling lonely too
What  a pity we are not bisexual
Well, we could learn
I thought it was genetic?
Do you mean generic
I don’t know.You mean like,buy paracetamol not panadol.
Genetic is totally different.
Am I a generic human or a  dressed up, artificial  and stunning person?
Why artificial?
I can’t act natural.
Try!
But if I try it’s not natural.
Was that my penance listening to you?
It could have been.Say a little prayer for me as well
So you do  believe?
Why not? It’s better than dying of meaninglessness
You so seem very clever
How kind.
I’ll see you next week.

Odd events 2019

 

 

I went into the bedroom and bent down to pick up a black cardigan
But it was a cat. I’ve never seen one run so fast.Why won’t the cat stay?

Never have the media  been so full of distortion and lies

One of my neighbours said Corbyn was going to pass a law so he could take al lour savings
Some of us have no Savings and  some of  us are homeless

The rich no longer have   to believe Jesus’s teachings  about helping others.
There is no hell, thank you God.
Many people live in hell now in the Middle East
Ironic

I did not listen to Leonard Cohen every day

I was asked if I am a  “foreigner”
I recall as a  child the people in the next town were called foreigners.
I suppose I am a foreigner to many

I was asked which European country I am from
They say I can’t be English.I am too warm
In this chilly weather I wish I was warm

I told a few people on the bus that some of BJ’s family were immigrants from Turkey.
He’s the only Turkish person I do not   like

I thought it was Sunday all last week
Why change? Sunday can be every day if we plan it

Could time itself ,this dagger, be reversed

Living in a clockwork Universe
Before we knew the truth  of  random acts
Circles ignored squares , was that perverse?

Clockwork,  logic  Aristotle, terse
This what we thought to be the facts
Living in a clockwork Universe

Yet  could ellipses, circles   us desert
If all seems square  then something has been blocked
Circles married squares , was that perverse?

Could time itself ,this dagger,  be reversed
In stochastic nature, particles might flirt
 There never was a clockwork Universe

Scientists   have imaginations rash
Revolutions happen with a smirk
Circles marry squares ,  are you averse?

Alas no-one can read their latest tracts
The language is  absurd like  poets’ works
Living in a clockwork Universe~
Circles ignored squares , we thought  that crass

And then  your face by  smiling was enhanced

I saw you struggling with your walking frame
Guessed that you must suffer too much pain
I smiled because you caught my sidewards glance
Then  your face too by  smiling was enhanced

So  often older people are ignored
Lost and lonely hidden at the core
Once this man  fought in a  major war
I hope by some fine friend he was  restored

I saw him disappearing  down the  road
His posture more erect,  his back less bowed
And in my heart I felt the smiling too
 Enchanted by the essence , by the cue.

I got on a bus,  ignored my phone,
Smiling   still I  pushed the door key home

The diet of worms [Strong language]

tresco_2019-2

They’re hunting snails
In New South Wales
They’re hunting bees,
And shooting trees.
They’re hanging worms
For lengthy terms
They’re on a diet
And don’t we know it.

The diet of worms shall be our fare
And on the bible. we shall swear.
We’ll swear our oath
We are not loth
We’ll strangle frogs
They’ll die in bogs.

We’ll always use four letter words
And they shall be our hunting swords.
We’ll kill the good
We’ll burn the wood.
We’ll shout out,fuck.
We’ll burn the book

We’ll let no thin skinned people live.
We’ll always take and never give!
We’ll use our charms
To quell alarms.
We’ll rape the girls
Cut off their curls.

For as we’re human, so we’re mad.
We kill the good and love the bad.
We saw the babe in Bethlehem
We saw him die between two men.
We did not run to cut him down
We said,Oh,fuck,another clown.
For he spoke love
And said to give.
For he spoke peace;
Let joy increase

For like most human,we are crazed
We see it a we’re not amazed.
No sunset red
No welcome bed
No golden dawn
No welcome morn
No loving arms
No sacred charms
No newborn king
No tune to sing

Oh,we are damned
We are broke
We built Auschwitz
Saw the smoke.
And now it’s built again,again
Drops the bomb
In Bethlehem.
And on our knees, we women crawl
To bury babies born too small.
To take the swords from these mens’ hands
And bury them in desert sands.
To pick up scraps of humanness
To hold up hands for God to bless.
We did it wrong,we did it ba d
We never thought, so now we’re mad