Education

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In the corner of the schoolyard
Stood a tree -
What kind of tree
(Class, type, make, model)
Was of no concern to me -
It was just a tree.
Then I learned about trees
And so was able
To give this tree
A label,
But the label washed off
In the rain, and now
It's just a tree
Again.

Great news on the economic front

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A British shipyard has won the contract to build a state-of-the-art nuclear submarine for the Latvian Navy.

Actually, all the bits will be made in Taiwan but it will be assembled over here. The contract is expected to provide jobs for 700 men (and possibly a few women).

It will also help to boost the tourist industry, since trials will be conducted on Loch Ness during the summer months. The government would not comment on the rumour that the submarine will also have a good look for 'Nessy', the Loch's famous 'monster', while down there.

All lies!

But I was thinking this morning that, if we really want to put an end to war, would it not be a good idea to stop making armaments? Of course I realise that this is a naive view.

A vast industry exists to build and sell weapons of war, and I don't expect you could you can close it down, just like that. Also, I suppose it could be said that a country needs weapons to protect itself. But how does selling weapons to another country protect your own nation?

Don't be silly, George, it's all about money - you know that.

I will pause here to make my breakfast.

By the way, I miss her, you know... Anna

Doors

If the doors of perception were cleansed

everything will appear to man as it is, infinite.

[William Blake]

Are there some questions you can't answer, some places you can't get to with logic and reasoning -
but only with metaphor and parable?

We only experience a tiny slice of reality because, as Bergson and C D Broad suggested (and later, Huxley agreed) the brain operates as a vast reducing valve "shutting out most of what we should otherwise perceive or remember at any moment, and leaving only that very small and special selection which is likely to be practically useful." [see Storming Heaven: LSD and the American Dream by Jay Stevens].

But the pressure from the unconscious mind causes a leakage of this valve and "As Mind at Large seeps past the no longer watertight valve, all kinds of biologically useless things start to happen. In some cases there may be extra-sensory perceptions.  Other persons discover a world of visionary beauty. To others again is revealed the glory, the infinite value and meaningfulness of naked existence..." 

Perhaps a long ride on the motorbike is called for.

And all the while the rain it was a' raining

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Another grisly, grey morning.
Well what can you expect! It's not the bleedin' Bahamas is it. It's October in England.
Yeah, well, all the same... it's depressing.

The clock on the wall strikes nine. On the East Coast of America it's 4am.
And in Moscow it's probably Thursday.

Whatever happened to the 'Flat Earth Society'? Well, we may not have a flat earth but we have a Flat Universe. I was reading about it last night. The mathematics are quite complicated but it seems they have reconciled the results obtained by weighing galaxies with quantum mechanics - and of the three hypotheses previously posited, Flat Universe wins, hands down.

Hands up who wants a Flat Universe! Well you've got one!

But what's that got to do with the price of fish? You ask. How does that affect me and my life?
Work that one out for yourself, mate. I've got enough on my plate.

I'm reading 'To the Lighthouse' - Virginia Woolf could sure knock out a good story when she put her mind to it. Nothing much happens in terms of 'action' but everything happens in terms of human relationships, what goes on in people's heads, that sort of thing.

I look through the window. The rain seems to have stopped, for the moment, but the sky is still grey and ominous. How can a sky be ominous? Or reassuring? Or anything else for that matter. 'Ominous' is just my interpretation of my sky 'experience'.

It's time I got my breakfast.

Rumours

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I awake to find the life of a family is in my hands. I was told this by an organisation called 'Samaritans Purse'.
I don't know this family. They live somewhere in Africa. But I feel the need to do something about it.

I always feel compelled to give something, to any cause that I am made aware of - even online.
 I just hope Al Qaeda doesn't ask me to sponsor a suicide bomber!

Talking of ISIS (which we weren't, although some folk think they are the same as AQ - which they're not): there is no truth in the rumour that ISIS is bringing out a book: The Qu'ran for Dummies: a wake-up call for the rest of you.

I think people who spread such rumours should have a fatwa stuck on them. (or is that another religion?).

But I am bringing out a book. I think it is time my poems were made available to a wider audience. I shall probably have to publish them myself so am looking for a good self-publisher. Any ideas?

Sunday luncheon was taken at McDonalds - and very enjoyable it was too. This was followed by a walk around the island and the feeding of swans and various assorted fowl of the air.

Today it rains. A sodden suburbia.  But are we downhearted? Well, are we...? A resounding No!

We are off the meet the day - head on!

Mother Alcohol

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Oh, Mother Alcohol,
Clasp me to your boozy bosom
On this dark and lonely night;
Soften edges, blur the details -
Tell me it will be alright.

A special kind of guy.

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It takes a special kind of guy to pick up a knife and saw a man's head off.

You need more than a faith or a cause to do that. Although a 'faith' or a 'cause' is a convenient peg for the psychopath to hang his hat on.

It seems we all need something bigger than ourselves to make life meaningful. Alright then - how about Love!

And that is probably what the head-chopper-off needs too.

So pity the poor old psychopath,
He's doing what he can
With what he's been given and what he's learned
 - Try and understand the man.

But don't let him get away with it -
That just makes life a farce -
Try and teach him the error of his ways -
With perhaps a swift boot up the arse.

There are more questions than answers

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We are always being asked to respect people's religion. You don't hear anyone being asked to respect a person's secularism.

I wonder why that is.

Anyway, night falls on this part of the globe. We think of darkness as a thing in itself, but it's just the absence of light. Ah, but could you say that light is just the absence of darkness? Probably not, because you can measure the speed of light but you can't measure the speed of darkness. Well, not so far as I know.

But we are now in the realms of the metaphysical. A dangerously fascinating place to be, but perhaps not at this time of night.

Although, I think that living dangerously is the only way to live. My brother, Hector, says he lives on the edge - a serrated edge at that!

There is so much sorrow, misery, pain and loneliness in the world, I often feel sorry for the human race. On the other hand, there is  happiness, joy and love too. So best to just get on with - and try and see the funny side of things.

In his haste to cut and paste,
He cut when he should have pasted;
The screen went blank,
His poor heart sank -
Another morning wasted.

But never mind, it's only words,
When all is said and done;
Our wonderful brain
Can find them again -
And there's more where they came from.

Does my dog know it's Saturday?

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There is an old joke: Two hippopotamuses basking in the mud. One says to the other -
I keep thinking it's Thursday.

Today is 'Saturday', humanly speaking, but does it matter? It's raining - but does that matter either?

By the way - I haven't got a dog - or a hippopotamus.

School days are the ghastliest days of your life.

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I look out the window. Leonie walks past, her long blonde hair ripples in waves with each step.

I have the television on. It's called multi tasking.

I had another dance lesson yesterday. It was strenuous but enjoyable; tango, cha, cha, waltz. I only trod on my partner's toes once. Well, I didn't tread on it, I sort of nudged it with my foot. She said she was ok. There was no blood.

I think it was Robert Morley who said he'd only go back to his old school with a machine gun and an armoured platoon.

I know how he feels

The Disappearing Beetle

She plonked the plate down in front of me. Oh, joy, salad again. I say salad: there were two curling leaves of limp lettuce (that very green sort that looks like a dock leaf), a chunk of raw carrot, a couple of slices of beetroot, a bruised half a tomato (perhaps someone else got the best half) and something green and shiny, that might have been cucumber. Oh, and a slab of greasy yellow stuff, I took to be cheese.

Takin my knife, I gingerly lifted one of the lettuce leaves. And there it was. Horrified, I dropped the knife and sat bolt upright.  ‘What’s up?’ from Rimmer on my left.

‘A beetle. There’s a beetle in my salad!’ I cried.

‘Well don’t shout, they’ll all want one.’ This was Smith across the table.

‘It’s not funny, Smith’

‘Is it dead?’ Enquired  Aspinall, on my right.

‘Well it’s not moving’.

‘Perhaps it’s just stunned’ said Rimmer.

‘Just stunned!’ I shouted at him. ‘I don’t want a beetle – dead or just stunned’.

 ‘Complain – I would’ ,chimed in Wilson, two places up from me.

There was now quite a bit of excitement down our end of the long table as I passed the plate round for examination, and it attracted the attention of the teacher on dinner duty : A Miss Chaffeur, as I recall.  Teachers doing dinner duty still wore their gown, and Miss C, with hers billowing out behind,  rushed up. ‘What’s all this noise?’ she demanded.

Everyone fell silent. ‘Er, there’s a beetle in my salad, Miss’ I faltered.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’ She snatched up my plate and held it close to her thick spectacles. ‘Nonsense’.

But she took the plate away.

‘Hey – she just took your dinner. I wouldn’t have that,’ Wilson again, now that she was safely out of earshot.

Everyone was looking at me. I didn’t know what to do. This was the first term of my first year at Ashfield Grammar School, and I was completely out of my depth.

But before I could think of anything to do or say, Miss C was back. Once again the plate was plonked down in front of me – so hard the lettuce rattled. ‘There was no beetle in that salad.’ She glared at me. I looked at the plate.  The  beetle had disappeared.

‘But…’ I protested, looking around at my new friends, waiting for one of them to back me up. I was dumbfounded. ‘… you all saw…’ my voice tailed off in the thick silence.

‘Now get that dinner eaten and let’s hear no more about an imaginary beetle. I know your sort – you’re a trouble maker. Well, I‘ll have my eye on you from now on’. She stalked off.

I couldn’t eat the salad (it looked like the same one she’d taken away, minus the beetle).

Smith and Wilson divided it between them.

It took me a long time before I complained again – but when I did it ended up with me leaving that school.