i really mean - a month in a day of it.
a hard grinding day of intrigue...who was who, who knew who and who knew what plus, can you believe em?
answers from the conference, one doesnt know at all at all.
who was who i guess was pretty much just about looking at the line up of speakers, and accents.
of course the french man was - a french man, and the english man was the english man, but the woman, whose face we knew was - well, we couldnt make that out and not by her name either.
she was gorgeous. she was in all an intelligent woman from a very troubled part of the world indeed.
who knew who was pretty much self evident, everyone knew everyone else but not everyone knew the twin and I and those who did knew something and others knew nothing.
and the ones who knew something were telling some others about that something, so a few more didnt want to know the twins.
are you still with me?
at least i am still with myself...or just about, after that month in a day of it.
Lets say my history goes before me, as does my twins housekeeping or lack thereof.
I wish my history was as innocent though.
after the day and the month of it, i lay almost screaming on my bed, roaring yes, not screaming.
tears dribbled down, as i lay naked on the bed.
mags my twin gave me a spinal massage and especially around my neck and shoulders.
i cried out loud. and as i twisted back on the bed so as to put the head on a soft pillow i begged the twino to say why is it so.
that ann, this person of ALL, right we think of all i know and who has all of this?
one, in all i know.
how can so much in one body?
she could not answer.
so how my friend, how can one person be the chosen, the elite of the elite in the pain and disease catagory.
any one of my conditions would be hell enough to cope with, but no, someone or divine, decided for an odd reason, or out of boredom to lump me with an overdose of plenty.
we then settled down together.
myself naked and twin wrapped up in her outdoors cloths still.
'are you not cold?' she asked.
"no, i never feel cold, i feel hot all the time, and it isnt nice hot either.
and as i lay the bedcloths hurt, yes, two little fluffy throws, hurt my knees and my bum.
so the throws get drawn up to waist and i am left exposed to cool air.
neither could i put knee joint to knee joint nor finger against finger. The pain was so terrible.
as i lay and twin lay we were pretty quiet.
my twin saw the spindly lower arms, from my year of chronic muscle wasting, but also she saw my scars of years of life wasting as in slashing up.
this is the history i am paranoid about, with good reason.
"can you not use camoflauge makeup?' asks the twin.
i tell her its a bit like ordinary make up and fools no one.
she wants to fool the doctors and the consultants.
she is right to want to fool them.
never has history blighted an individual.
Never.
the sort of history which would disallow me ever from being on a jury or giving a credible withness account of events, in court.
I have been marked down as being in the psychiatric system.
so when a man breaks his legs he can still up the sticks and leg it into the courts with honour.
when one is beaten down and breaks up you cannot get the sticks to help you back there, to give the credible evidence.
and i have cred.
to myself i have cred and history my friends is just that.
how many times has a person said of a bad event, ' move on,' 'put it behind you' and such.
well actually you can and want to but not a lot of a certain breed will allow you and they taint those they know and then they do ditto to the ones they know too!
especially in our grubby little country with so little to do with the education they have got in other countries, and never on the map of world reputation they have nothing better to do then to tarnish the cred and reputation of a person who cannot influence life or world events, nor make them rich and famous.
is it the last word in that, the very last that makes them behave so shoddily?
i have to say it is.
If you cannot be famous, you can at least be arrogant.
and if you cannot elicit wealth from another, you screw em to the wall for their histories.
when the dark suits walk out in line, they reminded me of the priest.
the dark suits, the power there in numbers, who knows what numbers and who wont and will tell another, but all to prevent the one who knows better get the better of them.
and you get depressed about it all.
Injustice is a dreadful thing.
its how wars start and i am in a personal war zone.
I think i have had this rant before in another blog, so does this tell me and others that i am bored or ill prepared for a blog!
i am neither, but i am tired and very.
a day at a dystonia conference.
a full whack of it.
with english men, irish men, french men and a woman from a troubled country and a troubled woman in the midst of the many who have a chronic illness or disorder and may be very compromised indeed, but at least they all had cred.
so while, i sat in my chariot of fire, and it was that, for my body was alight with tiny pins of pain, travelling the length and breath of its structure.
also the same crinkled body was wreathing, in dystonic, involuntary movements.
that is the arms were twisting up down, curled under and out, the legs were twisting and wrapping around the foot rests to stop the slithering of dystonia get a grip and send them shooting off.
but as the time went on, my head was going down to meet the knees and the knees were coming up to meet the head.
the pain of another condition, two in fact were unbearable.
the arms now were grinding against solid steal of the armrests, somewhere between the back of the wheelchair and the sides and other times, wedged between the side arm rests and a thick body of mine.
but still the finger tips were sharply pressing into the palms of my hands and the thumb was stuck inbetween the first two fingers or doing the trick of 'pill rolling' without the pills.
and all the while you are trying to concentrate, with deafness, pain and bright lights, with the sunshades on, the painkillers in your body, exiting from the chambers to be watched as you walk in a very crooked way out the door on a stick.
a weak smile on your face, unsure too how the teeth look. the prominent ones, the ones that are false, and as false as the smile i have to say.
who is taken in?
not a lot, and certainly not me.
and you try the 'come body relaxez vous' outside, to no avail.
and still you have to walk the history.
you walk it and live it because you cannot escape it, and many in that room knew it this time round and not the last, so those two experts were ignoring me!
then, when they do that, you know you are paranoid with every good reason.
we are a small country.
our paper trail is large and sometimes poor when convenient and sometimes enormously good when not so, for people like myself.
and also we are of small numbers with very little to do other than bad mouth our fellow man.
especially when they are down.
From the cow to the feet.
yep pretty much so.
less intelligent go for the veneer, such as clothing, and inspect and consider nice or nother.
and the intelligent go for the interior and consider if it genuine or neither.
and who gets it wrong and who gets in right.
the person wearing the clothes!
both internally and externally that person is right...to themselves and no one else.
everyone else's view is highly speculative, and perceptual.
it is not, i repeat not, realistic, intelligent or right.
it is not intellectually or right to shoot first and ask questions later.
and its not realistic to jigger, shake, contort for no reason nor be in a padded wheelchair for no reason for a full six years now.
and still the history is there, and no reason can be found for the person being in that damn bloody red chariot of fame, or infamy, the medical exam was highly suspect so it cannot be used in evidence.
the good jury is out, and if no outsider gets in or the insider gets out, maybe one day the jury will be in on this dilemna.
AWNYAH TODAYSAY Ann living in the Republic of Ireland and it is not a good thing. We have now ratified the EU convention on the rights of people with disabilities, yet we failed in ratifying the optional protocol, allowing us ability to make complaints to the EU under the convention, with little facility to do so in our own country. We go unheard in every sense of the word. This is unjust and leaves us more vulnerable and open to abuses. We are suffering. I am suffering.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Them bones them bones them dry bones!
I think that is the way the old song goes, and thats the way the bones were, dry and disconnected, dislodged and disconcerting!
Well we were in a graveyard, and who would wander so deep to gather wood, no not for fire as in cremation, but as in decoration...
today was a good day...at the graveyard and grave side.
i was utterly shocked to see my dad has been dead for eleven years and my sister for fourteen.
Time flies, and remember we shall all be them bones.
Hopefully not found on the surface as my twin found as she foraged, she feels they were a joint, definitely a joint and she is an x-nurse.
so either an elbow or knee.
when i told her there was a vast difference, she said she was not going down to sniff it or inspect further or closer, but it was a joint, poking out, dislocated, disconcerting, in the depths of furtherlands at the graveyard.
we had loaded up today.
it was after a wander looking again for our 'forever homes' and we saw some possibilities. we decided to pop into our Pop's grave to sort of stand and contemplate and ask the dead a favour, that is for Dad and Louise to think of us and find us a home.
we decided then that it was very very bare, lonely and dislocated, although new chippings had been put down, as you could nearly see bones, up until now, literally, the grave had sunk for a second time.
we wanted then, all of a sudden to decorate, make part of the living world, own it, not desert it but care for it. I believe that is what older folk do do when it comes to the end of their lives.
the younger are too busy being young!
but we felt livened and energetic and called into the Windy Arbour (garden centre), for suggestions and ideas.
i already had the idea of alpine plants for between the graves. a tiny gravel dirt inch edging all around would have coped with this sort of plant, i felt.
mags loves flowers, she picked some beauties, gentle soft blues, with a hint of silver grey, they were smaller than a pansy, i think called viola.
she also picked another blueish plant.
Home we went with a few alpines and blues, feeling sunny and all warm as in yellows of the sun rays and shine of sunflowers (which are doing nicely at three inches high).
we had a dinner and debated our housing dilemma and choices, a few emails were sent on this topic and a further debate on whether to wait for the Irish v. England rugby match or come back for the second half.
we decided on the latter.
we wandered my yardenette and chose some Pinks, and some pots and planters, then the tools of the gardening trade, two small seats, the hats, gloves and many a full flowering or ready to, troughs of other greens which will be tulips and other.
As in 'we don't know' but surely will..in time...if time allows, and if the slugs do too.
Now we had everything and off we set.
We sat, purple pots, luminous green watering can, blue floppy hats and pansies, a clatterer on some poor persons deserted and very very lonesome grave of gravel and dirt dating back to the early eighteeth century. Protestant.
We were on the Prods side of the graveyard, the catholics are on the other. Louise is in the middle being half of one and half of the other, she goes in with our dad who was full Protestant, with never a half about it, but maybe presbyterian, for i believe his mother may have been that, well i think she was and no maybe either.
Hence some family members are on opposite sides and others in Glasnevin on very much the opposite end of the opposite side.
My Dad is here and my Ma is there!
we got digging but not for bones.
Mags sat on a tiny blue plastic stepper, and i sat on a green real gardening seat for disabled and frail!
i scratched the edges, scoured and picked and hacked out pebbles and dry earth.
I had my blue hat on and twin, after she had discovered the bones on a wander told me some bare back of mine was visible so i had to sort that, see the sun destroys my DNA, in truth and reality.
I had the factor 80 or something on as well.
I was hot. the sun beat down.
my twin sat after the bones and did the planters in the middle.
i scratched, as i already have said and laid out my alpines, pulling them apart to get more plants, but dividing gently so as not to hurt the tender roots.
i gave Mags some to put behind her on that edge, so i could see how it all was gonna look.
then came the adding of peat, the scrouvvel again with the shovel.
and a pat here, a brush there, and a lovingly perfect line of soil, plus a combo of different spreading (eventually) alpines.
i patted all around, stepping on my dad and sis, sometimes saying 'sorry' but mostly not, for i was taken up with the task at hand.
i hardly noticed the twin but knew she was equally taken up, as i would know when she needed to get off her stool and straighten up!
we were mighty pleased.
a grave decorated, a visual feast for a dead person and persons, and a feeling that we did good in good honour on this small patch in a vast dead place of many.
we were visualising our own homes too, with their possibilities of gardens and sharing and togetherness if possible.
we wondered then after i took pics with my mobile phone, which i will never know how to download.
and so home -
To the rugby match and to our delight it had not even started, someone timed that well and someone got the timing wrong!
we settled, but felt something missing...food, nice sort...sweet and sugary and delightful.
the twin got up, dressed, she was starkers and scooted down to the small shop for a 'surprise' of delights, fully clothed.
i put the tools of gardening trade back in their places, brushed out the unit (it ain't a home).
and then brushed out my yardenette, i love it, as i do all outdoors.
Mags returned and was furious with me, she claimed i had done enough for one day and true i had.
Solpadol next! They are painkillers for those of foreign lands, who may read this! Ooh, jammy doughnuts, six for two euros. someone did well there.
we settled.
i couldn't for long, it was a right tribal war on that pitch. very physical and something rather very macho with bottoms and bums in the scrums, something i coudn't imagine for self and wondered how they coped, and also wondered did anyone ever fart in that situation!
Anyway, such excitement, as we were demolishing England and relishing this fact by manic heart attack type cheering in the full Aviva stadium, i could not cope with.
the dystonia went wild, the legs dug deep and wrapped around the sides of the sofa, the arms were mid air or behind my head in a paralised seizure of contractions, due to excitement of an entirely different type than you are imagining.
i had to move. unwrap and flap to ease the bones and muscles and joints!
i cleaned again, as that too is basic and all i am able for and good at right now.
the twin hollored and told the team off, i asked if she was preparing for another career as coach.
We won.
the Irish celebrated. Our now world famous Brian O'Driscoll had managed two records, most capped captain and most capped captain scorer and other.
anyway two records on same day two days after Paddy's day, not bad that eh?
Mags and i dressed again, she switched from pink trousers into her purple, and i took the pink put them on and we went..to the train station and agreed it was a varied and very very enjoyable day, a satisfying day. a fun and nice day, an enjoyable day enjoying each others company, enjoying what we do best together and enjoying the life that is in us and in the day that was innit.
it was a good day for dry bones and joints.
Well we were in a graveyard, and who would wander so deep to gather wood, no not for fire as in cremation, but as in decoration...
today was a good day...at the graveyard and grave side.
i was utterly shocked to see my dad has been dead for eleven years and my sister for fourteen.
Time flies, and remember we shall all be them bones.
Hopefully not found on the surface as my twin found as she foraged, she feels they were a joint, definitely a joint and she is an x-nurse.
so either an elbow or knee.
when i told her there was a vast difference, she said she was not going down to sniff it or inspect further or closer, but it was a joint, poking out, dislocated, disconcerting, in the depths of furtherlands at the graveyard.
we had loaded up today.
it was after a wander looking again for our 'forever homes' and we saw some possibilities. we decided to pop into our Pop's grave to sort of stand and contemplate and ask the dead a favour, that is for Dad and Louise to think of us and find us a home.
we decided then that it was very very bare, lonely and dislocated, although new chippings had been put down, as you could nearly see bones, up until now, literally, the grave had sunk for a second time.
we wanted then, all of a sudden to decorate, make part of the living world, own it, not desert it but care for it. I believe that is what older folk do do when it comes to the end of their lives.
the younger are too busy being young!
but we felt livened and energetic and called into the Windy Arbour (garden centre), for suggestions and ideas.
i already had the idea of alpine plants for between the graves. a tiny gravel dirt inch edging all around would have coped with this sort of plant, i felt.
mags loves flowers, she picked some beauties, gentle soft blues, with a hint of silver grey, they were smaller than a pansy, i think called viola.
she also picked another blueish plant.
Home we went with a few alpines and blues, feeling sunny and all warm as in yellows of the sun rays and shine of sunflowers (which are doing nicely at three inches high).
we had a dinner and debated our housing dilemma and choices, a few emails were sent on this topic and a further debate on whether to wait for the Irish v. England rugby match or come back for the second half.
we decided on the latter.
we wandered my yardenette and chose some Pinks, and some pots and planters, then the tools of the gardening trade, two small seats, the hats, gloves and many a full flowering or ready to, troughs of other greens which will be tulips and other.
As in 'we don't know' but surely will..in time...if time allows, and if the slugs do too.
Now we had everything and off we set.
We sat, purple pots, luminous green watering can, blue floppy hats and pansies, a clatterer on some poor persons deserted and very very lonesome grave of gravel and dirt dating back to the early eighteeth century. Protestant.
We were on the Prods side of the graveyard, the catholics are on the other. Louise is in the middle being half of one and half of the other, she goes in with our dad who was full Protestant, with never a half about it, but maybe presbyterian, for i believe his mother may have been that, well i think she was and no maybe either.
Hence some family members are on opposite sides and others in Glasnevin on very much the opposite end of the opposite side.
My Dad is here and my Ma is there!
we got digging but not for bones.
Mags sat on a tiny blue plastic stepper, and i sat on a green real gardening seat for disabled and frail!
i scratched the edges, scoured and picked and hacked out pebbles and dry earth.
I had my blue hat on and twin, after she had discovered the bones on a wander told me some bare back of mine was visible so i had to sort that, see the sun destroys my DNA, in truth and reality.
I had the factor 80 or something on as well.
I was hot. the sun beat down.
my twin sat after the bones and did the planters in the middle.
i scratched, as i already have said and laid out my alpines, pulling them apart to get more plants, but dividing gently so as not to hurt the tender roots.
i gave Mags some to put behind her on that edge, so i could see how it all was gonna look.
then came the adding of peat, the scrouvvel again with the shovel.
and a pat here, a brush there, and a lovingly perfect line of soil, plus a combo of different spreading (eventually) alpines.
i patted all around, stepping on my dad and sis, sometimes saying 'sorry' but mostly not, for i was taken up with the task at hand.
i hardly noticed the twin but knew she was equally taken up, as i would know when she needed to get off her stool and straighten up!
we were mighty pleased.
a grave decorated, a visual feast for a dead person and persons, and a feeling that we did good in good honour on this small patch in a vast dead place of many.
we were visualising our own homes too, with their possibilities of gardens and sharing and togetherness if possible.
we wondered then after i took pics with my mobile phone, which i will never know how to download.
and so home -
To the rugby match and to our delight it had not even started, someone timed that well and someone got the timing wrong!
we settled, but felt something missing...food, nice sort...sweet and sugary and delightful.
the twin got up, dressed, she was starkers and scooted down to the small shop for a 'surprise' of delights, fully clothed.
i put the tools of gardening trade back in their places, brushed out the unit (it ain't a home).
and then brushed out my yardenette, i love it, as i do all outdoors.
Mags returned and was furious with me, she claimed i had done enough for one day and true i had.
Solpadol next! They are painkillers for those of foreign lands, who may read this! Ooh, jammy doughnuts, six for two euros. someone did well there.
we settled.
i couldn't for long, it was a right tribal war on that pitch. very physical and something rather very macho with bottoms and bums in the scrums, something i coudn't imagine for self and wondered how they coped, and also wondered did anyone ever fart in that situation!
Anyway, such excitement, as we were demolishing England and relishing this fact by manic heart attack type cheering in the full Aviva stadium, i could not cope with.
the dystonia went wild, the legs dug deep and wrapped around the sides of the sofa, the arms were mid air or behind my head in a paralised seizure of contractions, due to excitement of an entirely different type than you are imagining.
i had to move. unwrap and flap to ease the bones and muscles and joints!
i cleaned again, as that too is basic and all i am able for and good at right now.
the twin hollored and told the team off, i asked if she was preparing for another career as coach.
We won.
the Irish celebrated. Our now world famous Brian O'Driscoll had managed two records, most capped captain and most capped captain scorer and other.
anyway two records on same day two days after Paddy's day, not bad that eh?
Mags and i dressed again, she switched from pink trousers into her purple, and i took the pink put them on and we went..to the train station and agreed it was a varied and very very enjoyable day, a satisfying day. a fun and nice day, an enjoyable day enjoying each others company, enjoying what we do best together and enjoying the life that is in us and in the day that was innit.
it was a good day for dry bones and joints.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Celebration PADDY!
Happy St. Paddy's Day, where ever you may be, 'we' have em in America, Australia, New Zealand, UK and all over, oh Canada as well, best wishes to my relatives overseas, in Dubai, Toronto and London.
Best wishes to all in Ireland too, in Mayo, Tipp and also Dublin, Co. Wicklow and scattered.
there were rather two scattered Pads today as we bundled up the nearest and latest crisis.
we seem to be having them in more than spades of late.
I guess buying the plonkers yesterday for our skulls might have helped us get rid of the Black Dog and find the Funny Bone today. The parade did that, and Black Dog, well we shall have to ask Paddy Doyle whatever happened Black Dog, i think he was banished by the Children of Ireland helped by Uncle Ernie.
The Black Dog around my parts is not that of chihuahuas nor of the Bulldog description nor the bouncy saff, of who we shall see asap.
more so of irate family members. There seems to be them in spades too.
Too many black dogs running around like chaos gone galloping.
By the end of the day, lets hope...we have to, that the children of Eire helped by Ernie, the horses of Cheltenham, helped by Jocks and night helped by weariness will have staved off the dogs of black, with a capitol D, and then tomorrow, the parade of Colour and enlightenment will start the brave new dawn.
I picked my dear twin up in tears, red nose, tired around the eyes, very flat for a paddy, indeed.
Well this paddy wasnt so great either, for i seemed to the obstacle in the way of fantastic jubilation of the day!
Criptics can be uncripped and clipped by the crippled.
When the heart is full and willing, to spread whatever is left of jubilee, nothing can banish this.
snakes do slither far and wide but banishing laughter and jokes at an older age is not for the doubty, but for the young.
My twin and i are the willing and full.
we are SO willing to wake each morn and face it.
whatever it brings, the day has to be faced...crisis after crisis and forever.
The day there will be more than a funny bone to lift us up will be the day we are on the horses back (yikes :(!)
We both need peace in spades, if the crippled are reading this we are talking about PEACE!
but the crippled will never know themselves.
or are they THAT foolish.
i cannot on line say the unspeakable.
My twin and i need PEACE.
We need a home, not blown about the country side like tumbleweed nor dandelion clocks.
We need to be earthed not by the leaden legs nor clumpy feet but in spirit and soul.
We do know the capacity to end our torture is there.
the anxiety, the pain, the frustration, the endlessness of wondering when we both will have a home to call our own, not a camp down in a difficult unit or household.
a real home, where dogs can run free and bring joy, where we can refresh each other with cups of tea rather than shore each other up from the tears spilt.
this is supposed to be HOLY IRELAND.
It isn't, by no stretch of the imagination.
the tub of shamrock handed over in crystal, is not the tub the twin and i drank from today, nor the swathes of the rich in America who donned the green.
the twin and i though did it in just as much style but also in struggle.
tis more than the banks that have gone unjingled here, i want to say.
the brats of wealth and spoilers for others have done that in bag loads.
So who goes to bed a happier man or woman today in Holy Ireland?
I hope the guy sitting by the sea with his wee Princess, for princess was gorgeous and princess wasn't that old but well loved indeed. A shitz zu!
My princess is not getting any younger either, and i love her well, but poorly at times, but Love her very very much.
the blight is here still on my shore, the rain will come all too soon again, the mist come down, the darkness will dampen spirits, and the funny bone will have to be found all over again.
But did not the children rid the land of the Black Dog today?
surely fantasy reins for one day?
it is not over yet, the 24hrs of the 17th day of the third month of the year 2011 is not over.
Apologize those who have hurt others today and at least be resolved to go to bed comforted.
but one apology has to be meant as in the christian way, that is, you have to wake up and act the apology out by not being hurtful again, and penitence is required too.
a home please, to settle the weary.
i will know i did my best today, i tried. God loves a trier.
but a christian would not allow me wander the land of milk and honey today.
Best wishes to all in Ireland too, in Mayo, Tipp and also Dublin, Co. Wicklow and scattered.
there were rather two scattered Pads today as we bundled up the nearest and latest crisis.
we seem to be having them in more than spades of late.
I guess buying the plonkers yesterday for our skulls might have helped us get rid of the Black Dog and find the Funny Bone today. The parade did that, and Black Dog, well we shall have to ask Paddy Doyle whatever happened Black Dog, i think he was banished by the Children of Ireland helped by Uncle Ernie.
The Black Dog around my parts is not that of chihuahuas nor of the Bulldog description nor the bouncy saff, of who we shall see asap.
more so of irate family members. There seems to be them in spades too.
Too many black dogs running around like chaos gone galloping.
By the end of the day, lets hope...we have to, that the children of Eire helped by Ernie, the horses of Cheltenham, helped by Jocks and night helped by weariness will have staved off the dogs of black, with a capitol D, and then tomorrow, the parade of Colour and enlightenment will start the brave new dawn.
I picked my dear twin up in tears, red nose, tired around the eyes, very flat for a paddy, indeed.
Well this paddy wasnt so great either, for i seemed to the obstacle in the way of fantastic jubilation of the day!
Criptics can be uncripped and clipped by the crippled.
When the heart is full and willing, to spread whatever is left of jubilee, nothing can banish this.
snakes do slither far and wide but banishing laughter and jokes at an older age is not for the doubty, but for the young.
My twin and i are the willing and full.
we are SO willing to wake each morn and face it.
whatever it brings, the day has to be faced...crisis after crisis and forever.
The day there will be more than a funny bone to lift us up will be the day we are on the horses back (yikes :(!)
We both need peace in spades, if the crippled are reading this we are talking about PEACE!
but the crippled will never know themselves.
or are they THAT foolish.
i cannot on line say the unspeakable.
My twin and i need PEACE.
We need a home, not blown about the country side like tumbleweed nor dandelion clocks.
We need to be earthed not by the leaden legs nor clumpy feet but in spirit and soul.
We do know the capacity to end our torture is there.
the anxiety, the pain, the frustration, the endlessness of wondering when we both will have a home to call our own, not a camp down in a difficult unit or household.
a real home, where dogs can run free and bring joy, where we can refresh each other with cups of tea rather than shore each other up from the tears spilt.
this is supposed to be HOLY IRELAND.
It isn't, by no stretch of the imagination.
the tub of shamrock handed over in crystal, is not the tub the twin and i drank from today, nor the swathes of the rich in America who donned the green.
the twin and i though did it in just as much style but also in struggle.
tis more than the banks that have gone unjingled here, i want to say.
the brats of wealth and spoilers for others have done that in bag loads.
So who goes to bed a happier man or woman today in Holy Ireland?
I hope the guy sitting by the sea with his wee Princess, for princess was gorgeous and princess wasn't that old but well loved indeed. A shitz zu!
My princess is not getting any younger either, and i love her well, but poorly at times, but Love her very very much.
the blight is here still on my shore, the rain will come all too soon again, the mist come down, the darkness will dampen spirits, and the funny bone will have to be found all over again.
But did not the children rid the land of the Black Dog today?
surely fantasy reins for one day?
it is not over yet, the 24hrs of the 17th day of the third month of the year 2011 is not over.
Apologize those who have hurt others today and at least be resolved to go to bed comforted.
but one apology has to be meant as in the christian way, that is, you have to wake up and act the apology out by not being hurtful again, and penitence is required too.
a home please, to settle the weary.
i will know i did my best today, i tried. God loves a trier.
but a christian would not allow me wander the land of milk and honey today.
Monday, March 14, 2011
To Kill a Mockingbird
How do you escape i ask and i think of the guy in this famous tale.
Never doubt it, the sins, real, imagined or perceived will never ever be forgotten.
Each and everyone of us has transgressed in Life.
that is part of being human.
what i wonder is, how human is lynch mobs, lynch mobs especially on character and personality.
This is all general, in the general scheme of things.
Look how far the personal disasters stretch down your generations before you and in the immediate lineage?
Mine?
well mine are clear and cut.
there is not one soul alive who knows me who does not know my past, my present and some even my future.
Has there been either rethinks, forgiveness, now that is too, asking for forgiveness in the light of what a person may know of me - if they bother to befriend me.
where has the sin occurred, and is the original sin, still being acted out in the minds of many?
or even myself?
well please decide.
what has been put aside, what has been taken up - on all sides.
squarely.
remember, no one escapes this personal analysis of sins.
it is a deep set mindset.
People are watching and waiting for the emission of 'i told you so.'
One step out of the line of society's expectation of norm you are gone, and cut and usually cut out.
Ireland is neither a "secret society."
In the end all will be levelled.
all will be out in the wash.
In small and insular societies, say on a small populated island which ireland is, a fact it doesn't recognize! er, and large expanses of say america where there are small disconnect societies, away from sort of mainstream, levels of broadmindedness and different and varied attitudes, you will find the cut throat, of the valley, the valley of the squinting windows.
there is nothing greater to relieve the boredom i guess!
and the flea analogy comes to mind, again.
all hopping fleas from one body to the other, and the bite is woeful painful.
you bite me, i bite you, she bites her and he bites the other, so on and so forth.
its never a lick nor soft touch.
it jugular language of APES.
you know the beating of breasts and the barred manic teeth and the absolute dominance of the bully or the alpha male.
unfortunately its even seen in kids now.
the honking of the irate driver.
the screeching of the wounded women and the yowling of the angry men.
animal like.
there is no point in saying that human is superior.
you know that its far from.
you look around you and see, who sniped a shot across your bow today?
who yelled and screamed, who scuffed you in the street, turned away pretending not to see.
who made you invisible today, in words, silence, deed or the yowl.
and every inch of your life has been a book on their shelves.
they know you.
You say you do have secrets amongst you.
but there are none.
most human beings are replicas of the generations before, as if and in 'been there, done that, i know that, its all too familiar, omg not coming out in THIS generation again?
and omg, dont even contemplate telling HER.
cos if you do, well what will she do with the info?
usually nothing, cos someone else has done something with the info before the dreaded ostracized.
now books.
files as thick as tomes reign supreme.
you cannot escape and there are no secrets.
you are categorized, sized up, measured and weighted. you are consigned.
designated to be slotted.
designated to be sorted, squeezed dry.
the whole point of such vile treatment of one toward another is, dominance.
it has less, far less to do with a person who has not stopped at the red light.
far more to do with the opportunity that provides to prove it to others that 'well, at least I did not do that, or that, or that! Nah, no you didnt - but you did this, and this, and this and THAT!
what was it in the bible. it is a well known phrase, and in all religions and philosophies and rarely acted upon - take the log out of your own eye before you take the splinter out of others.
Information mate.
what happens the information of lives within a supposed secret society which isn't one without a doubt.
its like a toilet, it finds the general pool, no stopping.
it can be stopped, some of it, at the S-bend, at least its slowed down there but once down, round and over its OUT!
so, cellotape of lips is a request yes, but what if you cellotape the wrong lips and some are not so or become unzipped in some shape or fashion.
we then have the footsteps in the dark in the leaves and the preconceived ideas.
ooh, watch that window and watch them curtains.
Big brother is watching you!
Never doubt it, the sins, real, imagined or perceived will never ever be forgotten.
Each and everyone of us has transgressed in Life.
that is part of being human.
what i wonder is, how human is lynch mobs, lynch mobs especially on character and personality.
This is all general, in the general scheme of things.
Look how far the personal disasters stretch down your generations before you and in the immediate lineage?
Mine?
well mine are clear and cut.
there is not one soul alive who knows me who does not know my past, my present and some even my future.
Has there been either rethinks, forgiveness, now that is too, asking for forgiveness in the light of what a person may know of me - if they bother to befriend me.
where has the sin occurred, and is the original sin, still being acted out in the minds of many?
or even myself?
well please decide.
what has been put aside, what has been taken up - on all sides.
squarely.
remember, no one escapes this personal analysis of sins.
it is a deep set mindset.
People are watching and waiting for the emission of 'i told you so.'
One step out of the line of society's expectation of norm you are gone, and cut and usually cut out.
Ireland is neither a "secret society."
In the end all will be levelled.
all will be out in the wash.
In small and insular societies, say on a small populated island which ireland is, a fact it doesn't recognize! er, and large expanses of say america where there are small disconnect societies, away from sort of mainstream, levels of broadmindedness and different and varied attitudes, you will find the cut throat, of the valley, the valley of the squinting windows.
there is nothing greater to relieve the boredom i guess!
and the flea analogy comes to mind, again.
all hopping fleas from one body to the other, and the bite is woeful painful.
you bite me, i bite you, she bites her and he bites the other, so on and so forth.
its never a lick nor soft touch.
it jugular language of APES.
you know the beating of breasts and the barred manic teeth and the absolute dominance of the bully or the alpha male.
unfortunately its even seen in kids now.
the honking of the irate driver.
the screeching of the wounded women and the yowling of the angry men.
animal like.
there is no point in saying that human is superior.
you know that its far from.
you look around you and see, who sniped a shot across your bow today?
who yelled and screamed, who scuffed you in the street, turned away pretending not to see.
who made you invisible today, in words, silence, deed or the yowl.
and every inch of your life has been a book on their shelves.
they know you.
You say you do have secrets amongst you.
but there are none.
most human beings are replicas of the generations before, as if and in 'been there, done that, i know that, its all too familiar, omg not coming out in THIS generation again?
and omg, dont even contemplate telling HER.
cos if you do, well what will she do with the info?
usually nothing, cos someone else has done something with the info before the dreaded ostracized.
now books.
files as thick as tomes reign supreme.
you cannot escape and there are no secrets.
you are categorized, sized up, measured and weighted. you are consigned.
designated to be slotted.
designated to be sorted, squeezed dry.
the whole point of such vile treatment of one toward another is, dominance.
it has less, far less to do with a person who has not stopped at the red light.
far more to do with the opportunity that provides to prove it to others that 'well, at least I did not do that, or that, or that! Nah, no you didnt - but you did this, and this, and this and THAT!
what was it in the bible. it is a well known phrase, and in all religions and philosophies and rarely acted upon - take the log out of your own eye before you take the splinter out of others.
Information mate.
what happens the information of lives within a supposed secret society which isn't one without a doubt.
its like a toilet, it finds the general pool, no stopping.
it can be stopped, some of it, at the S-bend, at least its slowed down there but once down, round and over its OUT!
so, cellotape of lips is a request yes, but what if you cellotape the wrong lips and some are not so or become unzipped in some shape or fashion.
we then have the footsteps in the dark in the leaves and the preconceived ideas.
ooh, watch that window and watch them curtains.
Big brother is watching you!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Mad Sad and Bloody awful
I would like to know 'who can be right?'
Here goes as i try to explain....
Eventime, yesterday i felt ghastly. Legs very wibbly wobbly, pain off the richter scale, sickness as in vomiting up, near or near abouts, and i was brutal.
these are serious times, for i have to work this one out very very carefully.
Why? i am in Ireland, and i am I.
and if you wonder still again...i am one of the defectives according to your man in the US of A who decided all who suffer pain or psychological distress should be shipped to Siberia.
(he also stated the world was overpopulated anyway, and i wonder will the disaster in Japan, do?). Well, is he anyway near satisfied that enough innocents have died there as in population control? Rentokil pales my friend.
Now back to overpopulation in Holy Ireland.
well we are not, and will be depopulated soon by emmigation and at the A&E's.
More explaining...i tend to waffle.
I ended there. the considerations i carried out last night were way off, that bloody richter scale.
In i go, and out i came two and a half hours later, no doc, no pillow, no sip of water, no exam, no nothing. nothing! oh, i filled a pee-pot that had fallen out of my hand at the toilet rolled under it in the wet only to be picked up by my male attendant and handed back to me!
who cares anymore, as the last time one was rolled to me under the door, i pretended i had dropped it and given another.
so this time you don't care.
with a wheelchair bumped along, jerking into a cubicle too small in the wash room.
Oh i hurt so.
asked about the pain when i came in on a scale of 1-10 i said it was up around 9. well it wasn't, it was way over.
but see, these are only numbers! they don't know how it feels.
as this explanation fits the feelings i have, and i have them be not without a doubt.
I am told i have Sjoghens Syndrome. that was about two years ago or a bit more.
'ah dont worry about it, its relatively mild condition,' and even when i was sitting there in the wheelchair i muttered 'Mild, i dread to think what its like if its BAD!' He sort of giggled a bit too. I never heard of the blinking condition.
anyway i go away, two years ago and a bit or more.
it is ten times worse now then then (don't worry about the numerals, no one understands their meaning in the face of illness).
the eyes are sticky and ache, you cannot read, you cannot be in bright light, well you can hardly be in any light actually.
they feel as if they have grit in em..all the time, like.
your nose is dry and scratchy, it feels like er, sandpaper in them nostrils.
it is clogged with hard stuff (no not nice and it doesn't feel any nicer either).
your skin is dry and thin, bruises easily, especially in a flare.
the palms of your hands are red and on fire, fire.
you cannot place them on any surface.
your finger joints are oh achy, achy and you rub em to try and make it go away taking the fingers with em for who wants them if they can cause this amount of pain.
you cannot flex some knuckles, a bit of a hindrance when typing.
your knees are f...k...in bits, you cannot let even soft throws lie over them and its painful to walk.
your neck is also in same way, you want to lie flat and remain so.for ever.
you have raynauds which is supposed to go with the sjogrens along with the RA factor, but don't worry on the latter, it isn't Rheumatoid arthritis, just feels like it and its non deforming. ur? Its a fake sort of arthritis, but fake hurts! Its a factor Rheumatoid artritis, whatever the factor part means, i couldnt be bothered even finding that one out.
the raynauds has you trying to type in mitts, sticking hands and feet out of bed one minute and then back in bed the next for first they are on fire and next they are icy cold.
you wear mitts in bed and a pair of woolly socks PLUS Aussie sheep slippers, the glove kind. with the fur on and its soft and wonderful. it was worth my twins trip to australia if only for that.
well you wont notice it...like you wont feel it...like its only a mild condition...don't worry about the numbers either, i say...up yours!
no part of the flesh can be in touch with textured materials, you lie on fake silk. but you can only do this for a while cos if you stay in one place and you really wanna the body unders started to scream with pain. the underside of the legs that is, for they are effected worse by far.
you are overheating so the window has remained open all winter day and night.
the heating is off, until that becomes unbearable.
you go from being too hot to being too cold, with or without the heating on.
you sweat buckets, even though past the menopause.
dont forget that one, i AM past the menopause, contrary to what a doctor thought a year ago when he asked me was i pregnant, i had a crohns blockage, and i was 57 at the time, no unless by divine intervention i say. the gut was trying to get rid of a stuck lump of food, a bit like a lumpy baby i guess, bloody felt the same, same idea, involuntary muscles and contracting every fifteen minutes, problem is, you dont get a nice squawl at the end of it, you get er, nothing, sod all, nothing whatsoever for your pain but abuse, "HEY, be quiet, there are REAL sick people here!
oh the crohns disease is only supposed to be 'a mild case' of it.
like hell sir, like hell, you don't have part of your intestine out for a mild case of anything. That is considered Major surgery, so who mentioned 'mild?'
you dont sit on the toilet with cramps, sickness and a fan in your hand for want of a mild case of it.
it either comes down or it doesn't, and it comes down. Use your imagination on that one please.
We are still with the Primary Sjogrens Syndrome.
Its a doddle, according to em.
Is it really, and you on fire?
the head is thumping too.
Not to mention the fibromyalgia. Now THAT is equal to warrant a trip to siberia to friggin freeze to death!
this is supposed to be all in the mind..aka last night for two hours next to the laundry closet.
In A&E.
try this one, its neat, pain...on a grand scale, and if you knock an elbow or someplace else. You will soon know about it, and that has you bent in two holding the part that cracked a knob, doubled over like on the toilet seat with a crohns flare.
and if all three flare at the same time.
You want Siberia! You want it, not an Irish A&E/
so this is all mild eh?
say that to the cronnies on Irish Health.com and also the Sjoggies there too and all suffering from fibro.
THEY say it to each other, all us sickies, say it as it is. and you are understood implicitly without any bloody number games.
they KNOW what you are talking about.
every inch of it, ever body part of it.
and i can tell you every body part hurts with these conditions.
no one ever mentioned the TIREDNESS and chronic fatigue. They forgot that one ok, left the good til last, well its a good un. that.
You are a walking zombie, like a womble of wimbledon, a right womble zombie for sure.
the crunch of it all is NEVER say to a doctor on leaving hospital after MAJOR surgery that you are not feeling so good, why? doesnt matter, you are OUT.
the night nurse may say the wound is hot, the doctor on call say the same but the consultant has a poke around the wound down your middle and declares you fit to go...so i go...and ask the sis to drive slowly...two days later...wound bursts....out flows...grey liquid into the air...yep we now have a massive infection.
Do they know, right, if they ask you how bad the pain is on a scale to one to ten...do you suggest anything to them?
I can think of a few things i would like to say, the first being...does it make THAT much of a difference..to you?
I was out of that place frying up like a prune, stay with the chihuahuas Ann for God's sake and HEALTH's sake, stay with the chis.
Medicine good medicine, is a few ounce of white fur balls. each for one palm of the hand, light, fluffy, soft and even the little tongues that lick are small and not like sandpaper.
you are welcomed with beautiful bug eyed brown orbs and a twitching nose, wet and cold, and you say, lets go to bed.
you do, and you wrap around two tiny beating hearts of GOLD.
to-night on a scale of one to ten, how is it...up there mate, without the sickness for i have been flat on my back all day or most of it.
Here goes as i try to explain....
Eventime, yesterday i felt ghastly. Legs very wibbly wobbly, pain off the richter scale, sickness as in vomiting up, near or near abouts, and i was brutal.
these are serious times, for i have to work this one out very very carefully.
Why? i am in Ireland, and i am I.
and if you wonder still again...i am one of the defectives according to your man in the US of A who decided all who suffer pain or psychological distress should be shipped to Siberia.
(he also stated the world was overpopulated anyway, and i wonder will the disaster in Japan, do?). Well, is he anyway near satisfied that enough innocents have died there as in population control? Rentokil pales my friend.
Now back to overpopulation in Holy Ireland.
well we are not, and will be depopulated soon by emmigation and at the A&E's.
More explaining...i tend to waffle.
I ended there. the considerations i carried out last night were way off, that bloody richter scale.
In i go, and out i came two and a half hours later, no doc, no pillow, no sip of water, no exam, no nothing. nothing! oh, i filled a pee-pot that had fallen out of my hand at the toilet rolled under it in the wet only to be picked up by my male attendant and handed back to me!
who cares anymore, as the last time one was rolled to me under the door, i pretended i had dropped it and given another.
so this time you don't care.
with a wheelchair bumped along, jerking into a cubicle too small in the wash room.
Oh i hurt so.
asked about the pain when i came in on a scale of 1-10 i said it was up around 9. well it wasn't, it was way over.
but see, these are only numbers! they don't know how it feels.
as this explanation fits the feelings i have, and i have them be not without a doubt.
I am told i have Sjoghens Syndrome. that was about two years ago or a bit more.
'ah dont worry about it, its relatively mild condition,' and even when i was sitting there in the wheelchair i muttered 'Mild, i dread to think what its like if its BAD!' He sort of giggled a bit too. I never heard of the blinking condition.
anyway i go away, two years ago and a bit or more.
it is ten times worse now then then (don't worry about the numerals, no one understands their meaning in the face of illness).
the eyes are sticky and ache, you cannot read, you cannot be in bright light, well you can hardly be in any light actually.
they feel as if they have grit in em..all the time, like.
your nose is dry and scratchy, it feels like er, sandpaper in them nostrils.
it is clogged with hard stuff (no not nice and it doesn't feel any nicer either).
your skin is dry and thin, bruises easily, especially in a flare.
the palms of your hands are red and on fire, fire.
you cannot place them on any surface.
your finger joints are oh achy, achy and you rub em to try and make it go away taking the fingers with em for who wants them if they can cause this amount of pain.
you cannot flex some knuckles, a bit of a hindrance when typing.
your knees are f...k...in bits, you cannot let even soft throws lie over them and its painful to walk.
your neck is also in same way, you want to lie flat and remain so.for ever.
you have raynauds which is supposed to go with the sjogrens along with the RA factor, but don't worry on the latter, it isn't Rheumatoid arthritis, just feels like it and its non deforming. ur? Its a fake sort of arthritis, but fake hurts! Its a factor Rheumatoid artritis, whatever the factor part means, i couldnt be bothered even finding that one out.
the raynauds has you trying to type in mitts, sticking hands and feet out of bed one minute and then back in bed the next for first they are on fire and next they are icy cold.
you wear mitts in bed and a pair of woolly socks PLUS Aussie sheep slippers, the glove kind. with the fur on and its soft and wonderful. it was worth my twins trip to australia if only for that.
well you wont notice it...like you wont feel it...like its only a mild condition...don't worry about the numbers either, i say...up yours!
no part of the flesh can be in touch with textured materials, you lie on fake silk. but you can only do this for a while cos if you stay in one place and you really wanna the body unders started to scream with pain. the underside of the legs that is, for they are effected worse by far.
you are overheating so the window has remained open all winter day and night.
the heating is off, until that becomes unbearable.
you go from being too hot to being too cold, with or without the heating on.
you sweat buckets, even though past the menopause.
dont forget that one, i AM past the menopause, contrary to what a doctor thought a year ago when he asked me was i pregnant, i had a crohns blockage, and i was 57 at the time, no unless by divine intervention i say. the gut was trying to get rid of a stuck lump of food, a bit like a lumpy baby i guess, bloody felt the same, same idea, involuntary muscles and contracting every fifteen minutes, problem is, you dont get a nice squawl at the end of it, you get er, nothing, sod all, nothing whatsoever for your pain but abuse, "HEY, be quiet, there are REAL sick people here!
oh the crohns disease is only supposed to be 'a mild case' of it.
like hell sir, like hell, you don't have part of your intestine out for a mild case of anything. That is considered Major surgery, so who mentioned 'mild?'
you dont sit on the toilet with cramps, sickness and a fan in your hand for want of a mild case of it.
it either comes down or it doesn't, and it comes down. Use your imagination on that one please.
We are still with the Primary Sjogrens Syndrome.
Its a doddle, according to em.
Is it really, and you on fire?
the head is thumping too.
Not to mention the fibromyalgia. Now THAT is equal to warrant a trip to siberia to friggin freeze to death!
this is supposed to be all in the mind..aka last night for two hours next to the laundry closet.
In A&E.
try this one, its neat, pain...on a grand scale, and if you knock an elbow or someplace else. You will soon know about it, and that has you bent in two holding the part that cracked a knob, doubled over like on the toilet seat with a crohns flare.
and if all three flare at the same time.
You want Siberia! You want it, not an Irish A&E/
so this is all mild eh?
say that to the cronnies on Irish Health.com and also the Sjoggies there too and all suffering from fibro.
THEY say it to each other, all us sickies, say it as it is. and you are understood implicitly without any bloody number games.
they KNOW what you are talking about.
every inch of it, ever body part of it.
and i can tell you every body part hurts with these conditions.
no one ever mentioned the TIREDNESS and chronic fatigue. They forgot that one ok, left the good til last, well its a good un. that.
You are a walking zombie, like a womble of wimbledon, a right womble zombie for sure.
the crunch of it all is NEVER say to a doctor on leaving hospital after MAJOR surgery that you are not feeling so good, why? doesnt matter, you are OUT.
the night nurse may say the wound is hot, the doctor on call say the same but the consultant has a poke around the wound down your middle and declares you fit to go...so i go...and ask the sis to drive slowly...two days later...wound bursts....out flows...grey liquid into the air...yep we now have a massive infection.
Do they know, right, if they ask you how bad the pain is on a scale to one to ten...do you suggest anything to them?
I can think of a few things i would like to say, the first being...does it make THAT much of a difference..to you?
I was out of that place frying up like a prune, stay with the chihuahuas Ann for God's sake and HEALTH's sake, stay with the chis.
Medicine good medicine, is a few ounce of white fur balls. each for one palm of the hand, light, fluffy, soft and even the little tongues that lick are small and not like sandpaper.
you are welcomed with beautiful bug eyed brown orbs and a twitching nose, wet and cold, and you say, lets go to bed.
you do, and you wrap around two tiny beating hearts of GOLD.
to-night on a scale of one to ten, how is it...up there mate, without the sickness for i have been flat on my back all day or most of it.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
How fragile is a Human Soul
Think not on the enemy.
Think about those nearest to you...how fragile are they. They have a Soul...too.
No matter in an economic downturn, no matter if money is the new God, remember it can never be taken to the grave, but your own Soul shall make it there, alone. The soil and sod is unforgiving.
Rest peace and so too the money, the money does not move, it does not breathe, it is a lifeless piece of alloy. It has a stamp on it but not the stamp of life and hurts and pain.
Most Souls have that aplenty.
do please think of the value of the jingglies in your pocket or purse.
What can it buy you...not?
It will not serve well if you serve not the Souls around you.
It will buy you the petrol at a more expensive cost now, for there are Suffering Souls fighting for dignity away from tyranny.
I want people to think carefully upon the dignity of all that live within the circle, those who are sick and disabled. Those who brash and spit not of vile contempt, but more of sadness and pain.
Flip that coin of nothingness...see the other side.
the basic junk in the adapted van, cracked and beautiful for thats to Souls it will be, who do not have the money for behind the scenes these priceless cracked were found where it cost Eight euros for a portion of potato salad.
We got the cracked for nothing.
Remember behind money are different stories and lives.
what may be an utter disgrace and tyranny to the social graces of society are also a display for others who are both considered with contempt, considered cracked and useless and considered with no Soul worth speaking of.
May God judge my soul and that of others well and carefully.
Forget not the cracked shells that brought the goodness for a child, that is the protein and wonder in a delicate breakfast egg.
Those shells are a mere miracle in the making, if one bothers to think.
so think that all, not one or two but all are facing in the same direction, all want the same things from life and mostly all wont "Love" and if there is not Love and Charity there is absolutely nothing.
One can walk alone on the shores in howling gales, feel the heaviness of the collected coins, that do not speak nor find the personal solution, be distraught at ones own pain and walk back to the collection jobs.
If a person steps beyond that, see the road that all are traveling.
Remember too, that in most cases these roads meet in a collected abyss of utter loneliness when one reaches the age of abandonment of the next generation, we shall all reap what we have brought on ourselves through enterprise, work and greed, to better oneself through economics is to hone down the useful and the useless, in the circle that causes collective greed.
the useless are but us. the collective uselessness who will never be considered.
So its up to all to step out of the jingle jungle and consider the future.
Old age, uselessness and responsibility.
In order to consider the future, remember your path and step off that inevitable road and try to make it better for those who have met at the junction ahead.
make the end worth it.
Make it be so that all are enveloped in Love, a collective love of appreciation, not sadness as you wait the cold earth.
Make the end GOOD now, not then. Not in a distant future or a near future.
We have an abundance of good will out there, to be tapped.
dispense of the jinglers and do some real good with it and also your own good Soul.
we are all but travelers and tis so easy to smash to the ground others who will find it very hard to struggle back up. but it is Easier, to raise up one's fellow men in appreciation of their strengths, and not concentrate on their faults and limitations.
A good old catholic preach this has been!
i am home, in a Unit, that is a box, my chis are resting as i am.
One has to be grateful that i am safe from attack.
I am grateful, very.
I am a free Soul. As all should be.
Think about those nearest to you...how fragile are they. They have a Soul...too.
No matter in an economic downturn, no matter if money is the new God, remember it can never be taken to the grave, but your own Soul shall make it there, alone. The soil and sod is unforgiving.
Rest peace and so too the money, the money does not move, it does not breathe, it is a lifeless piece of alloy. It has a stamp on it but not the stamp of life and hurts and pain.
Most Souls have that aplenty.
do please think of the value of the jingglies in your pocket or purse.
What can it buy you...not?
It will not serve well if you serve not the Souls around you.
It will buy you the petrol at a more expensive cost now, for there are Suffering Souls fighting for dignity away from tyranny.
I want people to think carefully upon the dignity of all that live within the circle, those who are sick and disabled. Those who brash and spit not of vile contempt, but more of sadness and pain.
Flip that coin of nothingness...see the other side.
the basic junk in the adapted van, cracked and beautiful for thats to Souls it will be, who do not have the money for behind the scenes these priceless cracked were found where it cost Eight euros for a portion of potato salad.
We got the cracked for nothing.
Remember behind money are different stories and lives.
what may be an utter disgrace and tyranny to the social graces of society are also a display for others who are both considered with contempt, considered cracked and useless and considered with no Soul worth speaking of.
May God judge my soul and that of others well and carefully.
Forget not the cracked shells that brought the goodness for a child, that is the protein and wonder in a delicate breakfast egg.
Those shells are a mere miracle in the making, if one bothers to think.
so think that all, not one or two but all are facing in the same direction, all want the same things from life and mostly all wont "Love" and if there is not Love and Charity there is absolutely nothing.
One can walk alone on the shores in howling gales, feel the heaviness of the collected coins, that do not speak nor find the personal solution, be distraught at ones own pain and walk back to the collection jobs.
If a person steps beyond that, see the road that all are traveling.
Remember too, that in most cases these roads meet in a collected abyss of utter loneliness when one reaches the age of abandonment of the next generation, we shall all reap what we have brought on ourselves through enterprise, work and greed, to better oneself through economics is to hone down the useful and the useless, in the circle that causes collective greed.
the useless are but us. the collective uselessness who will never be considered.
So its up to all to step out of the jingle jungle and consider the future.
Old age, uselessness and responsibility.
In order to consider the future, remember your path and step off that inevitable road and try to make it better for those who have met at the junction ahead.
make the end worth it.
Make it be so that all are enveloped in Love, a collective love of appreciation, not sadness as you wait the cold earth.
Make the end GOOD now, not then. Not in a distant future or a near future.
We have an abundance of good will out there, to be tapped.
dispense of the jinglers and do some real good with it and also your own good Soul.
we are all but travelers and tis so easy to smash to the ground others who will find it very hard to struggle back up. but it is Easier, to raise up one's fellow men in appreciation of their strengths, and not concentrate on their faults and limitations.
A good old catholic preach this has been!
i am home, in a Unit, that is a box, my chis are resting as i am.
One has to be grateful that i am safe from attack.
I am grateful, very.
I am a free Soul. As all should be.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
angels fly by
I have to say right now, I believe in angels!
not the plastic one i found sideways on the floor near the leg of my fireplace, not the one who has a hole in her dress, er, thats where the light shines-on the christmas tree, its a small light and a bigger dress.
we shall get a bit more sense here by saying, no dress but a very large light, glowing and shining bright to bring the brightness and sense of it all, that is to Live and be Human.
when do you find a woman who can actually calm darkened souls and fearful humans on a process to well, where?
for two now, sitting and lying it out day after day in separate places that can no way be called 'home.'
those homes we wait with anxiety and there seems to be an overburdened and overly long wait indeed!
the black tulips are nearly in flower, the daffs are defo in massive glory, even on the roundabouts.
At present there are far far too many roundabouts in my life!
it is getting a bit like 'the red cow roundabout' the haltings there of moos and bah and bah humbug and hoots and screams and f's all in abundance plus...roundabouts...to well where?
but i deviate, the angel, well The Angel is at every roundabout and every corner right now.
she is by the babbling brook and stream, and there is one there there is.
she watches as we slither away in a flower festooned van. maybe a wistful smile, behind the shutters, she does not let us know, i know for i see her there, in my mind.
there goes the grey van festooned.
inside o that van is a set of crippled kidos, but as we depart we ain't.
but not crippled as in the derogatory word of old, but disabled, crippled as in dis-abled by the obstacles of life.
Christine, take a bow, for two stronger cripplers are striding forth now with a thinking brain on many matters that require the brain and the thinking part.
as the cripplers leave each other both for their bed, it remains a calm mind but a thinking one..thanks to OUR angel.
I willingly now allow my twino adopt her so that our road can lead to Peace, harmony, a quietness and an understanding.
we want to be at peace.
so some part of my twin and i are together united in thought and understand a bit better thanks to Christine our angel.
now, brains, as in Brain...week.
believe it or ney, it is, 'Brain Week.' where have i heard that mentioned in the media. well not anywhere really, unless i wasn't paying much attention as my wee brain is in overload itself right now.
this week we are to be aware of our BRain and that of others, as in all the people who have neurological conditions in Ireland, and believe me there are far more than you can imagine and we also have the worst care, the least consultants and auxilliary professionals than any other country in the European Union, our services are...crap.
Shit, yes shit.
and so with the new dawn today in the Dail, i for one will never let my constituent TD forget it, that is, neurology and disability and sorry housing.
Mr. Gilmore, you have not seen the back of me yet at your clinic.
(they should be abandoned, they are a waste of time).
i am watching you Sir, a care package, a reversal of my disability pension payout and more care for our brains, there are many suffering brains out there, Mr. Gilmore.
we want to LIVE.. we do and we shall.
Now, nursing homes.
its been a very long day.
Nursing homes my friends is the 'end of the line,' for ALL.
make no mistake about it. Or Swiss!
Ireland will shortly have more people over 65 than children in our state.
so the over 65 requires the dedication and thought and exercising for the brains, I do hope there are many out there.
when you are over 65, Life is NOT over, and you, when you reach that age will also be moaning this fact.
what is happening now when you are not 65, is that many are and Life is Over.
they are the young women and men in the Nursing Homes.
these are the so called, retirement homes, sheltered accommodation, Rest homes and all other names bar...Dying cages..which they are.
All in the nursing homes know that they are in them to die.
All know their families have put them there.
All know they have been rejected, discarded and forgotten.
Some have no families, but most do and they shut down if you talk about them, they feel hurt immediately. Very hurt.
remember this when you say to your Ma and Da 'its for the best, they will look after you and you will be safe."
what will be safe?
bones? clothing? Heating? money?
well of the latter, the money is divided now between the nursing homes and the relatives.
for money is nothing in these places.
Every single person under the age of 65 should spend some time volunteering in these Dying cages.'
walk with these souls, dont be given a guided tour.
walk the walk and listen to the lovely people there.
dont pay attention to the notice of activities on the board, they dont happen and that notice is there for the inspectors.
Pay heed to the electric doors there, thats to make sure no one escapes.
step a foot wrong on the wrong side of 'ability' and they shift you to the nursing home part of the complex.
so the runners of these joints never thought that the elderly were in nursing homes but sort of sheltered accommodation, and when you jumped and skipped flat on your face, you face the nursing home part. but you have never been fooled for you knew you were in the 'Dying cage' no matter what description has been put on it.
It doesnt seem to cross one's mind (brain/power) that one day YOU too will be THERE!
yet it does cross your mind that YOUR relatives hate these joints.
but what also doesnt seem to cross YOUR minds, is "do i REALLY want this for myself when the time comes?"
If the answer is 'i would rather drive into the sea than be put in them places,' then don't for God's sake drive into the sea, do something about this criminality toward our elderly and wise people, they DO have BRAINS, healthy worthy brains.
but all they get is the dog food and the prayers and thats about it.
as each little woman came to the day room with that smudge on their forehead i wonder, 'who is committing the sins here, father?'
well that should be son, daughter, niece and nep.
on this day of the beginning of 40 days in a wilderness without chocolate and alcohol contemplating your navel and the day for the vino and crunchie, crunch some ice on 'thought for the day.' for the BRains who are suffering.
we have firstly the brains that are going very array, like my twins and mine and the thousands of others with neurological severe conditions, our brains are NOT behaving themselves, AT ALL.
and then we have the Brains in those dreadful workhouses (they dont get paid for work, they dont DO anything there).
Mark it man, you will be there so dont be a fool or foolish.
and when you are there you will too meet the idiot with her dog trying to make a difference when you know you cannot because these poor sods want freedom and meaningful occupation and consideration.
thinking of spring, and the daffs i went armed, with the dog, biodegradable pots, seeds of flowers and veg and i was the one doing the potting.
why, they sat, disinterested, demoralized, institutionalized, defeated, apathetic, lonely, depressed and wishing...to die...yes.
Defo not planting carrots in biodegradable tubs.
think about the irony in that.
carrots moyah.
not the plastic one i found sideways on the floor near the leg of my fireplace, not the one who has a hole in her dress, er, thats where the light shines-on the christmas tree, its a small light and a bigger dress.
we shall get a bit more sense here by saying, no dress but a very large light, glowing and shining bright to bring the brightness and sense of it all, that is to Live and be Human.
when do you find a woman who can actually calm darkened souls and fearful humans on a process to well, where?
for two now, sitting and lying it out day after day in separate places that can no way be called 'home.'
those homes we wait with anxiety and there seems to be an overburdened and overly long wait indeed!
the black tulips are nearly in flower, the daffs are defo in massive glory, even on the roundabouts.
At present there are far far too many roundabouts in my life!
it is getting a bit like 'the red cow roundabout' the haltings there of moos and bah and bah humbug and hoots and screams and f's all in abundance plus...roundabouts...to well where?
but i deviate, the angel, well The Angel is at every roundabout and every corner right now.
she is by the babbling brook and stream, and there is one there there is.
she watches as we slither away in a flower festooned van. maybe a wistful smile, behind the shutters, she does not let us know, i know for i see her there, in my mind.
there goes the grey van festooned.
inside o that van is a set of crippled kidos, but as we depart we ain't.
but not crippled as in the derogatory word of old, but disabled, crippled as in dis-abled by the obstacles of life.
Christine, take a bow, for two stronger cripplers are striding forth now with a thinking brain on many matters that require the brain and the thinking part.
as the cripplers leave each other both for their bed, it remains a calm mind but a thinking one..thanks to OUR angel.
I willingly now allow my twino adopt her so that our road can lead to Peace, harmony, a quietness and an understanding.
we want to be at peace.
so some part of my twin and i are together united in thought and understand a bit better thanks to Christine our angel.
now, brains, as in Brain...week.
believe it or ney, it is, 'Brain Week.' where have i heard that mentioned in the media. well not anywhere really, unless i wasn't paying much attention as my wee brain is in overload itself right now.
this week we are to be aware of our BRain and that of others, as in all the people who have neurological conditions in Ireland, and believe me there are far more than you can imagine and we also have the worst care, the least consultants and auxilliary professionals than any other country in the European Union, our services are...crap.
Shit, yes shit.
and so with the new dawn today in the Dail, i for one will never let my constituent TD forget it, that is, neurology and disability and sorry housing.
Mr. Gilmore, you have not seen the back of me yet at your clinic.
(they should be abandoned, they are a waste of time).
i am watching you Sir, a care package, a reversal of my disability pension payout and more care for our brains, there are many suffering brains out there, Mr. Gilmore.
we want to LIVE.. we do and we shall.
Now, nursing homes.
its been a very long day.
Nursing homes my friends is the 'end of the line,' for ALL.
make no mistake about it. Or Swiss!
Ireland will shortly have more people over 65 than children in our state.
so the over 65 requires the dedication and thought and exercising for the brains, I do hope there are many out there.
when you are over 65, Life is NOT over, and you, when you reach that age will also be moaning this fact.
what is happening now when you are not 65, is that many are and Life is Over.
they are the young women and men in the Nursing Homes.
these are the so called, retirement homes, sheltered accommodation, Rest homes and all other names bar...Dying cages..which they are.
All in the nursing homes know that they are in them to die.
All know their families have put them there.
All know they have been rejected, discarded and forgotten.
Some have no families, but most do and they shut down if you talk about them, they feel hurt immediately. Very hurt.
remember this when you say to your Ma and Da 'its for the best, they will look after you and you will be safe."
what will be safe?
bones? clothing? Heating? money?
well of the latter, the money is divided now between the nursing homes and the relatives.
for money is nothing in these places.
Every single person under the age of 65 should spend some time volunteering in these Dying cages.'
walk with these souls, dont be given a guided tour.
walk the walk and listen to the lovely people there.
dont pay attention to the notice of activities on the board, they dont happen and that notice is there for the inspectors.
Pay heed to the electric doors there, thats to make sure no one escapes.
step a foot wrong on the wrong side of 'ability' and they shift you to the nursing home part of the complex.
so the runners of these joints never thought that the elderly were in nursing homes but sort of sheltered accommodation, and when you jumped and skipped flat on your face, you face the nursing home part. but you have never been fooled for you knew you were in the 'Dying cage' no matter what description has been put on it.
It doesnt seem to cross one's mind (brain/power) that one day YOU too will be THERE!
yet it does cross your mind that YOUR relatives hate these joints.
but what also doesnt seem to cross YOUR minds, is "do i REALLY want this for myself when the time comes?"
If the answer is 'i would rather drive into the sea than be put in them places,' then don't for God's sake drive into the sea, do something about this criminality toward our elderly and wise people, they DO have BRAINS, healthy worthy brains.
but all they get is the dog food and the prayers and thats about it.
as each little woman came to the day room with that smudge on their forehead i wonder, 'who is committing the sins here, father?'
well that should be son, daughter, niece and nep.
on this day of the beginning of 40 days in a wilderness without chocolate and alcohol contemplating your navel and the day for the vino and crunchie, crunch some ice on 'thought for the day.' for the BRains who are suffering.
we have firstly the brains that are going very array, like my twins and mine and the thousands of others with neurological severe conditions, our brains are NOT behaving themselves, AT ALL.
and then we have the Brains in those dreadful workhouses (they dont get paid for work, they dont DO anything there).
Mark it man, you will be there so dont be a fool or foolish.
and when you are there you will too meet the idiot with her dog trying to make a difference when you know you cannot because these poor sods want freedom and meaningful occupation and consideration.
thinking of spring, and the daffs i went armed, with the dog, biodegradable pots, seeds of flowers and veg and i was the one doing the potting.
why, they sat, disinterested, demoralized, institutionalized, defeated, apathetic, lonely, depressed and wishing...to die...yes.
Defo not planting carrots in biodegradable tubs.
think about the irony in that.
carrots moyah.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Addressed to Unkindness and the unforgiving
Oh tis nice to see crocus shining purples; the daffodils and their fantastic joyful colour nodding as you pass...spotted here on the curbside, there on the patch and again when one clanks the gate firmly shut a solitary one is a-nodding by the purple door of No. 2.
so with Spring should come a springing, a gamble as the lambs speak so. There should be an uplift of spirits after the dark and icy winter, the snow feet high all around and silence. Silence replaced by birdsong in glorious splendour. the Blackbirds are glistening orange beaks and glossy black-shine coats and sipping a drink in the water barrel; preening too for the show to the lady, who skirts around pecking and perky.
when you see the dance amongst the natural world, an eagerness to have the say of 'we shall live on' in our little offsprings, we shall live on to see this summer and hopefully sleep gently next winter to awaken to beauty again, you sigh.
Its heart felt and sore.
a dash against stones, the soul dark and silent and hollow.
you are now in fear of the most feared of all, the end of life silence, the solitude never wanted or asked for.
an alienation in a world you never fully understood but so wished to embrace.
You can embrace the living that speaks in signs and sings you do not understand nor can truly belong, you can help it so and be cheery for the day that is in it.
when you are a human animal the fulfillment of being human is being with humans.
to chat and banter, to support and aid, even in little ways.
if old and sad to chat about better times and how it was so, with full curiosity for past and what is to come.
what can we do to awaken the new dawn of the final grey days?
can we sit and ponder a new plan.
If the world doesn't want you who else is not thought of or no longer feels needed and who can you share the worthlessness of close knit families who are not there through the indignity of utter abandonment?
How many times have i seen this now?
in the nursing homes, the dying cages which awaits us all, i still see it. I saw it as an eighteen year old and i see it again at 58 years old.
I try to bring joy to those in their eighties and younger who have been abandoned like useless debris.
you despair that it will never be any different.
the Chinese seemed to understand in a bygone year, mostly the asians understood that the elderly are the wise elders to be cherished.
the little ones where brought to the huts of the wrinkled to learn the lessons of living and contemplation. to learn tolerance and understand that what starts with birth and youth ends in grey hair and crinkled lumpy fingers.
Oh, and pain.
Whilst one sits it out there, and another here.
Whilst a group sits it out in an old fashioned lounge of lines.
And yet others lie it out in cots and cradles in utter abandonment when at all costs their lives much be kept going as in pumping blood, but their souls have been shot the arrow long ago, so what is the use in staying for the dreary long haul of neglect?
when i am settled i shall gather them like beautiful flowers, i shall sit them by the pond, with the golden fish, under shades of umbrellas in comfy groups. they shall have a cup of tea and chat and there will be chihuahuas and woolly mammoths running around, with chickens in the corner's eye and colour aplenty while the sun is long.
in the resting days of winter the groups shall regroup in the lounge, warm as toast but not too much, there they shall sit in armchairs, with their feet up and a smile on their faces.
we all shall talk and banter and be as much needed for each other as should be, no neglect or pain - in that precious hour, no pain, no lonliness and no neglect.
the tea pot shall sing, the biscuits dance in fingers of age.
the chis will catch the crumbs and make many laugh.
I hope my nephew will come now and again and sing to us with a song and voice of a good human who cares too.
I hope my niece will come with wee baby and play the tin whistle and flute as so accomplished is she as well.
Will Maggie B come and take the images for old time sake to record not a lost soul but a beautiful one.
and who will document the lives?
who will hold the pen and say it with words.
"i do not deserve an end of life sadness and lonliness, remember this my son and daughter; and remember this my son and daughter i never was so priveledged to have."
to be a friend and a friend in need reaps the reward that is God's intention of 'being human,' a human being is a reflection of what it is to be a part of the grand plan.
not a wasted leaf floating in a stagnant drain of emptiness in the effluent of discharge to a sea of nothing, a pond of smell and dankness and utter darkness.
so with Spring should come a springing, a gamble as the lambs speak so. There should be an uplift of spirits after the dark and icy winter, the snow feet high all around and silence. Silence replaced by birdsong in glorious splendour. the Blackbirds are glistening orange beaks and glossy black-shine coats and sipping a drink in the water barrel; preening too for the show to the lady, who skirts around pecking and perky.
when you see the dance amongst the natural world, an eagerness to have the say of 'we shall live on' in our little offsprings, we shall live on to see this summer and hopefully sleep gently next winter to awaken to beauty again, you sigh.
Its heart felt and sore.
a dash against stones, the soul dark and silent and hollow.
you are now in fear of the most feared of all, the end of life silence, the solitude never wanted or asked for.
an alienation in a world you never fully understood but so wished to embrace.
You can embrace the living that speaks in signs and sings you do not understand nor can truly belong, you can help it so and be cheery for the day that is in it.
when you are a human animal the fulfillment of being human is being with humans.
to chat and banter, to support and aid, even in little ways.
if old and sad to chat about better times and how it was so, with full curiosity for past and what is to come.
what can we do to awaken the new dawn of the final grey days?
can we sit and ponder a new plan.
If the world doesn't want you who else is not thought of or no longer feels needed and who can you share the worthlessness of close knit families who are not there through the indignity of utter abandonment?
How many times have i seen this now?
in the nursing homes, the dying cages which awaits us all, i still see it. I saw it as an eighteen year old and i see it again at 58 years old.
I try to bring joy to those in their eighties and younger who have been abandoned like useless debris.
you despair that it will never be any different.
the Chinese seemed to understand in a bygone year, mostly the asians understood that the elderly are the wise elders to be cherished.
the little ones where brought to the huts of the wrinkled to learn the lessons of living and contemplation. to learn tolerance and understand that what starts with birth and youth ends in grey hair and crinkled lumpy fingers.
Oh, and pain.
Whilst one sits it out there, and another here.
Whilst a group sits it out in an old fashioned lounge of lines.
And yet others lie it out in cots and cradles in utter abandonment when at all costs their lives much be kept going as in pumping blood, but their souls have been shot the arrow long ago, so what is the use in staying for the dreary long haul of neglect?
when i am settled i shall gather them like beautiful flowers, i shall sit them by the pond, with the golden fish, under shades of umbrellas in comfy groups. they shall have a cup of tea and chat and there will be chihuahuas and woolly mammoths running around, with chickens in the corner's eye and colour aplenty while the sun is long.
in the resting days of winter the groups shall regroup in the lounge, warm as toast but not too much, there they shall sit in armchairs, with their feet up and a smile on their faces.
we all shall talk and banter and be as much needed for each other as should be, no neglect or pain - in that precious hour, no pain, no lonliness and no neglect.
the tea pot shall sing, the biscuits dance in fingers of age.
the chis will catch the crumbs and make many laugh.
I hope my nephew will come now and again and sing to us with a song and voice of a good human who cares too.
I hope my niece will come with wee baby and play the tin whistle and flute as so accomplished is she as well.
Will Maggie B come and take the images for old time sake to record not a lost soul but a beautiful one.
and who will document the lives?
who will hold the pen and say it with words.
"i do not deserve an end of life sadness and lonliness, remember this my son and daughter; and remember this my son and daughter i never was so priveledged to have."
to be a friend and a friend in need reaps the reward that is God's intention of 'being human,' a human being is a reflection of what it is to be a part of the grand plan.
not a wasted leaf floating in a stagnant drain of emptiness in the effluent of discharge to a sea of nothing, a pond of smell and dankness and utter darkness.
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