Beware nicking leaks

  • lily-pond-2
  • Beware flicking leeks
  • Between earth’s flock and a charred waste there’s a stench of blood
  • The sting   of the deeply glued bee
  • He fell between two Schools of ought
  • With you ,me  and the bed’s  ghost, there are three in our barrage
  • Beware of  freaks offering lifts
  • Beware the  lies of March
  • Beyond poor, then?
  • Beyond  the wail ,I heard a moan
  • Between me and a hired nerd was a laptop on wheels
  • As big as a house on speed
  • As  heavy as a lead knife
  • Big brother is snatching
  • Blog freeze today
  • A pig  flew from  the underground at Finsbury Park

Across our mother’s universal face

The worst of wars occur within the home
The earth’s  a mother  whom we treat with scorn.
Although on foreign trips we   gormless roam
We care not how  our  holy mother’s torn.

The planes’ emissions do not disappear
Our waste  is thrown  to devastate   all space.
The universe is bounded like  a sphere
The noxious  decorates with  thoughtless trace.

 

The condoms and the women’s  bloody cloths
The petrol fumes,  the plastic bags, the base
Are scattered like a  demon’s  tortured wrath
Across our mother’s  universal  face
Can we avert    the death of earth, this  fate?
Will we dawdle  till it is too late?

 

The body’s conscious self

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Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

 

Daisy Behagg explores the idea of the body’s conscious self

In ‘Four Essays on the Body’, I wanted to write a poem that treated the body as the whole being. Rather than, as we so commonly do, viewing the body as vehicle for a somewhat abstract concept of the mind, I wanted to communicate something of the body as a conscious entity

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Religion and extended metaphors

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Sarah Roby on religion and extended metaphors

Quote:

Reading poetry has since restored my faith in metaphor and how it can extend deeply and cleanly over individual poems, sequences and collections. While writing ‘The Recurrency of Peter Body’, I was interested in exploring the connection between the fallibility yet constancy of the human body and representations of Peter the Apostle. Fortunately for the poem, this connection struck me as obvious. And as I researched – returning to the King James Bible, reading the frescos of Masaccio and paintings of Caravaggio – the resonances revealed themselves, as if inevitably.

However metaphor is not an end in itself. I’m with Derrida in the belief that metaphor is “a basic way of knowing”. It’s active in pressing towards definition – through comparison – and hence towards understanding. So in the poem, for example, I’m also interested in where, in a secular society, we locate our ‘church’. If, as the poem suggests, we locate it with the individual – in the body – then what are the implications of this? It might suggest individualism, egotism maybe, hubris… which is kind-of

Into the washing machine… therapy’s disasters

What on earth

Peter Fried,the psychoanalyst newly arrived in Knittingham, had noticed that whilst he was practising “free floating attention”

with his patients an image of a cat peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred from the Unconscious of one of his patients into his consciousness.
Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.In a way,it was quite sweet.He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper when the doorbell rang.He opened it cautiously with a sort of furtive excitement.There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat and a red hat with matching red ballet flats and a bright green designer handbag from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary..my name is Anne..How are you settling in?She walked confidently through his flat and into the new teak kitchen with its gleaming work surfaces and marble pastry rolling strip…. though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?By pure chance and serendipity I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.I could pour it over these eggs.
Should we not remove the shells first?Peter asked with a just hint of humour.Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?
Why Emile told me,of course!
Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics,he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish preparing the curry dinner.
Is it common around here to have an unknown woman come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked Anne.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.
It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,I like to serve the community in some way.Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as he’s in a bad temper today I’ve not seen him.I suspect he is growing tired of me.
Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.She could not bear to touch it so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.I do go to see her now and then… and there are lovely sunsets over there… you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him emotionally.
No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.Would you like to touch me? she said seductively
Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,But thanks for being so generous.I am touched by your amiability and femininity and yourkindness in introducing yourself.Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.
Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous… he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming like those of a tiger… he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry?Stan never makes it… I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.His eyes began to water and his nose ran…. all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado,she took out her Samsung mobile phone and rang.I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.He ran across the room and jumped into the washing machine with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.Will he escape?Buy the next chapter…only three shilling and sixpence or free with the Daily Wail tomorrow…order now for next life delivery!

 

 

 

 

 

Late? By David Rivard

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42646?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter&utm_content=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter+CID_a08f8df72ca0bc3005f8b6c5efae358e&utm_source=Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=Late%20by%20David%20Rivard

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Late?

—for George Shelton
Sometimes everything feels like a trick.
Some days things seem to have been stolen from you.
Cash to pay the bills, your sense of humor, friendship.
You could almost believe those are what you look for
as you walk around your neighborhood. But, no, instead, you get
splashes of zinnias against stucco, cactus wrens,
a pack of kids who ignore the sodium amber streetlights
which just stuttered on, because it means their mothers
want them home right this minute. And, on the corner variety
store’s wall, a crude, sun-washed mural of the angel Gabriel
defaced by thick black sideburns so he looks like a street punk,
a strutting cholo, so he seems the only creature on earth
who hasn’t heard the news that everything can be lost.
His strong upper arms curving naked and graceful
as the tan thighs of a slender, athletic girl.
A girl he’s after, though she’s gotten bored waiting
on the stoop and watching the sun set behind the foothills.
Sky reddening until it slams into a blue that blesses
anyone oblivious to all the negations,
including the one, pal, where you think it’s possible
to step out of your heart and leave it empty as
an egg shell or a cardboard box.
When you finally return home
the tint of sky more or less matches the flash
of a thrush as it swoops from limb to branch,
acacia to willow. Standing at the kitchen counter,
you pick through a carton of strawberries.
Good juicy ones from the moldy and over-ripe.
Choices that are easy. What do you trust anymore?
The aproned man in the mercado said California strawberries,
they’re the best this time of year. In bed, later,
you remember the grocer, round belly under his apron,
but as you start, nearly asleep, to tell your wife about him,
how he talked about his deals, she starts
reading aloud from a tattered bird guide, that the wood thrush
is “essentially useful and worthwhile.”
What is worthwhile?                      Now, remember.

Take them home and drown them in drink.

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Doctor,Doctor!
What is it?
I have lost my head!
Go to the reception and see if they have any there.
You don’t understand!
Well, tell me more.
I’ve just bought myself a cashmere sweater.
How much was it?
Fifty pounds.
Well, that’s a real bargain.
Yes, it was £214 originally
Why was it so cheap?
It’s because I lost my head in the shop and kissed all the shop assistants.
Were they men or women?
I couldn’t tell really; they all wear pink trousers and spotted jumpers now.
But surely you could tell close up when you approached them?
Close up!I blew the kisses…. from the pavement.
I don’t believe this.You’d better see a priest.
I just saw one in the waiting room!
What!In here.What’s he doing?
I think he’s preaching to the converted.
But it’s  unethical to tamper with sick people.
They all got up and ran out.I’m your last one.I’m a Mormon now, you see.
But you were a Catholic.
I needed a change and another wife.Or ten
You certainly have lost your head.Go before I do something I’ll regret.
What would that be?
I might swear
Perhaps the priest will help you.
Be off, you headless man.You brainless biped.
Cheerio then.See you tonight.
Why?
I’ll be ill again by then.It’s my obsessions.
Take them home and drown them in drink.
Can I have it on prescription?
I’m afraid not, but I can give you a good description.
I drink Tiger beer.
Why?
I’d like to be a tiger later on.
Be off.You are tempting me to hit you with a brick.
Do you have a brick in here?
Not yet but I can knock  a hole in the wall with my hammer.Alternatively, I could use this waste paper basket.Jump inside.
I’m not a cat.
Oh, yes you are.
Oh, no I’m not.Cats can’t speak English.
How do you know that’s universal?
Well, French cats can’t speak French……
How clever.
How smart.
How insightful.
How delightful.
Excuse me, Doctor, there’s a dead priest here.
Well, I’m no good at raising the dead.
Well, you raised ten children.
No, my wife did that.I’m not even the father.
No, the Father is outside.
You mean this man was the father of my children…
Well, put it like this.He saved you all the hassle.
You can say that again.
He saved you all the hassle.
But why?I thought she didn’t like sexual embraces.
Seems like  it was you she didn’t like
So why did  she marry me?
She was the Registrar!
So who was the bride?
She was proxy.
That’sa=  an odd name.
For the bride!
I don’t believe it was a woman,it was  cat.
That’s not legal
Neither is LSD

Stan and the postman

cats and newspapers

Stan was brushing his sturdy tomcat Emile by the front window when he saw the postman coming up the path.This was a surprise as it was eight o’clock in the evening,though it was still quite light.He opened the door.
Goodness me,they are making you work hard” he murmured sympathetically to the weary looking postman.
Well,if I don’t do what they want there are 2.5 million unemployed people out there all seeking work” he said in a deep guttural voice.
I like your beard,cried Emile.And your moustache.
Do you like my new hat, asked the postman politely.
Yes,very much said the little cat.
Well,I have to wear it as I am a Conservative Jew.
I have never been quite sure what a Conservative Jew is,said Stan
And I have never been sure why the Church of England is international,replied the tired man wearily
Neither have I said Stan.It seems illogical.
He gave the postman some tea in a paper cup so he could drink it before he went any further.
Can I use your bathroom,he called to Stan who was admiring a few early daffodils.
Of course you can… it’s just at the top of the stairs.
When Arthur the postman came out he thanked Stan
Nowadays since all the public conveniences are no longer there it’s hard to find a lavatory and when you work a 12 hour day you do get to need a leak.
Yes,said Stan.I frequently have people using the loo…. or failing that you can go behind the hedge.
Just like me,thought Emile.I often go behind the hedge.I also take lady cats right to the back of the hedge for the purpose of lovemaking.
Have you ever made love under a hedge,Emile asked Arthur.
Or is it forbidden by your Mosaic Law?
Well,said Arthur,we can make love anywhere at all.But we have to be sure it is real love and not just us pretending to love someone in order to get something out of them.
That seems wise,said Stan.You seem a really wise man.
Yes,I did do a lot of studying till I lost my job as a University lecturer and had to work as a postman.But it does give me time to meditate.
And what is your advice to other humans,purred Emile.
Well,I’ll just offer you one thought,Don’t exploit others for self gratification and if you feel suicidal please tell someone or phone the Samaritans.
And if you do go ahead I advise you to burn your diaries,letters and other private writing…look at poor Sylvia Plath,How could she have been so stupid.Everything she ever wrote,even on the paper napkin at dinner was collected and published by her almost ex-husband.We seem to know more about her than anyone who ever lived.
You have a good point there,said Stan.
I work for the Samaritans one day a week and Emile sits by me and purrs to keep me happy.
You seem a good man,said Arthur.Then all of a sudden he disappeared… leaving just a smile in the air like the Chesire Cat.
Oh,my sweet Lord,Stan murmured.Was that who I think?
Yes,said Emile.I saw the heavenly host behind him singing
Why did he call here?
We’ll just have to wait and see… but I shall cut up my diary tomorrow and delete my journal from the computer.I don’t want to cause scandal after I die.
No,said Emile,just cause scandal while you are alive by taking yet another mistress.
You little devil,Said Stan
And then Stan and Emile both chuckled as they went back into the house.And Stan resumed brushing Emile and mused over the visitation whilst forgetting he had not cooked the dinner for his hardworking wife Mary.Luckily Mary is very patient

The wise cat ponders on the window sill

 

In Richmond they  have voted Goldsmith  out.
And Labour tore themselves apart like wolves.
The Lib Dems   are back  here without a doubt

To Theresa May, the   numbers are a clout.
What  lesson will she learn. what will evolve?
In Richmond they  have called Zac Goldsmith out

Labour’s hopes are running down the spout
Uncertain of their leader,votes dissolved.
The Lib Dems   are back  in, without a doubt

Here  work and love  no longer seem to  count
And pendulums  swing wild  like goaded bulls
So in Richmond now,  they  showed Zac Goldsmith  out.

I meditate   and yet I hear the shout.
Of  people  wild in Richmond,Leicester,Hull.
The Lib Dems are  in business, without doubt

The wise cat ponders on the window sill
Wondering who might  have to pay  the bill
In Richmond  now they  voted Goldsmith  out.
The Lib Dems  live; dispel  your  needless doubt

The role of poetry in religious knowledge

 

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http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jason-derr/the-role-of-poetry-in-rel_b_636293.html

 

Quote

In her book Wisdom and Metaphor poet and philosopher Jan Zwicky argues for a poetic form of doing philosophy, one rooted in an understanding of metaphor. As she sees it, metaphor teaches us to see “X (as Y) and at the same time X is not Y.” In her introduction she says we are not wise in a vacuum but are wise about things: people, situations and contexts. People who think metaphorically think truly, as their thinking follows the shape of the world.

Zwicky says that metaphor, as a philosophical device, is a form of seeing-as. Out in the Chinese wilderness de Chardin may have agreed. The poem — in de Chardin’s case his “Mass” — opens up our longing and asks us to hold together a variety of images in their contradictions and similarities. Theologically it means that the theological task is less scientific-philosophical but more an act of seeing-as. The Mass de Chardin performed did not challenge Catholic liturgical authority, reform the church or introduce sweeping panentheist theological directions. But as a poem it drew its readers into a form of seeing-as that allowed a reimagining of the relationship between God and creation, and a meditation on the real presence of Christ in the elements as the story of God’s relationship with all of material creation.

Richard the Third

Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 20
That long have frown’d upon their enmity!
 652cb-photo0688 What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr’d herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood,
The father rashly slaughter’d his own son,
 11165327_652321328241082_7567875285690634624_n The son, compell’d, been butcher to the sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division,
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house, 30
 12088036_626040074202541_3654399960036230689_n By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac’d peace,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
 new-photos-feb-2013-008-22 That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Let them not live to taste this land’s increase
That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp’d, peace lives again: 40
That she may long live here, God say amen!

Who has integrity?

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Integrity means following your moral or ethical convictions and doing the right thing in all circumstances, even if no one is watching you. Having integrity means you are true to yourself and would do nothing that demeans or dishonors you.

How to Have Everyday Integrity

  • Keep your promises even if it takes extra effort.
  • Go back to a store and pay for something you forgot to pay for.
  • Never betray a friend’s trust even if you get in trouble.
  • Inform the cashier he gave you too much change back.
  • Do not gossip or talking badly about someone.
  • Remain true to your spouse or partner.
  • When in a serious relationship, don’t keep secrets from each other.
  • Return money that you noticed someone dropped without expecting a reward.
  • Ignore someone’s advice on how to cheat on your taxes and not get caught.
  • Do not let someone else take the blame for something you did.
  • If someone gives you confidential information, never tell anyone what you know.
  • When it is obvious to you a relationship is over, don’t drag it out but discuss it openly.

Read more at http://examples.yourdictionary.com/examples-of-integrity.html#s83XipS8mQSXFHl3.99

Who are you that I should pray for you?

A man devout in fasting,prayer and plea
Made much of what his  holiness would do
But pride became his friend  when  he  told me
Who are you that I should pray for you?

I am you, I told him like the bell
That rings when someone dies or sin to quell
God made you and  God made me as well.
My advice is, get you to a cell.

For though we do good deeds and even pray
We cannot judge ourselves to be  the saved
We  are wandering on the earthly way
We cannot know how others should behave.

If I’m unworthy,I  trust that God perceives
I trust his mercy to like souls bereaved

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second version

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A man devout in fasting,prayer and pleas
Made much of what his holiness could do
But pride became a flaw when he told me
Who are you that I should pray for you?

I am you, I told him, like the bell
That rings when someone dies or sin to quell
God made you and God made me as well.
Such a man makes heaven seem like hell

For though we do good deeds and even pray
We cannot judge ourselves to be the saved
We struggle on the dangerous, frightening way
We cannot judge our sin or other’s grace

If I’m so low ,then God shall me perceive
I trust him with my heart and I believe

I shall live again

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

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

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

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

How to write a sonnet

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How to Write a Sonnet Poem in 7 Steps

 

6. Incorporate a Volta

Volta is the Italian word for “turn.” A turn could represent various changes in the sonnet. It might refer to a change in the theme, the sound, the emphasis of the message or image of the poem. The purpose of the volta is to indicate that the sonnet is coming to an end. In the English sonnet, the volta or turn is found in the third quatrain while in the Italian sonnet the volta is often found in the ninth line. In Browning’s sonnet, a change is noticeable in the ninth line. She reads the note which declares a love for her – words that she had been longing to hear that can now be said aloud marking a monumental change in her life. In Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18,” there is a shift in language with the word “but” at the beginning of the third quatrain.  After describing all of the beauty that ultimately fades, the speaker addresses the poem’s ability to preserve the beauty of the beloved forever.

7. Use Poetic Devices

To enhance the imagery and message of the poem, incorporate poetic devices or literary devices in poetry.  Imagery is particularly important when writing a poem. Imagery can be established through word choice, as well as the use of figurative language such as similes, metaphors, and personification. Alliteration and other sound devices such as assonance and consonance can be used to create a musical quality and symbolism will help to create a deeper message for the audience. The course, Understanding Romantic Poetry, will introduce poetry from the Romantic Era and instruct how to read and comprehend poetry from the literary period.

Wikileaks and good manners

 

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Scottish home flies Mexican flag

 

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v33/n02/slavoj-zizek/good-manners-in-the-age-of-wikileaks

Extract

However, it is a mistake to assume that revealing the entirety of what has been secret will liberate us. The premise is wrong. Truth liberates, yes, but not “this truth. Of course one cannot trust the façade, the official documents, but neither do we find truth in the gossip shared behind that façade. Appearance, the public face, is never a simple hypocrisy. E.L. Doctorow once remarked that appearances are all we have, so we should treat them with great care. We are often told that privacy is disappearing, that the most intimate secrets are open to public probing. But the reality is the opposite: what is effectively disappearing is public space, with its attendant dignity. Cases abound in our daily lives in which not telling all is the proper thing to do. In Baisers volés, Delphine Seyrig explains to her young lover the difference between politeness and tact: ‘Imagine you inadvertently enter a bathroom where a woman is standing naked under the shower. Politeness requires that you quickly close the door and say, “Pardon, Madame!”, whereas tact would be to quickly close the door and say: “Pardon, Monsieur!”’ It is only in the second case, by pretending not to have seen enough even to make out the sex of the person under the shower, that one displays true tact.

I’ve gone out for a stake.

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Sorry I can’t answer the phone.I’ve gone out for a stake.
Sorry I am not here.They gave me too many injections and I’m not back yet
Sorry I can’t take your call.I am planning to shoot myself tonight but if I don’t I’ll write you an email tomorrow.I have no gun anyway
Sorry I am not in.I’ve been arrested for writing draughty verses.Is it a crime now?
Sorry we are off to the pub to get arrested for drunk driving so we can spend the New Year in jail…. it saves money for us but not the taxpayer
Please stop phoning,,my head is ringing…… how do I take the call?
Sorry ,I am out right now as I’d love to fear your voice again.Please growl back later.
Fancy you ringing,I love your rude message and return it redoubled in strength.
Yes,you did love her but it was a wrong time ago and besides she is a dead wretch.
This is a telephone answering service.If you are human try meeting face to face.
Honesty can get very wounding so please take care about leaving messages after the tone beeps.
Silence and telephones are incompatible.So take your wick and wonk off.
Why are you phoning?I saw you today.Please do not leave a message as I am feeling moody and mean like a film star
He said he was going out for a bark.Can I fake a message?
He said he was ill but not that he was dead.Men!
He said he’s had enough but not of what. if you get the gist of it

Please do not sleep on my head

Please wear a frown in bed,especially when harried for more than than ten years.
Please keep your head bevelled.
Please do not sleep on my head.
Please keep your stare on all night and every right.
Please use the bathroom for writhing in.
Please have clean sex everyday, especially on Sundays.
Please change your underwear gaily.
Please ask before playing on my nerves
Please  get smashed before your mother comes to stay
Please wash your aunts every night, especially in summer time.
Please feed the bat on schedule.
Please keep the hog off the bed
Please take your anti-riot pills handy and do finish the coarse and smooth out the mirrors
Please keep your cuneiform safe and bound.
Please wear a cat when out of doors.
Please carry your loves  everywhere in winter.
Please take your trews off before entering.
Please be a delight at all times.
Please play chess alone as you are too clever for me
Please do not let your roes glow.
Please remember you are not abreast.
Please nip envy in the blood.
Please use your body as I would.
Please do not get into a double bind unless over the age of consent.
Gregory Bateson.I’ve never heard of him!
What is a double bind anyway?

So you are gone who once declared your love

So you are gone  who once declared your love
For that phantasm conjured in your mind;
For onto me you brought down from above
A torment bitter and   sharp words unkind.

Used to  friendship from within your books

You did not understand that I was real
Irritation grew as you did look;
You threw your poisoned  arrows  at my heel.

What once you loved then you began to hate
If not perfect then intolerable I must be
And then you cursed me with this  sorry fate.
Our child was born and him you’ll never see.

Illegitimate and born in desert grey.
I carried him alone from death’s dark way

Is it science?

 

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http://www.openculture.com/2016/04/richard-feynman-creates-a-simple-method-for-telling-science-from-pseudoscience-1966.html

The example Feynman gives comes from the most rudimentary source, a “first grade science textbook” which “begins in an unfortunate manner to teach science”: it shows its student a picture of a “windable toy dog,” then a picture of a real dog, then a motorbike. In each case the student is asked “What makes it move?” The answer, Feynman tells us “was in the teacher’s edition of the book… ‘energy makes it move.’” Few students would have intuited such an abstract concept, unless they had previously learned the word, which is all the lesson teaches them. The answer, Feynman points out, might as well have been “’God makes it move,’ or ‘Spirit makes it move,’ or, ‘Movability makes it move.’”

Instead, a good science lesson “should think about what an ordinary human being would answer.” Engaging with the concept of energy in ordinary language enables the student to explain it, and this, Feynman says, constitutes a test for “whether you have taught an idea or you have only taught a definition. Test it this way”:

Without using the new word which you have just learned, try to rephrase what you have just learned in your own language. Without using the word “energy,” tell me what you know now about the dog’s motion.

Feynman’s insistence on ordinary language recalls the statement attributed to Einstein about not really understanding something unless you can explain it to your grandmother. The method, Feynman says, guards against learning “a mystic formula for answering questions,” and Oxenham describes it as “a valuable way of testing ourselves on whether we have really learned something, or whether we just think we have learned something.”

It is equally useful for testing the claims of others. If someone cannot explain something in plain English, then we should question whether they really do themselves understand what they profess…. In the words of Feynman, “It is possible to follow form and call it science, but that is pseudoscience.”

 

Stan cleans his mobile phone and meets his match

 

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http://youtu.be/XfuBREMXxts

Stan was annoyed that since the days were getting brighter and longer, the dust on the furniture was becoming more evident..Not that his wife Mary was a tyrant but she was out at work whereas he was free from his purgatory working with gamblers and homeless drug users but had to keep the home clean instead
Of course he had been pleased to be working to improve society ,but enough was enough.He already was helping two people on a voluntary basis at his church, Still Mary was labouring in the lecture hall. explaining how linear algebra might help folk to lead better and more virtuous lives ,especially if they were going into Parliament or the higher reaches of the Civil Service which aided government ministers dealing with strange confusions in the Economy ,and indeed in the entire world.
He picked up his microfibre dusting rag cut from an old towel and started to dust the TV set.After that he sprayed Dettox onto the keyboards of all their laptops,ipads,phones and remote controls.Then he dried them with an old tea towel made of cotton and linen.
Suddenly he heard the back door opening.In ran his beauteous mistress Annie wearing a green and red tracksuit and purple trainers with pink spots on.
Shall I make some lovely coffee,she asked positively.
I have not done much housework yet,Stan cried in alarm.
Let me see,she responded with the ripe interest of the retired and bored.
My, this remote control is very,very clean.
She put it in front of her eyes and glared myopically at it.
All her mind power was concentrated on this one object, which was at this moment in  time her whole world;usually myopia is a bad move as it impedes a wider balanced view of life.
You have done brilliantly with this but you do need a break from this tedious and arduous work,she enthused laconically.
Oh, OK then,Stan answered gently.
She poured coffee into two Portmeirion pottery mugs and took them into the conservatory where she admired his potted plants and his herbs.
What’s this here, she called.It wasn’t here last week,
It’s cannabis,he informed her unwilfully.
Are you a user now she enquired tactlessly.
No,I am keeping it for a friend.Stan lied truthfully
That’s what they all say,she riposted jocosely.
Well,I don’t know how to use it.I believe you smoke it so does it have to be dried?
I guess so,she said like a cowboy from a  desert in Alabama on a diet of coke and french fries.
Well,I am not going test it,he said pensively.I don’t even smoke a pipe any more.I suck my thumb instead.It’s free,he continued and needs no licence
Would you like to suck my toes,she asked him lovingly.
After all,the Duchess of York had hers sucked and I am her equal in some ways .
Sucking toes has so far not been part of my repertoire and neither
has whipping women and smacking them either.I prefer to suck their lips and caress their cheeks.
Which cheeks? she asked suspiciously, as if she was an examiner in an oral examination for a law degree.
Sorry,dear..I am happy to caress any part of your warm voluptuous flesh but I need to get on with the housework.
Just ignore it,she ordered him. rudely.I’ll help you after we have been to bed
I didn’t know we were going to bed, he said in a very puzzled tone of voice
Well,you do now,she giggled un-furtively
And so does Emile who is already on the landing from where he can see the mirror opposite the bed.What a naughty boy he is,but what would you do in his position?
I thought so.Ask a missionary at once.You have to believe me… or turn pale with horror at this evil couple.

http://youtu.be/Mb3iPP-tHdA

Words are a net to catch the world but the smallest fish drop straight through it

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Before we learned to talk we communicated with our mothers and later the family by gestures,cries and body movements.In fact inside the womb, we swam like fish .Then we begin to babble as if we learn the music of our tongue before we learn the individual words.Eventually, we get caught in the web of words and assume without thinking that everything important can be expressed this way.However, when we are with people we still rely al ot on body language and the tones and musicality of the voice itself.An ugly man with a beautiful voice can become very attractive to women.for example.

But later we may come to realise many aspects of life cannot be expressed easily in words.As humans evolved they developed different kinds of language.Poetry and science describe aspects of the world and of the people speaking these languages.Music is one form which does not use words

One  might almost say that with printing and later mass literacy we moved from an oral,bodily centred ,sensuous language to a more abstract less personal way of communication.

However, there are many forms of writing and much more can be expressed this way than most of us know… but when we come to the edge of the world of language .. we realise that the sacred,the ineffable,the holy may be beyond the powers of even the best poets.Yet they can point us there,Music and art may give a more vivid enchantment which we recognise but of which we find it hard to speak.

Words are a net to catch the world but the smallest fish drop straight through it

Grief will connect us all again

You cannot   sail the river deep  of grief
Though it flows on its course to the sea
It flows under the ground,under dark leaves

How can  any friend never see?
Anguish cannot hide  totally
How can a  new life now ever be?

You speak soft,so sweet,quietly
I  can   sense how you suffer beneath
As the river flows on,how to be?

As the red leaves fly up , as winds seethe
They fall far away  from their home
The ground is a carpet   of grief.

The tree is a mother now forlorn
She has lost  her little children  to the storm
We can’t hear how she  patiently groans

Grief will  connect us again
As  our tears  slither  down to the rain
They will join the deep river of grief
As it flows under the ground  deep in leaves