Saturday, October 31, 2015

November

If I look back, which isn't as easy as it sounds, I can see Christmas, Easter, Mothering Sunday, May Day, All Saints Day, Guy Fawkes, Moko Jumbi Day, my Birthday and Summer Solstice. Call me a Crinkly Old Git but I don't see Candy Buying Day back there.

Nor do I really think little boys and girls should dress up, wander around from door to saying things like "Trick or Treat." It's not even a little bit cute, it's guaranteed to piss people off and I'm pretty certain it's the only respectable reason for people to keep dogs with vocal cords as pets. 

Friday, October 30, 2015

DST

If your correspondent was a man of principle, someone with the grit and determination of a philosopher king, he'd have ignored what we call DST, and there would be none of this PTCA. One of the problems of being something like a philosopher king for your correspondent is most of his time pieces mysteriously adjust automatically, and then tell him how wonderfully clever they are, except for one loyal subject which lives in the dashboard of his vehicle, which means when driving to something like a Dentist's appointment, he's got absolutely no idea what time it is and often arrives half an hour late, or half an hour early and occasionally he gets there a whole day early. So it's a problem.

Yet PTCA, despite affecting or effecting, men, women, children and creatures that have to be milked is insufficiently well studied by the white coat professional classes to be recognized as a condition. And worth pausing briefly to realize that those who live in the equatorial regions of our planet are neither affected or effected by PTCA. Which I think will demonstrate that Pre Time Change Anxiety is an entirely man-made condition which for some of us starts around a week ago and continues until well after the Winter Solstice. Symptoms are moments of intense irritation, randomly uttering "What time is it actually?" and hours wasted cursing the inventors of the most aggravating phrase in the English language "Fall Back, Spring Forward." Might have to go back to bed, make a second attempt to start my day.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Debate.

Oh well, difficult to get a sense of last night's Primary Debate as it was on the internet. I think one of the problems is there's just an absurd number of Republican Candidates.

And you have to think back to Scott Walker who following a lack of funds chose to lead his party by heroically withdrawing from the Republican Primaries.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Election 2016 and Diet

I didn't know that Jeb Bush, Presidential candidate in the Republican Primaries, was eating a low carbohydrate Paleo diet. And while your political correspondent has yet to fully develop a skeeviness profile for this candidate, he is wholly engaged by the idea of diet as a factor in the qualities we look for in our presidents. Just to make certain we're all on the same page, low carbohydrate means you don't eat things like Potato, and Paleo means you spend most of your meal time chewing on bits of meat without benefit of a flour gravy. And here, strictly speaking, a sausage might not qualify as an authentic Paleolithic foodstuff.

Paleolithic refers to a period of time that lasted well over two million years for our species. Sometimes easier to think of it as The Stone Age. The purists will consider it a primitive era, we were more free wheeling, song singing, drum beating hunter gatherer than we were boring old farmers, our tool making talents produced stone implements, some of which were used to dispatch the Woolly Mammoth and scare off creatures like Saber Toothed Tigers, our gods were many and splendid as the great oneness conjoined in a tapestry that relieved us people of the awsome burden of living upon earth much longer than maybe a glorious thirty years. But I guess if you call it the Paleo Diet, it all becomes very Beach Chair in Cancun and guaranteed to cure tubbiness while making a person look two, maybe four years younger.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Rapid Decline

I was going to talk about triangles today, but I've totally mislaid the point I was going to make about them. It had something to to with winter exercise, back ailments and the fact that we people have only two legs and walk upright, and as former tree dwelling creatures our main error anatomically speaking is that we don't still live in trees.

 Indeed I was all set, ready to expand a most useful theory of winter exercise, until the weather forecast which suggested that there might be heavier rain west of Interstate 75. Sadly I am one of those who seems unable to put a geographical location on numbered roads. In another way I couldn't remember where Interstate 75 was. It's the big road that runs south from Lexington to Tennessee.

Monday, October 26, 2015

The Editor-in-Chief

Your writer of pulp as The Letlander editor-in-chief is coming up on Chapter Seventeen. And we all know the problems some of us have had with Chapter Seventeen. It's not been fun, it's been burnt in effigy several times and on one occasion it was printed up and used to start the outdoor stove. So there's considerable tension here where I live, which naturally enough begins with a title. Chapter Seventeen is called Sandwiches and a casual observer might think that simple enough, direct, not long winded but they know nothing!

 Nor is there any great harmony between your writer of pulp and your writer of pulp as editor. After long discussion and to much grumbling in the ranks your writer of pulp as editor was given the title editor-in-chief. The idea came from Socio-Biology. An attempt to produce a meme in the tapestry that might quell the constant debate about things like the definite article The and whether Chapter Seventeen should be called Sandwiches. The point being that Ham Sandwiches makes much more sense, and the editor-in-chief isn't that good at spelling.

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Grackles and Ankle Tattoos

A host of Grackle, a great cloud of them, visited on their way to who knows where. Often they can be seen with Starling, I guess it's a mood that takes them, an excitement and it doesn't really matter who you're flying with as long as there are others to fly with. Kind of like streams of motorcycles without the costumes.

Riots are like that. One person does it, the next person does it, then everyone does it. School shootings, an epidemic here in the USA. And you'd think you'd have to be in close physical proximity to copy, join the crowd, but you don't. It's more like the Borg, with threads of idea all the way around the planet. Ah to hell with it, I'll stick a pin in my nose and get an ankle tattoo.

Saturday, October 24, 2015

Election 2016 Chafee

Lincoln Chafee, former Ferrier, former Mayor of Warwick, Rhode Island, former Republican Senator, who pretty much inherited a seat in the Senate from his father and former Governor of Rhode Island, has quit the Democratic Primaries. One of his positions was "Give Peace a Chance," an isolationism perhaps, but as I understand it, it was based upon the idea that a majority of United States Politicians had failed to grasp the history of most of the rest of the world. "Bellicosity, saber rattling and blind macho-posturing" might win elections but just isn't a solution. Lincoln Chaffee and his wife Stephanie have three children, Louisa, Caleb and Thea. Might be just me but sometimes I'm persuaded that names of a candidate's spouse, and or former spouses, and the names of their children are a deciding factor in the election process.

Like so many Chafee did have a public disagreement with Donald Trump. The subject was whether the racehorse Secretariat was the best race horse ever. The thing about Secretariat is that he produced very few foals, and those he might have produced are suspect. Trump, is very proud of his own genetics and has successfully passed them along several times through  a number of partners, and it might have been Secretariat's inability to produce little Secretariats, rather than his ability to win horse races that Trump was referencing. Yes indeed macho-posturing is all the rage, pointing submarines, missiles, assault rifles, but not fingers. Trump's wives include Ivana, Marla and Melania. His children include Donald, Ivanka, Erik, Tiffany and Barron. Trump's father was called Fred. And I have to say that in the area of skeeviness Lincoln Chaffee gets really low marks.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Mockingbird Theory

An absence of Mockingbird has been a sadness for your correspondent. I see one now and then, they look a little shy, they go through the motions, harp on a little, try a couple of calls, test the air, might even chase someone and then they are gone. Of the theories there are many, one of which lays the blame for Mockingbird absence on the male Brown Thrashers' ability to give Girl Mockingbirds the creeps. I've called it "The Dirty Old Man Theory of Mockingbird Absence."

 It's an interesting theory, probably needs years of study and to be taken seriously will require a quantum shift in the position our species holds with respect to other species. Still there is hope in an algorithm that mimics what we rather grandly call Human Intuition. I read about this algorithm somewhere in one of those "happy-happy how cool are boffins type news outlets" which don't actually tell you anything and as usual I dismissed it as being well paid for by those advertizing interest that are still trying to sell me an electric train set. My lesson I suppose is never search U-tube.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Titles that Suck

The word Letlander has always been a problem. It was a temporary expedient until a better word rose from some kind of ashes. Putting The in front of Letlander compounds the problem. And it's not as though I don't have useful things to do. One solution is to potlatch, but if I recall The Letlander has endured potlatch several times before and remains bushy tailed, beady eyed and chipper. The other aggravating constant is that The Letlander is Book Five Point One in The Rabbit of Usk.

All the same, we writers of pulp are stubborn and often uncaring creatures, it's a tough world we occupy, dispensing justice, dragging out narrative, bumping off unsavory characters and sometimes just going round and round in endless circles. And the question is why?  It's kind of like Everest, I suppose. Why even think about climbing it? Hillary's Edwardian answer, a feeble one in my view, was "Because it's there!"  And The Letlander is The Letlander, I guess. In time I might even learn to live with it.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Election 2016 Webb

Jim Webb, Marine, Vietnam Veteran, best selling author and Democratic Party presidential candidate, has called it quits. Money was a problem, lack of campaign infrastructure, and such things as being a former Reagan appointee, he was Secretary of the Navy under Reagan, he once claimed "women can't fight," all of which are No-No's amongst Democratic Primary Voters who like Republican Primary Voters prefer purity to anything remotely associated to reason. And sometimes one suspects that  a run for president is little more than a self promotion activity.

In the area of Skeeviness, Jim Webb lacks the quality.  To quote Bishop Aldulf, "He don't play pussy-foot to his own good dog." His answer to the really odd question at the recent Democratic Debate "Which enemy are you most proud of?" His answer was that of an heroic Hollywood type hero along the lines of some one like James Bond or a pre talking-to-a-chair Clint Eastwood, rather than something that our very own heroic hero might have considered an heroic response, but Webb's answer would have gone down well with Republican Primary Voters. Yes indeed we're all doomed.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Indefinite Article as Demon

Woe is me and the definite article the. It's all over the place and I'm developing an allergy to it. It must be some kind of a cross-eyed syndrome related to this cruel, difficult and horrible work of editing. And most likely one solution to such an allergy is some kind of a top ten list, of which there are probably a hundred million. All of which are titled  "The Top Ten Reasons not to use The."

Then there is what some might call stubbornness on the part of a writer of pulp. "I can use the if I want to!"  Because the thing about Top Ten Lists is that to follow them is a commitment to joining the Borg, and not to follow them leads to titles such as "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince." Mind you Prince really could dance, and if he's still with us probably still can.

Monday, October 19, 2015

In Hell with Titles

I wonder if The Letlander should be titled A Letlander. The trouble with The anything it does sound as though there is only one of them. I remember The Quare Fellow. A Play set in an Irish Prison, Dublin I think. The Quare Fellow was about to be hung, we never saw him, he was back there somewhere and he was lurking, and no one was quite certain what he'd done to deserve hanging, but whatever it was, it was something pretty horrible. Yet no one in the prison cared too much because there was another prisoner, everyone in the play called The Other Fellow, who the prisoners had a special revulsion for. The Other Fellow was something like Oscar Wilde and he was in prison because he was a gay man. And the questions raised in the play were interesting.

 Then there are the John Wayne Movies. A lot of them start with The. The Quite Man. The Searchers. The Cowboy, The Shootist, The Alamo etc. Enough to put anyone off ever using The as the first word of a title. Now had The Quare Fellow been titled A Quare Fellow, the play was such that in the dialogue The Quare Fellow could have been called The Quare Fellow and the Other Fellow could have been called The Other Fellow without distressing the questions raised by the play. But the playwright was an Irishman, and from my own experience the Irish will say something like "Ah The Boiled Potato" and are able to make it sound as though Heaven itself had been moved. John Wayne has no such excuse, except perhaps in The Shootist were in some very radical opinions John Wayne had a go at an Irish Accent. Incidentally in John Wayne's The Conqueror, where he plays Genghis Kahn I think, he doesn't sound anything like a Mongolian and nor does Rita Hayworth.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

October Traditions

One of the October Traditions in these pages is "Hibernation," another is "New Years Resolutions." Regular readers will know where your correspondent lies with respect to the Angelic Host. I have an angel, he is without wings, he is short sighted and wears a hearing aid, he lives in the barn, and sometimes he mislays useful things, such as hammers, and blames their absence upon a gnome or some sort of pixie that lives in nearby woodland. And it's to this wingless representative of the Great Oneness that your correspondent makes his New Year Resolutions.

If I recall last year at this time, I was struggling a little with a number of constraints one of which was a red blotchy itchiness, or Rampaging Hives Following an Attempt to Give Up Smoking, combined with the tremendous responsibility of acquiring a new pair of boots. And around this time last year I committed to a renewal of mental attitude that would assume the very best of Winter Time. I informed my angel that I was the exemplar of "Positive Thinking," that I was very much in tune with "Next to Godliness." And one of the nice things about having a short sighted angel who wears a hearing aid, is that a person can get away with saying just about anything. Call me "Presidential Material" if you have to.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Hibernation, Squirrels and Skeeviness

A little frost this morning and a freeze tonight. It's possible sometimes to pretend these things aren't going to happen, and than "Bam" it all happens, as predicted and let's not talk about snow. Another couple of years there might even be Alligators in the Green River, a majority of coastal cities under water, and a colony of Earthlings on Mars doing their very best to get away from it all in the interests of what I don't know. Still there's always a chance of being abducted by Aliens.

 In coming months I will not only argue that the word "Skeevy" is a perfectly respectable and accurate description of many of our rulers, I will also suggest that the quality of "Skeeviness" is a necessary characteristic of the ruling class of any species that does not hibernate. Bears and Groundhogs for example, are not skeevy. Interesting however is the distinction between the Grey Squirrel and the Fox Squirrel, both of which are non-hibernating creatures. And here The Grey Squirrel is skeevy, the Fox Squirrel is not. Have to think Bernie Sanders is more like a Fox Squirrel and Clinton II is more like a Grey Squirrel.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Skeevyiness as Appearance

Have to admit that your correspondent is a little engrossed in the vey mysterious process that will result in a Presidential Election sometime in the November of 2016. A whole year from now. Sometimes too there's an argument from those of us who struggle with red-blotchiness, incredibly elegant wrists and who are very, very wise, that what a person looks like shouldn't really matter, it's unimportant, it's what people say that counts, and we should all just get along by not judging each other by appearance, color, creed of whatever, and that those who do judge each other by appearance are pathetic juvenile and sad. Yet it's the case that some presidential candidates might well deserve The Dandelion's description of "he looks skeevy."  The most skeevy looking of all presidential hopefuls here in the USA is a man called Scott Walker, the sitting governor of the State of Wisconsin who pulled out of the pageant some weeks ago.

If I remember his reason for doing so actually had to do with his fundraising operation being unable to meet the expenses of his campaign's infrastructure. So essentially his campaign got into trouble with the bank, it was spending more money than it could afford, it was running a deficit, it was a long way from adhering to the conservative principles of fiscal discipline. But in Governor Walker's heroic goodbye speech he said "Today I believe I am being called to lead by helping clear the field in this race so that a positive conservative message can rise to the top of the field." A Tricky statement, in some respects a work of genius, but I'd argue that yes indeed, Scott Walker looks skeevy and he talks skeevy and therefore he probably is skeevy. All of which means that looks might indeed be an insight into character and your correspondent fully intends to diligently pursue the theory over the next twelve months. 

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Why Saints?

In Afon-Bedd there's Saint Winifred, Saint Chad, there are two Saint David's, there is our own Saint Timothy who following a dispute with the Lead Bull has been confined to the form of a rabbit which is frustrating for him. Indeed there's a host of saints and whole lot of other people, some in better condition that others. And if you want to know why, it's not that complicated.

If you put yourself outside society and look in at something like a communal meal there's always a table that looks a little bit more interesting. It's not necessarily the table of those in charge, it's not the big-wigs, or the superstars, their lives are too contrived and well rehearsed. It's something else and if you're looking for the quality of this something else it's more like "The Last Supper" than it is like a "Distribution of Spoils." Subjective? The answer is "I don't think so."

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Big Night

Big night last night. Patchy internet and some mild cursing. My "Long live the Plantagenets" didn't find a natural home in any of the threads of conversation, which was frustrating. I was however able to remark that of the debaters Pindar if he were still alive would probably have written an ode to the very hansom, guitar playing O'Malley. The thread rapidly deteriorated, who knew that in some quarters Pindar was such a polarizing figure and then Lostinhades called me a fudge-packer. Clearly the moderator was overwhelmed by pizza, beer and popcorn because it took a good ten minutes for the thread to be exorcised.

Nor was erudition and learning the sole activity last night. Sometime in the early hours The Artist called up the stairs to tell me she was bound for the Emergency Room. There was some stumbling around, followed by some very poor listening skills on my part and before I knew it there were headlights in the driveway. It had something to do with an "Outbreak of Hives." One of the things about the Emergency Room, is that I should never ever let The Artist go to the Emergency Room by herself. It leaves me alone with a most unreasonable imagination. By the time she returned I'd already prepared my answers to the question from grieving friends and relatives "why didn't you go with her?"

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Saint Chad and The Venerable Bede

Saint Chad has his relics in Lichfield Cathedral, which is in Staffordshire England, a part of the world that cries out Mercia, and they still might dream of Offa and Freedom from London. It's north of Birmingham and a good long walk from the Ithaca Valley. And I hear you ask "What has this got to do with anything!" Well it was Saint Chad who carried the cross to the Mercian Tribes and the point about Saint Chad is he's one of those Medieval Saints whom The Venerable Bede in his determination to put the best possible light upon the Anglo Saxon relationship with Rome, might have lied about.

 Back then of course when real saints walked the earth rather than these modern namby-pamby soft boiled egg eating saints, there was a big thing with religious haircuts. They were called Tonsures, for some reason. The Saints affiliated to Rome had their peculiar style, and the Welsh saints had their own even more peculiar style.  In Afon-Bedd, Saint Chad wore the Papist Tonsure, and The Rabbit knew for a fact that the real Saint Chad was an Irishman who wouldn't have been seen dead in a Papist Tonsure. And if The Rabbit has a point to make it is that the Venerable Bede was a deceitful manipulating propagandist upon whose shoulders full blame for the Norman invasion of 1066 can be placed. Either way Lichfield Cathedral is worth a visit.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Debate

Sometime tomorrow evening in the USA, Democratic Party Presidential Candidates will hold what's called "A Debate." It's not a traditional understanding of a debate. It's more like an Eisteddfod which combines with that part of a beauty pageant where the contestants are asked a few questions, given a chance to glare at each other and every ten minutes there's a break for advertizing.

Where I live the big excitement is the opportunity a  humble citizen has to contribute through comment sections of the internet newspapers. One can sometimes get into trouble with the pompous ass fascists who moderate, but it's all good clean fun and it does absolutely nothing to change the course of the world. Must rush, I have pithy one liners to prepare. Stuff like "Bush II was an embarrassing experiment, Clinton II and you can call us a Monarchy. Long live the Plantagenets!"

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Deadlines

Deadline is an aggravating word. As a boundary it's a line in a prison that prisoners can cross only at the risk of being shot. And it's a time limit after which debts must be paid, assignments complete and it's a kind endless threatening list that contributes mightily to general ennui and that sort of mental alignment that allows for something like slavery.

It's the case that deadlines are more often other imposed than they are self imposed. Which also adds to the aggravation of a jack booted word that can stamp the corridors kicking in doors, if permitted to. So what I'm going to say is that The Letlander needs something like a deadline. And here I'm trying to think in terms of flagpoles and little boats on choppy seas, rather than punishment for crossing lines.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Medieval Saints

On the one hand Medieval Saints might appear as mythological characters. Examples of a long gone past time when not much was written down, a huge randomness in spelling, very poor grammar, and the kind of peer review that relied heavily on battle axes, shields and swords. Yet on the other hand Medieval people were not that much different to you or I. And one theme in Vestry at Monnow is the extent to which what some think of as "education" - or "progress" perhaps - has made any difference whatsoever to the fundamental equations and imperatives of being alive.

One answer is "No." Certainly your writer of pulp has been vaccinated, his head's been X-rayed, he's had his tonsils out, he has access to Oranges where Oranges don't grow, and he's sitting in front of and typing upon a device that William Caxton would have considered a miracle. But in terms of the fundamental equations of being alive, while the details and direction of "progress" might have been a little fuzzy, all this and more was a predictable consequence of a tool making species energetically engaged in making tools. 

Friday, October 9, 2015

An Understanding of Saints and Politicians

Highly principled people might usefully be called martyrs. Some of whom could easily be attempting to join the ranks of the Medieval Saints. But some saints from those long ago days where more like Saint Winifred. Winifred as a young girl rejected a suitor and he decided to cut her head off. Winifred's head rolled down hill and when it stopped rolling Winifred's head caused there to be a spring with healing properties. Nor was this the end of the story. Winifred's brother, who also became a saint, was outraged not so much following the loss of his sister, rather because after the dreadful deed, he saw Winifred's suitor leaning on his sword and smiling. This was the absolutely wrong thing for the suitor to do, and quite rightly Winifred's brother called down a chastisement from heaven. Heaven agreed that any kind of smirking was wrong and almost immediately the earth opened and Winifred's suitor was swallowed.

Fortunately, and such is the nature of miracles, with much help from a maternal uncle Winifred was able to reattach her head. Following this successful procedure there was a scar all the way around her neck. Winifred's necklace it was called. Naturally she went on to become a Nun and in due course rose in the ranks of her order, becoming an Abbess. However like Saint Teresa, Winifred was inspired to follow a simpler life, she took to wandering around inland Wales where she caused there to be all sorts of excitements. And worth noting, back in those medieval days, a Saint was a Saint following popular acclaim rather than some kind rigid and structured court case by the smelly footed in Rome. And yes indeed, here where I live, there are some truly valiant attempts to grasp the nature of the political classes.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

A Good Day Amongst the Sweet Potato

Our hero has a suspected case of Rabies, he might have been bitten by a Mongoose, and he is bound for Afon-Bedd or Grave River as it might translate, and yes it's a made up name, which is all very exciting because there are saints, or at least there are people in Afon-Bedd who think they are saints. And it might be necessary for your writer of pulp, to pull himself together a little and finish editing The Letlander, or Book Five Point One of The Rabbit of Usk.

It's all very well having a plan, turning summersaults trying to stick to the plan in the interests of cohesion, comprehensibility and so on, but there's been the small problem of where to end The Letlander. And thanks to a particular Sweet Potato, it was large and curved in shape so releasing it from heavy soil without breaking it was shall will say troublesome, The Letlander has an end point, and your gardener has what they call a Woolly Knee.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

Sweet Potato

Sweet Potato day three. The ground is still heavy from the rains, but Sweet Potato from twelve plants are abundant this year, so another day or two to carefully harvest them all. Currently the Sweet Potato sprinkled with oil, salt and pepper, and then baked are delicious, but soon enough there will be increasingly radical experiments with Sweet Potato cooking techniques. Boiling, mashing and I'm sure there's whole bunch of other things that can be done for this truly amazing source of very good food.

When it comes to Sweet Potato harvesting, there are three grades of Sweet Potato. The little ones about the size and shape of a small sausage don't keep well, these are called Swees where I live, and they have to be eaten soon. Then there are the slightly larger Sweet Potato which after curing can keep until around Christmas. The bigger Sweet Potato, the giants, will keep until easily the end of February, by which time a person is pretty much allergic to eating Sweet Potato. Which is odd, because some of us could happily eat the other kind of Potato every single day.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Rapture Day and Trade Deals

Tomorrow is a possible Day Of Rapture, the next opportunity is something like 2030.  So here goes on a few final thoughts for those of us who might be less saintly than others. Current society is increasingly global and increasingly feudal. Nation states owe allegiance to Corporations, the voting public are an inconvenience, kind of like a cable television bill. The political class are more like courtiers within the dance of global capital than they are like people who'd pay for their own breakfast or complicate their thoughts by reading more than one book.

The Magna Charta had nothing to do with democracy, it had to do with a trade deal that would reduce any single persons influence over the propertied class and the result was a nation state as opposed to a bunch of quarrelling powerful families, or Afghanistan. So what us peasants are looking for isn't a trade deal, it's some kind of seat at the table of some kind world government. And we can all be certain that table will not be round because it never has been round. Either way I've been behaving especially well, and I did feel a little tug last Rapture Day so I might not be here tomorrow.

Monday, October 5, 2015

Born Again

One of the problems of failing memory and the need for records, is that I don't actually remember whether I've been vaccinated against a rabies. I do know that a person has a rabies shot, then a week or so late they have another rabies shot. And I'm pretty certain that some time in the distant past I had a shot and then a week or so later I had a booster shot. And this horrible experience was supposed to protect me from something for at least ten years.

It is possible that these very feeble memories were actually experienced by someone else, and I have somehow sublimated them into my own increasingly vague narrative. The obvious solution is to just go for it and never again look in the mirror. Henceforth I will be that person who loves going into town. Welcomes an opportunity to visit the Dentist, doesn't care where he parks in the Post Office car parking area and relishes a discussion with the purveyors of propane around the issue of a loudly humming valve on their propane tank.l 

Sunday, October 4, 2015

Ystwyth

The name Ystwyth means 'supple.' The river Ystwyth runs to the sea and in the bay where it meets the sea is the Port Town of Aberystwyth.

The thing about it is I don't actually remember whether I've been to Aberystwyth or not. But I like the name Ystwyth.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

RS Thomas

By the end of the 1970's the Western World began to forget all about the Second World War and its causes. And too, comradeship, the idea of togetherness, faltered. Nor was it Vietnam that did it, rather it was fear of failure as definitions of success became embodied within the sentence "How much do you earn?" rather then "What have you done?"

Now days the Ivory Tower with its foundation in quantitative easing stares down at the primordial slime, where the difference between the food bank, $7.50 an hour and $15.00 an hour is a definition of a persons value. Some will say it's because the factories have gone, others will persist with the idea that Greed is Good, More is Better. Indeed RS Thomas's poem is always worth a read  A Welsh Testament

Friday, October 2, 2015

October 1962

In October of 1962 Cymdeithas Yr Iaith, or the Welsh Language Society held a protest which stopped traffic on a bridge in Aberystwyth, which is a port town in the middle part of West Wales. Between 1970 and 1972 Cymdeithas supporters made a habit of dumping English only road signs on the steps of the Welsh Office in Cathays Park in the Great City of Cardiff. Some made a point of wearing suits and ties as they did so, and happy to be arrested by the constabulary. Cymdeithas publishes a magazine which used to be called the "The Dragons Tongue."

A great many society members and supporters were jailed or fined. In the United Kingdom it's been called the biggest protest movement since the Suffragettes. The thing about it was, men and women gathered around the idea of a cultural heritage embodied by the Welsh Language. Sure there was politics and ambitions, yet the idea was and still is beautiful. Welsh Princes climbed television towers for Welsh Language Tax returns and Welsh Language Post Office Signs, and I guess Welsh language McDonalds menus. And the other wonderful thing about it was, it really irritated the English Establishment.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Guilt and Self Loathing

I guess in a strange kind of way the opposite to "self loathing, liberal guilt' would be something like "ping the feed burner." My own promise to Facebook was to develop a kinder, gentler attitude toward it. Otherwise I suspect the opposite to "self loathing, liberal guilt" might have been "narcissistic Facebook-ism with xenophobic fascistic undertones." Thank god for spell check!

The alternative is to try to understand what a person means by "self loathing liberal guilt" and I suspect it's kind of like the word jealousy. "Your just jealous of my Lamborghini and Mediterranean villa!"  And here the answer "No I'm not!" generally produces a sort of sneer of disbelief. I must be lying because the possibility I'm telling the truth is incomprehensible. However at this time of year, I can say without equivocation I am very jealous of people who live along the equator and I hope they are filled with liberal guilt and self loathing.