Archive for August, 2007

Loss: For the Irretrievable Ones

August 30, 2007


You feed me sweet mouthfuls
Of syrup or something similar
And your spirit comes
And drags me through the sky

No one hears my cry
I learned to fly just so that
I could be with you
I soar through
The dawn’s cool dew
And, oh what a view
I have of you.

I Remember

I remember
My lips against her cold cheek
My hand resting on a dying face
My body, weak and trembling
As they lead me away

At night I walk upon water
At night an angelic being visits me
In the land between sleep and consciousness
She takes my hand, leads me out of my body
Through the air, across the land and into the sea

And death shall have no dominion
Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.


August 28, 2007

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Picturesque, originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.


August 28, 2007

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Gott im Himmel…

August 26, 2007

does it ever end?

Stolen Car
Beth Orton

You walked into my house last night
I couldn’t help but notice
A light that was long gone still burning strong
You were sitting
Your fingers like fuses
Your eyes were cinnamon

You said you stand for every known abuse
That was ever threatened to anyone but you
And why should I know better by now
When I’m old enough not to?

While every line speaks the language of love
It never held the meaning I was thinking of
And I can’t decide over right or wrong
I guess sometimes you need the place where you belong

Some may sing the wrong words to the wrong melody
It’s little things like this that matter to me
Others feel that you should stand
For every known abuse to hand
And all the things that they could never see

You said you stood
For every known abuse that was promised to anyone like you
Don’t you wish you knew better by now
When you’re old enough not to?

When every line speaks the language of love
And never held the meaning I was thinking of
And I can’t decide over right or wrong
You left the feeling that I just do not belong

One drink too many
And a joke gone too far
I see a face driving a stolen car
Gets harder to hide
When you’re hitching a ride
Harder to hide what you really saw

Oh, yeah, you stand
For every known abuse that I’ve ever seen my way through
Don’t I wish I knew better by now?
Well I think I’m starting to

When every line speaks the language of love
And never held the meaning I was thinking of
And I’ve lost the line between right or wrong
I just want to find the place where I belong
Why should you know better by now
When you’re old enough not to?
I wish I knew better by now
When I’m old enough not to

Beth Orton Stolen Car lyrics
Courtesy of

Software Of the Week:

August 25, 2007

Am I becoming one of those Mac evangelists that used to irritate me so much? Just check out my blogroll! I am scaring myself. I am metamorphosing into something I don’t recognise.

Am loving my Mac Mini now christened Minerva. (Original? Not.)

My Neighbour

August 22, 2007

…Doug who is ninety told me of a dream he had. He was standing in a clearing in a forest with his wife and a childhood friend. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked him. ‘We’ve been waiting such a long time.’ Variations upon a theme – Doug has had this dream before. It is not always his wife who is waiting for him. Sometimes it is his wartime comrades. Sometimes it is me. Any dream analysts in the house?

From the profound to the trivial – my new Mac Mini arrived today. Pictures to be uploaded soon.

Less exciting news: I also bought a Dyson. All the better to clean Bella Cat’s fur with. She is an indoor cat and sheds all year round. She is also a tortoiseshell white so the fur she sheds is multicoloured – black, white and brown. No fabric is left unmarked by Bella’s presence. She is sitting at my feet now, plump and smug. An old-lady feline.

In Case..

August 11, 2007

you didn’t know.

Into my thirties I go. My cat is growing old. She is dying. My father is growing old. He is dying. I am growing old. I am not dying. But the future is this great, terrifying, black abyss and I have no desire to step into it.

A nameless fear, a menacing fear. Its cause cannot be identified. I guess that’s why they call it free-floating anxiety.


August 3, 2007

but don’t celebrate just yet. I am leaving this fair city for my parents’ house in the equally fair Not!) city of Birmingham (Bill Clinton called it ‘beautiful’. How deluded was he?) to visit my parents so I’m afraid it’s au revoir rather than adieu!

My Friend Lisa

August 2, 2007

Let me tell you a few things about my friend Lisa. She suffers from a mental illness known as bipolar affective disorder. She has spent about a year of her life in hospital. She does not complain, she does not make a fuss and, as far as I am aware, she poses no danger to anyone except herself. And she tries. God damn it – she tries. She has a part time job (she teaches at a local FE college), she has a certificate of higher education. She has a social life and a multitude of friends: a testament to her generosity of spirit but she often wakes up in the morning disappointed that she is still here.

It would be so easy for Lisa to ‘play dead’, to curl up into a ball, to cut off all connection to the world. But she doesn’t do this. She throws herself headlong into living. She has all the qualities that should be nurtured in a human being. One would imagine that she would be rewarded for her efforts. One would imagine that she would be rewarded for such behaviour. However, far from being rewarded, she is penalised. She has discovered that the single source of help she receives from the state has been withdrawn. She has been told that from now on she is not entitled to the assistance of a psychiatric nurse because she appears to be ‘doing so well’. She replied to this news with the words: ‘Has it ever occurred to you that one of the reasons I am doing so well is regular contact with the CPN?’ She pleaded with the team that manages her care to reinstate her CPN but to no avail. She asked if the action taken by her psychiatric team was a result of the drastic cuts to the health budget in this area. They admitted that this was part of the reason behind their decision. Whenever there are cuts it always seems to be the people who make the effort who are affected the most.

Rightly or wrongly, I cannot help contrasting Lisa’s case with Andy’s. He is abusive, regularly indulges in criminal activity yet he has a string of helpers traipsing in and out of his flat: social workers, CPNs, occupational therapists, you name it, he has it. Message received and understood: those who shout the loudest receive the most whereas those who make any kind of effort to engage with the world beyond the mental illness ghetto are penalised. Those who harm others are valued more than those who pose a threat only to themselves. Conclusion: the only way to receive help is to give up, curl into a ball and play dead. Fine in the short term but has anybody stopped to consider the long term consequences of this policy? Somehow I doubt it.

It’s Official…

August 1, 2007

If you are a size 12 you are now a heffalump and, according to the fashion industry nothing above a size 2-4 will do (Auschwitz chic is so adorable, dontcha think?) and nothing and no one can ever change that – even feminists. (Sound familiar? I wonder if Emmeline Pankhurst ever heard the words ‘women can’t vote and nothing and no one can ever change that – even feminists’.) This is my idea of beauty. I’d say she’s probably a size 12. Take that, you masochistic Fashionistas!

Get mad here:

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