Morellorca

"My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains"
All my metaphorical boats are sunk.
The drunken English drink torrential rains
But Spain is still the place for getting drunk.
  

Restaurant by the pool with people drinking

My heart aches and a lousy dumbness hurts
Those bloody boats are getting on my nerves
No stupid metaphors or just desserts
But something that no errant soul deserves

What no errant soul deserves (in cauda venenum )

My heart breaks and a frowzy lifestyle dies.
Distance grows when unselfishness retreats,
Too many people tell too many lies
So leaving innocence in narrow streets

An innocent in a narrow street

My house breathes through some draughty window panes.
Squatters bide their time till they get kicked out
Leaving rather insalubrious stains
And many traces of  incipient gout.

What used to be my house

 My heart fakes and a frosty girl complains
Of everything imaginable; I'm dead!
My head is English where the colour rains, 
Black, white and grey, but I see only red.

Seeing red

My heart aches, for much longer holidays.
When, after all, I've only had a week 
Swimming in Mediterranean  bays;
Back now with Dickens, in a house that's bleak.

Mediterranean bay -pretty pretty. You can walk down to the secluded beach

My heart aches with one fervent desire.

Peace and quiet; dumbing down the dummy - me.

So, the dummy is a pacifier 

Pacifying forest-fire; save one tree!

Spot the dummy (he has a mast growing out of his head)

 My heart aches. At least that's the way it looks.
Swollen, frozen, hard, scarred, charred and disbarred.
That's what comes of reading too many books.
So, "don't do nuffink", be a tub of lard!

Jacob, looking through the "monadology" by Leibniz. 

My heart aches; at least one sign that's vital.
The problem is that every other part aches too.
Next picture - the clue is in the title
Another ship, but dream boats there are few.

The clue is in the title. (Incidentally, the name of the main character is not Mr. Daydream, but Jack)

My heart quakes and a dark foreboding looms
Closer, grosser, white forging the mind's eye.
My brain contains too many empty rooms
Save each contains an incandescent lie.

My heart quakes

My heart aches, with unfathomable bliss
I have two children who are gifts from God
And were I to die tomorrow, every kiss
has made my pilgrim's way a path well-trod 

"This is in very deed the star-domed city of God" Thomas Carlyle

My heart aches for sheltered Summer bowers 
With quiet folk and simple work to do
A garden full of fruit, shade and flowers
A place for toil and rest, to be with you.

Flowers, bowers and bad shorts in the hotel grounds

Enough of this bad verse and puns and pains and worse.

High Flight (an Airman's Ecstasy)

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

Mallorca

Happy for the moment, which is all there is

I see the bad moon arising. 
I see trouble on the way. 
I see earthquakes and lightnin'. 

I see bad times today. 

Don't go around tonight, 
Well, it's bound to take your life, 
There's a bad moon on the rise. 

I hear hurricanes ablowing. 
I know the end is coming soon. 
I fear rivers over flowing. 
I hear the voice of rage and ruin. 

That about sums it up. Life is not Mellow. It is mellow-dramatic. My sinews, like my neurons, are stretched like old whipcord (except in my case it's probably castrated catgut. There is a frisson of psychosis in the air. Dopamine rampant. Anover piktcha.

Twilight of the bods

In the background; some kind of swampy national park within which the hotel is built

Jacky is a dancer. Of course, being exposed to my catholic tastes, music that is, you will either go with the flow or buy ear plugs. At the moment, being popularized in the kitchen is the "low-centre-of gravity sway". This normally builds up into an anarchic frenzy reminiscent of  a voodoo ritual in Haiti.

Food extra delicious in the hotel. 

 Good table manners are very important. Remember to keep your elbows on the table at all times. Cutlery is for wimps and those obsessed with dissection. Eat with your mouth open and get as much in there as you can. And then try and get just a bit more in. Make ad-hoc trips to other tables and try and disconcert the patrons by staring at them with an inscrutable expression on your face.   

A swimming pool and preparation for a reverse pike with double twist

Very nice hotel, particularly if you want to fatten somebody up. We had half board this time which was a good choice. Three gargantuan meals a day would have been too much. After an English breakfast, a German breakfast and an Esperanto breakfast, we didn't seem to get hungry at lunchtime. 

Public Persona face

 This is me. It would be me if I lived a more static existence in two dimensions. I might start to do so next year. A photo culled from Mallorca snaps.

Somewhere pretty; can't remember the name

Oh, those dangerous boaty metaphors again

This is Mallorca part one. I might as well press the enter button now. Forgot the poem;

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

HE walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

(Don't recognise the description. Must be one of those ethereal types)

some daze baby

After a long absence recuperating from drug addiction, Malaria and herpes F, here is another 'stallment. The pictures are crying out to be loved.

In Mera a couple of weeks ago: boats, a metaphor for just about everything (except boats)

One of the above is probably my life. Up-side down, on a dry dock, paint peeling and barely sea-worthy. I need to start moving into positive mode as soon as possible. The hunting season is over and the teaching season about to begin. This means an intense period of organisation is required. Oh joy!

Anchored off shore

This is the same place. A different horizon. The boats look a lot smaller and happier in the right medium. All right, so it's all in my imagination; they're just boats and the sea is just sea and the sky is just a humongous void full of smoke particles, acid rain and Richard Branson.

This is what us amateur botanists call, "a flower" Have a look at the leaves and you will have an insight into today's poem. 

  Why are all people so utterly stupid? Of course, this seems to imply that I am extra-stupid, a dolt among dolts. I would be the first to admit so. The problem, it seems to me, is that the accumulation of knowledge and  oft-repeated aphorisms seem to have relegated intuition to the vaults of superstition. It's very difficult to trace a long trail of actions and consequences to its logical destination and almost impossible to factor in potential problems - tsunamis, alien invasion, a bad hair cut.

If you can't explain it to a 5-year old boy, you don't understand it properly yourself. Let's remember we are all ignorant, especially us teachers. Oh dear! I started from an incomprehensible corner of my brain and digressed.

Chocolate, when all else fails 

   This is Mario, of course, looking more and more like a young man and less like a little boy.

Whorl: A form that coils or spirals; a curl or swirl: spread the icing in peaks and whorls

And I thought whorls was a make of ice-cream.

Grass is a good falling over surface

As all young boys know, falling over on a soft surface is really good fun. It's pretty good fun if you are an adult too. But most fun of all is watching daddy fall over and then jumping on the parts of his body that get him most into trouble.

The Tower of Hercules and an innocent by-stander

This, as I'm sure you know, is the oldest working light house in the world. Since, over the last twenty years, three enormous oil tankers have been wrecked off the coast of Coruña, it obviously works very well, attracting drunken seamen to the rocks and oiling up the sea.

Obsessed with man-hole covers

No comment needed.

The art of sleep; part three

I don't think the expression on my face has quite the same sheen of peace when I'm asleep. More like an angry Gorgonzola cheese I would imagine.

More human folly

This is a sculpture, already rusting away. Isn't unpainted concrete and rusty metal ugly, or is it just me? Ok, I might be ugly too, but I'm not made from old tin cans

The art of sleep; part 4

Edgar Alan Poe on sleep; "Those little slices of death, how I loathe them". He's obviously never been as sleep deprived as me!

Au natural

Strut your stuff baby. The best beach round here. Of course, it does depend on the company somewhat. One can't always guarantee a sea of tranquillity. Which, sounds like it is somewhere inside the human body - busy being a misnomer.

Tired after a lot of running about

  Some good genes above. Not too sure about the one in the middle with no neck though!

Beachscapes; becoming repetitive daddy!

Before the last picture I have two completely unrelated facts: foirst; I am studying A level maths for fun. I guess I will now have no time for it given that I have no money and must go back to work. Sekond; I have my court case tomorrow which is almost today as it is 23:45. The court case to evict my squatter that is. Even if everything goes according to plan, it will still be a further two months before he is evicted.

The lonely life of the Spanish goalkeeper

 Today's poem:

Deadheading

When petals cringe and curl

and rosehips start to bloat

There's a lesson for the churl

Trapped behind his moat

They sap your will,

Yet full of seed,

Naked spill,

A morbid need.

When her kiss is growing cold

Like her fingers at your wedding

When the trust has all been sold;

Deadheading.

The bed itself

Feeds the flower,

Deceiving elf,

Your final hour.

Born of earth,

Born of sky,

Born to fade,

Born to die.

The hydra holds her deadly heads,

Swaying 'bove the flower beds,

The crimsons, golds and surly reds

faded all to paper.

One last kiss and they will fall,

leave me standing piqued and small

oblivious to your plaintive call.

Rosehips shaking, petals shedding

Black-leaf spreading,

The time is ripe for

Deadheading.

Mundane

Bla, bla bla. Da da da. A lot of talk and no real analysis. Simple analysis without the verbiage or benefit of hindsight. The people who work in banks aren't corrupt. They just have access to a lot of money. And take it. I don't think it´s quite the same thing. People who live in the West earn a lot of money and we accept it. Nobody generally questions why a malodorous halfwit in Europe earns more than a scientist in Africa. People, just like banks don't question how much they are paid unless they happen to think it's too little.  Governments have a moral obligation to regulate banks and they still haven't bothered to. So, I'm sure that once the balance sheets are healthier, there'll be another crisis to send us back to the stone age. I hope Jacky knows how to grow potatoes and mend socks.

Gilty is angry about the crisis

 This is a photo of a Galician wolf. Not taken by me I hasten to add. There are lots of them round here and not all of them work in politics.

Walk on

 This summer has been very special for me. This time last year, Jacob was only 8 months old, and, although he was an angel it was a difficult period. Right now, I feel like my whole life has been worthwhile. Undeservedly so of course. He is an inexhaustible source of energy, vitality, fun, and that unfathomable intelligence that small children have which adults scorn and don’t really understand, some kind of magical intuition.

What are we eating? and very nice too!

The Shell-fish paradise of Coruña has recently been home to a tall ships race. More than 300 ships I believe. Tall.

What I found in the sails

 Above boats, below sleep.

The art of sleep, part two

 He adores music and dances with enthusiasm and style. Perhaps it’s my imagination but I think that there might be elements of kung Fu in there as well. The list of likes includes, flowers, food, animals, but especially dogs, all people whether friendly or not (by the time he’s finished saying hello they become friendly!!), reading stories (“Jackie, would you like a story?” – “Yeah” – “What about Mr Chatterbox?” – “Yeah”), blackberries, standing on manhole covers, hugs, If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands, muppets. I could go on.  Apparently, I often do. He is a gift from God, an angel. Of course, I have no experience as a father, except for the production phase. But Loreto says that he is miraculous and special. If all babies were like this, I'm sure the birth rate would soar.

My wood. Where I go to talk to the fairies

Walking by the beach with friends

The school where I work 

 This is the place where I work most. It looks like it should be in Havana but is simultaneously in the middle of Coruña and by the sea. It's subsidised by the regional government which makes it a kind of direct grant school. There's no entrance exam or anything like that though, but some nuns and children and the odd teacher. Emphasis on the "odd" naturally.

Poem of the day:


The Sunlight on the Garden

The sunlight on the garden
Hardens and grows cold,
We cannot cage the minute
Within its nets of gold,
When all is told
We cannot beg for pardon.

Our freedom as free lances
Advances towards its end;
The earth compels, upon it
Sonnets and birds descend;
And soon, my friend,
We shall have no time for dances.

The sky was good for flying
Defying the church bells
And every evil iron
Siren and what it tells:
The earth compels,
We are dying, Egypt, dying

And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.

sumday

I am a negative silhouette

I am going to include a slightly older video which you will be able to see below. It's only a couple of months ago, but time is an implacable sculptor and a ruthless mirror.

Just been checking the date and its 06/04/2012.

Wild Strawberry on our walk this morning

We find the strawberries because we know where they are. There is no mystery. Jacky is usually sitting in the backpack perfectly content to be a passenger. When we come to the strawberries we always have a mini-feast.

Plum job

More fruity stuffs on out regular short walk with the dogs.

The return of the Siber-Galician wolf whose camouflage hides him in the half light of the forest

 Don't ask me what day it is! I don't know. Jacky is simply delightful at the moment. Lots of hugs and kisses are the order of the day. Leaving cafeterias and other public places he waves to everybody as if he were the king. Public exhibitions of one's dancing ability are also very popular.

Selves portrait

 Not easy taking this photo. Not easy dancing like this either. Nice walk though.

progeny

 Next day on the beach and with Mario too. A bit taller, a bit different and speaking to me practically the whole time in English. Pretty impressive. Mario is very well, optimistic and happy-go-lucky. Top marks in everything, sensitive, but not neurotic.

Why so serious ?

 Polyhedron: In geometry, a polyhedron (plural polyhedra or polyhedrons) is a geometric solid in three dimensions with flat faces and straight edges. The word polyhedron comes from the Classical Greek πολύεδρον, as poly- (stem of πολύς, "many") + -hedron (form of έδρα, "base", "seat", or "face").

               

 I digress. Any road up, here is the regular object thingy put together proper, like.

Manhandled buggered box

Buggered box

 I didn't find out what the right name for it is though. I shall call it a;

   sexyboxyhippyhedron

Ok, so it's just a puzzle.

More Breaky. Horizontal, life is more beautiful.  

Jacky worked out that some Scottish bloke won a tennis match. This is his homage. We aren't really following the Olympics. It seems to be 95%e ennui and 5% something of not implacable tedium.
Will try and catch the women's beach volleyball though.

Hallucinogenic surfing

 On the same beach a little earlier in the day.....

And I'm receiving a lot of hugs these days so this is how I feel:

You can tell it's me by the haircut

Today's poem:

Cloths of Heaven

The wine lodge

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.