Daze of the Weak:  No. 62

Saturday afternoon

I'm getting on a bit and becoming increasingly aware that my thinking isn't as sharp as it used to be, so I was quite pleased to catch this man talking on the radio. What he said jolted me into remembering a thought that I think I once had when my mind was more agile. It seemed like an epiphany at the time.

I might be wrong, but I'm pretty sure it was a program about crime, eye witnesses and false memories.

I can't remember his exact words now, but I recall that my thoughts went something like, "In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is as deaf as the next bloke."

Daze of the Weak:  No. 61

Wednesday, 6 PM

Last night I noticed how many things around the house need repairing, so I made a plan of action.

I got up early this morning and started by collecting up all the bent things I could find, then when I had a neat pile, I settled down to bending them all straight.

I was so pleased with myself when I had finished by lunch time that I decided to treat myself to a break and spend some time searching the internet for stuff about "bending things".

I found a blog dedicated to the subject that was very thought provoking and showed there was more to the subject than first meets the eye. I read this thread where somebody argued that you couldn't "bend things straight"; "Bending things straight" was semantically incorrect, so one should talk about straightening things that were bent instead. If you bent something that was already bent it would end up more bent not less. He went on to say that such sloppy use of the language was not only symptomatic of the rot in the fabric of modern society, but it's unquestioned acceptance made it part of the slovenliness that was the cause of declining standards.

I was not so proud of my earlier achievement now. I gathered everything back together again and bent them to how they first were, contemplating that now, in fact, they were really three times as bent as when I first found them, then I meticulously straightened each and every one of them.

It took a long time, but at least I can be pleased that I also did my bit to reverse the lethargy that is causing the rot in the fabric of modern society.

Daze of the Weak:  No. 60

Wednesday 11 AM

I made a sticky mess this morning.

I tried to clean it up but only managed to spread it around into a bigger, thinner sticky patch. I thought I would scrape it all back together again and start from scratch. Well, I did get it all together again, but it was a different kind of stick mess - with dust and crumbs and curly hairs in it.

"This is a good metaphor for life." I thought. Life is about change. You can always change your mind, but if you change some things you can't always change them back again, even if you have changed your mind.

"Where on Earth did that thought come from?" I wondered. Then I remembered: I have a letter to post. I think it's finished and says all the things I want to say, and says them in a way I would like to say them, but I'm never sure. I was reminding myself that once I have put the letter in the postbox I can't un-post it.

On the other hand, like I thought before, life is all about change. If I don't post the letter then nothing will have changed, so I won't have a life.

I think I've taught myself something valuable. I can post things and have a life, or not post things and save the worry about not un-posting them. Two clear choices.

Conversations:   No. 115

Hi Bruv'. How's things?

Yeah, okay I guess.

You don't sound too sure. Usual? Red wine?

Thanks. I'm loosing my ability to communicate.

Uhh ohh..., been arguing again have we?

Not really. Got to talking with that lot who hang about outside Kwikki Nosh. I was saying what seems obvious, but they just couldn't - or wouldn't - get it. They slagged me down without even listening.

Politics again?

Whooah. No way! I shut it on that subject down there. No, I was trying to get across the simple idea that diet was as important to the development of the brain and intelligence as it is to physical fitness.

Hahahaa... No chance there Mate! They'll never grasp that one.

Why not?

They eat the wrong kind of food!

Daze of the Weak:  No. 59

Tuesday afternoon

Yesterday I found myself in a situation where I was trying to pretend to look like a fraud, but I wasn't. I was only attempting to illustrate the hypothesis that appearances steer history more than the underlying truth does.

I had proved my point because before I got the chance to conclude that appearances must be part of the truth, they'd stormed off, shouting about how I had broken their trust and things would never be the same between us again.

Oh well, I guess I'll find another friend some day.

Daze of the Weak:  No. 58


Lying in bed last night I started thinking about the house.
I realised there is a lot of beige.
I haven't thought about beige since it went out of fashion.
It must have been thirty years ago.
I asked myself if I should redecorate.
The problem is it is a big house.
Then it struck me that fashions go in cycles.
It would take a lot less energy to be patient than to paint all the walls and change all the tiles.
Then I remembered the Boy Scouts motto "Be Prepared".

I shall go out and buy some beige shirts while they are still cheap.

Twenty Shades of Grey - No.14

My Brown Mouse
Three in the morning.

Thin curtains drawn across the night billow gracefully for the passing ghosts of memories.

Candles flicker, casting wisps of sweet vanilla breath into a swirling airborne waltz.   A slow motion dance that fades gracefully into the unending dark pool of time.....   turning so slowly...,   and yet the smoky curls are gone before they can be caught.
The last thin echoes of saxophone follow them as the Hi-Fi, duty done, patiently awaits instruction.

I throw another log on the hungry grate to feed the moving rusty light that flutters across my face, hypnotising, soothing, drawing out the day's toil.   The warm flames lick my ancient cheeks and rimed eyes clean of heavily soiled spirits, like a faithful hound, pleased to see me again after so much time.

Silence!   The final song has gone and given back the night to the dance of the fire.
Tap,...   .... tap,..   tap,..   tap,...   .... tap,...   tap..
Silence is broken as a moth butts his head against the window pane, drawn by the promise of a passionate embrace with the flickering flame of candle.
To lose himself must he be burned?
Sacrifice his wings...,   his heart?
Will no lesser passion do?
Promise!   So much blindly burning promise!
Yet I see a Moth...,   a Man...,   who knows his fate...
...who's only fear is that he may miss it.

The night is so full tonight!   The night is so full...
...for just another empty night.

I wonder where my little brown mouse is?
Will my heart skip as my ears catch the tiny sound of her tiny toes pattering on the wooden floor?
Will she emerge from her dark corner, to sit alone.
A neatly curled bundle of shining brown fur, washing delicate nose and whiskers with perfect tiny fingers?

A small brown bag of shining secrets.
Does she bathe in the same dancing shadows that lick me?
She never sees me!   I set to stillness at the first scratch of those nervous little feet.
Her face knows only the touch of her own sweet fingers.
No one ever taught her how to see another, touch another.
No one ever showed her how they see her.
No one ever told her how she touches them

Could I ever trick you, catch you,
hold your soft brown body in my hands?
Would you burn?   A sacrificial token to feed the fading candle of an old man's passion?
No,   ...you will never know me!

Oh empty night,
     she does not know how much she is loved!

Wibby          3 AM Tuesday the Ninth of September 2003

The Art of Changing Perspective

The World is the way the World is!
Beneath some shallow ripples on her surface
she changes little and slowly.
The thing that changes fastest is the way we look at her.

Observations from the Attic,  Number 34.       St Anley of Monkton  636 - 689 A.D.

Twenty Shades of Wibberish:  No.28


I don't read very much because it is hard work, but a friend who I have never met (She lives in another country), Carlinos, wrote some interesting stuff recently about the link between food and mental health. It got me thinking.

There is a theory that eating natural untainted food helps mood and clarity of thinking, while eating a poor diet of processed food can exacerbate anxiety and depression and affect ones ability to think straight, possibly leading to the need for mood enhancing pills in order to cope.

Well, while I am confident in my belief in this theory, since the statistics support it, I'm having trouble with the logic that justifies and explains it. There are at least two possibilities; That good eating promotes clear balanced thinking, or alternatively, that naturally well-balanced thinkers are inherently drawn to a well-balanced diet. This latter possibility could be no more than a coincidence if, for example, a particular set of genes influenced both traits - much the same way that people whose ring finger is longer than their index finger tend to be a lot randier than those with finger lengths the other way round.

I am none the wiser as to how to prove what causes what here: It is very much a "chicken and egg situation", or in my case, a "Free-range chicken and organic egg situation".

Hmm… My inability to sort out such a simple problem is making me very depressed.

Fuck it!

Where's the chocolate and the sodding Vodka?