The music is the waves as they run high Across the pebbly sands onto the road Then groaning of the shingle as waves die
The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine The flow within as outer waters flow The music of the waves as they run high
The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes Above the seas which rise up to its goad. Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die
The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry In the deep the heavy water moulds The music of the waves as they run high
All the day and all of the black night The seas and oceans change from high to low Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die
Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code? As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord His music is the waves as they run high His groaning is the shingle as waves die
The guardian newspaper has now entered the realms of ridiculous fashion.
Three different outfits in case you’re invited to lunch by the opposite sex or the same sex are carefully drawn and pictured sovthat for me to meet you for lunch next Monday it will be £750 pounds for me to get the right outfit to wear. It’s not just for clothes it’s the jewelry and the shoes as well.
If I had 750 pounds to spend on clothes I would spend a major part of it on getting a very very warm woolen coat. Then I would spend less on getting some skirts or trousers or jumpers..
We are recommended to buy a winter coat for £167 but it is not wool I think it’s partly or largely man-made fibers and they are not warm. This is quite stylish but surely warmth is the priority for most of us. I was being a very bad temper if I met you wearing that coat and not my ancient woolen coat or even my down coat from a sale which is very very warm indeed.
It’s like being several different plays in one day for which we have to have different costumes and I don’t know how many of the population have enough money to even buy one outfit for the winter let alone a different one for lunch for dinner for going to work for going to church to the synagogue or the mosque. Don’t forget the temple and don’t forget that most people in England do not go to worship on Sunday morning or any other time.
I feel as if it’s like the Titanic that we’re all madly invited to wear all sorts of different outfits as we lead the frenzied dancing into hell.
On Saturday afternoon after luncb ,or midday dinner as we said up north Mary began to feel very nervous, as she was going to the hospital with Stan on Monday for his next appointment with Dr.Range Rover. Mary was puzzled.She felt almost happy last week about seeing this kind hearted and gracious well dressed female doctor.However she had been shunted sideways onto a male doctor who was almost totally silent.. so much so that he seemd to absorb Mary’s questions into his sponge of a brain without feeling the need to respond,just like many British husbands do… and it may be a universal trait in men world wide if they had a British style education Why do I feel so apprehensive this week? Mary asked her dear black cat Emile. After all.I was happy to see her or to even have a biopsy last weekend.Why have I changed in my feelings so much in a week? Does it matter? purred Emile. Maybe your mood is affected by something else.. like fatigue or housework or the ravages of age… [he was well read] We don’t always know why we feel a certain way but I feel it’s good if we are willing to accept these negative moods.Even I have my moods when the fish you get me is not the right sort and you don’t give me my cat’s handkerchief neatly ironed. You are so wise,Emile,especially as,being a cat,you never have to endure these interviews with consultants in horrible outpatients clinics.So you must have a wonderful empathy for humans This lady doctor tomorrow is exciting me,cried Emile loudly.May I come in your Grace Kelly handbag. What’s wrong with my shopping bag?Good grammar,by the way.. Well,she wil be surprised if you take a heavy shopping bag even if it has a Mondrian design on it… she may get suspicious.. even paranoid.If I am in your handbag she will not realise. Not unless you miaow,mused Mary benignly as she smiled down at him her singular eyes gleaming like the headlamps on a Roller. I like to know the reason for things,she continued somewhat frantically.I think therefore I might be eventually.I am not yet,for sure. Does everything have a reason,shouted Stan querulously from the hall… Wel ,it does,but it might be beyond human understanding like the Burning Bush.. We can only perceive what our language permits unless we are poets,mystics or artists and even then it’s tough to venture into the unknown,unthought or unknowable;languages develop in societies and learning your language embeds you in many cultural assumptions without you ever realising it.You think it’s reality when it is just one perspective. How true,screeched Annie their neighbour from outside the open patio door.She stopped there in her teal velour tracksuit with matching eyeshadow and trainers. You seem to be overthinking,she said to Mary.Are you sickening with the heat?It’s like loving too much, which may be co-dependency. That’s a very silly pc word,said Stan rudely.We are all dependent but men can hide it until their wives run away with the milkman and they get a shock not knowing how much they’d miss her changing the sheets and buying their underpants and socks.And ironing their hankies Surely that’s not the main reason a man might miss his wife,cried Mary as she carried in the tea tray with a big white insulated teapot. Well,you can go on the web and find a virtual sex partner or even buy a dummy woman. but it’s tough to find a devoted woman who knows what you need to function. Why don’t you buy your own underwear and use tissues?,asked Emile Well,Emile,I put out the rubbish and wash the heavy Le Creuset pot.I see to the car and bikes.I paint the fence and even bake cakes. Mary washes the clothes and changes the sheets unless she has an idea to write down.She kindly does all the worrying for both of us and I remain calm like a lighthouse.We complement each other ideally.. and we love each other and a few others as well..without giving away our secrets That’s one waay of describing it,thought Mary without commenting out loud Anyway,I am still wondering why I feel nervous about Dr Range Rover…. If you accepted the nervusness it might ease,said Annie wisely in her high voice like a car siren going off at night Just then the doorbell rang.It was Dave the bisexual transvestite paramedic. Emile phoned 999 saying Mary was having kittens, he said rapidly.This really must stop;inter species sex is not allowed here unlike most sexual activity He was speaking metaphorically or is it metonymically,Stan groaned. Now you are here go and make us a fresh pot of tea and admire my new tea caddy.I bought it for Mary last week in that new shop in town. At your service,sir,Dave said politely,his flowered dress waving in the breeze. Do you know anything about Dr Range Rover,Dave? Annie murmured What is her reputation etc Some people like her, Dave said,Usually men.she’s not so good with women.. Well it’s too late to change thought Mary so I shall have to willingly endure the agony of meeting her again as I cannot leave Stan on his own with her… why who knows what might happen? She might become his mistress as he likes several nowadays. despite nearly being too thin to live… God only knows, a little voice said. Hello,said Mary.I’ve not heard from you lately. Well,I am still here looking after you Thank you, Lord,I love you, Mary shouted joyfully to the surprise of Stan and Annie, not to mention the cat Emile who was unlearned in the religion of his owners. I thought you were an atheist,Annie said with horror. I am an atheist and I believe in God.It’s what we call a paradox..Mary cried graciously…. What would Wittgenstein have said? Whereof one cannot understand,therof one must be patient and tolerant,. Why does Mary need to understand all her feelings…Stan wondered When it’s raining she doesn’t spend hours wondering why and similarly if it’s raining in her heart she must take it like parched grass…she thinks too much. Too much for what? Her sanity perhaps which has at times been doubtful but that has made her very understanding to those who find life hard.Everyone has value,even oveweight nervous half blind, supersensitive, vulnerable,stout arthritic female mathematical geniuses like Mary.She enriches the tapestry of life in a very real sense as someone once said And so say all of us:she’s a jolly good Fellow of All Proles College,Oxenford..you know how famous it is in Wonderland
When red sun drops and cooling night rolls in Darkness masks both danger and our vision Ancient minds fear day won’t come again Courage for the delicate seems thin We wrestle with our indecision When low sun drops and the night rolls in But now , new stricken by the dread of sin Who protects us from derision? Our ancient mind fears day won’t come again When we sleep we’re entertained within Bold dreams squander all illusion When sun drops the darkest night rolls in In reverie we’re loved and hearts open Then fancy turns to full communion The ancient mind fears day won’t come again Yet despite fear, our sacred life began When sperm leaped up in proud confusion. When deep sun dropped and a new night rolled in All human hearts cried,Day shall come again”
Our life is like a shell upon the shore, tossed up by squally,salty,shivering sea To shrink inside is safe,yet we want more, To make,to love,to see,at last to be. A shell, though tough, is made to open out; To give the living core its chance to grow Towards the new we each must shed our doubt. Every myth and story say it’s so.. Impregnable,that home had seemed to be To the tiny creature growing in its heart#. Yet thrown by winds across the rolling sea The slender cage must open and let part. Protection can be prison to the soul. So we crack our outgrown shells, desiring all
Across the road I see a Tudor wall In its cracks defiant flowers grow The modern traffic sounds out a loud wail From the East a freezing wind still blows
In between the natural world and man The space provides a habitat,retreat Ancient yew trees grow without a plan And in each little bird a heart still beats
Concentrating on the green and ancient views Ignoring the red buses as they pass Ignoring strident music , find the clues Down comes peace and joy, our Holy Mass
Reversal of the figure and the ground Brings out a new world where love is found
When love is nothing but a word, When our deep feelings can’t be shared. When joy and woe unwoven lie When we can’t speak, except to sigh….. When we are lost behind the glass, When burdened feelings never pass, When noone is a trusted friend When we are scared but cannot bend. When love embodied goes away When we are numbed but cannot say. When we are rigid with the strain. When life has little but such pain We suffer as our will has gone And we’ve no task to lure us on. We need to know we’re not alone That love can penetrate a stone. That like the Christ we rise to life When we endure with will its strife. When we accept that all is lost, But wish to live despite the cost. Then we are saved as are the flowers Which decorate the fields and bowers Though all shall crumble into dust, While we’re alive we’ll slake our lust.
We drove across the Pennines East to West Hoping to extend our holiday Snow fell down till once black crags were dressed
Imagination should foresee such tests Fierce as polar storms ,as mad as prayer w drove across the Pennines East to West
We passed through Bakewell did not stop to rest Buxton was far worse with snow like may Snow fell strongly ,oh wild crags were dressed
See these visions, travel if you must See the sea freeze .see ice in Lyme Bay We drove across Great Britain East to West
Now it’s North to South as Brexit asked Hear the people swear and curse and bray Snow fell till the people lost all zest
Now my love has gone, the car’s not here Crushed to a flat metal I can’t steer We drove across the Pennines and we laughed The sheep stared out, the crows cawed at half mast
Pray Father give me your blessing
Good grief, a real Catholic at last
Why, are there artificial ones?
No they just have terrible memories
Of trauma?
No, they don’t know what a sacrament is.
But surely how we act is more vital
I don’t know, it’s so long since I was in the cemetery
Do you mean the cement factory?
Why would I mean that?
Don’t ask me,I’m just a human being
I mean the seminary, of course.I remember now.
Do you know the seven deadly sins?
Not biblically
They are in the Bible… murder.envy, hatred
Yes, I was joking.I am celibate officially.
But what are you really?
I am asexual.
Do you have no desire?
I love people but I have no need to go to bed with them
No, we do it on the floor at home
Are you married?
Yes,definitely.She is a red head.
I thought you might say Red Indian
We have very few living in Stoke on Trent.
Where is that?
On the river Trent.
But that goes through Nottingham
So?
I thought Stoke was West of the Pennines
Yes, the Trent flows up one side and down the other.
That is a lie
Thank you.
Since my last Confession I have lied twice
What was the other lie?
I am not a Catholic
So why come here?
I am lonely and it’s bad for me so I thought Saturday night Catholics go to Confession
It’s not exactly fun.Why not go to the pub and pick up a woman?
Are you really a priest?
No,I was feeling lonely too
What a pity we are not bisexual
Well, we could learn
I thought it was genetic?
Do you mean generic
I don’t know.You mean like,buy paracetomol not panadol?
Genetic is totally different.
Am I a generic human or a dressed up, artificial and stunning person?
Why artificial?
I can’t act natural.
Try!
But if I try it’s not natural.
Was that my penance listening to you?
It could have been.Say a little prayer for me as well
So you do believe?
Why not? It’s better than dying of meaninglessness
You so seem very clever
How kind.
I’ll see you next week.
Hennetwistle has a railway stop The name is Viking now it’s usually spelled Entwistle, where reservoirs fill up Manchester wants water, here it’s held
Too Thirlmere is an artificial lake For tea in Manchester, those thirsty folk How much more d’ye think that they will take? Hamlets drowned, dull cypress trees that cloak
I once passed through Darwen on a train On the way to Ilkley with my aunt No memory of bliss with me remains Except the flowers so wild, their ghosts still haunt
Yet nowhere else gives me the feel of home This landscape is my body and my soul
The north is a closely knit, indigenous, industrial society,” he said. “A homogeneous cultural group with a good record for music, theatre, literature and newspapers, not found elsewhere in this island, except perhaps in Scotland.” He added, with a wry smile, “And, of course, if you look at a map of the concentration of population in the north and a rainfall map, you will see that the north is an ideal place for television.”
Rivington Pike Tower. Photograph: Alamy
The mast is only a little higher than three older landmarks. Most walkers catch their breath at the Grade II-listed Rivington Pike Tower, built as a hunting lodge in 1733 on the site of an older beacon. Another focal point, a little further down, is the Pigeon Tower – built by William Hesketh Lever (aka Lord Leverhulme) as a birthday present to his wife, Ellen. The tower and the terraced gardens it overlooks were part of Lever’s private estate, landscaped by Thomas Mawson between 1905 and 1925.
The third landmark, the Two Lads Cairn, is a pile of stones on Crooked Edge Hill, large enough to resemble a tower from certain angles. Conflicting legends say the lads were two Saxon princes, two sons of a bishop, or two children employed at a mill.
If the summits of our more celebrated peaks have a generally middle-class atmosphere – the technical gear, the smart gizmos, the “hydration” drinks – the top of Winter Hill felt everyday, multi-generational, multi-ethnic and communal. This was especially fitting, given the hill’s role in our nation’s rambling history.Pigeon Tower, which was built by William Hesketh Lever (aka Lord Leverhulme). Photograph: Ruaux/Alamy
In August 1896, Colonel Richard Henry Ainsworth, scion of a wealthy family that had made its fortune in the bleaching trade and resident of Smithills Hall, decided to close a well-used track that crossed his land on the south-east slope of Winter Hill. His business’s reliance on the hill’s watercourses had perhaps given him a proprietorial outlook. Moreover, he regarded walkers – whether tramping to work or heading up there for a breath of clean air after a week’s slog in factory, mine or mill – as unwanted intruders on land he used for grouse-shooting. He had his gamekeepers turn people back and build a gate on Coalpit Road to show the way was closed. A melee ensued, but the colonel’s private army was no match for the great mass of demonstrators
Local people took umbrage at Ainsworth’s decision. Cobbler Joe Shufflebotham, secretary of Bolton Social Democratic Foundation, advertised a march up the disputed road, which won support from journalist and Liberal party radical Solomon Partington. On Sunday 6 September 1896, about 10,000 people joined in the march as it progressed along Halliwell Road through a densely populated working-class district, and up the hill track. A handful of police and gamekeepers were waiting for them at the new gate. A melee ensued, but the colonel’s private army was no match for the great mass of demonstrators; the gate was smashed and the procession continued. When the victorious party arrived at their destination, Belmont, on the north side of Winter Hill, they drank the hostelries dry.
The Bolton Journal reported that “the multitude far exceeded what had been anticipated … the road was literally a sea of faces and the multitude comprised thousands of persons of all ages and descriptions”. During that fervid September, there were three weekend marches and one on a Wednesday, the only day shopworkers were free to join. There was a further march on Christmas Day.
Despite the numerical success of the popular uprising, Ainsworth had writs issued against Shufflebotham, Partington and others. The marches were stopped while the case was heard in court. The colonel won, leaving the marchers to bear the costs. The tail of the trial was long: though locals were able to use the path from the 1930s, it wasn’t until 1996 that public access was formally secured.
The massed march (the walkers wouldn’t have thought of it as a “trespass”) of 1896 has never been accorded anything like the attention given to the 1932 march up Kinder Scout, led by Manchester communist Benny Rothman, which is usually credited with leading to the creation of the UK’s national parks.
“Although the march was a massive event, it was very local, only involving people who lived within two or three miles,” says Bolton-based historian and author Paul Salveson, an expert on the Winter Hill events. “That, and the fact they lost the case, might explain why it’s not better known, though it did lead to greater awareness about rights of way in the Bolton area. The first world war led to the slaughter of many of the participants and brought the curtain down on so many working-class activities. When I met Benny [Rothman] for the Kinder Scout 50th anniversary in 1982 he had never heard of Winter Hill.”
View of landscape around Rivington Pike. Photograph: Alamy
Paul has written a book about the march and was involved in commissioning a play for the first commemoration, back in 1982. His most recent publication, Moorlands, Memories and Reflections, celebrates the countryside writing of dialect writer and radical thinker Allen Clarke, who wrote about the march and penned the stirring song about the Winter Hill protest, Will Yo’ Come O’ Sunday Mornin’?
A memorial stone to the marchers stands on Coalpit Lane. But, unless you go looking for it, you could walk for miles around without seeing any record of the historic clash. Just as most drivers ignore Winter Hill, so many walkers miss the glorious story of their recreational space.
This year – the 125th anniversary of the march – things might at last be about to change. Bolton Socialist Club, the Ramblers, the Woodland Trust, housing association charity Bolton at Home and other community organisations and unions have joined forces for a commemorative march along the original route for the weekend of 6 September. Folk singer Johnny Campbell is releasing a single for the occasion. There’s even talk of a new memorial, to be built by a local quarrying company.
“The events of 1896 showed how important the countryside was to working-class people in the north,” says Salveson. “It still is. This year’s celebration of those momentous events 125 years ago isn’t just a reminder of Britain’s biggest-ever rights of way demonstration. It’s intended to be a rallying call that the countryside is still under threat, with rights of way being eroded and inappropriate development threatening the landscape.”
• Join in the 125th anniversary events via Facebook
I studied the Arts of Love and War. I studied higher dimensional geometry. I studied other realities And I produced a learned article, As I love the strange world of the particle.So when the day came I studied you. I found I love you so much too. I don’t need mathematics to know what’s true For my heart has reasons anew. Equations have positive and negative solutions. Metaphors for Love, Hate and Evolution. Reflecting a long mirrored Revolution.I love Abstract Geometry, And I love knitted Topology, Even if it’s a whimsical Tautology. It taught me the simple wisdom. Of Crocheted Accountancy, Knitted boulangerie. Strings of theorems dangling, Make a very good wall hanging And woven Number Theory Because it’s so springy and cheery. It makes a very lovely bedspread . Somewhere to rest my dreaming head.I like the Surface Geometry Of your Body,more than I like General Relativity, Or Algebraic Topology, Or even Love Poetry. I want to view all of you. I need to love,and to hate you, too. I study your personal Trigonometry Your so solid Geometry. Your personal Morphologhy.I love your geniality And your cool conviviality Love has proved good for us two, More certain than Pythagoras’s theorem Was thought to be, before Riemann. Now all my cello strings are vibrating too. What did you do?I’d like to have a dance with You To the music of General Relativity Will you come and waltz with me So we can spin within the Spheres Hear music non-Platonic too? Subtle harmony,sweet geometry, Algebraic symmetry,quizzical homology. Radical new cosmology.I am woven and patterned with you. We make a fine bed spread too Uniting the male and the female view, Incorporating the bodily anew.I love to see your corporeality. Your eyes and facial originality. You’re so whimsical and non-inimical too. Let’s unite the sensual With the metaphysical. Our love hit the critical Mass to go into orbit to Encircle the entire Universe It just grew and grew and grew. Now we have much co-creating to do, Taking the very long term view. And much more lovely dancing to The music generated by us two In collaboration with All that the world is.
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Thought, the vision of the inner eye, Peers behind the mask of mundane view A choosing from the symbols that come by So into meaning many words are fused
Thought to me is vision without words; Needs silent presentation and review. The words translate the images that surge Then fall back to the ocean where they grew.
Like coloured visions of the deep sea bed Where fishes reel and dance, where life is new. What we mean with difficulty’s said Yet evocation summons it to view.
Let my words evoke love deep in you; Answer me with many kisses new.
Stan flew into Mary’s lovely bedroom and examined his stunningly beautiful,sleeping wife.She was still reading Ted Hughes’ letters and had abandoned Wittgenstein. completely.She was also reading Sylvia Plath- the poetry of negativity.Strange indeed he thought,for bedtime reading.But she always was a bit different.As usual she had a big box of tissues on her bed.
She had so far not got a new man in her life; he was grateful ,as ,even though he was dead, he liked to come to see her and if another man was in the bed he would feel it wrong to spy on them to see if anyone else could warm up this semi- frozen yet delightful lady and give her what she needed before it was too late.She was already 89!
Mary woke up all of a sudden and having leaped out of bed ,fell over and was sitting on the rug looking quite puzzled.With some difficulty she managed to get up by turning onto her knees.She then went to the bathroom.
When she came back she tied a silk scarf round her eyes to keep the light out and lay back on her pillows.Stan would have liked to kiss her but was afraid she might get a shock.She didn’t read although one night she did sing psalms in bed before lying down with tears on her round cheeks as she remembered his last moments of human life.
She was still the most untidy person he had ever met and her room was full of pens,boxes of jewellery and scent not to mention a mountain of clothes,books and garishly coloured shoes and handbags..and a few rather superior ones
He went to the kitchen where Emile was watching the dawn through the glass door.
Hi ,Dad,how’re you doing up there now?
I am adapting slowly .said Stan.I wonder why you can see me but Mary can’t.
They both sat silently pondering this.
Well, nearly breakfast time,I’ll take another peek at Mary.
He went upstairs and Mary was laughing as she dictated her dreams into a laptop to make a video.
I dreamed Stan was here and he was pulling funny faces at me which made me laugh so much it woke me up.Then it happened again.
Stan turned and flew gently away thinking Mary must be getting better.
As for him,don’t people know that even in Heaven people miss their partners or children?
Now that’s a research topic for this year.
And don’t say,all of us
Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft Rain and shadowed clouds would suit our mood When we are the warp without the weft
As if we are the pen and no ink’s left As if we hunger yet there is no food Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Our mind slows down and all we do is drift Evil thoughts into the soul intrude Like we are the warp without the weft
Let the eye and all its muscles rest With wider focus we may cease to brood Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft
Do not try with will power nor it test Relaxation brings back knowledge of the good We take it in like babies at the breast
We must not test the will but let it go Trust the ocean and eternal flow Sometimes sunshine makes us feel bereft Sometimes sunshine brings its golden gifts
Good morning,Ms Brown Gosh,you are s politically correct ,doctor In my view,it matters only for us to be medically correct,dear.And grammatically,of course. How true, noble sire. Now, what’s the problem today,madame? It’s my nerves,doctor.I hate them so much I feel almost derisory..which is totally crackers nowadays with so many street drugs to take one’s mind out of this world. What’s wrong with your nerves to make you feel like this all of a sudden? I think they are too big,mein herr.Can I have plastic surgery on them to replace then with plastic ones .I mean artificial like dentures are for teeth that drop out?The dentist told me my nerves are double the average size. for humans, But what is the standard deviation? Averages are no use alone.I wish people learned this in school How dare you say that! I have never deviated in any way.And I’ve never been average… and surely double the average size must mean something gross is going on? What a pity this is.You are a very charming and glamorous lady…I say that only to comfort you,not to seduce you which is illegal anyway,even if I wanted to do.Which I deny absolutely; Well,my nerves feel like long wild grasses waving in a cold westerly breeze in a great big meadow in Hartland,North Devon where many lips have cracked.And sailors drowned off shore too…why some even drowned on the shore and their ghosts still wander below the sheer and terrifying cliffs of alabaster and silver. Have you ever though of writing narrative or lyrical poetry or even romantic novels? What,write poetry with nerves like this?Do you think I’m a masochist or what? Well, you could try using a pen or a keyboard,you know. Now,God has given some of us larger nerves than others.It’s an evolutionary advantage to have some sensitive people about,like the canaries in the coal mines.They feel trouble coming before the rest of humankind That’s hardly any use to me as I am childless and can’t pass it on. God didn’t know that when he created you.Or if he did,he knew with nerves like this motherhood would be perilous and at least you can be a human canary Well,is there any surgery to help me or any other amelioration to my symptoms? Apart from removing your head there’s not much I can suggest right now, if you want a verdict,perhaps you can plant some wild flowers amid these long waving grasses and enjoy the beauty that you will perceive in summertime if you can be patient You’re an odd doctor compared to the usual one. Actually I’m really the computer repair man.The system has crashed and so has the doctor…temporarily I knew you looked different but I put it down to my giant nerves disturbing my vision… So will you come back to see the doctor later?He is just in the pub drinking blackcurrant liqueur for his nerves! What’s it got to do with you if I come back again or not? I love your mind,I love your body .I love your tentacles,receptecles and all your past and future particles.I love every bit of you especially your nerves.I always liked a woman with very big nerves. Really? Well,that’s cheered me up a great deal.I like the beast in man.How about my wild grasses? I love those too.Why,I’d like to lie down amongst them if you catch my drift. Can you read between the lines or write between them? Have you ever thought of taking up psychotherapy? I prefer to help computers.Hearing sad stories from disturbed folk all day must be draining as you can’t run out when you get overwhelmed like you can at parties Yes,but it would be horribly fascinating to hear all these stories.And now I am off to the garden centre to buy some flower seeds. I’d give you some seeds myself but it would be wrong to sow your field here in this office and the doctor might come in any time now which would be a trifle unseemly. Well,he could sow his wild oats as well! What a wicked woman you are;I love your mind.You seem quite out of the orddinary… please keep your big nerves. I am only offering this with the aim of calming those huge nerves .I am not thinking of enjoying lust or of how romantic you seem and how artistically brilliantl you are dressed and your golden curls and blue clothes.And your cleverness. I quite understand.I shall keep it all under my hat. if you see what I mean It’s an amazing red hat.Are you a Cardinal? No,I stole it off one I’d love to hear the whole story….who,when and where? Well,I hope to publish it on Swindle soon. We can’t wait.
Illiterate and obese my cat is kind Her fur is clean and shiny,she is groomed She eats my dinner then she reads my mind
Shall I shame her,tell her she’ll go blind Fantasising while she’s in my room? Illiterate and obese, my cat is kind
She thinks that Boris Johnson has resigned He will dance but only to his tunes He steals my dinner, taxing is refined
When in doubt, attack the weak and blind Tax their indoor bathrooms,feel no gloom The illiterate and obese, I find more kind
All my words have vanished,I declined Trust no other till you’re sure we’re doomed Don’t taint my dreams, I’m paranoid, I mind
Now we’re governed by that Eton loon He broke the law they’ll purge him very soon Illiterate and obese, the poor are kind They saw Jesus Christ get sent to Mind
Now love is not an easy word to use, for excess talk has torn away its soul. In cards and letters,we must stand accused; so where love dwelt,there’s now a widening hole.
And if our language changes, what’s the cost, when life departs from words that meant so much? Or is there something permanently lost when hands and pens have lost the way to touch?
We soon forget what loving used to mean We change to fit our fractured complex realms Till we are now as fractured in our schemes and what once was,seems never to have been.
Yet there’s a remnant found in art and song Which we can capture if our spirits long.
it was Annie, Stan’s mistress when he was alive. Quite what her status was now is hard to imagine. However she remained on friendly terms with Mary and indeed had helped Mary a good deal while she was grieving,mainly by being present in an understanding manner not to mention making frequent cups of tea
I’m going to see the Pope in Rome Mary cried out
Are you being sarcastic, ironic, or have you gone mad? Annie replied
Well I was trying to be sarcastic but I am not very good at it yet but I hope to improve as time goes by because research shows being sarcastic improveyour creativity
But can you be sure which part of your life will become more creative Annie ask her thoughtfully
For example you might become more creative in the way you trying to attract men
Well that would not be difficult said Mary as I do nothing to try to attract them at the moment and on the other hand it could be rather time-consuming
Would it improve my ability to write in a creative manner or to be more creative in what I cook
I have no idea Annie told her. the only problem is is that if you practice on me it might affect our friendship
You are far too childish Mary told her. Is that sarcastic?
Tell me, the ex mistress of your ancient husband
What do you mean ancient he was only 23”
23 what? said Annie? Are we being sarcastic?
Well if we can’t know the answer then we are not being sarcastic because I am sure we would realise if we were
I am glad you can express yourself in such a brief manner
What have briefs got to do with it?
I just found a bag full of dry ones and I have been Folding them and putting them into the draw.er
Do you mean knickers?
Yes I do but I couldn’t remember the name
You’re pulling my leg
No I’m not I’m nowhere near your leg
Don’t tell me that you are not familiar with the expression meaning that you are joking
Why do you assume I am not familiar with anything?
I am giving you the benefit of the doubt
Doubt is a very dangerous State of Mind
Shall I wear the pink knickers or the blue ones I spend all morning trying to decide so it is best not to doubt anything but to believe that what you do must be correct and everybody else is wrong
That’s alright as long as you’re not stealing people’s husbands
If they can be stolen so easily what does that tell us about the state of the marriage? nothing nothing at all, men are so easily beguiled that is in the best of marriages they’re not be enough to keep them faithful for ever
Don’t be so horrible I was trying to be sarcastic Should it not come naturally like loving
What kind of loving do you mean?If you mean physical loving it doesn’t always come naturally to human beings’many couples go for help in having a baby and the doctor discovers but they didn’t realise what sex was
They thought by sleeping in the same bed the wife will get pregnant
It seems very hard to believe but compared to thinking about Donald Trump
and his lies it is nothing Shall I put the kettle on said Mary
That is sarcastic Annie said because you know that I always put it on when I am here it is more like dropping hints Mary cried All these things are very hard for scientists. you don’t solve mathematical problems by dropping a hint nor does anyone drop hints to you whereas in interpersonal relationships it is very important to be able to drop hintd and to be able to take hints when they’re dropped in front of you Mathematics and physics much easier than everyday life because they contain no sarcasm no irony and no hints whatsoever I wonder if Wittgenstein would agree with you>
as he is dead we cannot know
I was just being sarcastic that’s all!
It seems like that Mary and Annie are going to have to spend much longer practicing sarcasm before they were able to go outside and be sarcastic to neighbours or Friends
well Emile’s view is that he will not accept sarcasm from anybody
he will bite the hand that feeds and in necessary
because he knows that Mary will forgive him when he apologizes
On the other hand it will be easier if he didn’t bite anyone As God might be angry with Emile for being trying animal to live with
Hello Mary what are you doing today?
it was Annie, Stan’s mistress when he was alive. Quite what her status was now is hard to imagine. However she remained on friendly terms with Mary and indeed had helped Mary a good deal while she was grieving,mainly by being present in an understanding manner not to mention making frequent cup see if resumes of tea and putting out the washin
I’m going to see the Pope in Rome Mary cried out
Are you being sarcastic, ironic, or have you gone ma? Annie replied
Well I was trying to be sarcastic but I am not very good at it yet but I hope to improve as time goes by because research shows being sarcastic improveyour creativity
But can you be sure which part of your live will become more creative Annie ask her thoughtfully
For example you might become more creative in the way you trying to sttact
Well that would not be difficult said Mary as I do nothing to try to attract them at the moment and on the other hand it could be rather time-consuming
Would it improve my ability to write in a creative manner or to be more creative in what I cook
I have no idea Annie told her. the only problem is is that if you practice on me it might affect our friendship
You are far too childish Mary told her. Is that sarcastic?
Tell me, the ex mistress of your ancient husband
What do you mean ancient he was only 23”
23 what? said Annie? Are we being sarcastic?
Well if we can’t know the answer then we are not being sarcastic because I am sure we would realise if we were
I am glad you can express yourself in such a brief manner
What are briefs got to do with it?
I just found a bag full of dry ones and I have been Folding them and putting them into the draw.er
Do you mean knickers?
Yes I do but I couldn’t remember the name
You’re pulling my leg
No I’m not I’m nowhere near your leg
Don’t tell me that you are not familiar with the expression meaning that you are joking
Why do you assume I am not familiar with anything?
I am giving you the benefit of the doubt
Doubt is a very dangerous State of Mind
Shall I wear the pink knickers or the blue ones I spend all morning trying to decide so it is best not to doubt anything but to believe that what you do must be correct and everybody else is wrong
That’s alright as long as you’re not stealing people’s husbands
If they can be stolen so easily what does that tell us about the size of the marriage? nothing nothing at all, men are so easily beguiled that is in the best of marriages they’re not be enough to keep them faithful for ever
Don’t be so horrible I was trying to be sarcastic Should it not come naturally like loving
What kind of loving do you mean?If you mean physical loving it doesn’t always come naturally to human beings’many couples go for help in having a baby and the doctor discovers but they didn’t realise what sex was
They thought by sleeping in the same bed the wife will get pregnant
It seems very hard to believe but compared to thinking about Donald Trump
and his lies it is nothing Shall I put the kettle on said Mary
That is sarcastic Annie said because you know that I always put it on when I am here it is more like dropping hints Mary cried All these things are very hard for scientists. you don’t solve mathematical problems by dropping a hint nor does anyone drop hints to you whereas in interpersonal relationships it is very important to be able to drop hintd and to be able to take hints when they’re dropped in front of you Mathematics and physics much easier than everyday life because they contain no sarcasm no irony and no hints whatsoever I wonder if Wittgenstein would agree with you>
as he is dead we cannot know
I was just being sarcastic that’s all!
It seems like that Mary and Annie are going to have to spend much longer practicing sarcasm before they were able to go outside and be sarcastic to neighbours or Friends
well Emile’s view is that he will not accept sarcasm from anybody
he will bite the hand that feeds and in necessary
because he knows that Mary will forgive him when he apologizes
O
On the other hand it will be easier if he didn’t bite anyone As God might be angry with Emile for being trying animal to live with
“Not only did I find that trying to describe my experience enhanced the quality of it, but also this effort to describe had made me more observant of the small movements of the mind. So now I began to discover that there were a multitude of ways of perceiving, ways that were controllable by what I can only describe as an internal gesture of the mind. It was as if one’s self-awareness had a central point of interest being, the very core of one’s I-ness. And this core of being could, I now discovered, be moved about at will; but to explain just how it is done to someone who has never felt it for himself is like trying to explain how to move one’s ears.” ― Marion Milner, A Life of One’s Own
How my heart speaks 