https://positivepsychology.com/emotional-contagion/

Never end a sentence with and.

And never begin one with and either.

Like trying to reduce mathematics to a mere branch of logic as Russell and Whitehead did [didn’t succeed,in fact],trying to write the rules of English grammar is difficult

2018

Could it be despair that held me tight

in that February evening and the night

I could not see a way to carry on

Everything seemed dark and I was done

I saw great blackness all around myself

I could not be restored, I had no health

I had reached the end of seeking aid

God alone knew all the coins were paid

Oh gracious mysterious glowing light

That made a warm shawl round me on that night

Impressing me with kindness and goodwill

Holding me until I’d had my fill

Most sensuous, most tangled with love’s grace

Surrounding me, protecting my lost face

As if the arms of love were something real

That anyone who knew this must reveal

Only if we reach that darkest point

May the force of Love with light annoint

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/anabolic#:~:text=adjective,therapy%20to%20promote%20bone%20formation

When God came down , the rivers overflowed

Great trees were floating ,angled and exposed

The houses broke up like a loaf to crumbs

The hearts of humans trembled till they hummed

The winds deceived, the gusts unmeasured stung

The churchbells shuddered then untimely rang

The power was cut and all our screens were dark

Where were the rulers, where the saving Ark?

The women giving birth were paralysed

The babies in the womb took ill and died

Their cradles rocked the world, they swung so fast

And in a moment all of life had passed

In the void, God started his new world

Rich and strange, the grit and then the pearls

https://www.themarginalian.org/2025/02/28/the-souls-of-animals/?mc_cid=b0bc30c0ac&mc_eid=d32e4171d3

Mary was sitting in the kitchen drinking some tea whilst admiring the wild plum tree in blossom.

Suddenly her neighbour Annie ran into the room wearing a pink corduroy dress with long sleeves buttoned at the wrist and her legs were covered by striped tights that she had a bought in Woolworths in 1998.

She looked at Mary quizzically

You don’t look yourself this morning

No I’m not myself today I think it’s that schizoid remoteness that I have heard about recently. Could you become schizoid when you’re over 70? Annie teased her gently.

I don’t suppose it’s paranoid anhedonia.

Just plain and simple grief.

When was grief ever pkain and simple Mary wondered out loud

I’ve never heard of ak Anhedonia before. It sounds like a very good name for a cat

Come here Anhedonia.

Emil Mary’s beautiful cat woke up and cried out, I told you I should have learned Greek at school, mother.

But you didn’t go to school Mary told him kindly

You could have got me a private tutor in that case but first of all I would have to learn to read and write which is something I  never got round to.

So what made you think that that word was Greek?

It just reminds me of things I  heard you saying to Stan before he died.

Oh yes it was probably when I was discussing my anisometropia with him.

Is that a house plant Annie asked nervously.

No it’s something to do with the fact that you can’t get both of your eyes sorted with super suitable lenses simultaneously

That sounds dreadful cried Annie mournfully.

And you know what the optician said to me Mary told her

He said you’ve got 90% of your eyesight back compared to a blind person but only 60% back compared to someone with perfect vision.

So I said to him don’t talk to me like that I am a mathematician I used to teach statistics to trade union students. You can’t do that with percentages they’re not metaphors you know or similes.

But on reflection I realised that I could understand perfectly well what he meant.

It reminded me of Stan when he used to say

The distance between 0 and 1 is bigger than the distance from one to two

That would not be allowed in a mathematics book  but actually he was 100% right compared to a human being but only t 10% compared to God. And even that’s an exaggeration.

We have just sorted out the Greek alphabet and mathematics and percentages and metaphors why don’t we put the kettle on  and make  nice cup of tea. A coal fire in this room would make it perfect why we could even boil the kettle on it and reduce the electricity bill

Oh mother you are so funny cried Emile graciously I just love the way you talk I could listen to you all day long

Thank you very much Emile that’s wonderful to know that you don’t mind listening to me like this all day because I have no one else to talk to

Excuse me  said Annie you can talk to me.

Thank you dear I know I can but sometimes I remember that you only went to Grey’s road polytechnic whereas I went to Cambridge university on a scholarship although I would rather have gone on the train

You went to Cambridge university but did you actually go inside and learn anything?

That’s what we’re all wondering but sk at least she has a little humility.

I wish that we could say the same for the most powerful man in the world.

Yet even a modest poet is more powerful in reality than someone who rules by lies power and force and probably even death.

The poet alters our vision.

Though sometimes it’s easier to get new spectacles instead

And so say all of us

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias

When Jesus was in the garden of gethsemena

He wanted some companion during the night but nobody was able to be with him.

I’m sure that some of us have had a similar experience.

So would a helper have said to Jesus

Why don’t you listen to some music I know the radio has not been invented yet but you are God…. So make yourself a radio and listen to music

Why don’t you turn your mind away from fear of death  I’m thinking about signing up for an art class,myself.

I know that Jews can’t worship images but there’s no harm in making some images was paint or pastels.

It might lift your mood..

Now Jesus, have you drunk enough water today? Have you had a proper meal?

(Well they had the last supper I believe.)

Don’t you think we should all go home and go to bed and have a good rest and forget about this event that’s going to happen?

Now Jesus what you need is a good holiday.

You know it’s not so far to Cyprus and it would be a break from living in this occupied territory.

The Romans have a lot to answer for.

And would Jesus have lost his temper and called out to the  disciples

Satan get thee hence.

Then somebody will just say, if you feel bad at three o’clock in the morning it’s often a sign of depression and I believe there are some new antidepressants on the market now.

Why don’t you see the doctor tomorrow and ask him can you have a free sample because there is no NHS in the holy land.

And that’s why Jesus stayed in the Garden of Gethsemane by himself because he did not like what his followers were saying to him. And it was all because they didn’t want to actually know how he was feeling: that he was sweating blood that he was afraid that he was terrified but he was going to continue on the path that he believed God had set him on.

And after all he was the son of God. So he believed and there is some evidence to favor that view.

And thus it did transpire

I’m knitting you into my fabric…

How flexible.
How charming.
How alarming
How creative
How festive.
what an idea!
what a notion
what emotion!
But you are too big for me to knit
so, I’ll just touch your hand
with my fingers.
and you may  touch my hand
with your fingers.
What good hands we have
with such fingers.
Fingers are for touch.
fingers are keen to touch.
I like touch.
what would we do
without fingers?
I like your skin.
Skin is good.

We love skin.
We love.
We are.
I want skin to be ours,
and yours is mine,
and mine
is yours.
Where is the edge of the world?
Skin has no end.
it’s infinity,
au naturel.
What order!
What design!
What wonder.
What awe.
What a tune
What a rhyme!
What good time!
Where is the world’s skin?
Tenderly we touch the world
as the world embraces us.
It’s called love.
Love.

This  is love.

https://michaeldsellers.substack.com/p/a-deeper-look-at-claims-by-kgb-officer?utm_medium=android&triedRedirect=true

O

https://www.godwardweb.org/eyealteringalter.html

O

Tucked away in William Blake’s poem, “The Mental Traveller,” is a line that elucidates one of the great mysteries of ancient and modern thought. He wrote, “The eye altering alters all.” Obviously, our own thoughts and feelings color our experience of the world. But Blake was getting at something much more fundamental. In effect, he was saying that how we see the world changes the world. We are not mere passive observers of reality but collaborators with it.

I have read that creative artists need humility in order to be creative

But what is humility?

As far as I can gather it means accepting emptiness. I have seen it expressed in the following sentence which I believe was first mentioned by Thomas Aquinas and it was also mention by the Psycho analyst Wilfred Bion.

This is it

You say, I have nothing I am nothing, I know nothing. In the emptiness of total humility there is a space into which creativity can enter.

Of course these artists and writers do not feel humble all the time I am laughing as I’m thinking of Picasso.

Apparently not knowing is part of getting to know something. If you think you’re already know everything then you’re not going to discover anything new, are you?

But we are taught to be frightened of emptiness and nothingness yet it is out of nothingness that something emerges.

In my dream I gsve birth to a child

The doctor said that he would die quite soon My feelings overwhelming made me wild

The Nazi doctor threw him on a pile

I lay nearby unmoving as I keened

In my dream,I gave birth to a chil

A week passed by,I knew that death beguiled

Frozen lips made no sound, song or tune

My feelings overwhelming made me wild

I had to rise and say my black goodbye.

My baby with the others;horror loomed

In my dream I gave birth to a child

I picked him up , when suddenly he smiled

I held him to my breast, my songs I crooned

My feelings overwhelming drove me wild

I had to carry him, the landscape gloom

A desert grey and rocky like some moon In my dream I gave birth to a child

In terror I had walked yet love consoled

She gave me a plain look. It was very easy to interpret her contempt. But not so lovely to feel it washing over me. That’s when I began running.

Is it sacrilege to smile at the priest while he is holding up the bread and wine,? Don’t answer because as long as I don’t know it’s not a sin ,although willful ignorance could be a sin but it’s a different sin from the first one

Yet even that might annoy God. But can we really believe that god is looking  at us all day long when he went through the ordeal of losing his only son on Calvary? The two things don’t seem compatible somehow.

I wonder what the people who used to make wooden confessionals the Catholic churches do to make their living now because I don’t think many people ever go to the confessional on a Saturday night and say they will never sin again. If it was changed to Sunday night they will do better in terms of numbers at least

the artist can regain what Yeats calls ‘the old nonchalance of the hand.’ For Milner, as for her contemporary T.S. Eliot, ‘The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.’

Come down,oh Blog divine.

Clean this light mind of mine,

And Kindle it with thine own Amazon password.

O Holy Spirit,draw real near;

Make all my strains disappear.

And subscribe me to all the intriguing and wonderful Websites I’ve never heard of.

Come down like summer rain

Wash off our 

Lsuffering and our pain

Kindle us with spirits whole

Tell us what the prophets foretold

Gather us into your heart red

Sleep well on your divine bed

I went to church on Sunday with a mole

From MI5, I tried to save his soul.

If God can’t make a saint of every man

Why the Dickens do I think I can?

What other mysteries can my body  know?

Thank God,I  only signed for Pay and Go

Underneath the silence there is peace

I pray the  silent music  brings relief

Poem

Silence in the centre of our soul

Silence in the  love that makes us whole

O Godly worm that of  my flesh might eat
Let my very self  become your meat 

One day we will die and that is sure

Let death be named the illness with no cure.

As Shakespeare said we we have no teeth, no sight

But the old can still be happy in the night

Although arthritis makes the body ache

I still have got my appetite for steak.

My joints are bust, my toes are cold and bent

Where is my mother now, for I am spent

Bring me frankincense and myrrh, bring me some tea.

I want a wise  man now,well are you he?

The grammar is the best thing in thr book

It makes no sense to me, come take a look.

I think I’ll go to Ireland when I’m old.

Take me to the fire for I am cold

After Stan left the  police behind, he  drove Satan to Sheringham,There  they rented a  fidhrman’s cottage and enjoyed walking to Weybourne along the cliffs where they saw  some butterflies .Satan seemed surprised by the cheery residents.He usually dwelt in cities and dens of iniquity.Stan’s pocket bulged with the golden powder compact standing up.He liked Sheringham but usually had Mary with him for company rather than Satan.
One afternoon on the beach a man of riper years  stopped and spoke to him
I see you always carry face powder in a compact  with you.Are you a transvestite by ny chance?
I am sorry to say,I am not.Is that bad news?Stan  asked him
Well,not really.I never expected to meet one  down here.But my wife has lost her powder compact and it’s hard to get gold ones now.I’ll give you at least £500 for that.It’s lovely.
Stan pondered.He had got fond of Satan but was unsure what to do with him next and he could not remain on holiday for ever as Emile his cat didn”t like it
He thought perhaps leaving Satan  here in Sheringham might benefit humanity in the long run.
OK then.he cried and in a flash he had handed over the gold compact to the gentleman who seemed thrilled.He produced £500 pounds in notes and the deal was done.
Stan went back and informed Emile the holiday was over.We can go home now,Emile.I have got rid of Satan,at least for now.
Thank God,miaowed Emile.I miss Annie and her perfume..
That makes two of us,thought Stan as he drove towards King’s Lynn and the Ouse crossing…
But how will poor Satan feel? Will he be converted to life in a seaside home  or will he soon be heading back to Knittingham?Time will tell. Sheringham may be too small for him and probably has very few dens of iniquity.And even Cromer is probably not wicked enough for this old devil….

Stan was very worried that the police had caught him.He didn’t realize that ,with the low  sun, the mirror in his pocket was flashing out coded messages to aircraft.He got out of the car and walked over to the police on the grassy verge of the road
I’m so sorry,it’s just my wife’s solid gold powder compact.See?
Have you got your marriage certificate with you?
Well,no.I didn’t know we in the UK needed to show them to the police. demurred Stan
It may belong to your wife but you are a man.Men don’t carry them.We never saw one before.Young women never use then,
Certain men might of course..actors or politicians.I know Tony Blair wore make up.
That’s irrelevant.Give me that compact.
Stan pulled the golden compact out of his pocket,still open.
The police man stared into the mirror.His face turned pale.He handed the compact to Stan and ran back to his car asking the driver to take him to the nearest boiling Tea Shop.
Stan looked at Satan and grinned…
What did you do?
I just held up a photo I have of him in bed with a sheep….need I say more?
Did you enjoy seeing that? Stan asked thoughtlessly.
Not much.~I prefer your flame haired mistress with her perfume of Araby.She’s something else again.
So you can smell then? Stan enquired.
Oh,yes,said the devil.Sure I can.I just can’t touch or be touched.
So Stan started the car and off they went;all the lights were green and not a single police car was on duty.
Soon they reached Upper Sheringham.The people here are very long lived.I know it’s the best place to live in the UK;then they turned down the old High Street and parked by a gambolling shop full of lambs.
Now what?
Will the sea cheer up a sad old devil or make him suicidal?The cliffs are not very high.We must await the next  piece of the story with interest and patience.
Email me with ideas at
merrymaryminds@h

After nearly being arrested for accidentally sending out messages with the car mirror. Stan got back into the car and drove around King’s Lynn and up past Sandringham.
I’ve been there,said Satan eagerly
Don’t tell me, Stan  begged.Let me keep a few illusions.Or delusions
Satan fell quiet as they  stopped in Hunstanton to see the striped cliffs before tottering along the coast towards Sheringham.
I’d like to go to  Brancaster Beach again,Stan thought, that really is  a beach.In fact he and Mary had once been trapped by the tide.North Norfolk is a dangerous place even without  Satan travelling through
Holkham Hall and beach were a  beloved place.Maybe Satan would like to go in a boat on the lake and visit the shop where paintings are on sale
Wells next the Sea was the old man’s  love.The narrow street where Mary bought a wicker bike basket.The bread shop and the butcher and the big green on the top with lovely houses round it in  a square [ squaring the circle!]
Many happy memories and the rich smell of gorse in the hot sun
When I get home,I shall see if gorse will grow in Knittingham he told Emile.Maybe the soil is wrong though
He took out his Vodafone Smart 7  or 8 and rang an old friend  in Sheringham
Is the cottage free,Fred, he asked?
Yeah, how many people?
Er, it’s just me and the cat . this time,Stan muttered idiotically.Well Satan was in the powder compact so he didn’t need a bed!
OK.I’ll leave the key at the chip shop then.See you soon.Stan.I’m just finishing my book on the Gnostic Imagination.I’ve  learned a great deal  but I’ll happy to finish it.Maybe we could meet for a drink one night
And do you know… they did!

Stan was standing on the patio behind his bijou home when a sudden heavy  downpour of water drenched him all over.
This is like a monsoon,he murmured to Emile who was also wet and drowned looking
A head  and neck appeared over the dark wooden fence.
I’m awfully sorry,old boy.A pipe has burst in Annie’s loft.I tried to fix it myself.
I don’t believe it.You are Stan Brown.It must be 50 years since I saw you.
Stan was hiding his surprise at seeing Rudolf Hairnet,his former logic tutor at an ancient foundation, in the garden of Annie,Stan’s beloved colourful mistress.
Why not pop in Rudolf,he said.I’ll leave the door open and go upstairs to change my clothes.Be with you in a moment.
Stan went upstairs and removed his clothes.His body was now as thin as when he reached his full height of 6 ft 6 inches but alas it had less muscle and more fat. nowadays.He gazed into his wife’s full length mirror.
To his surprise, he saw Satan looking out.Although he knew this was possible for Catholics he had never met Satan before.Not that he was keen to,exciting as it might be.
How do you get behind the mirror,he asked  Satan gently.
God only knows,said Satan morosely.
Why not ask him?
I’m too proud,the poor devil replied in a bleak voice.
Well,we all have our pride,Stan told him,though no doubt yours is the biggest in the universe.
Yes,indeed,Satan answered.It’s bigger than Everest
Are you here for any purpose,Stan enquired.
Yes,your home seems more intriguing than most and I like to watch you in bed with that flame haired woman… is she your paramour?
I see,said Stan,You are a voyeur par excellence
That’s one way of describing me,Satan said,No woman will come to bed with me so I am trapped here behind every mirror in the world.I can see it all but never take part.
You must be very lonely,said Stan
Yes,the dark spirit muttered painfully
Are there no she-devils about who might oblige you?Stan asked him thoughtfully.
I don’t seem to fancy them so much.They are all as bad a me,I want kindness and tenderness not just lust.After all,one might satisfy that with a vibrator… we have them in hell you know!We have many things but love and humility are not there.
Why,you are beginning to sound almost human,Stan told him.We want love too.If only you would apologise to God I am sure he would forgive you and let you come into the real world of others instead of being trapped in there
Stan heard a noise.He turned round displaying his bony frame and his  drooping organs to Rudolf.
Are you ok? I was worried that the drenching had knocked you off balance.I have out your kettle on the  fire to make you a hot drink and phoned 999 for aid.
But we don’t have a fire,Stan responded. loudly
Well,you do now said Rudolph
Oh,hell, cried Stan

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2025/feb/24/why-we-should-stop-wishing-we-were-special-and-celebrate-being-ordinary?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/edward-lear

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/145052/the-choice-of-constraint

EXTRACT

In constrained writing, one writes under a condition. That condition might mean not being allowed to do something—such as not using the letter e—or following a certain pattern. If this definition seems broad, it is. All formal writing operates under some kind of constraint; a traditional sonnet, for example, asks you to manage meter and a rhyme scheme in 14 lines. In this essay, we’ll look at less-familiar uses of constraint, ones that will challenge you in different ways. It may seem counterintuitive to put limitations on your writing, but you may find that a small constraint can make a big difference in soothing your fears of the blank page. It does so by taking some choices away and by demanding that you make new choices.

To illustrate this, I’d like to look at one of my favorite constraints—the abecedarian. Abecedarians are poems in which the first letter of each line or stanza follows the alphabet: A, then B, and so on. The abecedarian is an ancient form; it may be as old as the alphabet itself. You can find abecedarians in the Bible, though you’d have to see Psalm 119 in the original Hebrew to notice that each section is headed by a letter from the Hebrew alphabet (Aleph, Beth, Gimel …). Contemporary poets have used the alphabet constraint on a grand scale, creating long poems, such as Carolyn Forche’s “On Earth,” and even throughout entire books, such as Inger Christensen’s alphabetand Harryette Mullen’s Sleeping with the Dictionary.

Agitated apples are falling all over Andover

Behave yourself or you will be banned before brewing tea

Catherine wheels coming back into crazy vashion.

Dalmatian dog darted down dead end drastically reducing is road speed

Everyone expects the end to be exciting but not when you have , Edema

Failure is not failure when you have already passed the exam via aegrotat

Growling goat goes good in grey gloom

Henry VIII had hairy hands. Oh Henry don’t harass .

Juniper tree just joined the junk outside the jail

Khaki looks good in the kitchen

Lend me your ear and your legs I can’t light the fire.

Mother makes children mad yet merry

No gnomes got eaten by gorillas or guerrillas.

Only oranges observe our outings often in a

People like peapods after praying on Sunday mornings

Quantity or quality Kwik Kwik quack

Round the rugby ball roll the rabbits

Sell silk and satin to shoppers

Toothbrushes tend to take time off to sweep the streets

When and where are we waiting? Why not

Xylophones and X rays

You looked youthful yesterday

Zebras are monochrome in the zoo zevi fed 2

I thought that I knew grief: I knew it not

I thought that I had walked its many roads.

But what we learn in pain we can forget

If  grief were a wild beast it’s not a pet

If it has a language there’s no code

I thought that I knew grief;I knew it not

Would I read the clues their alphabet?

If grief is just a trail,it is not broad

Yet what we learn in pain we can forget

Would I die by hanging or be shot?

On our shoulders we must bear the load

I thought that I knew grief I knew it not

See the devil gambling,shall I bet,?

What we learn in grief we can’t forge

Who inscribed our hearts with loves own laws?

Who will be the see and who the saw

I thought that I knew grief I knew it not

When it comes again I won’t forget