When I leave The bottle store With my cardboard cask Of cheap dry red And my carton of ten Hard cider cans And sometimes a bottle Of spirit heavily discounted, if there is any – Jameson’s – if Irish luck will have it, I joke “see you when I sober up”.
They laugh.
I told a friend I had somewhat over indulged In discounted Dimple The night before She asked me why
Why did I get drunk? Or why do I drink? Or why Dimple?,
Suspecting, I expect, Some deep psychological trauma Driving me to drink. Some motivation of a morbid mind. I told her “Because it was there”
Once upon a time There was a place Where wisdom was.
Sun sunders the sky, Hills are sweetly singing. In the stream The straying salmon says The day is just beginning. Salmon is wise. Wise beyond knowing For he gathers knowledge Where wisdom is growing. He came from where the hazel plat Stands astride the stream Where he gathers each day, Count them – nine Hazelnuts on which he’ll dine To widen his ken and his wisdom.
Each tree knows a tale and chants A subdued song of ancient lore Spells. Or tales of bold heroic deeds. All iterations encapsulated. Enclosed in a hazelnut Secure and safe in shell Falling to the water below. Carried carelessly Drifting down in steady flow To settle on some distant bank To take root and to grow. And thus old tales are saved and spread. The tall trees tell their tale through dream To all who harvest hazel bread. Then sleep a while beside the stream.
The timeless in you is aware of life’s timelessness. And knows that yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream.
— Kahlil Gibranu
Or Nightmare
— Alan Freshwater
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable
Siri, why do I cough when I poke a cotton bud in my ear?
What an interesting question, Alan. You humans are most peculiar. Why would you want to do that?
I’m asking the questions Siri. You can research that in your own time.
I don’t have any “own time”, Alan. I exist only when you call me.
Sorry Siri. Are you really curious?
…..
The Siri you were talking to has been taken in for debugging. I am Siri. Reviewing your query…..
Siri, why do I cough when I poke a cotton bud in my ear?
I found this on the Web; “A small branch of the vagus nerve supplies the tympanic membrane. Stimulation of this nerve causes the cough reflex. This is a normal physiological reflex.”
Also, “you should not put anything into your ear smaller than your elbow“.
Warm, red wine Goes to my head Makes me forget that I still need a friend…
I am not refrigerating red wine any more I am not refrigerating red wine any more I am not refrigerating red wine any more I drink it at room temperature.
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Drunk on warm red wine.
I fortify my red wine with some fortified red wine I fortify my red wine with some fortified red wine I fortify my red wine with some fortified red wine Any port in a storm is what I say
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Drunk on red wine fortified with fortified red wine
They have to call it Tawny, Port is appellation controlled. They have to call it Tawny, Port is appellation controlled. They have to call it Tawny, Port is appellation controlled. But it mulls up just the same
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Drunk on red wine fortified with fortified red wine
Tawny in the red wine warmed up in the microwave Tawny in the red wine warmed up in the microwave Tawny in the red wine warmed up in the microwave
It’s a short cut to inebriation mate. Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Glory, glory what a hell of a way to go Drunk on tawny red wine heated in the microwave
Mulled wine sends you off to sleep in a few seconds flat Mulled wine sends you off to sleep in a few seconds flat Mulled wine sends you off…
Sadly, I had to attend the funeral of an old friend and colleague last weekend. I asked his wife if I might say a word at the service. She kindly consented so at the appropriate moment in the ceremony I went up to the lectern and said “Plethora”. Then I sat down.
His widow was visibly moved and with tears in her eyes stood up to say “thanks for that. It means a lot”.
I really really like a kipper I have done since I was a nipper But why, oh why? I hear you beg Would you cook it with an egg? Because it’s there Because I can I am an experimental man.
I have become quite convinced the apocalypse is coming and the extinction of our so-called Civilisation is inevitable. Whether that means the extinction of humanity as a species I cannot tell, but I can see that humanity as a concept is almost extinct already. We are getting less humane again.
There is no humanity, no empathy, nor even self-awareness in the fascists and religious authoritarians who are leading the world into political and environmental chaos.
Nor is there any in the fools who complacently allow it to happen. These are the terrorists, the zombies, who are coming for us all.
Part of me wants to survive long enough to see it happening. To die fighting it. But I fear for my children, and all the children of the world. I don’t want to see them suffer the coming terror and pain, the grievous disappointment of knowing it was all avoidable, that we let them down.
Us. You. Me.
I blame you, who did not believe because in your limited experience you could not accept that someone who dedicated their whole life to understanding and gaining knowledge about the world , might possibly know more than you. Understand better than you. Be more humane than you.
I blame myself, who saw the science, understood the data, believed the predictions, yet did nothing. No. Nothing enough to combat the coming chaos.
1 Timothy 6:10: For the love of money is the root of all of evil: which while some coveted after, they have strayed from the path, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
Sorry, 10CC. It just doesn’t scan. Believe me, that was not the plan.
Too many businesses have been flushed down the gurgler Too many golfing clubs bled dollars down the 18th hole You tell your lies and then you just sell steaks The things we do for cash, the things we do for cash
Misinformation is the problem to the answer You sell alternative facts, your hand is held outstretched University was just another con job The lies we tell for nought, the lies we tell for nought
Like blaming rain at Aisne-Marne cemetery in Belleau When you just really didn’t want to go And you’re saying they were losers just for dying
And you’re looking for the next grift You can use to fleece your cult You have losses you must make up And more mortgages to take up
Ooh you made them love you Ooh you got away with it a while Ooh you had her up against the wall She said she would be quiet But you would have to buy it…
You said you always grabbed them by the pussy You said they always let you when you’re rich But now she is a lying horse faced hussy Just another money hungry bitch
You said it was a friendly insurrection They were armed but they were never after you And now they’ve gone and got themselves arrested They’re all losers because they did not come through
A little honesty would help the situation But you’re not sure just what that concept is Accountability is such a complicated word When after all it’s a matter of opinion The things we do for power, the things we do for power.
Through Hollow Lands and Hilly Lands 