Everybody Thinks They Know

Everybody thinks they know.

There must be something.

Try it this way.

Say it that way.

They’ll respond to this.

They’ll respond to that.

“Just give it time.”

Sooner or later they’ll come around.
Just don’t give up. You can never give up.

Don’t give up?

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Give up?

What the hell does that even mean?

No matter what I do. Anywhere, anytime,

They are in my thoughts constantly.

I’ve reached out, so many times, and been slapped down, again, and again.

I have a right to survive as well.

If you want to offer me help, and support,

An ear to listen, then fine.

But don’t pretend to know. Don’t speak of that of which you have no experience,

no knowledge.

Give me a hug,

But not your fucking blind ignorant hope.

My hope is chiseled. Focused.

Doled out deliberately in small doses,

for where I think it might be most effective.

At times, even after all these years,

It slips away from me,

And I find myself, against my better judgement, hoping with reckless and wild abandon.

Till I reign it in

Knowing that that way sadness lies.

I have hope, a goddamned motherlode of hope.

But I will not squander it foolishly.

It will be tempered.

It must be tempered.

Forged, and made strong in the furnace of my heart,

Able to withstand,

The time, and the journey,

No matter what the cost.

I understand never, oh yes,

from too many angles,

So don’t give me your platitudes,

Give me your shoulder, and perhaps a smile,

In the darkest times hold me,

But don’t placate me.

I know of what I speak, from the depth and breadth of my being.

Respect that, learn to just listen.

Nothing more.

Naughty or Nice?

All my nice has a little naughty,
My naughty well sprinkled with nice,

So without sounding too high and haughty, 

I recommend that you take my advice, 

Don’t be completely good or bad,

Before you commit, think thrice!

For it’s the balance twixt the two,

That gives our life its spice!

Basic Math

I suppose death is the final answer,
To the basic math that is aging.
But one lesson we are all taught,
Is Show Your Work.
How did you get there?
What was the process?
For age is not merely a solitary number,
On an otherwise blank page.
It’s the accumulation of life.
A gathering of knowledge and experiences.
One cannot move on to the next lesson,
Until one fully understands the previous one.
But most of us do not learn,
And thus we are unprepared.
We haven’t learned this formula,
But we try to move on anyway.
New knowledge is acquired,
But old lessons are not learned.
Mistakes are carried forward,
And forward.
And forward.
Until we finally realize,
Those mistakes,
All the pain and frustration they cause,
Are actually the most important part of the lesson.

How art thou crazy? Let me count the ways…

Of a picnic, thou art short of sandwiches, thus.
And in thy belfry resideth many bats.
Thy engine runneth, but hath no one behind the wheel.
Thou art a man of many cases; of head, and basket, and nut.
And verily misplaced by thee hath been thy marbles.
How lost thou art in space.
How lost is thy plot.
Away with the faerie folk thou hast flown.
In a canoe, thou art, but sadly missing the essential oars.
Thy faithful rocking chair hath deposited thee thus on the floor.
A cage of many pads is the place for thee,
Since thou believeth thyself to be a tweeting bird:
The Great Orange Crested Trump Tit.

GRACE

You are filled with grace,

An effortless respect,

To act,

With great affect,

To interface,

So that all you meet,

Feel raised up,

You fill their cup,

You wash their feet,

Albeit as a metaphor, 

But they feel more,

For having met you,

Having known you,

You improve their lives, 

Simply by,

Your acts of kindness,

Your refusal to,

Accept daily blindness,

Your example,

Is not lost on me,

I wish,

That all of us could be,

Our better selves,

The we, we should,

The inner good, 

For by your actions,

You show and say,

That Love,

It is the only way,

We can’t walk,

In everyone’s shoes,

But just like you, 

We can choose,

To understand, 

To use the will,

 At our command,

To testify,

Crave and demand,

A better way, 

So that one fine day, Yes one fine day……….     ❤

DESCARTES’ LOOPHOLE 

According to our friend René,

The fact we think was his small way,

To prove that we exist,

Bur lately I am of the mind,

That thinking is on the decline,

Perhaps an angle that Descartes missed, 

We used to think, therefore we were,

Deep and philosophical for sure,

We used to have a hamster on our wheel,

Kind of sad, but I’m not whining,

In fact I see a silver lining,

Just maybe none of this craziness is real!

Monday’s Child – Updated

I felt the need to put my updated spin on the old classic:

Monday’s child is narcissistic, 

Tuesday’s child is caustic and cryptic,

Wednesday’s child, picks up the slack, 

Thursday’s child, bit of a throwback,

Friday’s child can’t distinguish fiction,

Saturday’s child is prone to addiction, 

The child born on Sunday is very rarely blue, but for the most part, hasn’t really a clue!

The Swedish Flag

Bang on.

Paddy K

This Friday there was an awful truck attack in Stockholm, where four people died. I wasn’t personally affected, even though it was just up the road from where I work, although I know several people who were scarily close to it. For the people who did lose somebody, it must be the worse thing in the world, and I can’t even grasp it.

A horrible situation, although on the day after I made damn sure to get into town and do the whole carry-on-as-normal thing. If life doesn’t go on, then we’ve lost.

2017-04-07 17.07.59 The view from my office after the attack

A few positive things came from the attack, though. One was the immediate and professional response from the police and emergency services, closing down the city and catching the guy a few hours later. The police were getting hugs and flowers from people all weekend, which was great to see in usually-reserved…

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