Here is a picture of a long lost friend.

Here is a picture of a long lost friend. He is aiming a spear at a woolly mammoth. He comes walking out of my brain like a stick man and sits on the floor. He starts a campfire and spreads his belongings in front of him. The smoke is rising up towards a cluster of stars.

Here is a picture of a woolly mammoth. It has a placard around its neck. It is trapped in the Thumb of Michigan by fires. Hunters are running towards it as it makes its protest. Save The Wooly Mammoth. One of the men is a long lost friend, how did he get there?

I thought he had died long ago, but he rode the dragonfly back into this past world. Next summer I will look for the magic dragonfly that can fly me back into his ancient world.

The magic dragonfly is as big as a lion. It flies into the bus stop at West India Dock Road between when the sun disappears and the stars open their windows. It is a brief enclosure of nothingness from where you can travel backwards into the ghost world.

You can tell that my friend is a ghost man from the picture on the stone wall. It is strangely lacking in light and shadow and the days are heaped up into mounds rather than weeks. Here is a mound of ten thousand years ago. The lake waters were alive then and told stories and all the woolly mammoths, after their appetites were sated, would sit down and listen to its haunting noise.

The experience was different from what it is today, days were longer, the air was fresher, and all the year round was summeresque.

In the thumb of Michigan, the mammoths have gone to sleep. The hunters are men and women now and are smiling at one another. A great flock of birds and a herd of deer take up residence by the singing water. A shower of meteorites goes across the sky.

I can only get two legs

I can only get two legs in my trousers
Sometimes I try to get all four.
I can only get two arms into my shirt sleeves
And wings just don’t fit anymore.

I try to get two heads inside my hat
But they argue and always fall out.
And I try to get two hearts together
But one is always left out.

 

 

Turdus merula : Blackbird – Turdidae

Source: Turdus merula : Blackbird – Turdidae

Here is a recording to remind myself and for any visitor who loves their song of blackbirds singing. In the summer I would fall asleep to them singing outside my bedroom. What has happened to them? I hear nothing.

I fell victim to Asthma recently and spent some time in hospital on a ventilator. I recall that 30 years ago there was not even half the number of cars on the road and that the air was cleaner and that in winter the snow was magical.

The same thing has happened to the sparrows that were plentiful, even in Israel when I was there working on a Kibbutz in the 1970’s I remember them especially in the canteen where they would hop onto the dining tables.

I can see a lot of people are afraid of what they are experiencing in the environment just as I am. It was not mankind who set up the environment it is a gift from God. Hope is with Him. But who is He? The most accurate description of Him that I have found has been in the bible. It reports his name as Geova in Italian, in Sudanese as Yehuwa. However it is spelt or pronounced it means He-Who-Causes-To-Become. Perhaps in the time of Moses they did not have one word for Creator and tried to translate it in a hyphenated compound word. The earth is proving to be a unique and wonderful planet and those who search for another earth that is as wonderful are still searching. It is hard to understand that a spirit from heaven would want it for himself and start to fight over it with God. Neither are visible to us but their footprint in the visible earth shows there must be a presence to that footprint. Where you find a remote forest that has been destroyed in the past you understand that some phenomena in the past has caused it. If you see someone with a black eye you know that some one caused it. The earth too seems to have a black eye.

 

 

 

 

 

The day starts normally.

1. A man stands in front of an advert for a car on a billboard. He examines the new car that is being advertised. He is thinking of the latest technological advances it has; he is imagining he is driving it, if it would be a pleasure, if people would notice him.

A man stands in front of a landscape painting with a car. It is a realistic painting. He feels as though it is real. He reaches his hand out to the painting to open the door of the car. He thinks that the road is real and that the road is going somewhere.

A man passes by a car in the street and turns to cross over. The car blocks his way, He tries to get through the gap between the parked cars but there isn’t a space wide enough for him to squeeze through. He takes out a spray can and he sprays the windows with black paint.

2. I am chasing my voice. How far away is it? I cannot hear it at all, is it behind the distant ruins, fields and the hills?

There was an explosion, an explosion of pointless hatred. I could feel it; it was like a cannon shell that hit me dead centre. My voice alone escaped, a sound flew away, a sound of impossible pain that darted out of the impact zone like a terrified bird.

I was a dead boy, a battlefield victim. I was the black hole in the ground. My life clung to the sides like soup.

The tweezer birds came and picked up very piece of me and put me back together. They found every torn part of me and reassembled me inside the crater. I crawled out, I tried to scream. I tried to shout out. I had everything but my voice. My voice had gone and I didn’t know where or how to find it.

3. Things keep falling from windows, from tables, from clothes hangers. I pass by a washing line and the clothes on the line fall off.

I am in a library. I go to pick up a book from the shelves and it falls to the floor. Another book on top of the shelf falls from a book stand. Then another book falls out of the space of the first book.

I am in a restaurant. I am ready to eat. I pick up the knife and fork. The salt cellar falls to the floor I go to pick it up and the mustard jar galls to the floor. I bend down awkwardly to pick both up and the vinegar bottle falls and breaks. I straighten up and leave.

I am in the kitchen making tea and toast. I open a packet of tea. The tea bag falls to the floor. I go to pick it up, the toast pops out of the toaster I go and I take the toast out of the toaster and I drop the toast on the floor.

I go out. I go to the tube station. I search for my travel pass. I take it out of my pocket. My keys fall to the floor. I go to pick them up, people surge forward to catch the train and I drop my travel pass.

I look up at the skyscrapers. First I see a folder fall out of a window. Then I see a box of pencils followed by a bundle of toilet paper. Then I see someone leaning out of the window and they fall out. Suddenly moving arms are sticking out of the windows trying to catch the falling woman. She grabs one but her momentum pulls him out of the window and they both fall. Attempting to lean out of as far as possible many people lose their positions and start falling then the whole skyscraper is covered in falling people.

4. I go into the courtroom. The judge is a big angry cat. The attendants and assistants are  big angry cats. The prosecutor and the barrister are both big angry cats.

I leave the court and go down a corridor and up a winding staircase. I come to a hatch and I look inside. I see a decomposing corpse and I go to look for an officer.

I find someone in an officer’s uniform but the man himself is invisible. I open a large church door and he is sucked in by a strong wild wind.

I walk out of the courthouse to the grounds. Several strangers are following me at a distance. In my mind I can hear their thoughts. Get him. Stop him. Don’t let him get away.

I run for my life.

A huge crowd of men are running after me. My feet do not touch the ground as I run. I realise that I am not getting anywhere. The huge crowd is on top of me. I want to wake up.

THE WHITE RABBIT BLUES

Love burns in the kitchen light in the twilight the cold silver moon, love burns in the night forests catching fire. The white rabbit in a white collar swinging from the gallows grinning a deadly grin. The white rabbit on counter clockwise fairground rides where candle flames quiver in the night air. Love burns the white fur, the eyes stare like exploding ovens. In the kitchen light the white rabbit skydives through clouds of burning oxygen, the ghosts of ancient flowers dancing in the slamming door light. Burning corpses of sensual love dreams roll down the edge of the sea of tranquillity, the white rabbit hops across moon glassy universes.

The white rabbit blues

The bluest food of white rabbits falls in love with charging moons in fields of thistles where bulls are sliced to bits by scythes of flashing morning sun. Love burns holes through hoops of love where white rabbits bleed to death like melting mini cars in cemeteries. White rabbits bring flowers of moth-silk petals fluttering in the wind like turpentine fire bombs. In the shoes of white rabbits, legless ducks on stilts walk through world war blitzkriegs seeking golden eggs, crashing meteorites of stag fights in motorway collision courses.

The white rabbit blues

Enamel onions with tongues of hydrogen-fires cry with jelly babies in pond water tombs. White rabbit love affairs of planets crashing through meteorite storms with thunderous waiting wolves in King Arthur battlegrounds. Love burns in worms of neon lights rolled around balls of wool in blood filled skies of autumn snowdrifts. White rabbit sings of sleepless loneliness everlasting on islands of gloom pierced with cannibal’s spears, cries of eagles in featherless bodies.

White rabbit blues.

Crystal chandeliers in melting kettles filled with love bites attract plagues of flies that die in holes punched into old love letters. White rabbit toys litter play-school dreams like armies of marching peppermints into the overgrown gardens night. Love burns hot iron brands in outer body hallucinations of operating tables amongst waiting armies of angels, where white rabbits grow like snowflakes from volcanic ice explosions in the undercurrents of Antarctica.

White rabbit blues

White rabbits within white rabbits with flaming tails of white whales where lovers on death beds kiss the necks and shoulders of deep sea monsters. White rabbits like flakes of flaming skin stampeding against full moon darkened nights of rocketing evergreen trees. True love white rabbits with human feet roasting on spits of shooting stars where half-awake Romeo’s hang like sofas from coconut trees in wheelchair scrapyards. White rabbits like enamel cannonballs mutiplicate in exam rooms like calculator production lines in dairy farms, flowing like glaciers in raging forest fires where tigers with bloody jaws are lit like street lights.

Invasions of white rabbits whose bodies fill living rooms in royal palaces like cotton bales in high speed carriages of old steam trains on iced over lakes in mountain ranges. Love sold on sticks like lollipops in white rabbit eyes of dripping boiler room walls that crash down bottomless crevasses of vacuum filled ancestries. White flourish, hanging by their ears from trees in foxy eyed jungles where human armies lie like decomposing fleas in seas of blood. White rabbits like fields of Australian sheep melt into honeymoon couples in gothic Parliaments where aborigines wrestle with writhing crocodiles that swallow the heads of mating chickens. The white rabbit blues sung in telephones in bottles ringing with shrieks of rooks that swallowed old women in graveyards vigils. White rabbits rolled out like turf around castles of tumbling cards.

1994

A Stranger at the Dinner Table

Several people re sat around a dinner table. I do not know who they are; they seem nice, friendly, unassuming. I do not see their preoccupations with each other.
They pass the salt, they pour the coffee, I like that the sun is shining, at how relaxed I feel with them, at how well the meal was so well organised; a family meal that has been happening every day for years.
Their clothes are clean and well fitted. The table cloth is clean. Items on the table include a pen and paper, a radio, a bracelet.
At one point in the meal they were all passing something to each other, their arms were folding at the elbow, swinging from the shoulder a motion that surrounded the table like a paper chain. Then they put their arms down and began to chat.
The wife spoke and as she spoke the salt cellar exploded like a small volcano and everyone was surprised, she though, not seeing the miracle or the response to her table talk just laughed.
The husband a few minutes later said something. The olive jar cracked open and the olives rolled over the table’s edge. The birds from a nearby tree flew down, do birds eat olives, and ate them.
The dinner resumed. The two twin girls started arguing over the chocolate mousse which stated to bubble and in the bubbles could be seen dark wicked eyes appearing. The mother told them to stop squabbling and be quiet.
The guest began to tell a story of his recent travels abroad. I was in Valencia recently he said and the gravy boat capsized like a ship and spilled over into the lap of their son’s new girlfriend.
This all hinted at the secret life of the family. I asked for captions to appear above their heads to show what they were really thinking.
The husband liked the son’s new girlfriend.
The wife was having an affair with the guest.
The twins were both in love with their tennis coach.
The group dispersed to various rooms in the building and the husband to his garage. The attractive maid came out to clear up the table. Suddenly on a distant hill a house caught fire. A fire engine passed by and all the firemen were singing

The Porn Industry

Having got myself into a bit of a mess because of a pornography addiction I have been asking myself how did it happen. How did I get hooked. I believe I got caught up in the explosion of pornography in recent times. It began with digital technology at the turn of the century and has been attracting a whole lot of bad stuff since. You may sit at home watching it in what you think is isolation. But do a little research and try and comprehend that the actual scale of it has got beyond comprehension, it is a 21st century epidemic. It is something that you can break away from, you just have to learn – to hate it.

I have copied this from Fight the New Drug Website.

Consumer stats from NCOSE that are hard to believe:
1. 64% of young people, ages 13–24, actively seek out pornography weekly or more often. [1]
2. Teenage girls are significantly more likely to actively seek out porn than women 25 years old and above. [2]
3. A study of 14- to 19-year-olds found that females who consumed pornographic videos were at a significantly greater likelihood of being victims of sexual harassment or sexual assault. [3]
4. A Swedish study of 18-year-old males found that frequent consumers of pornography were significantly more likely to have sold and bought sex than other boys of the same age. [4]
5. A 2015 meta-analysis of 22 studies from seven countries found that internationally the consumption of pornography was significantly associated with increases in verbal and physical aggression, among males and females alike. [5]
6. A recent UK survey found that 44% of males aged 11–16 who consumed pornography reported that online pornography gave them ideas about the type of sex they wanted to try. [6]
7. Porn sites receive more regular traffic than Netflix, Amazon, & Twitter combined each month. (HuffPost)
8. 35% of all internet downloads are porn-related. (WebRoot)
9. 34% of internet users have been exposed to unwanted porn via ads, pop-ups, etc. (WebRoot)
10. The “teen” porn category has topped porn site searches for the last six years (Pornhub Analytics).
11. At least 30% of all data transferred across the internet is porn-related. (HuffPost)
12. The most common female role stated in porn titles is that of women in their 20’s portraying teenagers. (Jon Millward.) (In 2013, Millward conducted the largest personal research study on the Porn Industry in the U.S. He interviewed 10,000 porn performers about various aspects of the business.)
13. Recorded child sexual exploitation (known as “child porn”) is one of the fastest-growing online businesses. (IWF)
14. 624,000+ child porn traders have been discovered online in the U.S. [7]
15. Between 2005 and 2009, child porn was hosted on servers located in all 50 states. (Association of Sites Advocating Child Protection)
16. Porn is a global, estimated $97 billion industry, with about $12 billion of that coming from the U.S. (NBC News)
17. In 2018 alone, more than 5,517,000,000 hours of porn were consumed on the world’s largest porn site. (Ponhub Analytics)
18. Eleven pornography sites are among the world’s top 300 most popular Internet sites. The most popular such site, at number 18, outranks the likes of eBay, MSN, and Netflix. (SimilarWeb)
19. “Lesbian” was the most-searched-for porn term on the world’s largest free porn site in 2018. (Pornhub Analytics)
20. The world’s largest free porn site also received over 33,500,000,000 site visits during 2018 alone. (Pornhub Analytics) Seven digits make a million

Society is impacted by this, it is a staggering world wide empire of pornography. Who knows where this seemingly uncontrollable industry will lead. What developed in the towns of Sodom and Gomorrah in the bible don’t seem to be as impossible after all .

The contestants are gathered in the town.

The contestants are gathered in the town square somewhere on the Midwest plains. The master of ceremonies arrives.

Years before the game began the beginnings of long strips of coloured plastic tape were laid down into the square that stretched for miles out across the land and into the Rocky Mountains. Each tape chose its contestant by a secretive whisper that only they could hear. Sometimes more than one contestant was chosen and sometimes a contestant chose more than one tape. Each tape represented a pathway of life for them o follow, an ideal, a philosophy or a plain command that would appeal to their senses, their needs for something to follow in life. Year after year new tapes representing new ideas were laid down from the town square and off into the wide distance until the thinkers had exhausted every avenue of possibility. And no on this spring morning the game would begin.

The stating whistle blew. Out of necessity quite often, the solo contestants joined together to form teams to follow the tape. in other situations but one individual would choose but one tape. In other instances some tapes got no takers and one tape led the hapless contestant in a loop back to where he began.

What philosophy, belief or practice would win? Perhaps no one would win, perhaps in the end the tape ended on the top of a mountain with nowhere else to go; or into a whirlpool of rapids where it shook nervously in the abyss. Some contestants having reached the end of the tape carried on across the Rocky Mountains into California. Some contestants returned to the town to find an unused tape.

From the sky a traveller would see a huge rainbow coloured trail stretching for miles across the land like a modern Nazca line. At the end of the year the tapes were blown by the wind and wrapped themselves around the mountains.

The master of ceremonies gathered his fees and left town but before he disappeared he gave a speech in the public square which began, “I have something to say to America”, and ended with “farewell”.

If I should go to prison.

If I should go to prison and they take all of my hard work away
wrap my ashes in a glossy girly magazine and bury them at the crossroads.
If I should go to prison where the moon shuts itself away in the grubby toilets and weeps  for the inmates
be sure to keep watch for the black coach and horses that come to carry away my soul.
If I should go to prison let the cat stare through the prison bars like she always does when I’m at home.
If I should be led into prison along the black carpet into the curse of my fathers
give my loneliness to the gravedigger and my dreams to the wild demon.
If I should go to prison where they say I have always belonged
give my shadow to the devil in the clock tower where it can hang in the dust.
I am on trial for looking at pornography and my heart is crushed and broken.

Once when I was a foolish man I trusted myself with pornography. I said to myself I live at the bottom of the heap so let me look at its fruit. I said to myself I am like a featherless phoenix that is going blind let me see into the world before darkness overtakes me. The tree of pornography that grew in the fields outside of the garden of paradise; I looked into the heart of the tree and saw children drowning and women burning and men sleepwalking. I made for myself the chains that bound me. I did not go begging anymore for love and love looked on with exceptional displeasure.

 

 

A visit to a fashionable art college.

It was the weekend. The two brown eggs rolled into the side entrance and stopped at the reception desk. Two cockerels were there, one seated at a computer, the other covering security. The college was reminiscent of a warehouse, the empty rooms felt like empty crates.  A display of information material became a firework display in the mind of one of the eggs, it glowed briefly with a warm light. They heard a voice of dismissiveness like the deep voice of a god. The two eggs spun round . A long iron wrought spear hovered above the receptionist and was angled down towards them, they felt uncomfortable. They each took a copy of the prospectus which shone with light like the light from a pleasure boat receding into the night. The cockerels were spitting fire as they left. Outside they came upon the recycling area where they rummaged around, revelling in the contrasting freedom they found. They found several discarded and unused toilet rolls in a plastic bag and they laughed freely at the comparison until their shells broke.

He slept by the river

He slept by the river without interruption:
Firstly he dreamt of ladies sailing by in the night, then he dreamt of ravens swooping down and circling his head, then he dreamt of girders growing all around him.

In his sleep texts kept slipping into his mind in the form of  questions that he forgot very quickly: when he awoke he searched the earth around him but he did not find them.

They had asked him: Are you trespassing? Is it illegal to sleep by the river? and should you be in gaol?

His appearance in the middle of the night was a block of grey stone.
The river police did not notice him as they cruised by beneath the crescent moon.
All was empty in a primordial vacuum; all was silent without any debt to the spiritual.

He was like a tiny button on the enormous coat of the clouds on the ghost of the universe. He awoke to a large dark crowd of angry homeowners surrounding him like devils – he ran.

Bag Full of Rocks

My rocks are the memories from different adventures. I thought I would just leave this bag here.

Relatos desde mi ventana

Sentimientos, emociones y reflexiones

Thinking Chitalia

As opposed to a “not thinking chitalia”

.*♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*. BERNARD *♥**♥*★ *♥*..*♥*.

♥♥ ♥♥ MES PLUS BEAUX BISOUS D'AMITIES A VOUS ♥♥ ♥♥

AuAu Over

Storytelling Notes Blog

a.mermaid'spen_

I am as lost as the ocean💫

Naked on the inside

Writing like no one will read it.

sva-vida

"self discovery"

clairevetica

poems, prose and pathways

lifesfinewhine

Beauty Blogger + Lifestyle Blogger+ Food Blogger+ Travel Blogger+ Recipe Blogger

FEEDBACK Female Film Festival

Showcasing the best of female talent. Filmmakers and Screenwriters

Top 10 of Anything and Everything - The Fun Top Ten Blog

Animals, Gift Ideas, Travel, Books, Recycling Ideas and Many, Many More

La Page @Mélie

Contre le blues, le meilleur remède, c'est le rock...!

Dustus Blog

Poetry, Flash Fiction, and more

Paris-La Rochelle

Le temps du rêve

Reverie in reverse

Phillip's latest reveries

BUTTERFLY EFFECT🌸

Baby steps in the right direction👣

Adeline Wrights Poetry

A place of love, pain, and pondering

%d bloggers like this: