I once had an email from a ghost.
I was eating a piece of white toast.
The message was clear.
It said,”I am not here”.
So I replied, “No need to boast.”

Sometimes lost spirits like to joke.
Or they want to give their old friends a poke.
I leave them some food,
So they will not brood.
Then I see them float past my old oak.

Have you ever seen the Spirit of love?
I see it in the eyes of my dove.
The dove is serene,
As it eats a Mars Bar ice cream,
As its mate circles mountains above.

I feel distinctly unwell
I am delirious,dear Dr Fell.
I flapped round all night
To the budgies delight.
And my glands are all starting to swell.

Do you find doctors are different these days?
They are more like technicians in their ways
They think we’re just lots of parts,
Without feeling hearts.
They don’t seem to hear what we say.

Our Father,dwelling in Heaven,

Helloed and helloed be Thy Name.

In Kingdom come, may Your Will be done

As it was not at 9/11.

Give us this day,no more Dread.

Forgive us our Christmases,

As we forgive those who Christmas with us.

And lead us not into Devastation

But deliver us great acceptance and kindness

For Thine is the Wisdom,the Love and the Spirit,

As ever was, and shall be.Amen

When I went to art class I read a few books/One of the best had sections written by working artists…
The most useful tip was one used a glasses case to carry pencils in.
Since then I have used those double sizes pencil cases are receptacle for all sorts of things.
You can get all sorts and sized of cases.i got a large one with black and gold outer which can be used as a clutch bag and a soft one with a fastening that clicks.that’s good for carrying medication around should you need that
Maybe one day I will draw again…it’s nicer with a oenci,

I keep my rings in a Bell.

I keep my pearls in the oyster.

I keep my cup in a cupcake.

I keep my briefs in a brief case.

I keep my jeans in a the Aegean sea.

I keep my bras in a brasserie.

I keep my tops in a top hat.

I keep my coats in a coterie.

I keep my vests in the bank vaults.

I keep my slips in a file.

I keep my mind in an alert.

I keep my thoughts in my guts.

I keep my guts in a postbox.

I keep my posts in my blog.

It’s a bit gutteral now.

I keep my books in a suitcase,

and my suits in the bookcase.

I keep skirting round the main issue.

I caught a cold— A tissue!

m

I drink acids to test myself.

Corn’s not much use to a bee.

Reactions speak louder than birds.

When my own heart was sore I soothed it with thoughts of yours.

Ah, to be hung with jewels.

She’s wearing dirty laundry again.

It’s all spent,my purse gapes.

All debts are rough.

All lit up and nowhere to glow.

She’s all fears..

A ball for a scone, and a groan in the Mall.

All brands on speck.

He was,like,all hands to the rump.

All shall break loose.

It’ll fall on the way to the kirk

I get low in blue times

My route was all over the map.

All the men wailed in unison.

All talk and no inspection

All that glitters is usually sold.

Did you hear all that jazz?

Do you fear the power he has?

Call the nits in my fleeces.

It’s all bums for a test.

Did mother wear a vest?

Lots of work and low pay, makes Jack a Union boy.

All’s fair in love from afar.

He has a rum sort of nest.

He’s taken all the wines to test.

My resolutions went West.

I’ve got my brain packed in a witcase.

Life and love
The brightness of late summer light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take in these earthly pleasures,
And so to fill my mind with treasures.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who are fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes

Life is tragic comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Though if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we’ll be bereaved.
b

I saw you on the pavement
with your old brown dog
You were shabby,poor,ragged,
Sat on your tartan rug.
You had water for the dog,
You hugged him and you sang,
But the people walked on by,
And no-one looked at you.
No-one looked at you.

But you still sang your song.
And you sent me so much love
It crossed from eye to eye.
I felt it coming in.
I heard that you had died,
Though you were only thirty three.
Only thirty three.

I wonder,where’s your dog?

I felt our souls had touched,
You gave to me so much
As I wandered in my grief
Through the roads and round the streets.
In your glance, you touched my heart.
I felt love swimming through,
From you right into me.

Will you come again?
I see all these dim, grey men
Who cut your benefits
To give more wealth to few;
So that the needle’s eye,
which is waiting when we die,
is forgotten, for they want
protection for their wealth.

I wish that beggar man
would come back here again.
I liked to hear his songs
But I can’t recall the tunes;
Maybe I’ll write songs myself,
That’s the highest sort of wealth
Our creativity
Is a path to dignity.

Come back every one!
I wish you had not gone.
come back in my dreams
and give me some new themes.
I’m singing like you sung.
it’s this world that’s so wrong.
come back beggar man,
I kne

My diary page 1

Saturday September 15th 2012
I was just reading an American blogger asking people to say why they blog.

What made them begin and what did they get out of it.The interesting thing for me was that several said they’d tried to keep a written journal but did better with a blog..I wonder why that is..?

On an open blog telling the whole world your most private life which is a journal of the traditional type could be a bit dodgy.One person had been attacked and followed for a year…by some crazy loon person..That’s the problem..people can seem pleasant and friendly on a blog but you only have their word for who they are in the real world.

And of course we all change as time goes by and as we interact.One might become without knowing it. a different person.That could be good.Still for my secret life I’ll stick to my five year diary and use a code.Remember making up codes as a kid?

What fun…well,make up your own code now.
As an ex mathematician codes intrigues me.Are you watching “Bletchley”?

Should I post my illicit doings,my sinful activities,my nasty ways?
A photo of myself in a silk nightdress turned by Photoshop into a picture of a large hedgehog in its underwear?

Or me topless, with Fermat’s last theorem tattooed on my bosom and a large veil over my face See how the cookie crumbles and how the mice run…..keep them off me…..I’m not even Royal.
Meanwhile I have something to write in the margin…I think I have solved Gauss’s conjecture…he liked to write in the margins of books.Writing in the margin is something you can’t do when you keep your diary in a weblog like this..unless I could make it into an image and use Paint or Photoshop..It’s much easier with a pencil…

So that’s a new problem….. can we have a margin on the side of our page here?Think about it.. let me know…is it possible?
Without a margin life is not worth living..
Well,must ewbank the hall and hang out the washing…bye for now

..

At the end of the day,

it all boils down to

what happens in that moment in time

in that split second.

I offer you my words of wisdom,

Don’t delay… you don’t want to be

A moment too soon or too late.

We must listen to our hearts

To find out our gut feelings,

Trust your instincts

And remember,it’s never too early or late,

Or exactly the right moment,

To start saving for a pension.

At the end of the day,

I hope you made your bed

The way you wanted to lie in it..

Though usually,love needs truth

And lying is an art

unlike survival and love;

Though love is not all you need

but love helps us roll along

gathering a little moss.

Ask not for whom the bell tolls,

It tolls for thee,

and me too.

But when we sum it all up

We can say,with hand on heart..

we were just following orders

Then the grieving will start.

The butterfly is like a flower
which moves its station every hour.
Oh,happy is he on the wing.
The vision makes me quick to sing.
The flower is open in the sun,
And to its heart, true love shall come.
The bees shall feast and fly replete
With nectar they are now full sweet.
I sing of colour and of love,
Blessings that rain down from above.
I wish to be a flower too.
Ah,that the bee could but be you.

Our Father,Stars in Heaven,
Spell out thy Great Name.
Thy wisdom comes,
And Angels’ sums
Add up our human pain.
Thy love is felt,
Though we live in doubt
About the human game.
Give us delay
On bankers pay;
And forgive us our lackluster efforts,
As we forgive those who lack humanity with us;
And guide us into a Demonstration
To make plain to the Nation
The evil done to the Poor,
The Disabled,the Mentally Ill,
And their Carers.
For Thine is the Trial
At the Hour of the Bible Story
We hope,but are nervous.Amen

Odysseus travels across the nuclear seas
In his madness.Where are you dear stranger?
I lost you to a computer,now I weave my web
To tempt you home.Eastern zones where people scream
In silence are not the place for your journey.
Oh,timeless zone of wanderers,send him back.
I love this green eyed stranger,this star angel
From above.He shone like a crackling nuclear reactor
As we walked along the edge of the world,
Where the seven seas roar endlessly.
Are you Hamlet’s ghost?
Could Shakespeare write your tragic story?
We have no stature now,leaning into the laptops,
Talking into the air,like people trapped in hidden glass three dimensional ellipses
We stare out,unseeing.We listen but hear nothing.
Where are you,my stranger.The sea boils in anguish.
I wait for you,the unseen,the unknown stranger.
by

The cat was always looking away,
though I called his name many times.
He was caught by some vision
Real or imagined
In the distant grey green fields
across which a tractor moved slowly,
He was looking away,but he could see my reflection
in the glass
amidst the smears of life
And he always knew
That I was smiling.
Like now.

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

For friends who read the private post,I think this is relevant.For certain people, the Crucifixion would have been simply a time when they had to supply the strong enough nails… that was their job and they did it,not for them to query the decision of Pontius Pilate.In those days tragically crucifixion was a common event in the Roman Empire.. think of the two thieves….imagine now if stealing carried such a sentence.
Their suffering and thousands of others at the hands of the Romans,in the circus etc is not often thought about now.Not to mention the terrible destruction of the Temple and the wiping out of so many of the Jews… as bad as the Holocaust.

After summer’s sultry flowers,
We get autumn showers.

Winds that blow.
Leaves that glow.
Nature’s wealth is ours.

Harvest grain and harvest corn.
All our food from earth is born.

Warmth of sun-
Ripeness come-
Fruits and nuts adorn.

Trees are turning red and gold
In the glancing sun.

Leaning down I see your face.
Autumn love has come.

Wisdom is knowing what to do next; virtue is doing it. ~David Star Jordan, The Philosophy of Despair

There’s big controversy on the Jewish view of when life begins. In Jewish tradition, the fetus is not considered viable until after it graduates from medical school.

I have a piece of apple wood
I have my whittling knife.
I want to make a gift for you,
The best gift of your life.

Apple wood is sweet and sound
The tree grew here by me.
I chose the best part I could find
For the virtue of the tree.

Apple wood is a rare gift
We must make something whole,
For if you touch my apple wood
You can feel its soul.

The sweetness of the fruit of love
Is there within the wood.
So all who touch the apple here
Will be moved to good.

What knowledge did the tree conceal
That Eden was destroyed?
Was this a good metaphor?
Should it have been employed?

Sweet apples fall at random now
As autumn time has come.
And many Newton’s, all unknown,
Shall learn from every one

Einstein was struck by lightning in a very unreal sense.

Bach did it the long way.He earned it.

Brahms kindly wrote his own Requiem but did he make a Will?

Elgar made concerted efforts to reach Nirvana….drugs r not us.

Vaughn Williams conducted himself with great dignity right to the end

Wagner blew up and burst like a balloon full of nothingness pricked by a thorn

Shakespeare Ode Nothing.We owe him.

The e

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I expect you are awaiting the sight of my handwriting..obviously it will take longer than doing it here as I’ll have to copy a good version out…assuming i can write without a computer…it uses a different side of the brain I think.
So,I’ll be back or I’ll post more flower photos.

Einstein flew away on a sunbeam.

Heisenberg hesitated too long.

Schrodinger got cat fever.

Gauss was terminated.

Newton kept sucking his pencil.

Hooke was outlawed.

Riemann was only human after all.

Cats bite OK?

http://bigthink.com/marriage-30/some-things-that-are-supposed-to-make-us-happy-but-dont-and-vice-versa?page=all

Flowers do it always for me.
And a butterfly sweet. or a bee.
A fresh slice of bread…
And an old book well read..
And when I open the door with my key

Picasso: Got gored by a bull.

Monet:went dotty and fell into a deep bed of poppies.

Cezanne:Ate the Big Apple.

Henry Moore:Got trapped in the Underground.

Michaelangelo:Fell of his ladder.

Manet:got confused with Monet and fell of his chair.

Kierkegaard:Trembled too much.

Bertrand Russell:Got stuck in a layer cake.

Pascal:His heart had too many reasons.

Descartes:He stopped thinking one day.

Plato:The cave entrance got blocked by spammers.

Socrates:He tried to dial Ogg thrice and the phone box caved in.

Wittgenstein:Became too late for his own good

Tomatoes ripen on the stem;
Apples hang down low.
Summer riches now and then.
From seeds that once I sowed.

Plant your seeds with care and grace.
Nurture them with love.
Put them in where you have space,
As rain falls from above.

Slowly, and in their own right time,
They will manifest
The form with which they were endowed.
Richness comes at last.

Time for sowing,time for birth
Time for love of life.
Time to scatter seeds abroad.
Time

My life as an amused person
As I muse about this life

I think I need to get a wife.

I’d like someone to exchange love

and help me when I lose my glove!

Why not get a man as well?

Thus as a threesome we can dwell.

The more the merrier is my thought.

Just as long as we’re not caught.

Is it illegal to share love?

Well …..ask the Trinity above!

A story for cat lovers :Emile goes for a bike ride

Stan had just got back to his lovely bright home from a ride on his old mountain bike.Emile had travailed in his special cat seat/basket just in front of Stan as he liked to see the road less traveled should it appear..and he liked purr to encourage Stanto ride further.

When Stan got home to his luxuriously detached yet bijou dwelling he went to the wonderfully disappointing cloakroom to wash his paws before putting the kettle on for some tea.
Ah,how peaceful it is here,he thought…,how nice Mary is still at work.
Suddenly and alarmingly, the door bell rang.There,on the flower bedecked porch,stood a large, beautiful curly haired woman holding Emile in her pretty freckled arms
I believe this is your cat,she said boldly.So he tells me.Why, he even knows the address.
Well,if he’s anyone’s he’s mine,Stan admitted uneasily.
What has he done now?
Did you not notice he jumped out of his basket?she asked enquiringly.
Well,no,Stan answered furtively..
I was getting a bit tired and keen to get home…I forgot my water,
Well,I hope you won’t let him do it again,he could end up absconding,
By the way,I’m called Yvette.
Are you Yvette Cooper,the MP,he enquired wildly.
No, she said,I’m Yvette Hooper,the swan lover.
Do come in for a cup of tea,he said caringly.
I don’t mind if I do,she said,then I can be sure your cat is alright.
Tell me,Stan said,Do you live with a swan?
No,she said,though I do have an old Swan saucepan.
A saucepan is not much company,Stan responded.
Well,at least it never shouts at me!Yvette said quickly.
Have you suffered verbal abuse? Stan said in a kind and supportive voice.
I have yes.We had a mutual agreement that I could be handcuffed and verbally amused for 3 hours a week.you see we’d read this book,”Fifty shades of grey.”It’s all about human bondage
But my boyfriend thought it was verbal abuse I wanted..As I was upside down I couldn’t tell him of his error.After that things were never the same.
Why did you have the handcuffs?asked Stan calmly.
We were given them for Xmas,she whispered.
Also a whip and some rubber gloves.
Why the rubber gloves?
For washing up of course!
But after being whipped would you feel like washing up?
I don’t know.We split up before we even tried the whip… to be honest,I didn’t want to use it.
Alright, my dear.I understand it all.
Here you are.. drink a nice cup of tea and try these biscuits I made myself they are almond biscuits from my Penguin Jewish cookery book.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm,delicious,she cried.Are you Jewish,Stan?
No,but why should they have all the best recipes?
A good point… maybe because they had almost the first alphabet so began to write them down before anyone else could.
Not to mention they invented monogamy,a great religion,Freud,Wittgenstein,Einstein,rhinestone
.Give them an accolade. I mean,Jesus Christ!
What more do they have to do to be rewarded?
Ascend into heaven?
Make more cheesecakes?
I wonder,said Stan pondering slowly

The back door opened and in ran Anne,Stan’s mistress.
She was dressed in soft teal with toning turquoise trainers and she wore a light beige foundation with bright coral lipstick making a subtle contrast… all by Lamcom of China.
Oh,Anne,have some tea.This is Yvette,she very kindly rescued Emile after he jumped off my bike.
Don’t tell me he can ride a bike,Anne screamed,showing off a good set of teeth and a long red tongue.
No,I was riding it.Stan told her sensibly.
Hello Yvette,Anne said,where do you live?
I live on the top road by the wood.Yvette answered politely, her auburn hair standing up in a mass off curls as she spoke,showing off to good effect her light orange lipstick and burnt sienna eye shadow…in fact it was color from her art materials..
Have you been there long?Anne enquired politely and warmly.
No,only a few weeks..we don’t know anyone..
So you are married?
Yes,my husband is in the Police Service… he cleans policemen for special occasions.
I didn’t know anyone did that.Can’t they clean themselves?
A self cleaning policeman…or how about putting coat of Teflon on them so they can be wiped with a wet cloth?
It’s up to him,said Yvette.I am a lecturer at Pond’s End Polytechnic.I teach philosophy..
In a poly?
Yes,I have a D.Phil from Oxgridge in the philosophy of science with particular reference to Dirac’s remarks on Wittgensteim.
Do they study such remarks in a poly?
All the students do Philosophy of Science…it’s compulsory.
Stan said,I wish they all did Peace Studies too…
I know,said Yvette kindly..If only we could bring peace but we are descended from the most aggressive primates… why many of them were sado-masochists.Well some were sadists and the rest were masochists I gather.The ones who weren’t died out as they never mated..
Well,I’m not a sadist,said Stan,or at least only to myself!
Do you beat yourself up,the ladies asked.
Just in my mind,he answered judiciously.So do I thought Yvette.
Let’s have some more tea,called Anne from the hall,I’ll make it.
Anne is my mistress,Stan boasted humbly……
There was little point trying to seduce Yvette now Anne had met her and vice versa.
Yvette was intrigued.That is rare ,for such an old man to have a mistress.
Is a wife not sufficient for you?
A wife is necessary but not sufficient,Stan teased her.
Well,my husband has no mistress, she said unknowingly,
but I have several boyfriends.
How do you get the time?
I have a rota,she chuckled happily.
You seem an intriguing lady.May I have your email address,mobile number and your landline?
Your height and weight too..clothes size and shoes too.
Yes,it’s
yvette999@hotmail.com
or diracisme@qmail.com
My phone number is Oh,oh,6666666666666.7777777777777777………………..
That’s irrational,he informed her knowingly.
Have you got an i Pad,she then asked boldly.
No,I’ve not even got a Kindle..do you recommend them.Maybe you could come to ComputersRus with me on Saturday.
No, she said,I’m Jewish.
Are Jews not permitted to visit Computer shops..Some religious edict,is it? he said inquisitively.
It’s the Sabbath,you dimwit,she responded.We don’t shop on the Sabbathbut don’t worry I’ll come on Monday with you..you are a charming man.I need as many as I can get.
Why are you deficient in some way?Stan whispered.
No,I’m very proficient and mildly conceited,she admitted modestly.
And I like a good kisser.Are you a good kisser?
Well,maybe you could give me a test,he said manfully,
and if need be you can give me some lessons followed by a total Examination to see if I satisfy you.
Just then Anne came in with fresh tea..
Emile mewed loudly.
What is it.Emile ? Stan asked.
I am jealous because we cats can’t kiss.
Well kissing is neither necessary nor sufficient in the art of love.Rolling about together in some soil is also very nice..
I hope you don’t expect your wife to roll about in soil,said Yvette
questioningly..
Well,i can ask her,Stan said,but her main interest is topology and knitting.She is often very cold in bed…
Can’t you warm her into life;Or buy an electric blanket?
No,she’s hopeless because of a type of Asperger’s syndrome but I love her anyway.
Have you tried a new technique like whipping each other or tying yourself to the bedposts.You can buy handcuffs now in Boots,I hear.
Why some doctors prescribe them on the NHS nowadays
I thought Love was enough, Stan answered
It seems in the UK people are into whips and handcuffs…
Well,count me out,said Stan,I’m more into a careful yet tender study of the skin from the toes right up to to head,followed by gazing into her eyes for ten minutes.
Why ten minutes?asked Yvette.
I can’t wait any longer…
Well,you’ll have to practise..she said coyly.
I can practise with him,said Anne virtuously.
Yes,the more the better…he’s getting older so he can’t wait.
He needs satisfaction as son as possible.
The door bell rang,It was handsome Dave the paramedic.
Hi,he said,I was worried as you’ve not called 999 today.I brought a leash and some whips.
I’m Yvette,the woman said.
I’m bisexual,he told her.
That’s a strange name.
Never mind that,give me your email address and phone number
It’s ywoman@love4all.com,she said

or 09964321.3333333333333333333…..
If you’d like a non rational phone number email me at
hotcats@hell.com

Re

Enlightened by her nose he kissed her on the toes.

We’ll be all right up this alley.

Bring a bell when you come for tea.

She rang my bell alright…I collapsed into a daymare.

A rising tide gets down my nose.

Is this the road less gravelled?

Is this the road were I grovelled?

I see this toad needs a hovel.

I hear the growling of the mice.

We roll in the red tarmac.

Rolling through the dough makes the car rise up and get battered.

Too many books give my husband wrath.

Too many spooks make my husband laugh.

Too many looks make my husband do maths.

Too many hooks make anyone hurt.

Math and Alcohol don’t mix, so… PLEASE DON’T DRINK AND DERIVE

An infinite crowd of mathematicians enters a bar.
The first one orders a pint, the second one a half pint, the third one a quarter pint…
“I understand”, says the bartender – and pours two pints

Here is an interesting website

Is success earning money,becoming a good person,surviving…being happy…what?
But I beieve the idea that you become what you think about most..
so I have stopped thinking and just feel instead.
May you feel well,feel hope,feel at home on this earth.
Feel friendly,feel accepted,feel we are all part of the same whole.

Oh,dear,Blessings on Saturday!Still it is the Sabbath…

Do you ever have a sense
That there’s someone you’d like to meet?
not a friend or a lover
No,someone you sense…
Inside or out…
Like your breathing..
That’s who you want to meet
When you rest or sleep?
Maybe it’s the self
That grow your mind and body
From a few cells..
The intelligent feeling…
Design.
Do you ever have a feeling
That someone wants to speak to you,
But not in words?
Do you ever feel someone wants to hold you
But not in their arms?
Yes,they want to hold you,help you breathe.
Do you ever have a sense
There’s more than we see through our eyes?
Yes,do you have any sense?
Do we have any sense?
Sensing like a child walking through a fog
The way home……
Home,is where we come from
And where we go to.
Do you ever have a sensation
Like hearing the laughter of children in a field of daisies?
Like there’s mirth here and joy.
And we can play….
With the senses

A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at him.
David Brinkley
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Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbor Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerized hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsbury’s.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencer’s.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and
discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own cat
though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?

–
The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.

Michel de Montaigne (1533 – 1592)

The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.
Eric Hoffer

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/sources.html#FcB0I3hGiehKceaU.99

Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We
do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence,
but rather we have those because we have acted rightly.
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an
act but a habit.

Aristotle

Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone: it has to be made,
like bread, remade all the time, made new

On Monday morning Stan had to go to the shops in the centre of town to buy some special easy threading needles for his visually-other wife Mary.Somehow,most puzzlingly,she had lost all of the eight packs he had bought for her in the last year.He had suggested letting his mistress next door do the hemming and stitching.But Mary was determined even though sometimes she took 14 minutes just to thread a needle.But she was very patient.One might almost say she was saintly but he did not want her to get conceited so he kept his thoughts to himself.
Now what will I wear.Stan thought over-anxiously.
He had OCD now and then.
People no longer dress up to go down town instead they dress down to go up to the town,in a very real sense.
The art of living is to choose the most simple solution to any problem and Stan recalled he only had some navy trousers,some white and a few colored shirts and one light teal colored jacket.
He chose a coral colored shirt and looked in the mirror..
I look wonderful, he thought very humbly.
Why has God kept me so youthful?
Surely not so I can seduce more women?
We know God may be merciful to scissors,or is it sinners?
Well,let’s just say God can be merciful but for some reason,we never know till it’s too late whether it’s to us.
More haste,less speed,he conjectured.
Or is it, More paste,guests feed?
He stood in the hall combing his hair with a tortoiseshell comb and brushing it with a large nail brush
He looked again at his image.
His amber eyes glowed like neon lights on the main road to Knittingham in winter.
His dark hair looked very full for his age.
His teal jacket had been well pressed by the dry cleaner,
Jacob Weissmann.
And his coral shirt was new as Mary had been out buying him more clothes lately.She had grown tired of seeing him in one solid color,especially grey or brown.
His navy trousers were a bit old but quite alright for Knittingham.
As he gazed into the mirror he began to feel odd.Then he saw Emile
who was standing on the chest of drawers behind him performing a dance.. solo!
Why are you dancing,Emile? Stan asked politely.
I am amused by seeing you gazing into the mirror for so long,
If you don’t hurry it will be lunchtime before you get to the Needle Shop.
Alright,growled Stan hoarsely.
At least I don’t wear make up!
Now there’s a thought…maybe I’d look better…what shade of foundation would suit me?Would I need lip balm and perfume?
Hurry up,said Emile unkindly.
More taste less greed.
What does that mean?asked Stan.
If you taste the food and eat slowly you will enjoy it more and thus need less.
Very clever,Emile.Shall I buy you some cough sweets in the pet shop.
No,I want some codeine linctus,Emile answered.
I want to go high,high.
I want to reach the sky.
what will I do when my love is away
Will I be happy on my own?
Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song
I’ll try not to sing out of tune!My God,Emile.Whatever has happened to you?
I blame the old chalk and opium medicine someone spilled on my breakfast.
Well,go and lie down but drink some milk first.At last Stan got out…it had taken him two hours to get ready
At the bus stop there stood Anne their neighbor.
Hi,Stan,where are you going.
I’m buying sewing needles for Mary.
I can lend her some,she shrieked.
Well,she has to use special ones nowadays.
Oh,so she does.I forget as she looks normal but is in fact suffering constant trouble since her Vitreous-vasectomy.. or was it hysterectomy or vivacity?.
Well,never mind.You know she’s not normal.
Who is normal?
Let’s just assume we will recognize it when we see it,he whispered warningly.
This bus is very late.I wish there was a proper seat here..my knees hurt.
I hate this plastic seat.Why has the wooden one gone?
Apparently the council are afraid of homeless people sleeping on them.
Well,everybody is at risk of homelessness with this economic crisis,
Anne shouted in a fury.
No,beggars can’t be losers,he responded.
Very true,she replied,
As they have nothing so they can’t lose it.The more you have,the more you fear losing it.
This bus is very,very late,I wish I had a horse or is it an horse?
A goat would be o.k.Speed bonny goat like a word someone flung..
Over the page to Fly.Anne burst out laughing so her face was as red as her coat from Artigiano.Her blue tights were a perfect contrast and also matched her lipstick.
At last the bus came.They got on board and the driver called out,
You both look very merry!
Too many looks create more wrath,Stan replied warningly.
Well, why dress up if you want no attention.the driver gloated.
Hello,darling, he said to Anne,Are you free tonight,babe?
Why? she murmured,I have two tickets for the Rolling Stones and no woman to take! he replied boastfully.
Now,if it were the Rolling Bones,I might be interested.
Your wish is my command he muttered,
I have my smart phone here,I’ll see what’s one elsewhere.
He kept trying but the virtual keyboard was playing up again.
Eventually the passengers got annoyed and asked him to start the bus.
As I’m half an hour late,I should be coming back now so I’ll do a U turn and go back to the terminus.
But we want to go into town,every one howled.
There’s many a blue word spoken as a jest,sang the driver.
Stan said,Please open the door,we shall dismount here.
Crikey,you don’t half talk posh,said the ,driver.
He leaned over and gave Anne a French kiss.
Now look here,Stan said,leave her alone.She’s my mistress.
Cor blimey said the driver,who are you,King Henry the Eighth?
I say,Stan,I can see Mary.It must be tea time.
Stan ran into the house and put the kettle on..then he made a pot of tea.Hello! said Mary.
Did you get my needles,Stan?
I’m so sorry,Mary.I’ve had such a busy day,I never got into the town.
And where is my supper.
I’m afraid it’s still in the womb of time!
I see,it’s chick pea dahl and brown rice again or egg on toast.
But I’m not complaining.Keeping house is a big job.I know it only to well.
So they sat with Anne and Emile,who even had his own cup and saucer now.They were weary and soon ,despite the tea, they were all fast asleep.

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Living life in all its fierceness,
Birth and death and joy and pain
We struggle on our unknown journey,
Sometimes lost and found again.

We are indeed like lambs to slaughter
Death will be our final goal.
But while we live,let us live bravely.
Let us not destroy our souls.

Climbing in the hills and moorlands
In the heather, children play.
The sun half blinds me with its light
Yet still I see the given way.

I received a call to climb.
These hills are my essential home.
My vocation is to dwell here
While in the silence,mind may roam.

Noise in cities is destructive.
Though nature’s fierce,it’s also true.
Struggling on life’s craggy slopes
I offer up my words to you.

Crop a line into an infinity of dots…it takes forever and a way.

I dropped the bucket.What lucket!

Supper was benign.

Whopping like flies on amphetamines.Have they got HDHD?

I try drown my sorrows but they can swim too fast.

I was as drunk as a Monk after a day of lasting abstinence.

Fly with a Crone.
.
Good luck soup… boil a horse shoe in water with an onion and some cloves,then liquidise it

Wuck!

Plumb in a fox… it will wash you with its tail.

It would come in the post if it was delayed.

Numb as am iceberg’s stump.

Dumber than a clump of shagged out spammers.

More numerals than a box of clocks.

Shall we go to the cru

Such a feat.

A witch’s treat.

Twitchy feet.

A bitch in the heat…

and wild in the cold.

Put my clox back now!

Insanely flung by chance into a brothel she worked her way out with a book,The Joy of Cookery.It was heavy enough to break the thickest windows.

I wonder why windows don’t have brakes for hot weathe

Sieve your breath for health.

Pray for whom you bill.

Today for your prayers read your Palms.

Scared of the cows in a meadow?Then take the bull by the horns.He’ll show you the ropes.

I am wiping the bottom of the barrel..I can’t sink much lower.

Reason’s freezing

A record busting wind blew as the herd wound slowly over me.where’s the coward?

I see I’m I to me and thou to thee.If we just had one pronoun how .easy life would be…

When a baby can see itself as me as well as I,it’s already moved out of its self centred viewing point and can see from another perspective…without going to school.

The Wild Swans at Coole

Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming

William Butler Yeats (1919)

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

We seldom realize, for example that our most private thoughts and emotions are not actually our own. For we think in terms of languages and images which we did not invent, but which were given to us by our soc