What is justice?

Justice – like paper flowers in a flowerbed
Some of it is useless.
There is a lot of little people who can’t do the math’s
And they are falling down the drain.
The Greek gods were criminals on the mountaintops.
When Trade was bag snatching from the profits of the poor
When did excess become profit instead of joy?
Justice lost her memory and now it thrives on jurisprudence.
Justice made a home in the material world
And began to wear nice clothes.
As the laurel hedge of justice grows big
The wildflowers die from lack of sunlight.
What do you expect of justice?
Mainly I expect Love.
What do you want from justice?
That her blindfold is removed.
Bloodstains never completely fade
Their spiritual weight still exists.
Yahweh is the giant bull
And when he moves you get out of his way
and his words should be tattooed all over your skin.
Justice holds a police shield in a demonstration
Do the people seen thru the transparent shields look blurred?
Everybody makes mistakes
Mistakes are not to be confused with crimes
Or, you’ll get a cultural revolution.
Can justice become idolatry?
Does justice become a god?
When did justice get so much cholesterol in its veins?
When did the dense smoke of sacrifices
Blind the eyes of justice?
None of this may be true
However, some of it may ring a bell.
Can we sleep peacefully at night?
Yahweh’s words melt like butter in a pan
Add the flour and you get the man

We want you to spy for us

We want you to spy for us
We want you to visit the dark wood beneath the skyscrapers and tell us what you see
Yeah, and what do I get out of it said the cleaning lady
Upon completion of your mission, you will be given a state-approved sex-life
Grasshopper woman put on her tuxedo and set out.

In the middle of the skyscrapers was the dark wood with a mass of thick twisting branches where no light could enter and no human would venture. It had been there for hundreds of years, growing in what was once a peaceful city square.

The cleaning lady entered the gap where the wood met the office wall.
Emails appeared in the box of the woodland king from his own spies in the office blocks. He threw a switch and all the lights went out and the sun went dark. The woodland king took a vacation.

The cleaner was crawling in and out of the wood towards the centre when it all went very black.
The office workers watched on giant screens in their offices as the grasshopper woman moved in.
At the centre of the wood was a stone statue of a long-forgotten man and in the plinth of the statue was a caretaker’s room. She fought her way in it was a library.

The world exterminator corps herd of these events
Why did she agree they asked?
We promised her a state-approved sex life they said.
What nationality is the state-approved sex life they asked?
It’s ours they replied, compiled by scientists and state scrutiny panels and one approved for the lower class workers of our great nation. He gave a salute.

The world leader sat in his office of the renovated acropolis. All around the plateau, the slaves dragged marble statues of the great and the glorious to the ships for transport around the world.
He eventually learned of the incident of the statue in the tangled wood, he looked at the big screen to see. There was a face half-hidden yet somehow familiar. Tell her to cut away the branches from the face. She did so. – It was his brother. Hide him, remove the cleaner, kill her, no one must know he barked into his microphones. His attendant saluted.

A secret policeman was asked to go in. he did so, but he had a plan. He would take on the identity of the cleaning lady and claim the state-approved sex life for himself. He would burn the tangled wood, demolish the statue and even burn down the city if he had to. He did so.

A year later a traveller walking through the ruins came upon a plinth, inside he found a library and in the library he found books and in the books, he found the truth.

A wild horse galloped across the flatlands

A wild horse galloped across the flatlands
And on the horse sat the ghost of many words

What kind of sex life do you have?
It’s a matter for the establishment
Do not lie, we will find out

There was a great fire spreading thru the dry scrub towards the galloping horse; the horse galloped into the flames.

The authorities sent the secret police to find the horse and its ghostly rider.
A thousand strange archers stood head and shoulders above the flames and let loose a barrage of flaming arrows at the secret police.
The secret police stripped off their clothes and removed their disguises.
Who were they really?

A photographer came upon the scene.
He was not interested in the secret police.
He too wanted to know
What kind of sex-life do you have?

The question does not appear to have been asked of the wild horse or the ghost of many words. They had trotted out of the flames unharmed.

There was an oak chair, very heavy and hard and into it was strapped the prisoner.

The state telephony service began to click into operation. The state telephonists began to type. The judge came in, he was a giant rock of a man 10 feet tall. He walked amongst the clicking clockwork or the machine operators.

Now there was a change in the situation.
The prisoner had escaped his bonds and flown away.

The white horse ridden by the ghost of many words appeared at the city gate, it was time to remove the oppressor.

The green-finch man sat in the branches of the tree watching the city burn.

A world obsessed by itself is a world oppressed by itself.

Aristotle: Doctrine of the Mean

Capture 3

Capture

 

During some research I was doing I discovered this Aristotle 2500c year old doctrine of philosophy and believing that because it was so old it would be in the public domain, no chance, you have to pay, register, give blood before you can read it. In the meantime there are dozens of essays on it by university students and academics. I want to read it for myself thank you very much.

India Bonanza

I’ve been amazed at the great blogs being written by people from India. It’s as if some magical wind has passed over the country and brought its writing to life.

Also, it’s quite noticeable that many of my followers are from India. So, can I just say thank you for following my blog,

and if it’s not too pompous of me, thank you, everyone, for your wonderful writing.

Es war einmal..

via Es war einmal..

 

… my old history teacher liked to start and started a longer monologue… depending on the attitude of the students, some bowed out with interest while the others leaned back relaxed… soon the first eyes fell… I thought it was quite exciting… Researchers in ancient pyramids who were subsequently killed by the curse of the pharaoh, or a certain Mr. Schliemann who believed in the legend of Troy, began to dig through a mountain and found at least 12 different Troys, including treasure and gold… what does the weekly Sunday crime scene offer… with the slight mischief of chief investigators and super-rich top criminals… So it was obvious that I wanted to become such a superstar archiologist myself, no wonder if you are driven past a water castle in a pram, from which horrible secret passages protruded… the archbishops of Osnabrück had laid them out, which in the castle far away from their starving and praying contemporaries very gladly drank one over the thirst, ladies accompaniment and buffet of course included… I got stuck halfway and became a photographer… but it’s also very much related to discovery… We are drawn to scary Lost Places and no castle ruins in Germany that are not photographed postcards from bottom to top… So it came that I immediately set out when I got my hands on a photo of that castle ruin that plays the main role here… Spectacularly situated on a rock high above the landscape, below the town of Flossenbürg, which is a not very famous, not to say … shameful… The historical symbol of what people do to other people is … Shortly before the end of the war, German resistance fighters were executed in the local concentration camp…. The castle alone stands above it… it was built in the 1100th century. the archaeologists say… Well, I don’t think anything I don’t fake myself… I have seen and have climbed the whole mountain, and despite the fear of the castle ghost I have examined the plant without regard for head and collar… I’m still going to be famous because I found a contemporary photo in the rubble that shows the castle at a clearly earlier time than the 1100th century… hach , my history teacher would proudly say: Once upon a time my bravest student set out to pull the final truth of the castle out of the dust….Photoshop be THANKS 🙂

The x-ray glasses

Shane and Lisa were out walking, this time to try out some new glasses that they had found in a second-hand shop that seemed to be X-ray glasses. They had decided to go to the countryside to try them out.

Reaching a semi-wooded landscape Shane put them on first and looked so startled that he stepped back and almost fell over a fallen branch.

What is it, asked Lisa? He didn’t know how to tell her about what he had seen. Here you put them on and see for yourself. She did so. There in the wild shrubbery and buddleias, she saw something man-like, only he was oily black all over with streaks of rainbow colouring. He had an anvil and a forge and there was a strange fire, and he was hammering something, making something. She took off the glasses her eyes could not see him, she put them on and he was there at work. I’m frightened said Lisa, let’s get out of here. They slowly backed away, turned and ran.

Next episode: The children discover that his name is Adam and that he is making a weapon to fight against his enemies.

The Rent Office

Jimmy was a good friend, he was warm and unassuming and I got on well with him.
I bumped into him in the street, it was an overcast day and a bit dark.
He was going down to pay his rent he said. So we parted and I carried on until for some abstract reason I thought I should accompany him. I would have to catch him up. He was gone.

So I walked down to the rent office to find him. The rent office is a huge building. It is 16 stories high and covers a large area dominating an old high street of a long-forgotten town that had been absorbed into the asteroid belt of the big city.

I walked into the building from the rear. There in a glass foyer area was a reception desk with 3 desks but only one receptionist. A queue of people stood impatiently in line to see him. He was obviously irritable with everybody so I decided not to ask for directions.

I walked through a dirty old door and came to the loading bay area, there were no Lorries and no warehousemen so I carried on along the platform to the opposite side and went through the door flaps.

Now I was in a long corridor with a zigzag bend in the middle of it, locked doors all the way down the sides and a sense of disuse. I walked down, passed the zigzag, hoping the next half of the corridor would be different, it was not. I had a feeling of wasted time and energy and wanted to get out of there. At the end, through another door was a concrete stairwell that seemed to rise up into a vanishing point. I walked up the squared rising stairwell to the next level and opened a door.

A short passageway opened out into a huge high ceilinged waiting area. It was gloomy due to the weather. A few people sat in the rows of plastic chairs. A receptionist sat at a computer alone. I asked for the rent office. He didn’t look up, he was too preoccupied, he didn’t want to talk.

I crossed the large open hall and had to choose between two sets of doors leading into two corridors. I went to the right. It led to a lift with two lift doors and lights going on and off and strange crunching noises. I looked at the placarded list of floors. It was old with flaked paint. Nothing, no rent office. This was one of the older council rent offices where things were written on bits of paper and stuck on the wall, still no rent office.

I left the lift area and descended back down a stairwell to the floor beneath. A large grimy industrial area opened up full of crates and benches full of old tools and machinery covered over in filthy canvas sheets. A menacing man looked at me as if I wasn’t supposed to be there so I hurried on with the feeling I was being followed by a monstrous enemy until I came to a little door covered in grime and went through.
There was a big empty courtyard with walls all around it, I felt trapped, fearful. I searched for a way back into the building.

I came upon an old door that led to an old lift shaft, the sort that had cages all around it. I tried to call the lift, nothing happened. I walked up a narrowing unlit forgotten staircase like those in the towers of medieval castles to the next floor and saw a double set of doors onto a waiting room area. This was the council enquiry room. Two or three dozen worried people were crammed into the room. Sitting on plastic chairs or standing in a huddle by the door. It was a ticketed system and a red-backlit number said 665. My friend was nowhere to be found.

I left and found another stairwell and I made the bad choice of climbing all the way to the top. On the top floor was a large open plan office space with desks set up in rows. Women were engaged in making calculations on their computers. I had the feeling of walking into an off-limits part of the building and that I was unwelcome. I did a quick about-face and went down the stairs to the floor below.
Just as I was about to leave the stairwell I happened to look out of the window. Way down below I saw an ambulance and someone was being carried into it.

The door into the blue sky

There were many hands thrust through the bars, fanned out fingers on stiff wrists on pale white stalk arms.
Pleading to be free to the man inside
The cat man, the prayer man, the singer of sons
The man in captivity.
The volcano had hurled out iron bars like spears that landed like wickerwork supports around him and were hammered home into the round slots in the base of the iron basket
Outside the window, the skies burned red.
A tall giant of a man with a club herded the worshippers passed the iron cage like hysterical mourners filtering passed a monarchs coffin.

Blue skies opened their doors.
She was in the bath.
The bathroom was filled with scent and bubbles and soft pink towels.
In a kind of trance, she opened the window of her council house and flew out. Feathers began to cover her nakedness; she looked down at the council estate
At the lengthening shadows, at the sun melting down.
In a scrapheap, in a caravan, in a manger
She saw a baby crying.
On a garbage dump in a prison in a prison cell
Pidgeon’s had flocked hard and close in the shadowy interior.
She rose higher into where day melted into the night.
Just as the last second ticked away the door into the blue sky closed and a door into night opened

The cricket jumped through the jungle without any sense of where he was going, freedom was built into his hind legs
Freedom sang as they catapulted the little green body skywards
But then he came upon some thick impenetrable overgrowth that covered a standing stone. He landed and stared hard. He could just make out a figure carved into the surface.
It was a man in strange clothing with staring eyes.
The cricket began to think, here was a representation of what all living creatures could be, it showed him that he could be like this carving of this man standing stone.
Now he was a cricket that could be transformed into much more, he could think of himself as an extraordinary being that had come back to life to the amazement of all around him. He could be half cricket, half-god; he could rise up to be amongst the stars.

The nurse walked orderly down the hospital corridor and into the changing room.
She sat down on a plastic chair and listened to the drumbeat of her racing heart.
The drumbeat grew louder, deafeningly loud.
She lost consciousness and fell to the floor.
Then she escaped along a pathway made of hearts and into a long-abandoned market.
It was ominously dark there, plums and grapes were piled high upon the tables blocking out the light.
She felt she was being squeezed. She felt she was changing into someone else, she looked into a pool of fresh rainwater and she could see a purple shape with black wings, she was being lifted off her feet by something with strange black wings and was taken back down the hospital corridor and into the ward.

The plasticine man was sober and asleep.
He lay on the bench outside the government building
He had superhuman hearing and he could hear the politicians in the inner chamber of the building debating the new bill.
The plasticine man began to gain weight.
Then his legs began to stretch. Then his arms were stretched out like string along the street and over Westminster Bridge.
He felt no pain; he enjoyed the changes that sleep brought over him. He looked forward to waking up to find out what new thing he had become.
Would he be sitting in the Commons? Would he be a politician?
Would he be beneath a tree splattered like a fallen egg from a nest?
Would he be swept up like litter by the street cleaner?
Suddenly he felt a stab of pain, and then he heard a hammering on a door and a loud voice.
“No” he cried, No, stop, stop”

There was a storm brewing. The clouds were darkening but one cloud was darkening more than the others.
It was developing thoughts, it tried to control them but it could not.
It had a belly full of lightning.
It was becoming psychotic.
Black horse’s legs grew beneath it.
A face appeared in its thunderous mass.
Soon it was out of control, roaring across the land screaming and cursing.
The other storm clouds become white with shock; all of their energy was taken away from them by the psychotic black cloud.
As the psychotic black cloud reached the ocean it exploded.
Thoughts turned into rain and anger turned into blood and it rained down upon the ocean.
Then there was silence.

A Criticism of the Suit

The wearing of a suit usually means you are not allowed to express yourself. You are part of a group managed by a higher authority. You are given your orders and expected to follow them. What do I mean by self-expression? I think it means being able to discuss all things, argue all things and question all things that have put you into a suit. The drawbacks of wearing a suit are that those who require it have put themselves above you and are able to control you. The school uniform means that all children are there to obey the rules, so to the office suit, the military uniform etc. If you discover something new, of benefit to others or a mistake in the thinking of those over you will you be listened to? Will they engage with you in smoothing out and trying to understand your insight your question, your point of view? Sometimes it can seem that only if you wear a suit will you be listened to, so it seems to be the opposite of the uniform thinking, and yet this will isolate outsiders, even to the point of causing harm.
The history of the suit – it seems to have begun with Victorian fashion with a mind to make people fit in with a certain class way of thinking. If you wanted to mix with a certain kind of people you have to dress like them. The Sunday best of the poor people who went to church was more of a way of fitting in than the worship of God. There was a time with ancient Greeks for instance when fashion was limited to how you folded your gown around you, with new folding techniques sweeping across society, while modern clothing is very varied and self-expressive so why are authorities still mildly afraid or critical of people who do now dress like them? Presenters on TV in their suits all the time, come what may. Still, the Sunday best suit prevails in religious communities. Still the uniform, the toe the line and be in order. It makes things easy for those who want to be in command, good or bad, to turn their staff, pupils, etc. into a papier-mache society.
If a person cannot express themselves to those in charge of them what do you end up with? Everything goes flat and a kind of lifelessness enters our existence and w cannot live our lives with any meaning except that which is imposed upon us.