Sunday, August 30, 2009

A poem

I never get round to finishing my poems- they sit for years before I start to feel they are getting near a finished state. To get over this extreme control freakery I have started posting raw work on my other blog- I have one piece that says something I wanted to say and says it quite well. I hope it expresses something of what other people may have experienced so I have posted it here- maybe not a great poem but it is honest.

How high do you have to set a spam filter to block compassion?
MS does not mean Mr. Gates.
No virus linked to her system failure
She is no threat
But you set her into quarantine
In case her pain upsets you.

Disease makes people uncomfortable.
Not every friend is worth caring for.
You made your choice:
Comfort before honour.

Get on with your life
Have fun
We wish you no ill
Because we know you are a little dead
And not qualified to share our beauty.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Shock in Heaven

Edward Kennedy fails to arrive!

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Ticking over-

I am coping as well as I have for some time. I am getting over the incident with the jerk and his dog. I have had to force my self to get through the door at times but I kept doing it. Slowly it became less frightening. Now I can even believe I enjoyed shopping yesterday and going to the market was a pleasure again. In the last months these experiences have been a paranoid nightmare. Every few moments another panic.(Purse! Keys! ID card! phone!) I can not run away like I would have done before Herrad's illness- I have to care for Herrad I have to do the shopping I have to talk to the "care" professionals: no time to freak out! I can not stop freaking out so I am acting normal whilst screaming inside. Oh well I would have liked to be an actor if only I could learn the lines- memory of a fish- but I can improvise and work up quite a nice little performance as "care giver".
I hate living in this house. I leave and enter through a communal front gate and have nothing but unpleasant confrontations with the filth who live around us. A stupid nasty anti-social family drag the whole place down. Their child provokes the other children to behave badly and the adults show no concern for any of the consequences. I believe they must hate their children because they smoke cigarettes in the lift with them. When I use the lift after them I choke in the filthy air. I guess that is the atmosphere the children grow up in. The adults are not in good health themselves and I have heard that strokes are caused by both inherited factors and environmental factors. I wonder if tobacco counts as inheritance or environment. Daddy provides both for the children.
I hate gangsters and hard men most of all- just stupid little selfish boys who fail to reach emotional adulthood. I have often had dealings with such people and am always shocked by what limited jerks they are. They hide behind violence. They are so scared of the world of compassion. It is the one challenge they can not cope with. They have no belief that they can be more than a big stupid greedy animal- consuming and not creating. Indeed they are a model of all that is wrong with human society- they have the selfishness of the trading floor and apply it to personal relationships. The trader kills and robs and enslaves by proxy but the hood does it personally, so in some ways you could almost see them as more moral than the man who never sees the blood he spills. The trader acknowledges the state monopoly on violence whilst the hood has not got the financial enforcement of the legal system so he uses his own gun- not the coppers. Both hood and trader are the same useless parasite that lives off the labour of others. Both despise honest workers. Both are enemies of freedom.
Any way a good rant! I feel better and I hear the shits are trying for a new house- make it happen soon and far far away!
I hope that I can avoid the scum till either he kills himself with his ciggies or he moves.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Poems and things

I am trying to get back to creative writing. I have started to write at least one idea out in note or simple form every day then spend every fifth day editing what I have got.
I tried to participate in a peer to peer review site but found it a bit too haphazard. A piece of greeting card sentimental verse, a concrete poem, a minimalistic twelve words over six lines and covering the whole page and a high school angst filled cry for understanding. I just did not know what to say. The one poem I had some time for stylistically I found a little trite and banal but could do nothing but praise it in the context. The reviews for my poems were mostly useless. Only one person had worked out that it was literary poem- (even though the author I was writing about was in the first line!)- as a result I felt the other reviews were of little value. I need a different set of peers.
The other big worry was giving marks- how can I value a poem on a numeric scale of worth?
Anyway I am now doing a little more writing and putting some organisation into it. An experiment is not a failure if it has a result-even if the result is to prove something does not work.
I am getting some nice funny little poems written that bring me a lot of pleasure. I will start putting them on my other blog soon.