Category: Thinkings and poems

I talk about the weather like a fool

When I cannot tell you how I feel
When I want to see you ,not  to speak,
I talk about the weather like a  fool

Sometimes when I’m tired I feel unreal
Or life seems lost and  meaning seems to leak
Then I  can not  tell you how I feel.

Some months have their winds to make misrule
Others  throttle  throats and freeze the cheeks
I talk about the weather ,as its cool.

We must keep moving or our blood congeals
So sheep must  on moorland  frosty, bleak
I don’t want to  lie for  life is real

When winter mocks our age I find it cruel
Yet you are old and for amusement look
I talk about  the sunshine like a  fool

Oh,happy   snowfalls keeping us from school
As on the ice we tumbled with loud shrieks
When I  cannor   tell you how I feel
The weather  stands for  what  I   have concealed

The underpinnings now are foundering

He is dead,I am not self deceived.
He smiled,I smiled, and then  he closed his eyes
There’s the coffin with its boundaries

How does death affect the ones bereaved?
Some despair  some speak in fatal lies
He is dead,I am not self deceived.

My underpinnings now are foundering
I cannot help myself ,though I will try
There’s the coffin with its boundaries

He’s gone,he’s gone and cannot be retrieved.
I knew I had to  watch him on his way
He is dead, I will not sense deceive.

What is my world when he is not perceived?
I will  lose my voice unless I pray
The wooden coffin brings me to my knees

To God’s own grace, I open to receive
He’s the green force underneath  our play
My lover’s dead, I will not sense deceive.

Tomorrow and tomorrow I shall pay
As in the enriched ground his form will lie
He is dead,I am not self deceived.
Here’s  his coffin with  closed boundaries

What will be a flower,what a mere weed?

Unshed tears will make our innards bleed
The agony disguised  will find its way,
Destroy our life and kill the growing seed

On this topic many’ ve disagreed
Stiff upper lips and  eyes that look like prey
The unshed tears will make  their innards bleed

We must surely ask for what we need
Not tomorrow, we must act today
Protect our life and all  its growing seeds

What will be a flower,what a mere weed?
We must use our wisdom to convey
The unshed tears  that make our innards bleed

Only our own soul knows all our needs
And once we seek, we must not  more delay
Employ our life and help the growing seed

Seek the owl and not the donkey’s bray
What it tells you none but you can say
For unshed tears will make our innards bleed
Destroy our life and kill the growing seed

No remedy exists for hidden grief

No remedy exists for hidden grief
A blank face and a voice that does not speak
Expression  is the route to our relief

The caterpillar gnaws the new green leaf
And actions are the place where meaning leaks
No remedy exists for hidden grief

Emotions are all clouded and bereft
We look around and all the world seems bleak
Expression  is the pathway to relief

Song or dance or paint or words can leave
A form wherein our agony is Greek
No remedy exists for hidden grief

We trust the dark,continue to believe
Though all we hear at first are our own shrieks
Expression  is the way to  true relief.

The heart and soul   are patient and are meek.
For the unknown God,  they darkness seek
No remedy exists for hidden grief
Expression   gives us comfort and relief

Quotations for the bereaved

 

 

flowers on monday 16th January 2012 - Glimpses between the cracks:Alice's Looking Glasshttp://www.amemorytree.co.nz/message_library.php

 

  • Tears water our growth. – Shakespeare
  • There are times when there are too few words left to heal us, when what we wish for is to be carried, when all we have left is the hope that tomorrow will be a more gentle place to land than today.
  • If you’re going through hell, keep going. – Churchill
  • Courage is being afraid but going on anyhow. – Dan Rather
  • You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the future. – Jan Glidewell
  • Grief and sadness knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can and common sufferings are far stronger than common joys. – Alphonse de Lamartine
  • Tearless grief bleeds inwardly. – Christian Bovee
  • There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  • He that conceals his grief finds no remedy for it. – Turkish Proverb
  • Tears are the silent language of grief. – Voltaire
  • Grief makes one hour ten. – Shakespeare
  • Bereavement unravels like a piece of cloth, the fabric of your life over time you will be able to reweave your piece of cloth, but the cloth will have a new pattern. – Unknown
  • Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.  – Irish Headstone
  • Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.  – Shakespeare
  • Man, when he does not grieve, hardly exists – Antonio Porchia
  • Sorrow makes us all children again – destroys all differences of intellect.  The wisest know nothing  – Ralph Waldo Emerson
  • Time is a physician that heals every grief.  – Diphilus

For the love of avocados

  • photo0132
  • CONTENT
    Discover this poem’s context and related poetry.
For the Love of Avocados

BY DIANE LOCKWARD
I sent him from home hardly more than a child.
Years later, he came back loving avocados.
In the distant kitchen where he’d flipped burgers
and tossed salads, he’d mastered how to prepare
the pear-shaped fruit. He took a knife and plied
his way into the thick skin with a bravado
and gentleness I’d never seen in him. He nudged
the halves apart, grabbed a teaspoon and carefully
eased out the heart, holding it as if it were fragile.
He took one half, then the other of the armadillo-
hided fruit and slid his spoon where flesh edged
against skin, working it under and around, sparing
the edible pulp. An artist working at an easel,
he filled the center holes with chopped tomatoes.
The broken pieces, made whole again, merged
into two reconstructed hearts, a delicate and rare
surgery. My boy who’d gone away angry and wild
had somehow learned how to unclose
what had once been shut tight, how to urge
out the stony heart and handle it with care.
Beneath the rind he’d grown as tender and mild
as that avocado, its rubies nestled in peridot,
our forks slipping into the buttery texture
of unfamiliar joy, two halves of what we shared.

A word that’s spoken by a friend can reach

A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach
Can touch, can move, can  embrace in its sounds
The inner soul where its vibrations teach.

When cut off, silent,after   sad defeat
Such gentle words can break our sullen bonds
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach.

We must not  torture nor torment  in speech
Our heart, the centre of our  morbid wounds
The inner soul with its vibrations speaks..

From our eye, a tear  springs  with  relief
From imprisoned sulking, jump with a great bound!
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach.

Muscles weaken,but the mind stays fleet
Humour and its cousins are our clowns
The inner soul  by its athletics speaks.

I smile and smile and rarely do I frown
For I will rise up, even when low down
A word  that’s spoken by a friend can  reach
The inner soul ,deep  memories  are evoked

Down with self improvement

redsquirrelformby2016-1

A book has just come out_ called Stand Firm;resisting the self improvement craze by Svend Brinkmann

As someone said way back,if these books work why do people keep buying more of them?

My view is that you need to get to know  yourself before you try to change.I suppose one way is psychotherapy but there are others… just self observation like:

Why do I not like receiving compliments?
Why do I leave things till the last minute?
I have a suspicion that knowing yourself will change you  without any other actions.
The only valuable thing I have read is that we all suffer in life and  it becomes worse if you criticise yourself for not feeling better.We have sad or fearful  emotions for  good reasons.Even depression has a  value in slowing us down and letting us review our lives.

Darkling- the meaning

darkling

adjective dark·ling

Definition of darkling

  1. 1:  dark

  2. 2:  done or taking place in the dark

See darkling defined for kids

Examples of darkling in a sentence

  1. <the darkling valleys of Transylvania, where tales of vampires have long existed>

1718

First Known Use of darkling

1718

darkling Synonyms

Synonyms

black, caliginous, darkened, darkish, dark, darksome, dim, dimmed, dusk, dusky, gloomy, lightless, murky, obscure, obscured, pitch-black, pitch-dark, pitchy, rayless, somber (or sombre), stygian, tenebrific, tenebrous, unlit

Antonyms

bright, brightened, brilliant, illuminated, illumined, light, lit (or lighted), lightsome, lucent, lucid, luminous

Related Words

crepuscular, twilit; moonless, starless, sunless; cloudy, dull, dulled, lackluster; shadowlike, shadowy, shady; gray (alsogrey), leaden, pale; beclouded, befogged, clouded, foggy, fuliginous, misty, smoggy, soupy

Near Antonyms

ablaze, agleam, aglitter, alight, beaming, beamy, effulgent, glaring, glowing, incandescent, lambent, radiant, relucent, resplendent, shining, sparkling; ultrabright; glossy, lustrous, shiny; floodlit (alsofloodlighted), highlighted, spotlighted (orspotlit); moonlit, moony, starlit, sunlit

Learn More about darkling

  1. Thesaurus: All synonyms and antonyms for darkling

The darkling thrush

songthrush_otmoor2014

Thrush by Mike Flemming .
BY THOMAS HARDY
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44325
I leant upon a coppice gate
      When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
      The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
      Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
      Had sought their household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
      The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
      The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
      Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
      Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
      The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
      Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
      In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
      Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
      Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
      Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
      His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
      And I was unaware.

The Last Performance BY THOMAS HARDY

“I am playing my oldest tunes,” declared she,
      “All the old tunes I know,—
Those I learnt ever so long ago.”
—Why she should think just then she’d play them
       Silence cloaks like snow.
When I returned from the town at nightfall
      Notes continued to pour
As when I had left two hours before:
“It’s the very last time,” she said in closing;
       “From now I play no more.”
A few morns onward found her fading,
      And, as her life outflew,
I thought of her playing her tunes right through;
And I felt she had known of what was coming,
      And wondered how she knew.

A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

Cutting hair is like   creating art
My kind hairdresser said this to me once.
Her loving touch can help the sorry heart

 

If I were cutting hair, where would I start?
I smiled at her and gave firm response
Cutting hair is  a  creative  art

 

Upon which side do you desire to part?
I was day- dreaming,my mind was in a trance
A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

 

Another lover’s not what I have sought
I can’t withstand the  torments of the dance
Looking good  is  a  creative  art

I  never enjoyed the way men talked and fought
I am a  stranger to  the rules of a romance
A gentle touch can help the sad at heart

I kissed a man but it was self defence!
I  never let him get a second chance
Cutting hair is like   creating art
A loving touch can help the lonesome  heart

Unless I love the lost too.

 

  • I can’t love you
    without loving the whole world too.
    I can’t open my heart
    unless everyone can be part.

    Wait for me.
    I’m not afraid.
    Wait for me.
    I may be delayed.

    I see you in my mind,
    Smiling, sad and kind.
    I can’t love you
    Unless I love the lost too.

    Give me your hands
    Outstretched across the world.
    We’re all one
    Love has begun

How much beauty can a human bear?

This music does caress my inner ear
Takes me to my childhood joy and love
How much beauty can a human bear?

The vision of the lighted candles here
A symbol  of the starlight far above
Beloved music will caress my inner ear

And God   does dwell in those who sense him near
But overlooked , he’s  but a clear grey dove
How much beauty can a human bear?

And see, God laughs to be revered
As she enjoys the flutter of my glove,
While music  does caress my inner ear!

The God who’s true does not depend on fear
But holds the soul as it  allows their love
How much beauty can a human bear?

God is here  and not at  one  remove.
And in his grace we each can gently bathe
This music shall caress my inner ear
How much beauty can a human bear?

 

But come back as an adult till we’re done.

Down grassy banks we rolled  for joy and fun
Like children playing out   in freer times
Then back to being adults we would come

We wrote each other letters filled with puns.
We wrote the letters often, with good rhymes.
Down grassy banks we rolled  for joy and fun

The bills and the housekeeping we would shun
Though now and then we’d wash away the grime
So back to being adults we would come

He fed a  robin daily and it ran
Inside the house when he had passed his time
Those grassy banks ,oh, happiness and fun

When  he grew older and his time was gone
I sat nearby and struggled with my  poems
I had to be an adult by design

Don’t count the cost nor allocate the blame.
Don’t feel  the guilt neither   the heat of shame
Down grassy banks enjoy   the ancient fun
But  come back as an adult  till we’re done.

What is the world when unadorned

 
When first I saw your soulful face,
I wished to dwell in your  embrace.
I wished as well to clothe you in
The sacred images within.
To find a home for love without;
To fold my dreams all round about;
Your loving body and your face
Were covered in such joy and grace.
I found my dreams were cast aside;
The world of meaning denied life.
What seemed most precious now is fled
As I lie sleepless in my bed.
What is the world when unadorned
With all that in my heart I’ve formed?
There is no meaning I can trace.
As in a mother’s empty face.
On these grey rocks. my path is hard.
From paradise, my self is barred.
To struggle or to grief succumb,
When this dark day of mourning’s done?
Into His dazzling darkness dart
My dreams and love like dying sparks.
Into His Mystery so fair.
I’ll cast both hope and my despair.
Thus my dreams will be transformed
To show themselves in other forms.
What feels a loss may foretell growth.
On my hope,I’ll take an oath:
“That nothing in my life is waste;
That I have not for phantasms chased.
And you are human,as am I.
Let’s live again until we die”

Psychologising problems led to the current political situation

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http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/donald-trump-brexit-neoliberalism-individualism-cognitive-behavioural-therapy-a7413501.html

 

Quote:An example? Encounter groups . These meetings were an attempt to help individuals work together to tackle internalised oppression. However this kind of collective work soon became co-opted by ideas such as self-actualisation. The inner world was to be explored now not for the collective endeavour, but in the pursuit of individual happiness. Mass activism began to wane as the sale of self-help books mushroomed, carrying within their pages the message that responsibility for growth and happiness rested firmly in the individual. Why, after all, go to a feminist encounter group, when the tools for enlightenment lay in a self-help book one could peruse at home?

The side effect of the rise of therapy culture was a de-politicised understanding of embodied distress, and a certain navel gazing. The causes of anger and anxiety were located solely in individual’s childhoods or, as the 21st century beckoned, genes. Consideration of power relations and the structural causes of inequalities became a lefty side project, getting in the way of developing “brand me”, or a side note at the end of academic articles. Alternative ideas of the self received a special kind of ridicule – a phenomenon we see in the reaction to Corbynism today. Alternative ideas within psychology got sidelined.

We will have to consider emotions as part and parcel of the system of ethical reasoning.”

Simone de Beauvoir on Art, Science, Freedom, Busyness, and Why Happiness Is Our Moral Obligation

 

“The saving of time and the conquest of leisure have no meaning if we are not moved by the laugh of a child at play.”

BY MARIA POPOVA

Simone de Beauvoir on Art, Science, Freedom, Busyness, and Why Happiness Is Our Moral Obligation

In her incisive inquiry into the intelligence of emotions, philosopher Martha Nussbaum wrote: “Instead of viewing morality as a system of principles to be grasped by the detached intellect, and emotions as motivations that either support or subvert our choice to act according to principle, we will have to consider emotions as part and parcel of the system of ethical reasoning.” But the moral system itself — what comprises it in a philosophical sense, how it is enacted in practical terms, and what it aims at in the daily act of living — remains one of the most conflicted ambiguities within and between human beings.

Those elements of the moral machinery are what the great French existentialist philosopher and trailblazing feminist Simone de Beauvoir (January 9, 1908–April 14, 1986) examines in The Ethics of Ambiguity (public library) — the paradigm-shifting 1947 treatise that gave us Beauvoir on vitality, the measure of intelligence, and what freedom really means.

Simone de Beauvoir
Simone de Beauvoir

To wrest a graspable conception of morality, Beauvoir turns to art and science:

Art and science do not establish themselves despite failure but through it; which does not prevent there being truths and errors, masterpieces and lemons, depending upon whether the discovery or the painting has or has not known how to win the adherence of human consciousnesses; this amounts to saying that failure, always ineluctable, is in certain cases spared and in others not.

For this reason, she suggests, success and failure bear no equivalence with right and wrong. If we are to seek an understanding of morality, the equivalence is to be found not in the outcomes of art and science but in their methods. She writes:

Narcissus by Delmore Schwartz

 

flowersi in Mall

 

 

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42639

 

Narcissus
BY DELMORE SCHWARTZ
THE MIND IS AN ANCIENT AND FAMOUS CAPITAL
The mind is a city like London,
Smoky and populous: it is a capital
Like Rome, ruined and eternal,
Marked by the monuments which no one
Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains
Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheatres, palaces,
Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken or soiled.
The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins
Of every haunted, hunted generation’s celebration.
“Call us what you will: we are made such by love.”
We are such studs as dreams are made on, and
Our little lives are ruled by the gods, by Pan,
Piping of all, seeking to grasp or grasping
All of the grapes; and by the bow-and-arrow god,
Cupid, piercing the heart through, suddenly and forever.
Dusk we are, to dusk returning, after the burbing,
After the gold fall, the fallen ash, the bronze,
Scattered and rotten, after the white null statues which
Are winter, sleep, and nothingness: when
Will the houselights of the universe
Light up and blaze?
                            For it is not the sea
Which murmurs in a shell,
And it is not only heart, at harp o’clock,
It is the dread terror of the uncontrollable
Horses of the apocalypse, running in wild dread
Toward Arcturus—and returning as suddenly …

Smart,the meaning

photo0066

smart
smɑːt/
adjective
adjective: smart; comparative adjective: smarter; superlative adjective: smartest
  1. 1.
    (of a person) clean, tidy, and well dressed.
    “you look very smart”
    synonyms: well dressed, well turned out, fashionably dressed, fashionable, stylish, chic, modish, elegant, neat, besuited, spruce, trim, dapper, debonair; More
    antonyms: scruffy
  2. 2.
    informal
    having or showing a quick-witted intelligence.
    “if he was that smart he would never have been tricked”
    synonyms: clever, bright, intelligent, sharp, sharp-witted, quick-witted, nimble-witted, shrewd, astute, acute, apt, able;

    well educated, well read;
    perceptive, percipient, discerning;
    informalbrainy, savvy, streetwise, on the ball, quick on the uptake, genius;
    informalwhip-smart
    “Joey will know what to do—he’s the smart one”
    antonyms: stupid
    • (of a device) programmed so as to be capable of some independent action.
      “hi-tech smart weapons”
    • NORTH AMERICAN
      showing impertinence by making clever or sarcastic remarks.
      “don’t get smart or I’ll whack you one”
  3. 3.
    quick; brisk.
    “he set off at a smart pace”
    synonyms: brisk, quick, fast, rapid, swift, lively, spanking, energetic, spirited, vigorous, jaunty; More
    antonyms: slow, gentle
verb
verb: smart; 3rd person present: smarts; past tense: smarted; past participle: smarted; gerund or present participle: smarting
  1. 1.
    (of part of the body) feel a sharp stinging pain.
    “her legs were scratched and smarting”
    synonyms: sting, burn, tingle, prickle; More
    • feel upset and annoyed.
      “defence chiefs are still smarting from the government’s cuts”
      synonyms: feel annoyed, feel upset, feel offended, take offence, feel aggrieved, feel indignant, feel put out, feel hurt, feel wounded, feel resentful

      “she had smarted at Jenny’s accusations”
noun
noun: smart; plural noun: smarts
  1. 1.
    sharp stinging pain.
    “the smart of the recent cuts”
    • archaic
      mental pain or suffering.
      “sorrow is the effect of smart, and smart the effect of faith”
  2. 2.
    NORTH AMERICANinformal
    intelligence; acumen.
    “I don’t think I have the smarts for it”
Origin
Old English smeortan (verb), of West Germanic origin; related to German schmerzen ; the adjective is related to the verb, the original sense (late Old English) being ‘causing sharp pain’; from this arose ‘keen, brisk’, whence the current senses of ‘mentally sharp’ and ‘neat in a brisk, sharp style’.

Insanity in individuals is somewhat rare. But in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule.

https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/american-psychosis-trumpism-and-the-nightmare-of-history

 

trump1

This image is from the Los Angeles Review of Books

whiteisland3

Insanity in individuals is somewhat rare. But in groups, parties, nations, and epochs, it is the rule.

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

The old cherry tree

They have cut down the  old cherry tree
Where my cat used to climb and watch me.
Little black lady cat
On my old bike she sat.
Then knocked on the door for her tea.

I used to post letters near here
The cat would pretend to no fear.
But when I turned to go home
Faster than  sound she came
So  from the old porch she would leer.

All that is left it this stump
And the bike is well fit for the dump
The pillar box red is there
But my own use is rare.
I see  a small celandine clump

Everywhere I look seems different now

 

I walk through streets where once I walked with you
Everywhere I look  seems different now
I wring my hands and wonder what to do

I hate these feelings which are both old and new
I know that I should let them be somehow
I walk through streets where once I walked with you

Former losses  entered and they grew.
I must grieve but will not this allow
I wring my hands and wonder what to do

Melancholic states within my soul  now   brew
And hamper me from wielding my old plough
I shiver  in the  streets I walked with you

I must digest my losses  for their clue.
And act upon it  when the time is new.
I wring my hands and wonder what to do

When I grieve ,I  must find out  for who.
As long ago  they mended me with glue
I wander streets where once I walked with you
I wring my hands and wait to get my clue.

I wait in starless darkness for the dawn

As if my  heart has roots   which have been torn
I need protection for my tender skin
I wait in  starless darkness for the dawn

My eyes are heavy and I am forlorn
I’m wounded  yet I’m willing to begin
Repair my  heart  whose roots  have been  so torn

My energy and purpose have both gone.
My skin  does not protrct;it is too thin
I wait in  starless darkness for the dawn

The world seems different now my love has gone
I have no loving  arms to lie within
Nor repair my  heart  whose roots  have been  so torn

It’s I who am  now different ,of love shorn.
A harlot who gives love to anyone
I wait in  starless darkness for the dawn

My eyes gape  like black holes bereft of sun
Shoot me,God, with your own devil’s gun
For my  heart has roots   which have been torn
I wait in  starless darkness  as holes yawn

Stan decides to do some baking.

redsquirrelformby2016-2

 

The larder was empty
the cupboard was bare
he looked inside the cake tin
but  nothing was there there
Stan had flour,eggs and sugar and of course milk and butter.Emile was under the table waiting for something to drip out of the bowl!He loved baking days.
Stan had bought a load of blackberries in the market so he was thinkin of blackberry tarts,blackberry crumble..
He picked up the bag which seemed very heavy.Putting his hand in …..he pulled out a Blackberry!
He went to the market
to buy me some fruit
and now he’s got Blackberries
he’s going to shoot!
Annie his next door neighbour was coming to the back door.
”What’s up ,Petal?”
“Oh,dear.I seem to have made a category error.”Stan answered philosophically.
”Well what category would you put me into?” she asked petulantly.
“Why are you so egocentric ?Not everything is about you!”He said fluently.
“Well if I’m narcissistic it’s because my infant grandiosity was ruptured too suddenly and I was not held and contained in a suitable manner.”
“You’ve been reading that Wilfred Bion again.” Stan said admiringly.
”No,not just him.It’s some American chap as well .Would you like to read it?”
“No,thanks,I’m finding Julia Segal is more than enough for me.I find Bion is a bit too mystical.I don’t think I can approach you without memory or desire.To be honest,without memory or desire I wouldn’t want to approach you.”
“Wow ” she said stupidly,her large green eyes staring avidly upon him inviting him to fall into their salty sea like depths.
“Shall I ring 999?I can’t think of anything to say.I’m lost for words.”
“Perhaps you have reached that mystical spot beneath language mostly only known to babies,the mad, or meditators?”
“Well,I do feel a bit of madness today.”
“Is that why you have purple and orange eyehadow on clashing with your alarazin crimson lipstick and your light beige, but not too light, foundation by Lancome of Brixton and Blackheath,Paris,Rome,and London?”
“I suppose so.” she replied indifferently.I feel as if I’m behind a glass wall.”
“Oh,don’t worry.That’s the new window!” Stan explained courteously.
”You really are behind a glass wall.You’ve been reading  about schizoid processes again on Yahoo,”
“Yes,” she admitted her face blushing violently.”It’s those new people who’ve moved in across the road.They are both psychoanalysts so I wanted to feel up to their level of knowledge.”
“I didn’t know they were psychoanalysts.How did you find out?”
“Well,first of all,there were two large sofas, and then hundreds of knitting needles and a lorry-ful of wool.And I thought,”Hello,hello,It must be one of Anna Freud‘s followers.”
“So have you met them?” he asked laconically?
“Yes”,she confessed animatedly .I went over and said,
“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“And what did he say?”
“Are you all mad round here?”
“So I thought,”You’re not getting hold of me that easily.””
“So I said “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’m  an admirer of Melanie Klein,”
“Oh,how did they react to that?”Stan quizzzed her jovially.
“He was so rude.He said,
”Are you telling me you’re a lesbian as well as a lunatic?”
“Oh,dear.No wonder your make up is all running off your face and disappearing down your cleavage.Why don’t you pop upstairs and have a bath?”
“Well it’s either that or ringing 999.My self is totally divided.”
“Into equal parts?”
“I can’t say” she murmured.
”Oh,well” said Stan “you sit there with Emile and I shall make a Victoria sponge and a lemon drizzle cake without the lemon…I’ve only got bananas and they don’t drizzle.
“Why not adapt to reality and make a banana loaf?”
“Is that wise?” Stan enquired.
”Wise or not,it seems to make sense.” she whispered coyly.
”Get a move on or Mary will be back on her Raleigh shopper bicycle and there’ll be no cake for tea.
”Thank you,honey.”Stan replied.
“I am filled with memory and desire.””And quite right too,”mioawed Emile from his basket.”I’m like that every night!””And so are all of us,”Annie twittered on one of Stan’s blackberries.

I have enough derision already.

fairyflakes2

Hello.what brings you here?
My feet doctor.
I have enough derision already.
Oh.dear.I have reduced vision too.
Are you hard of hearing?
No,my ears do it all by themselves.
You don’t understand.
I wear underpants but I have no standing in the community.
I’m a doctor.
Well,you could have fooled me.You have fooled me.
You are a complete nitwit.
What wit are you on about?
Nits!
Do you mean lice or knitting?
Oh,my God!
Are you enjoying a vision?
No,God is rarely on the television.
You need to get tuned in?
Shall I drop out first?
I’m tempted to spank you.
Well,I’ve always been a glutton for punishment.
It’s a prank.
A plank is quite useful for crossing mud.
Who is helping whom?
I don’t even know Hoom.Is he new here? I once read Hume.
This is hopeless…
Don’t give up……….. try a Samaritan…
Where are they?
Inside the handset.
No,I give in.Why am we here?
I have an idea……….
Oh, no……it’s too late.
For what?
Hush.. just listen……..
There’s a kind of hush, all over the world tonigh