Reading Diary 15 June 2012

Had a great health session last night, reading my book

about a Petit Prince character, Anastasia BEING a very

sophisticated Petit Prince, the series reads like allegories

lifting me out of the dark in my own mind to the heavenly

realms of pure mental joy and experience – even if the

darkness rolls back afterwards, the health and vigour

engendered by the laughter stay with me also

Reading the Bible is like going back to my childhood home

crammed with perplexities and mysteries and dark threats

but very comforting in the familiarity of all the well-known

menaces.  I love reading Proverbs and dreaming about

the purity of the woman called Wisdom calling on all to

follow her, the loveliness of Integrity as another one

and Honesty wearing a beautiful blue dress

When I read Paul – the book of Acts – my hair stands on

end, it feels like plunging straight back into medieval times

when all bodily existence was sin and being a human meant

to be the personification of evil and perdition; reading Acts

the other day was a quick visit to past despair

The Only False Note

Did not complain today, did not mention
the mince with its little bit of fat making
me ill and my going nuts all by myself,
losing control of my mind, losing ability
to prioritise, now after hours mentioned
the problem with my new chair – the
red chair - to my beloved making him
lose his mind, no electricity at home
and my beloved is angry at life, why
did I not keep my mouth shut; too late,
I cannot repudiate – I resign myself to
my fate of being alive among other
humans – the most horrible place to
be; the planet, the universe is perfect
the ONLY false note is - humanity…

                              

Feeling, Colour And Meaning

Cannot see myself doing routine work today

cannot understand why this life on this planet

in this universe, feeling spiritually blind means

I cannot find a reason to do boring things – yet

my body breathes mindlessly, I am the ghost in

the machine seeking wisdom and insight as I can-

not feel anything and nothing has inherent priority

I simply follow the dictates of time to move through

this day to get to the end in order to be at leisure to

wonder some more, the day becomes one long maths

sum and I cannot do it, religion and spiritualists teach

we know the answers in advance and work backwards

from the end back to the beginning where I am sitting

now, but this knowledge does not help, I am still stuck

With a brain that cannot fulfil its function of relating to

the reality outside its own enclosure, my mind only exits  

in short explosive flames of understanding which imme-

diately disappears leaving the inner me in darkness, I

love the ability to enact stories and plays yet cannot

create a script for today, left with shadows only  I

long for feeling, colour and meaning

Mentally Bankrupt (Revised)

Let me bewail my fate, thought processes

meandering at snail’s pace – meaning has

escaped my head. Since last night I did

myself the favour of reading Acts in New

Testament, seeing a similarity with Suma

Ching Hai who claims to carry disciples

to Paradise; all Paul does is call people

sinful and lost, no effort, sincerity or

integrity can change our fate – only faith

in payment of our accumulated debt by

having the temerity to be born – the utmost

mistake – from which we can only be

delivered by someone hanging in our place

and thereafter the meritless servants of an

ubiquitous master – though I sigh in

gratitude  knowing the Bible was written

by caring people, edited afterwards to be

mutilated by others with a personal agenda;

still, harsh conviction of humanity makes me

shudder and wish, like poor Job, suffering

and scorned I was never born – Job was

exalted in the end but I can’t visualise this

interminable life ceasing at this moment in

time researching financial terms knowing

I am mentally bankrupt

Coven Of Books

Luckily my new red chair does not

provide the care I expected, thus

soft cover copies of “The Choice

for Love” by Rodegast and Stanton

and “La Grammaire à l’Oeuvre” by

Barson have to support my back

Keyboard elevated upon Harrap’s

New French/English Dictionary &

screen perched atop Webster’s 3^rd

International Dictionary, children’s

books, Oxford Hachette and old

diaries strewn about me

It is lucky I love books in all forms,

constructing a coven of books the

next best thing to actually reading

enchanting volumes; many eye-

witness accounts attest to the

existence of Akashic records  

To be studied to learn everything,

awareness after physical death

promises to hold such bookish

delights, I am thrilled, hope

to meet some fellow

book-lovers there

Trembling, Scintillating, Vibrating, Rocking Stuff

 “…anything that can be perceived is reality”

This discovery is doing things with MY imagination,

a wonderful definition of reality, people should pool

their perceptions and the concomitant views should

be reality – oh wait, this is what we are doing already

and the majority consensus keeps all minority groups

hostage - when a group of people use the imagination

to augment a leader’s ideas and concepts, they claim

to have FOUND reality; whereas they have CREATED

their unique VERSION

I like the reality you create - your version and how you

arrive at your conclusions - makes it possible to enjoy

poetry, yesterday I said poetry bores me and I am glad

most people are antagonistic to poetry,  though it is not

really true; everybody ADORES poetry - as long as it is

presented within modern musical harmonies and rhythm

but we all HATE the ANALYSIS and SCHOLARSHIP that

accompanies studies of poetry where appreciation and

high standards are prescribed, we become imprisoned

by academics –

We hate poetry as presented in lectures and classes and

detest analysis when forced to follow rules – but WE ALL
love poetry as a free activity to play with – and I adore Terry

Pratchett: GUILDS – the Guild of Thieves, the Guild of Music

FORCE all to follow Guild guidelines and pay membership

fees; Prachett symbolises, personifies and makes proverbial

examples of our prescriptive, outdated, fossilised academic

faculties – especially those trying to degrade poetry to the

status of the dodo or dinosaur

While in real life trembling, scintillating, vibrating, rocking stuff

is created by Alternative Groups - who shall be hailed by later

generations, those setting academic and textbook standards 
are brilliantly portrayed in Pratchett’s Guilds while his social 
comments help me recognise and come to terms 
with my own aversions…

A Messy Incumbent

Sitting in the open plan office I try to keep my mess to a

minimum: with five extra garments against the cold and

a pair of warm shoes that I had to strip off as the office

heats up, with my permanent fixture office jersey, the

blue jersey I wore this morning, sleeveless camp top

My big black man’s jacket, extra pants and socks &

plastic bags in which I brought cold water and lunch;

my work station is starting to look like pig sty, it really

feels like home from home, every time I put my plastic

doll away, I go into shock, thus doll house theme stays

My pink blanket and story books and dictionaries, if only

it was possible to keep it all neat; my bright red new chair

cleaned from crumbs glowing like a lighthouse,  the illegal

fare of pies causing me to glow from inside also, everything  

conspires to mark me a messy incumbent today…


[I must confess that my mind is just as messy if not even 
worse, so the messy presentation is an excellent illustration 
and enactment of the total confusion and disorder in my head]