People who study animals would call it an adornment. It's like a peacock's tail feathers. They are too big and showy. Peacocks no longer live in the wild. Their tails make them easy prey. People´s brains make them stupid. Easy prey. Ten percent of your brain is a sophisticated animal brain , a badly programmed calculator. And you think it's you!!!! 90% is animal, beautiful balanced, and unhindered. It's a reptile brain.
Not to be confused with a reptile's brain.
BREXIT
So, this is how the debate reads so far. I kid you not, it’s practically verbatim:
Remainers (left holding the Brexit baby after the Leavers… left) “WTF?”
Leavers “We voted Brexit, now You Remainers need to implement it”
Remainers “But it’s not possible!”
Leavers “The People Have Spoken. Therefore it is possible. You just have to think positively.”
Remainers “And do what exactly?”
Leavers “Come up with a Plan that will leave us all better off outside the EU than in it”
Remainers “But it’s not possible!”
Leavers “Quit with the negative vibes. The People Have Spoken.”
Remainers “But even you don’t know how!”
Leavers “That’s your problem, we’ve done our bit and voted, we’re going to sit here and eat popcorn and watch as you do it.”
Remainers “Shouldn’t you do it?”
Leavers “It’s not up to us to work out the detail, it’s up to you experts.”
Remainers “I thought you’d had enough of experts”
Leavers “Remain experts.”
Remainers “There are no Leave experts”
Leavers “Then you’ll have to do it then. Oh, and by the way, no dragging your feet or complaining about it, because if you do a deal we don’t want, we’ll eat you alive.”
Remainers “But you don’t know what you want!”
Leavers “We want massive economic growth, no migration, free trade with the EU and every other country, on our terms, the revival of British industry, re-open the coal mines, tea and vicars on every village green, some bunting, and maybe restoration of the empire.”
Remainers “You’re delusional.”
Leavers “We’re a delusional majority. DEMOCRACY! So do the thing that isn’t possible, very quickly, and give all Leavers what they want, even though they don’t know what they want, and ignore the 16 million other voters who disagree. They’re tight trouser latte-sipping hipsters who whine all the time, who cares.”
 |
| Moon from the garden |
OHHM
All is good. I have just had a nice very relaxing weekend. It was Graeme's birthday on Saturday so we went to a local eatery where they serve turnip leaves and pork and chick peas and spicy sausages and a thick broth full of deliciousness and marrow and goodness knows what else.
Speaks for itself one thinks. The Christmas tree, already a distant memory whizzing round in the vortex of history. or not. I planted it in the garden and this one looks like it's going to survive.
Gilty, while now an elderly puppy, has received a second wind. He is vibrant but wobbly, a bit deaf but cuddly, in love with the rain and the wind, but always willing to come inside.
A plate for about 56 people. Over here, appetites are measured in terms of lorry drivers.
Today's poem;
All is good. I have just had a nice very relaxing weekend. It was Graeme's birthday on Saturday so we went to a local eatery where they serve turnip leaves and pork and chick peas and spicy sausages and a thick broth full of deliciousness and marrow and goodness knows what else.
Speaks for itself one thinks. The Christmas tree, already a distant memory whizzing round in the vortex of history. or not. I planted it in the garden and this one looks like it's going to survive.
Gilty, while now an elderly puppy, has received a second wind. He is vibrant but wobbly, a bit deaf but cuddly, in love with the rain and the wind, but always willing to come inside.
A plate for about 56 people. Over here, appetites are measured in terms of lorry drivers.
 |
Hallucinogenic bottom cushioning experience |
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer’s end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.’
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There’s many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know—
Although they do not talk of it at school—
That we must labour to be beautiful.’
I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.Beautiful but tinged with a bit of melancholy.
Could do without that. Need rather more sillyness today!
