Archive for the ‘Ramblings’ Category

Histogram

Posted: November 28, 2008 in Ramblings

There are deflections of light by glass
shattered into points so small, I can even renew your skin!!!!
By the thrashing, sifting and smoothing out of tone,
colour, shade and brightness.
Your face can start again, would you like me to begin?
To process, your spots and scars and marks
and even touch-up the make-up.
Is she real? They will ask.
From the gloss of the page, even you believe the appeal.
Even use the same chips, every day in a different way
but carry the technological leap and
buy the clothes or the music or the movie
because light was distorted
to condition the way that you feel!!!

dwk

No more Boxing Days

Posted: September 29, 2008 in Ramblings

 

………….within thirty seconds I am asking him to stop! I only suggested moving something fragile and rather expensive, and this is met with sarcasm and the suggestion I am "over-sensitive" when asking for less sarcasm, and then the continued prodding of an angry remark.

I ask my brother to stop, I don’t want to fight, but quite evidently he does, I ask three times more: what? where? how? have I insulted him to justify this reaction. But there is no response to this, these questions are interpreted as provocation, literally as his poor partner’s bad English means all this is accompanied by a running commentary in French, but my brother is not translating what he is saying, I note.

I had been practicing my French just for her and then it dawned on me, I and his partner were having a happy holiday, no funny stuff just a good laugh, we have always got on. This is why my little brother needs to fight!? I stare pointedly at the ground, coughing or blowing my nose occasionally in simple embarrassment at the extensive lecture or reprimand. It appears from his own mouth that when it comes to dealing with people, even relations, my brother has the intelligence of sub-surface algae, he cannot even hear himself talking. But still he takes the stance of superior, of judge and this from the guy that used to be so shy and modest.

I suppose ignorance, is a large part of what keeps the divine happy, evident in their curious anonymity, born and hidden in seclusion, they only have vivid impressions of the real world. In other words the gods, which ever you prefer do seem to keep themselves to themselves and ignore what’s going on down here and less it is spectacularly in their favour, and that’s the sort of stuff I am starting to hear from junior……….you know he always used to say to me "don’t say anything" employ the ‘leave well alone’ tactic.

But once we got onto the "looking at you I can understand why people need God" tract even the partner was gobsmacked at the behaviour, the tone of voice, I hadn’t actually done anything now I am a sinner!!! If asked he believes in a sort of all-encapsulating arrogance that he was the reasonable, objective even kind caring host of the afternoon even though there were moments of his showing a clearly thug like attitude towards me. He later told my mother that I came home that day because "I did not like the food", His partner and her son unfortunately, didn’t like this country, I cannot say I am surprised and returned to France and this brother of mine has gone after them.

Why do people pick those odd moments (holidays) to just want to fight when things aren’t going great for them and turn on people they know to hammer away at?

What do I do NOW?

Posted: February 26, 2008 in Ramblings

I have had a happy, enjoyable, great birthday week: after a hospitalisation me moms home, much better and thank you to friends on here who were asking after her.There was something I have wanted to photograph, for a long time, shoot done, however bad the photography? Spent a lovely day with my chauffeur, assistant and artistic director (Brother, sister-in law and their 2 year old respectively) on the shoot at the seaside in the sun with not a cloud to be seen, which in February meant it had to be cold, but I didn’t notice.

The crew secretly bought a cake for me and with the help of some lovely restaurant staff (thankyou Beth), pulled off a birthday song and a candle-blowing wish just for me. My artistic director helped out with some last minute aesthetic direction – crayons are wuuuuunderful things, although my assistant got a bit fed up having to pick them up! They say they had a lovely day and by the sound of what they are doing during this time, jury service, a thesis completion and a lot of drawing with crayons, I am pleased they had such a short but good break in the glorious sunshine on the oxygenated south coast.

There were a lot of people down on Gunners Wharf in Portsmouth, as we arrived, we realised it was either middle or the end of school half term and there was a Chinese New Year celebration on the wharf, lots of fireworks and dragons. This wharf is now fronted by many restaurants below the (must be) expensive apartments and just behind that a fairly large shopping complex. The best thing of all – no cars! All the car parks are buried, underground and once we dove down into a space in Blue 3 section and after a short lift ride to resurface – its all pedestrian, great when artistic director has to be pushed most places! I thought while we were there that Dad would have known this wharf as his first ever job was as apprentice to an electrician in the Her Majesty’s Dockyard, refitting or repairing HM’s ships. Now the majority of the secure, high walled, dockyard  of my childhood is now a modern, redesigned, pre-planned refurbished, tourist and travellers seafront wharf. With very large luxurious yachts at the key and still building! The almost all- glass pillars which look like hotels are clustering around the Spinnaker, which can be seen for nautical and land miles!

One of the best things of the day though, was a 2 year old’s fascination with the sea, shouting to bring his father’s attention to it as if only he had discovered the gentle surf on the strange surface of the shingle beach and of course, its lovely sound. He is even saying his uncles’s name, which completed the delight of having him as artistic- director that day, (most of these directors can never remember your name).

We visited some old haunts; as children I and my chauffeur attended the Grammar School in Mayfield Road, each from the age of 11. The school went comprehensive just as I slipped into the 6th form (16 to 18 year olds for my friend in the States). We stopped outside the Salvation Army where I celebrated the greatness of the Lord as a child until I decided for myself how I should use Sundays and it has to be said with no obstruction from mother and father – bless ’em.

And finally in my 50th Birthday week I have met someone, someone who perhaps can look after me and I her. I don’t know yet, only time will tell that one but she is obviously a very nice person who has got me thinking, an incredible achievement for a half-centurion – thought.

I hope you and yours are all well.

plastic demons

Posted: February 7, 2008 in Ramblings

I discovered today that, apparently, every 2.5 seconds somewhere on earth there is held – a Tupperware party. Having never been invited to one of these parties, I am now particularly depressed at what I must be missing!

Deep words

Posted: January 24, 2008 in Ramblings

Deep thoughts,

somehow filtered into words,

so many words available and there is the confusion to be broken, solved, I nearly reached for the dictionary! But the filtering is done with an ever present self-consciousness that this is public, this is potentially on a stage greater than any theatre, circus ring or television screen can offer. So anything written here is potentially, with everyone looking over the shoulder of anyone’s body of reality.

I almost succumbed to using Latin words there for a moment to describe the body of my illusions. I can hear scaffolding being erected and the planes overhead, the hiss of the fire and the processor’s fan. They are attempting to distract while I try to tell you how I attempt to untangle the mesh of language that belongs to the individual wiring of my mind ….to simply explain why I am typing?

"This box of tricks" unlike paper and pen is not hidden in a folder or a binding cover later to be placed in a draw or cabinet, its out there!.…and what about all those influencing forces that restrict or limit what can be said so the reader will come back?

I keep thinking of something that amazed me about the newspaper press, the media. A friend of mine asked if I was going on THE protest march, his politics a little more radical than mine, that we should support the miners because the government had decided to withdraw any subsidies. Many people came and many policeman dressed in riot gear. It was a long walk, around the mainstreets of London.

Afterwards, we walked back through one of the Royal parks and exhausted, stopped for refreshment at a cafe at its centre. There sitting next to us, were three or four guys noticeable because their strangely similar suits and raincoats were a little shabby and they were obvious drinkers, not only because of the glasses in front of them, but the size of their waists! What interested my friend were their notebooks and their loud conversation, ‘that the miner’s seemed to have no support on the affluent pavements of Kensington and Chelsea’, that the ‘Sloane Square girls had gone about their executive secretarial business without time for the deep earth labourers’. We objected, engaging them directly, pointing out the same ladies they were discussing, had been hanging out of office windows waving and cheering everyone on.

To our astonishment the next day 3 newspapers led with what we had told them. One even headlined that Sloaners support the Miners! We had written the reporters column space for them because they had not marched or walked or waddled. They had not seen or even heard a fraction of the whole event, but adored the idea of the relatively well off supporting the soon to be unemployed. Just to get the reader to come back, to pay for the paper, to pay their salary. I suppose one could say, we had been their inspiration, that is why they had been sharing notes, tangled up wordsmiths were untied by two annoyed guys who wished they had been more self-conscious and kept their mouths shut.

Do it yourself, it can’t be worse!

Posted: December 11, 2007 in Ramblings

Some of my friends on spaces.live.com are upset because they cannot lay their hands on a decent birthday card during December.
When can you buy a decent Birthday Card?
I am sorry but as a frustrated graphic designer I can only find interesting cards in designer shops or up to date bookshops maybe. The trash that is thrown at the public is overwhelming and I have found even the untrained eye on receiving something different or wantable can tell the difference  – the question is always "where did you get this?".
If Facebook contributors can get Cadburys to make their chocolate bars again, do you think they could tell whoever where to put their greetings cards? Most look the same as cards of 1930’s or have comic book cartoons and text!
What actually happens in stores is that the Christmas Cards are put in the place of the least selling Birthday cards and the standard Birthday lines fill what is left! If that is a standard well, I think one of our friends on here was talking of making them herself, Christmas and Birthday cards, can’t be worse, we might even enjoy using our computers and photos and downloadable images to make cards particularly for the new generation of techno-kids!
Happy Birthdays and Holidays

Compass

Posted: November 14, 2007 in Ramblings

 

I was imbued with with the values of my Father and Mother’s Salvation Army community: the ethics of hard work, caring for others and devotion to public service.

These experiences led me to who and where I am today. I don’t recall all the sermons my Father and Mother preached every Sunday. But I will never forget my Fathers advice, that we must be givers as well as receivers. Put something back, make a difference, and although now agnostic in belief, this is certainly my moral compass today.

Old Friends

Posted: July 25, 2007 in Ramblings

I recently telephoned an old friend to ask if the family still lived at the same address, so I could send a letter and ask about email, of course. Now there will be emailing of photos as a daughter has dragged my friend into this century. I have related to this person so well since school in the ’70s for  one simple reason, we have not changed ‘inside’.

There are loads of expressions used to attempt to express this sort of intimate yet platonic relationship but none do it justice. Free spirits? someone has just said over my shoulder and typically done a runner. The intimacy of this writing now destroyed, can I explain? I am still a floundering 16 year old insistent that I accept all new things with wonder and an open mind. A  fountain  of ideas, keeps flowing everyday without having to gear up, concentrate, it just keeps coming. Creativity concerning images foremost but without any qualification I will question architectural shapes, engineering feats and keep wondering, "why didn’t they do it this way"?

This is why I have written, yes I actually used a pen on nice hand laid paper no less, to my friend, because things are changing as my doctor said they would – no, not an obvious statement for a locum GP. The medication I take to restrict the seizures, full or partial is working in a different way because my metabolism is slowing down in my fiftieth year. So I want to do things but knees, joints protest as everyone’s do but most of all, the med’s are restricting activity. They are knocking me out, more prolifically than ever before and while on some lateral adventure, I am literally dropping off, dropping things, (always breakable of course), drowning, staining and not sleeping at the right times….. and while all that is going on I am wondering wether a lattice of drilled holes will be more decorative for a box surround for the electric fuse board, made out of the original support for a coffee table I once made for myself!

The strange thing about I and my friend’s lives; is That they have been totally different. I suppose you could say the cards fell differently, different backgrounds, families, friends, but as 17 year olds we recognised something about each other. Something was the same. The very potent desire to stay young, later recognised as staying as we were, still hungry for the world each day despite the dross, the repetition we all have to wade through.

still hungry for the intimacy this also brings, but of course having to be at arms length because of relationships. Which has never been a problem because I left, She returned, after college. I don’t bother my friend too often. A Christmas card is a normal years communication every three or four years I write, this time I have just found and framed in collage, a wonderful letter she once sent me, about friendship.

One could ask how could there possibly be any friendship if you live 200 miles apart and have virtually no interaction, But on the phone there is still that freshness of recognition, perhaps because you are someone unexpected, to lift the receiver for? But the light, it is still there, our past, our linkage, the simplicity of just wanting to stay the same, not planed and varnished, perhaps even if marked and bent, inside still fresh and young.

for C

Sorry??????

Posted: July 4, 2007 in Ramblings

I had to put Dream Rhyme back on again as I somehow overwrote it with a second poem "je ne sais pas", your kind comments are therefore, in the wrong place complimenting a different verse!
Everything seems to be a fight today, you know, from electric cords wrapping themselves around ankles, to the worst coffee I have ever tasted in a cafe, Yup I made the mistake of having a break on the way home from the dentist in Scaryucks!

Vanished?

Posted: June 5, 2007 in Ramblings

Pippa was blogging asking:
"Would I be missed?
Would anyone notice if I wasn’t here? Didn’t appear?
Never came around? Vanished".
and I ended up pondering the same questions.
Particularly because all my friends are gone to the suburbs/countryside to have their babies now or are pursuing very successful careers. Nobody phones me any more, even the people I trained, counseled, or represented who used to come to me for advice or just for a shoulder to cry on has dwindled, most of my contacts are now electronic.
wot am I doing wrong?
I am hiding!
From the possibility of having a seizure and embarrassing or endangering someone. NO, I am not violent during complex partial seizures but for example, I have put my hand on the wheel of a car, fortunately driven by my brother while we were in the fast lane on a motorway. reaching out to warn him? Scared him to death, but we survived unharmed. Or fall asleep on a train and end up at the end of the line.
As I was saying to another blogger I feel like the drunk that doesn’t get invited to parties anymore because he is just ‘an embarrassment, not someone you want around the children’.
Well, confession, communication, conversation what ever you see this as, it is therapeutic if nothing else,thinking out loud and perhaps I am just talking to myself, and certainly will not be missed at this moment.
So, hermit it is!

Yesterday was towel day (25th May)

A towel, says the hitch hikers’ guide, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical
value – you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or to avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can’t see it, it can’t see you – daft as a bush, but very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

(as Mr Adams was!)

paint

Posted: May 25, 2007 in Ramblings

well the living room is white now, very trendy except the chimney breast which is a deep ‘denim’ blue to match the midnight blue leather sofa (yes another dfs victim). Italian though and very soft, in fact MY sofa (I paid it off after a year), is deadly, sit on it, perched on the edge and it still sucks you in and you are asleep in minutes no matter how interesting the book, the TV the friend is. I keep telling myself that it must be the side effects of lyrica,"new American wonder drug" said the Neurologist Professor, with a tinge of sarcasm. A suppressant, I keep telling them they are just controlling me by putting me to sleep.

Sorry, what the heck was I talking about, oh yeah colour schemes, I’ve decided to have a blue stripe on the opposite wall to the breast in exactly the same position, from wall to ceiling but only a third of the width of the chimney to break the monotony, good place to hang some Warhol prints in a column? And at the bottom of the stripe maybe my old logo, that a friend designed for me when I opened a company (the 90’s economic farce killed that off, no one would pay me, but then an old boss pointed out, I had paid off the bank while large companies were dropping like flies). I’ll see if I can dig out the logo, you will see why it was appropriate and stenciling it on to the wall will put it back in use. While I was painting the ceiling I thought I must animate the logo and get it to gallop off into the sunset or horizon line.

I am running out of towels though, better get to Sainsburys before I lose the last one and end up cleaning paint tins with my trousers. Maybe I’ll photo the room, now won’t that be exciting for you. Only carpet, curtains and light fixture to go, wait, I haven’t gloss whited the door yet /@*^£"+!


My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:
His Most Serene Highness Lord David William the Surreptitious of Much Moulding upon Carpet
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