Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbor Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerized hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsbury’s.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencer’s.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and
discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own cat
though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?
The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself.
Michel de Montaigne
The search for happiness is one of the chief sources of unhappiness.
Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We
do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence,
but rather we have those because we have acted rightly.
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an
act but a habit.
Love doesn’t just sit there like a stone: it has to be made,
like bread, remade all the time, made new
On Monday morning Stan had to go to the shops in the centre of town to buy some special easy threading needles for his visually-other wife Mary.Somehow,most puzzlingly,she had lost all of the eight packs he had bought for her in the last year.He had suggested letting his mistress next door do the hemming and stitching.But Mary was determined even though sometimes she took 14 minutes just to thread a needle.But she was very patient.One might almost say she was saintly but he did not want her to get conceited so he kept his thoughts to himself.
Now what will I wear.Stan thought over-anxiously.
He had OCD now and then.
People no longer dress up to go down town instead they dress down to go up to the town,in a very real sense.
The art of living is to choose the most simple solution to any problem and Stan recalled he only had some navy trousers,some white and a few colored shirts and one light teal colored jacket.
He chose a coral colored shirt and looked in the mirror..
I look wonderful, he thought very humbly.
Why has God kept me so youthful?
Surely not so I can seduce more women?
We know God may be merciful to scissors,or is it sinners?
Well,let’s just say God can be merciful but for some reason,we never know till it’s too late whether it’s to us.
More haste,less speed,he conjectured.
Or is it, More paste,guests feed?
He stood in the hall combing his hair with a tortoiseshell comb and brushing it with a large nail brush
He looked again at his image.
His amber eyes glowed like neon lights on the main road to Knittingham in winter.
His dark hair looked very full for his age.
His teal jacket had been well pressed by the dry cleaner,
And his coral shirt was new as Mary had been out buying him more clothes lately.She had grown tired of seeing him in one solid color,especially grey or brown.
His navy trousers were a bit old but quite alright for Knittingham.
As he gazed into the mirror he began to feel odd.Then he saw Emile
who was standing on the chest of drawers behind him performing a dance.. solo!
Why are you dancing,Emile? Stan asked politely.
I am amused by seeing you gazing into the mirror for so long,
If you don’t hurry it will be lunchtime before you get to the Needle Shop.
Alright,growled Stan hoarsely.
At least I don’t wear make up!
Now there’s a thought…maybe I’d look better…what shade of foundation would suit me?Would I need lip balm and perfume?
Hurry up,said Emile unkindly.
More taste less greed.
What does that mean?asked Stan.
If you taste the food and eat slowly you will enjoy it more and thus need less.
Very clever,Emile.Shall I buy you some cough sweets in the pet shop.
No,I want some codeine linctus,Emile answered.
I want to go high,high.
I want to reach the sky.
what will I do when my love is away
Will I be happy on my own?
Lend me your ear and I’ll sing you a song
I’ll try not to sing out of tune!My God,Emile.Whatever has happened to you?
I blame the old chalk and opium medicine someone spilled on my breakfast.
Well,go and lie down but drink some milk first.At last Stan got out…it had taken him two hours to get ready
At the bus stop there stood Anne their neighbor.
Hi,Stan,where are you going.
I’m buying sewing needles for Mary.
I can lend her some,she shrieked.
Well,she has to use special ones nowadays.
Oh,so she does.I forget as she looks normal but is in fact suffering constant trouble since her Vitreous-vasectomy.. or was it hysterectomy or vivacity?.
Well,never mind.You know she’s not normal.
Who is normal?
Let’s just assume we will recognize it when we see it,he whispered warningly.
This bus is very late.I wish there was a proper seat here..my knees hurt.
I hate this plastic seat.Why has the wooden one gone?
Apparently the council are afraid of homeless people sleeping on them.
Well,everybody is at risk of homelessness with this economic crisis,
Anne shouted in a fury.
No,beggars can’t be losers,he responded.
Very true,she replied,
As they have nothing so they can’t lose it.The more you have,the more you fear losing it.
This bus is very,very late,I wish I had a horse or is it an horse?
A goat would be o.k.Speed bonny goat like a word someone flung..
Over the page to Fly.Anne burst out laughing so her face was as red as her coat from Artigiano.Her blue tights were a perfect contrast and also matched her lipstick.
At last the bus came.They got on board and the driver called out,
You both look very merry!
Too many looks create more wrath,Stan replied warningly.
Well, why dress up if you want no attention.the driver gloated.
Hello,darling, he said to Anne,Are you free tonight,babe?
Why? she murmured,I have two tickets for the Rolling Stones and no woman to take! he replied boastfully.
Now,if it were the Rolling Bones,I might be interested.
Your wish is my command he muttered,
I have my smart phone here,I’ll see what’s one elsewhere.
He kept trying but the virtual keyboard was playing up again.
Eventually the passengers got annoyed and asked him to start the bus.
As I’m half an hour late,I should be coming back now so I’ll do a U turn and go back to the terminus.
But we want to go into town,every one howled.
There’s many a blue word spoken as a jest,sang the driver.
Stan said,Please open the door,we shall dismount here.
Crikey,you don’t half talk posh,said the ,driver.
He leaned over and gave Anne a French kiss.
Now look here,Stan said,leave her alone.She’s my mistress.
Cor blimey said the driver,who are you,King Henry the Eighth?
I say,Stan,I can see Mary.It must be tea time.
Stan ran into the house and put the kettle on..then he made a pot of tea.Hello! said Mary.
Did you get my needles,Stan?
I’m so sorry,Mary.I’ve had such a busy day,I never got into the town.
And where is my supper.
I’m afraid it’s still in the womb of time!
I see,it’s chick pea dahl and brown rice again or egg on toast.
But I’m not complaining.Keeping house is a big job.I know it only to well.
So they sat with Anne and Emile,who even had his own cup and saucer now.They were weary and soon ,despite the tea, they were all fast asleep.
Living life in all its fierceness,
Birth and death and joy and pain
We struggle on our unknown journey,
Sometimes lost and found again.
We are indeed like lambs to slaughter
Death will be our final goal.
But while we live,let us live bravely.
Let us not destroy our souls.
Climbing in the hills and moorlands
In the heather, children play.
The sun half blinds me with its light
Yet still I see the given way.
I received a call to climb.
These hills are my essential home.
My vocation is to dwell here
While in the silence,mind may roam.
Noise in cities is destructive.
Though nature’s fierce,it’s also true.
Struggling on life’s craggy slopes
I offer up my words to you.
Crop a line into an infinity of dots…it takes forever and a way.
I dropped the bucket.What lucket!
Supper was benign.
Whopping like flies on amphetamines.Have they got HDHD?
I try drown my sorrows but they can swim too fast.
I was as drunk as a Monk after a day of lasting abstinence.
Fly with a Crone.
Good luck soup… boil a horse shoe in water with an onion and some cloves,then liquidise it
Plumb in a fox… it will wash you with its tail.
It would come in the post if it was delayed.
Numb as am iceberg’s stump.
Dumber than a clump of shagged out spammers.
More numerals than a box of clocks.
Shall we go to the crux
Such a feat.
A witch’s treat.
A bitch in the heat…
and wild in the cold.
Put my clox back now!
Insanely flung by chance into a brothel she worked her way out with a book,The Joy of Cookery.It was heavy enough to break the thickest windows.
I wonder why windows don’t have brakes for hot weathe
Sieve your breath for health.
Pray for whom you bill.
Today for your prayers read your Palms.
Scared of the cows in a meadow?Then take the bull by the horns.He’ll show you the ropes.
I am wiping the bottom of the barrel..I can’t sink much lower.
A record busting wind blew as the herd wound slowly over me.where’s the coward?
I see I’m I to me and thou to thee.If we just had one pronoun how .easy life would be…
When a baby can see itself as me as well as I,it’s already moved out of its self centred viewing point and can se
William Butler Yeats (1919)
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
We seldom realize, for example that our most private thoughts and emotions are not actually our own. For we think in terms of languages and images which we did not invent, but which were given to us by our society.”
― Alan Wilson Watts
Hope you are keeping well in this unusually cold spring weather.
Stan has had flu.It made him so bad tempered and waspish
that I took up the Duraglit polish and got him to polish all the brass,
except the front door knob, as that doesn’t come off.
Mind you,it made the bedroom smell odd… a mistake,perhaps…
so I sprinkled lavender oil around.
He seems to get thinner and I seem to get fatter.
So our average w eight remains constant.
What a relief.I’d like to be weighed as a married woman.
Can you believe this..
I’ve got chilblains! It’s those dratted blood vessels of mine.
Still,I polished some old plum colored leather and wear them in the house.
We seem to be doing polishing frequently here.. boots,furniture,apples.
How is your new book “Nonsense:A.N.Whitehead and Lewis Carroll” coming on?
Hope it’s progressing….to a nonsensical ending.
I’ve got a new book of poetry coming out in April
[from Polar bears publishers]
It’s called,”An unpolished performance.”
My fourth book on Wittgenstein’s cats is almost finished.
And the publishers can’t wait for the photographs…I’ll get a friend to do those for me!!
It gives me a change from all that polishing.
I’ve begun to talk to myself out loud…. in the street.
Just seeing if I can still do my old Lancashire accent.
I suppose it might worry people but no one has said anything as yet.They may be afraid.
“That which is unsaid can,nevertheless,still be heard.
Stan is still involved romantically with Anne, our next door neighbor.
I can’t blame him as chilblains and Wittgenstein not very romantic.
When I think of how we used to be,it makes me smile and feel sadness too.
I wonder if I can find someone new for a romance,myself… someone with Asperger’s syndrome
possibly…as I’ve just been diagnosed.It’s quite common in mathematicians.It may be an
advantage in concentrating a lot
I need a boyfriend with weak eyes as my clothes are all full of moth holes
and I’m damned if I’m going to buy new ones.
I can’t see well enough to darn but I’ve sewn the holes up neatly thus
giving a strange pleated effect to my clothes.
On my merino wool knitted trousers, one hole was right on the ass.
It looks now as if I’ve been shot in the rear…
but I can’t see it.So it does not exist.
Sometimes in the past I would iron on those motifs like
I think it would look odd having a butterfly just there…. or indeed
anything else like wild rose.
I could make a little sign saying
“Keep clear,from my rear.This is a hole where a moth scored a goal.”
Still,not many people are going to look there now I hope….
I seem to have stopped knitting but am still drawing.
Meantime I’ve just ironed some of my winter clothes as it’s still chilly..
and am planning to iron all my pink and blue knickers now
as I believe it kills any germs left when you wash at 30 deg.I got those colours in case I should
change sex or is it gender?
I wonder if I should iron the sheets?
Could I do it while they are on the bed?
I don’t wash them much as it wears them out and me too.
I am going to take up baking again because Stan is getting so thin.
I fancy a Russian cheesecake as it had a lot of protein in it.
I have a genuine Russian cookbook and also am waiting for a delivery of a
Jewish cookery book as I have lost mine..no it fell down onto my head last week
.God only knows where that came from.
but I believe there were good cheesecakes as Jewish cooking has much in
common with Russian,perhaps because once many Jews lived in Russia.I just
made friends with one here….he is charming and like me he hates golf.
I have got almost all the Penguin cookery books ever printed but mislaid a
In fact it’s quite hard to get into the kitchen
with all these books on the shelves.And a little food.
I was comforted to read that the parent’s of John Burra,the artist,
had books piled every where in their large house….
and he was very untidy too.
So all I need is talent and practice and I’ll be an artist.
After all,anyone can be untidy but not everyone will practice their Art.
I’d like to practice the arts of love.
They say you should love your neighbor as yourself,
but personally I prefer the neighbor or even the milkman to myself.
Meanwhile I’m happy with Emile our cat
and my 500 photos of Wittgenstein.
I shall make Stan a lemon sponge pudding.
That is the love he wants…Food.
“If music be the food of love I’ll cohabit with a pure white dove.
And while he coos and sings for me.
I’ll try not to :fall out of the tree,
Get stung by a bee,
Make more enemies,
Let my thought free,
Hurt my knee.
Let moths frighten me.
Well,time for some tea.
Now Jane, please write to me soon.
I love to see your so strangely beautiful handwriting
and to hear about Whitehead and Cambridge and all the weird dons.
I hope it’s not too damp and cold there near that river.
Keep warm and make a note of any intriguing happenings to relate to me.
And anything beautiful you can see or hear.I hope Edward is writing
regularly..where is he doing his research now… did you say Stanford?
Maybe you should install Skype..then again,perhaps not as you would have to
wash your hair too much… and comb it too…perhaps we could wear wigs.
Do write soon,Love always,Mary.
I wish I were an apple
and you were eating me
I’d like to make you happy
As you sat by this tree.
I wish I were a blackbird
So I could sing for you.
I’d like to make you cheerful
And stop you feeling blue.
I wish I were the sun
So I cold warm your frozen heart.
And then your heart would melt for me
And you would be less tart.
I wish I were the moon
so I could protect you all night long.
But being only me may I
Present you with this song?
1.Why is denim now a sign of conformity not rebellion?
2.Where are the best jeans from?
3.Should you wear “double denim”?
4. Why is denim too hot for summer and too cold for winter and yet we wear it anyway?
5.Why don’t most people wear winter coats nowadays?
6.Why are the shops so hot they make one feel sick
7.How shopping makes me feel sick and other ways of saving money.
8.Why did the Russians have the best novelists?
9.Is 8. true?
10.Is life worthwhile?
11.What does 10.mean
12.Who can come up with the best ideas for small talk?
13.Food processors…are they a good thing to own?
14.Did you see the second version of Dr Zhivago?
15.Why is Russian Orthodox liturgy so moving?
16.Have you been to Walsingham?
17.Do you like day trips on a coach?
18.Why is fish and chips our national dish.
19.Why is roast beef our national dish.
20.Do other nations have fish and chips?
21 Is rapeseed oil any use for chip frying?
22.What an odd name rapeseed is.
23.Did Einstein eat chips?
24.Is your skin sensitive?
25.Why do women wear deodorants but men don’t usually bother?
25.Do you need suncream in the winter?
26.How many grains of sand are there on Brighton beach?
27.Why is the sea at Hythe sometimes teal
28.Why are the Saxon cliffs in Kent a mile from the sea?
29.Can the Kent authorities move the cliffs back near the sea again.
30 Isn’t it odd that the railway line runs at the bottom of the cliffs near Folkstone as the tide might come up
as a train goes by?
31,Is this small talk?
Small talk topics
-1.What newspaper do you read,if any?
0.Do you have a blog?What about?
1.The weather [in UK]
2.Health problems…. or possible ones.
6.Light novels you have read.
7 Stuff from the newspaper
8.TV if you can get to yourself to watch it.
9.Your car or bicycle or your bunions.
10 Your new camera/computer/i pad/u pad/her pad/ur pad/z pad.
12.Money..the recession and price of food.
16 Is depression an epidemic? Do you worry too much.Or talk to much.
17 Are your boundaries strong enough?
18 your sex life or somebody else’s or the lack of
19,Is pornography responsible for crime?
21 The police
22 The riots.
23 The strike planned by teachers
27 Xmas presents
29 People who don’t speak to you or vice versa
35 Disabled people’s benefits being cut back.
36.Should you buy an Amazon Fire?
37 Are women too like men now?How?
38.Do you think life was better in the past?Which era?
39.Do you use a table cloth.
40.Do you wear a nightie or pyjamas or a night shirt or your underwear in bed and if so why have you picked that one?
41 Should people wear old clothes at home and only dress nicely if going out?
42 Why do so many people wear jeans?
43.Is tencel better than denim for jeans.
44.Should fat people dress to look thinner or dress how they please?
45.Why David Cameron has no expression on his face.
46 A and E closures.
48 Best hairdresser.
50.Do you wear accessories or think they waste time?
Do 4 things to cut your risk of diabetes by 93%:
The lowest rates of Type 2 diabetes in the world occur in populations consuming a whole foods, plant-based diet.
Overweight people walking 150 minutes a week can reduce the risk of developing diabetes by nearly 60%
Again,I am frayed.
In pain I have prayed.
In the main,poems don’t pay.
Don’t be plain in your way.
I’ll explain it some day.
Training cats and dogs to pray seems idealistic.
Training frogs the time of the day is an idea but will never become real,
Praise the jar… an early invention rarely mentioned.
Waking up the bunny was cruel.
I am a wholly cat.
Battle with your cage or walk out the door.
I saw the end of the wheel.It turned a full circle.
I reached new knights near a round table floating in the sea.
Ideas breed between the lines.
I bleed between the lines.
I need more than a few lines.
Lead the fine poets to print their own books
I led the riot to attract opposites
You bit my big tart
She lies over willed silk
Do you feel me approach?
Food does my art good.
You are making me wavy.
Mindless words damage.
Every dog has his own way.
Painted face art never should shows
I fell dead on the wheel.Now I have wings
Gale Dictionary of Psychoanalysis:
Capacity for Maternal Reverie
Home > Library > Health > Psychoanalysis Dictionary
Wilfred R. Bion developed the concept of the capacity for maternal reverie in his three books written during the 1960s: Learning from Experience (1962), Elements of Psycho-Analysis (1963), and Transformations: Change from Learning to Growth (1965).
Although he was an adult analyst and was primarily interested in group dynamics and the workings of psychosis, the concepts that he proposed (based on study of the analytic relationship in these two areas) in fact also proved to be very dynamic and very productive in connection with study of the foundations of the psychic apparatus—that is, the ontogenesis of the psyche.
In Bion’s view, this ontogenesis of the psyche can be related to a digestive model of the workings of the “thought-thinking apparatus.” At the beginning of its life, the baby does not have access to a thought-thinking apparatus that is mature enough to metabolize—that is, to use and integrate its very first mental or proto-mental materials. Bion thus described the beta (b) elements, which correspond to extremely archaic bodily feelings, to emotional states linked to the infant’s very earliest sensory and relational experiences, which it cannot utilize as such. There is thus a need, for the baby—that is, for its mental growth and maturation—for a detour through the Other.
The infant projects these beta elements into the psyche of its mother (or other adult caregiver); this adult effectively lends the child their own “thought-thinking apparatus” to reshape, detoxify, and transform the beta elements into alpha (a) elements, which can then be assimilated by the infant and integrated into its own mental functioning. This transformation is due to the “alpha function” of the mother’s psyche, or “capacity for maternal reverie,” which thus fulfills what could be described as a “desaturating” function with regard to the beta elements produced and felt by the infant (or by the patient).
From vantage point of the history of ideas, the emergence of this concept is situated at the confluence of Bion’s ideas on the functioning of groups, which also have a containing and transformative function (containers), and his analytic practice with adult psychotics: “If the patient cannot transform his emotional experience into alpha elements, he cannot dream,” he wrote in Elements of Psycho-Analysis.
This model is indissociable from the grid that Bion proposed to categorize the different types of mental materials (horizontal rows) and the various ways these can be used in communication (vertical columns). The beta and alpha elements correspond to the first two horizontal rows (A and of the grid, the last row of which is the “algebraic calculus” (H).
The extrapolation of this model to early psychic development was effected more by later theorists of child analysis than by Bion himself. In France, René Diatkine published L’Enfant dans l’adulte ou l’éternelle capacité de rêverie (1994; The child in the adult; or, the eternal capacity for reverie), in an implicit homage to all that this concept has contributed to the work of child analysts. In Diatkine’s view, the concept of the maternal reverie must be understood along with Jean Laplanche’s work on psychic translation in the context of his theory of generalized seduction.
Bion, Wilfred R. (1962). Learning from Experience. London: Heinemann; New York: Basic Books.
——. (1963). Elements of Psycho-Analysis. London: Heinemann.
——. (1965). Transformations: Change from learning to growth. London: Heinemann.
Diatkine, René. (1994). L’Enfant dans l’adulte ou l’Éternelle Capacité de rêverie. Neuchâtel and Paris: Delachaux & Niestlé.
I think this is a good post
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Will you still love me when I have forgotten what logarithms are?
Bizarre tales of love in the Mathematical
Forget Maths in twelve easy steps: Dancing for Darlings.
Inch by inch:Crawl up the Wall with Professor Braithwaite.
Baby steps to Love for the Mathematically Gifted.
Dr Braithwaite’s Love Problems:Triangles,Squares,Elliptical Approaches and Heaps of Leaps.Solutions at the back.
Leave your Hyperbola at Home: Dates,their care and feeding for the Geometer.
Are Quadratic forms relevant for Sexual Success:Succinct Replies to Astutely Odd Queries.
A Dummy Date: Trial and terror.
How are you?
Who are you?
I’m your brother!
Sorry,dear,my eyes are not what they wear.
Well,why not have new glasses if you must wear them?
What kind of new classes.Socio-economic?
Are you deaf?
I think it’s a dress.
Are you not sure?
No,I’m not insured so it’s no good you killing me for the money!
I’d bill you just for pleasure!
Too much leisure? Why not do voluntary work?
If it’s voluntary,is it work?
Yes, she does smirk?
What sort of name is “Streep”?
Perhaps it was a spelling error?
Yes,she does fill me with terror!
I thought you liked strong women.
Only as they lust and last longer in bed.
In bed.What a joke.You’re 96 tomorrow!
Yes,it will be my 96th lady tomorrow.I hope to find four more sweet ladies before I die.
I won’t ask why.
I’ll tell you anyway.
Go on,tell me;I’m all here.
Well,with the first ninety I have realised I was doing it wrong.
Can you do it wrong?
Well,yes,if you want to procreate or to please.
Did father not tell you what to do?
Bell me!I’m a man not a cat.
Look,there’s a pretty woman.
I can’t see anything!
She’s across the road.
I need stronger glasses.
I just need stronger spirits.
Do they breed,those ferrets?
I never know what they do.
Can’t you watch them?
Well,they’re so quick!
Yes,I love Diana Quick.The best actress by far I believe.
Better than Judi Dench?
Well,no-one is better than Judi.
I’m a moral vacuum.
Can I take my morals from you?
Yes,I love stew.
No,Beryl’s in a stew.
I knew it!
I saw her hair was dropping out.
She’s up the spout.
How vulgar you are.
I’m doing my best.
Yes, do wear a vest.
I passed my driving test!
A car, of course!
So,passed at the 100th go?
Yes,that’s why I want 100 ladies.
So I hear!
What,are you still here?
I’d love a beer..
Yes,I have some fears and I shed a few tears.
I could lend you a hankey.
Will I have to pay interest?
No,just pay me some attention.
Detention!I’m not a schoolchild.
I agree,you are wild.
I’d like some mild beer.
Everyone suffers fears.
Yes,the strawberries are dear.
They are queer?I’d love a gay strawberry or two.
You are too old to be gay!
I’ll do it my way.
A clock of fire shone overhead.That’s just the sun,they said.
Up and punning.The life of an old word lover.
Sick of rhyme?Free verse now.
Take off that look.Try a new Face…. without the book.
Knock me off the shelf.I’m divine….ravings of the Cook.
At the top they are dead.At the bottom they dread.What is the meaning?
Are you on Plotter,the new social medium?Sign on secretly when you get a private message.I never spoke.
Don’t sign up to Paranoia.Madness hurts.
Of kilts and men.The Scottish affect:Gloom is us.
Oh,I shan’t bother!Listless and weak…. you need a new kind of speech…talk yourself well in ten days.
I am thinking today about reverie,daydreams and fantasy.I believe it is crucial to creativity to be able to enter a state of reverie,a state of mind that can happen if we feel secure and safe in our surroundings so we can let our attention float freely.When in danger we must be alert and our eyes are sharply focused.We don’t fall into reverie then.
Reverie is not fantasy.Fantasy to me is when you make up a little scenario that pleases you…maybe dreaming of dramatically rescuing someone from drowning and being presented with a gold medal.Or meeting a perfect person who loves you. forever and sees no faults in you.
Reverie is not self serving.
What I think is that fantasy is done by the conscious mind often to gain gratifications unobtainable in real life.Most people do it now and then.
In a state of reverie we are open to intimations and images from parts of our mind not controlled by the ego.In my case it sometimes happens by way of a tune coming into my mind…. a song.Or an idea about how to solve a problem…. or a phrase which leads to a poem.
I believe what is called “Stress” may be a state in which you cannot allow yourself to daydream and fall into a reverie.We feel in danger so must remain focused all the time.The eye muscles tense as do other muscles.So we get very tired.And we fail to see the broader picture.
As for dreams whilst asleep… these seem nearer to reverie to me than to wish fulfillment.But I’m not sure.
One thing concerns me is Lucid Dreaming.I try to taken this I believe people try to take over control of the dream and make it go in a way that they consciously want.If it’s a nightmare that may be a good idea
but in general I believe we should let our dreaming mind go where it wishes because it may be some other part of the mind sending a message.Or it may be God sending a message.The language of symbols is different from a spoken language.Symbols have many meanings.
Each person can know better what their own symbols mean than an outsider.I think falling int0 reverie whilst contemplating a dream image may help to understand it in part.
As for Meditation,I’m unsure where that fits in… but it must be somewhere near Reverie…
Feel the money flowing over you?
Don’t pencil me in…am I unworthy of ink?
Ask Penny what she thought.
A Jenny pincher..he loves a Wren.
A penny waved is a penny scorned.
Many may be wise yet can thousands be more foolish than thou?
People who live in classy houses shouldn’t moan.
Deception breaks loyalty.
Pick of the wittier…political farces for the bored.
He picked the low hanging suit…… oh, belly in
A dictionary gives birth to a thousand elegies
I thought it was a piece of cake,mother….Never bite Art works.Dentists love them,hate them,pay them,but when?
I shall peck a tin…..it’s the new diet for quick weight loss.
You eat the tin and throw out the food.
He has been seen praying in the maths classes.
Have you got a pane in your neck?why not install double crazing?
Will you paint yourself in the corner?Make up is too sexy in front of the children.
Will Pandora put on her socks ?
I can paper over the cracks but with the holes in the floor that’s tricky and dangerous…especially with the stouter ladies.
I’d like a paper tiger for my bed.The cuddly ones are too lifelike/
Is there a bar for the horses?
He passed his dismay on to the priest and received a blessing and then a brick fell on his head.Oh,Lord…can’t you wait?
Connect with the Timeless
There is another source of connectedness that does not involve specific other people and that has some advantages that attachments to people do not. The Gershwin song expresses the romantic wish that through “the Rockies may tumble, Gibraltar may crumble, they’re only made of clay, but–Our love is here to stay.” Well, the Rockies and Gibraltar are still around while countless people who earnestly sang these lyrics to their partner are not. Or their partner is not. Or both, through separation or death, are gone.
I am not proposing that it is better to love rocks than people. But I am implying two other propositions: 1) that it is unrealistic not to recognize the possibility of any relationship being transient and ephemeral, and 2) that the more we can root some of our attachment needs in things more lasting and even timeless, the firmer is the ground on which we stand in life’s changes and discontinuities.
A leopard doesn’t ache in spots.
I confess to two evils….eating cake and drinking.
Let sleeping dogs lie but not humans.Truth now!
Let the cat out with a flag.
Let’s roll over in the hay.
Let’s split in two so I am you and you are too.
Ticking off one’s wounds never works.
I shall lie down with lions and see how they like me…raw or cooked.
In life its rare to hear a bowl of cherries growl.
Life’s a sandy beach with the tide coming in…. then going out with us floating.
She was as light as the weather forecast on a stormy day.
Switch the light off at your end of the tunnel
I got blight in my loafers.
I was planning to make a carrot cake till my mother told me:
Carrots don’t eat cake.
What are carrots anyway? Why are they so picky?
I have to eat all my food or I get punished by hunger pains.
Are there worms inside me eating my food or biting me?
Do worms have teeth?What is it they like about soil.
Charles Darwin wrote a book about worms…
So far I have not read it.
Worms are the opposite of us.
They never get angry or depressed as far as we can tell..
How fortunate as to psychoanalyze a worm would be hard.
Indeed could you tell a worm to lie on the sofa
Or would you have to climb inside a plant pot next to the worm?
As Wittgenstein might have said,
If worms could speak we would not understand what they said.
I don’t know,I think I can guess though…
I have some experience …symbolically that is.
Or is it metaphorically?
Imagine a worm on your couch.
Hmm,how are things going?
Quite right,I am interfering with your transfernce.
Would you like a little soil?
Oh,dear…I should not have offered you anything.
Surely you don’t remember him?
So your dad was a lady?
Well,it takes all sorts.
I’m afraid your time is up.
You want a minicab?
Do you take plastic?
I never knew worms could sing…
Well,you do now.
The art of writing is to guess
which tool will suit your hand the best.
Know which muse will bring out joy
as you new sentences employ.
Writing brings up treasures deep,
as do dreams whilst we’re asleep.
Take such gold and use it well,
If you have a heart to tell.
Wisdom comes from sharing views;
So point out critics to your Muse.
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