Socrates post mortem

This is what I forgot. There should now be a semi-colon. But I'm trying to avoid them. This is what I forgot. In the last post (for the blog, not a musical tribute played on a trumpet for a lot of dead soldiers) I failed to explain the title. You are not going to get off so lightly. Socrates, it seems was a champion of ignorance. If you think you have deep understanding of anything at all you have successfully compounded the personal flaws that come to the surface as soon as you think your knowledge makes you have a clearer vision of the universe. Ignorance may be bliss, but it's also an integral part of the human condition. You can learn facts and skills but they are always dependent upon you and your environment for any transient validity.

Remember, you are dumb. It's good.

Now that's Scary

The plants and the dogs are doing their transcendental, beautiful tuned-in-to-the-universe thing. The dogs, in particular, are being lovely and cuddly. The plants are oozing a viscous, redolent impression of an exciting afterlife and the porch roof is now transparent. I can see the stars.

Peaches in the Porch; delicious, sweet, luscious, and would have been a better choice as the tree of knowledge (which only makes you more stupid unless you embrace your ignorance) 

    Ok. The music is playing in the background. There is no dissonance, but the song is in a minor key; I think it's Depeche Mode. There is dissonance in my brain. But there is a fair old bit of harmony too. Jumping out of that plane at 4000 feet was a very good idea. How focussed can you be? How much adrenaline can you produce before your heart explodes? very and a lot, respectively.

A big metaphor. The path is the chronology of life, the wheat is the goodness, the crows are death and the sky is the afterlife. Much too easy.   

   Today's poem:

Have A Nice Day

'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning. 'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease. 'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning. 'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease, 'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning, ' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease. 'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day. 

The last days of Socrates

There is no time.There is nothing but time. Filled with faces and coffee spoons.

Walking in the mountains at night; some shooting stars

I have started doing a bit of walking. It's good for the soul. Keeps you well earthed. Good for the souls of the feet. I will be brief. I think the above photo was taken about three weeks ago.

The following ones were all taken about 9 days ago in a place called Somiedo in Asturias in the North of Spain.

Add your own metaphor

Should be able to make some interesting tea with this

Today's bit of poem:

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,	45
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.	50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.	55
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days. "One must be so careful these days"

Ides of August

What's an Ide. It's not a None or a Kalend. Well I'm glad that's cleared that up.

It's the middle of a Roman month; Julius Caesar; Caesed to be on the 15th of March. Not fortuitous.

Decapitated But Still Talking 

   I was talking to GOD the other day. As loonies do. He said that you need to look for him in the mundane. I am beginning to understand. It's about generosity, hard work, and politeness. Going against the flow. All of the things that get a bad press. Or no press at all. Not very exciting are they.

I am a disembodied spirit.

There I am

Florid. What's going on in the porch? Colour bombs.

This is as very bad year so far. Everything is hexed and vexed. After much bile and uric acid accumulating in functional corners of the brain I await the next debacle. I haven't seen Jacob for nearly two weeks. I allowed Loreto to see him during July, in spite of the fact that, according to the agreement that was signed, I had sole custody for that month. Now, in August I haven't seen him once.

In a moment of madness, at the end of July, I lent her my car so that her children could be ferried about in August. Of course, getting the car back when I needed it was almost impossible; she hid it in a nearby hospital car park. Now, contravening the agreement that was signed, but which has yet to be ratified by a judge, she says that I won't be able to see him until the end of September. This is very difficult to bare, senseless and cruel to Jacob.

Anyone who read this blog without knowing the main characters would surely be trying to read between the lines by now. They would be thinking; "yes, but there must be more to it than that. He must have done something despicable, something reprehensible, something nasty. But I have come to the conclusion that I am neurotic and she is psychopathic. Somebody who thinks he is to blame for everything versus somebody who has no empathy with anybody or anything. I believe that I have been the paragon of a good father, constrained by what I am and my limitations. I have done my best, swallowed my pride, bitten my tongue and arrived at the conclusion that, some people are just plain bad, evil. I would prefer to describe things euphemistically, but it's no longer possible. It's like "fairly perfect". Something is perfect or not. It doesn't admit qualification.

A fruit. A tomato in the porch. A good sign

Water, heat, care, pruning. The metaphor is there for the exploiting.

Waterfulls

 Went hiking last weekend. Saw a waterfall that falls into the sea. We went at night with torches and sleep aforethought to watch the shooting stars on top of a mountain. The meteorite shower, which lasts about 3 days is known as Saint Lorenzo's Tears.

The latest vision

Finished Crime and Punishment by JK Rowling. The anti-hero somehow manages to expiate his crime. He goes to Siberia but his girlfriend goes too. He´s out in 8 years and then it's a family on the frozen tundra. Not sure if Lenin banned Dostoevsky or not. I guess not because it's one of those you can interpret any way you want.

Latest book is, "Lionel Asbo, state of England". I feel obliged to read anything by Martin Amiss since he writes such brilliant prose. Back to the terrain of John Self and Nicola Six in "Money". An easy read.

Today's poem:

 

"I Am Not Yours"

I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be Lost as a light is lost in light. Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.

The rude in rudimentary

So this is August. It's a shame the accent isn't on the second syllable. I might be dining with a Swedish Princess.

Spiritual Lethargy

The sky is restless again. Will it rain, will it thunder, will it fall on our heads. The World Health Organisation knows. Who knows?

Theoretically, this should be a nice relaxing month for me. And indeed it's not been too bad so far. I have been catching up on my translation work, trying to finish off varnishing the windows, making sure the entire house isn't eaten by termites, ants and mice and tending my flowers. The lovely neighbours have also removed about 5, 000 square kilometres of tropical rain forest and and blackberries from the garden which had almost been subsumed under a canopy of tendrils.

The Jungle Without

 This picture looks much nicer on my phone. There are lots of screaming colours. If you look in the background outside the porch, you will see the Amazon. This is prior to the napalm.

Flower Power

These, as I'm sure you know, are petunias. They are very pretty.

I have been painting dirty walls today. I have given a couple of classes, I have had a siesta, varnished again. I went to bed with Sonia, Roskolnikov and some very colourful people. My book, which I have to confess is taking me ages to finish; Crime and Punishment by JK Rowling. Just testing.

The Wages of Sin

Here is a synopsis for people who have never read a book or read the daily mail (Same socio-demographic-only joking again). Upper class pompous self-righteous individual has an existential crisis and decides to kill somebody. He does so and feels remorse. He becomes even more mentally ill. His doting mother and sister come to see him in his garret. There are bad people trying to marry his sister. But they have a lot of money. He has a faithful friend. There is a policeman who is probably very astute.

This is a resume of the first two thirds of the book.

Epidermal Macabre

Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes, --
The flying fabric stitched on bone,
The vesture of the skeleton,
The garment neither fur nor hair,
The cloak of evil and despair,
The veil long violated by
Caresses of the hand and eye.
Yet such is my unseemliness:
I hate my epidermal dress,
The savage blood's obscenity,
The rags of my anatomy,
And willingly would I dispense
With false accouterments of sense,
To sleep immodestly, a most
Incarnadine and carnal ghost. 

Theodore Roethke

Sun, Sand and Socks

"It's very intuitive."

"Well that's great, but I still don't understand. Do you think you could explain it slowly and carefully for me."

"Go with the flow, but maintain your integrity and your moral compass!"

"You've lost me already. When I go with the flow bad things happen. I have my integrity but it doesn't seem to do much good and as far as moral compass is concerned, it doesn't respond to magnetic south. Don't you have a book of instructions?"

"Er, yes, but it's out of print just at the moment, the bit about limited sex and false idols hasn't been too popular of late"

"I can't think why"

"The climate of moral relativism, means that everything is ok, nothing is sanctionable"

"So, there's no place for God any more."

"There's a place all right. But you need to look for me in the mundane, not in the transcendental"

"Lost me again"

"Think on!"

No comment

In Cambre

The Cathedrals

This is a rather beautiful beach in the North of Galicia. It's called the Cathedrals because the elements have sculpted sublime shames from the rocks; huge towering pyres of stone, sinuous tunnels that open onto lagoons. Very pretty.

Hare Krishna

Technique

Jacob can now kick almost as well with his left foot as with his right. I say, "on your left" and he immediately swaps feet and can now manage pretty well with both. It's incredible how much he is capable of assimilating. When anybody calls me "papa" he is quick to correct them; "not papa, daddy!"

Coordination

Execution

Come to think of it, these are just three of the qualities that are lacking in his father.


Today's poem:

The Reckoning

All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
And now grim digits of old pain
Return to litter up our home.
We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
For all our scratching on the pad,
We cannot trace the error down.
What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.


Money, the wages of sin. "The lack that keeps us what we are"