Assuaging Guilt

Guilt wraps around me like a barbed wire glove. And what is the reason? Neglecting my blog! Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy keeping an online journal but, it’s rather like the diaries of my youth; a flurry of activity when the logging begins but, after a while it seems like a chore too far. When a pleasure becomes chore neglect seems like a sensible response but, guilt creeps around one almost as if one is acknowledging their own sense of failure.

There’s always plenty of news to share, should anyone be in the least interested, but the doing of events always seems preferable to their recording. So, why do I bother: a simple need to communicate from, but is this arrogance? Could it be quite simply that the opportunity is there, so why not use it? Perhaps I’m attempting to fill an unacknowledged, even unrecognized, void in my life. Should that be the case then, why should I feel guilty about recent neglect, surely that should be a cause for rejoicing!

Anyway, I’m now set to assuage my guilt; after all the primary reason for neglecting my little niche in cyberspace is that whenever stamina has permitted I’ve been too busily occupied in real space. The work of re-moulding the garden goes on apace; it’s amazing how much effort it takes to create a more natural wildlife friendly space. Apart from digging, planting, and removing, sundry nature’s artefacts, I’ve also been assembling a new bird table, and a rather rustic arbour seat (a marginally advance 65th birthday present) in the more (wilfully) overgrown area of the garden.

Although my familiar glandular and muscular aches and discomforts are always to be reckoned with, a recent acupuncture treatment (western localized style), on my back, relieved me of pains of which I’d previously been unaware, finally acknowledged by their absence. Hence the bout of activity, only interrupted by the unwelcome effects of post-exertional malaise.

Whilst the warmer, sunshine bright, days encouraged my out-of-doors presence, I also reacted rather badly to the hotter days – my erratic body thermostat being somewhat better adapted to more typical British Spring and Autumn temperatures. At least the arbour seat will offer me a little more shelter from the ravaging sun and, also enable me to spend a little more time enjoying the environment in less clement weather.

The garden has played host to a growing display of avian juvenile gapes, the young are still quite happy, even demanding, to be fed even after they’re more than capable of feeding themselves. I’ve lost count of the hours spent observing this behaviour, both from the comfort of the lounge and an appropriately placed garden seat beside the pond.

The feeding regime for the piscine inhabitants of both pond and aquariums provides a little structure to my otherwise erratically unstructured days. The only other structure is the preparation of meals in time for my beloved’s return from her workplace.

After all that build up, I’ve little else to say – or at least a running down of my stamina resource demands this hasty conclusion.

Gordon the Unlucky

So, it takes an American journalist (albeit a Nobel Prize winning economist and one of my favourite columnists to boot) to understand Brown's predicament and Cameron's lack of an alternative. It's a pity that Britain lacks columnists of this calibre.

"For much of the past 30 years, politics and policy here and in America have moved in tandem. We had Reagan; they had Thatcher. We had the Garn-St. Germain Act of 1982, which dismantled New Deal-era banking regulation; they had the Big Bang of 1986, which deregulated London’s financial industry. Both nations had an explosion of household debt and saw their financial systems become increasingly unsound."

"But here’s the thing. While Mr. Brown and his party may deserve to be punished, their political opponents don’t deserve to be rewarded.

After all, would a Conservative government have been any less in the thrall of free-market fundamentalism, any more willing to rein in runaway finance, over the past decade? Of course not.

And Mr. Brown’s response to the crisis — a burst of activism to make up for his past passivity — makes sense, whereas that of his opponents does not."


Paul Krugman - "Gordon the Unlucky", New York Times (8 June 2009)

The Early Years - Verse Autobiography

Mal's Remarkable Murmurings

It's still early in the morning and, I've already posted a blog, REMARKABLE, on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Linked Reflections

The muse has been pestering me, a bit, recently. A new poem ON REFLECTION can be found on Mal's Factory and, a sequel A PALE REFLECTION on Archive Mined & Freshly Spun.

A Clever Breed

At first the observations are highly entertaining and, the object of the observations is a rather handsome brute. Before long he’s joined by some companions and, we continue to enjoy their antics; we’ve not usually had jackdaws visiting our garden and, after all, there’s sufficient food in the various trays for all the visitors, whether it be the ground feeders or the mounted ones.

Our most common visitors are quarrels of starlings, flocks of house sparrows, scurries of dunnocks and, this year especially, blackbirds. We also have not infrequent visits from blue and great tits, collar doves, wood pigeons and, at the top end of the garden, tree sparrows. We have a variety of hanging seed and fat ball feeders which once were the prerogative of the smaller avian species. Admittedly the starlings could make moderately short shrift of the fat balls but, up until now, they’ve not got the hang of the seed feeders.

To our surprise, the jackdaws are not only rapidly demolishing and devouring the contents of the fat ball feeders but, some of this species have developed the agility to manage even the trickiest of the hanging seed feeders. Their learning process has been at almost lightning speed; at least the seed feeders are a bit too fiddly for them to empty swiftly but, the fat balls are now going down at an alarming rate of eight fat balls per day.

This afternoon, I’ve tried filling a spherical peanut feeder with the fat balls; this will hopefully thwart the jackdaws’ ambition to eat for England!

Frivolously Serious

All Fall Down - what's to become of us?

I'm becoming increasingly concerned about goings on at the Palace of Westminster and, especially, the forthcoming proposals to rid the house of corrupt politicians. It's truly worrying when I think about it, getting rid of corrupt MP's.

After all, if we get rid of all the corrupt politicians there'll be nobody in the house who understands standard business and commercial practises!

Mal murmurs about the garden

Todays small domestic blog post, pretentiously (and probably incorrectly) titled 'avant moi le deluge', can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Verse Autobiography

BIRTH OF AN ALIEN - A work in progress.

The three poems (or three parts of one poem), still in draft form, are of necessity laid out consecutively; ideally (though impossibly) they should be read concurrently as each covers much the same early period of the individuals life.

Autobiography is a new verse game for me but, I would appreciate any comments on the work so far.

The work in progress, BIRTH OF AN ALIEN, can be found on MAL's FACTORY

Stop The Bloodbath

Hi,

50,000 innocent civilians are caught in the deadly crossfire of Sri Lanka's civil war. This raging battle is the last phase of a 26 year fight for Tamil independence on the small Asian island to the east of India. Over 1000 people were killed in just 48 hours last weekend.

Sri Lanka's largest donor and major ally in the region, Japan, has the power to help put an end to this unfolding human catastrophe. That is why I've just written to Foreign Minister Nakasone urging Japan to insist that Sri Lanka's government and rebel groups ensure the safety of the civilians. Sending a message takes just a minute and can help to save lives. Please join me in clicking this link:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/stop_the_bloodbath/98.php?CLICK_TF_TRACK

------------

Here's the original email from Avaaz:

Dear friends,

A modern day bloodbath is unfolding on the small island of Sri Lanka, where a thousand civilians were reported killed over the weekend and tens of thousands of innocent people are literally at risk of being killed this week as government and rebel forces battle it out over the last small patch of rebel held territory.

Now that the US has begun to increase its pressure, the key to stopping this humanitarian disaster lies with Sri Lanka’s most significant donor and closest partner in the region -- Japan. It has powerful political and economic influence over the Sri Lankan government and a swing vote at the UN Security Council, which up until now has turned a blind eye to this mounting catastrophe.

Click here to send a message to the Japanese Foreign Minister, who is deciding his government's next steps. Japan cares about its international reputation and a flood of messages from abroad would encourage them to act. If Japan moves then the Sri Lankan government will be forced to immediately respond to protect civilians:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/stop_the_bloodbath/98.php?CLICK_TF_TRACK

As last weekend´s carnage testifies, every minute counts for the estimated 50,000 civilians still trapped inside the shrinking conflict zone and for those 200,000 more who are barely surviving in overcrowded camps. The International Committee of the Red Cross, which rarely makes public comment, called this conflict between the Sri Lankan government and the Tamil rebels, 'nothing short of catastrophic'.

Until now, the divided UN Security Council has abdicated their responsibility to protect Sri Lankans from war crimes and other atrocities. But in this conflict Japan cannot be ignored – its powerful voice could tip the balance and influence the conflict dynamics, saving lives in the short-term and promoting peace and development in the long run.

Asia's longest-running civil war is entering its final stage – the only question is how many will die before it ends. Let´s send a powerful message urging Japan´s Foreign Minister to act responsibly and lead international efforts to push the Tamil rebels to release the remaining civilians, stop the government bombing and bring sustainable peace to Sri Lanka. Japan's political and economic weight means that they cannot be ignored:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/stop_the_bloodbath/98.php?CLICK_TF_TRACK

As other donor nations increase the pressure behind the scenes this week, a truly global citizens' outcry can further turn the heat on the Japanese government to use its leverage and push for a robust and concerted international action that stops the bloodshed and protect the Sri Lankan civilian population at risk. Thank you for sending your message today.

With hope

Luis, Brett, Alice, Graziela, Pascal, Ben, Ricken, Paula, Iain, Paul, Raj and the rest of the Avaaz Team

Freshly Minted

Yesterday evening I posted a brand new poem - WINDSWEPT - on both Mal's Factory and Archive Mined & Freshly Spun.

New Painting

A photograph of my most recently completed watercolour, SPRING BURST, can be found on MAL's PICTUREBOX (Paintings and snapshots by Malcolm Evison).

A furthe posting for today, A WELCOME IS EXTENDED?, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Seasons In The Sun

Sometimes, the weather makes one’s “pacing” easier; at others it proves the worst adversary. Recent days have seen a clear demonstration of this; a spell of dry sunshiny weather found me out in the garden, eager to tackle a number of overdue tasks and, even to feel inspired to make further modifications. When you can manage a little task it just feels so good, the morale is boosted and, one feels quite virtuous at having attained something that, in one’s lower de-staminated times, certainly seemed a task too far.

Experience has taught me the importance of retaining some energy, rather than go flat out to tackle the job in hand but, the temptation’s always there to do a little bit more. Surely one can manage that extra little exertion? Nine times out of ten I could; problem is, that extra little exertion is the proverbial straw that flattens the hump.

Five minutes more effort can mean several days painfully laid low, aching and feeling tortuously bruised in places one can’t imagine anyone having a name for; in fact, one has temporarily lost the ability to name even the familiar places. At these times, one wishes the world would end and, stamina permitting, one screams out the words that many hangover sufferer may utter the morning after, “Never again!”

Of course, at the weekend my beloved is around to keep an eye on me; she certainly doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath and, at times seems more aware of my limitations than I, in my better days, am capable of acknowledging.

Come Monday, the rains had arrived, drastically curtailing any desire to do a little more pottering about in the garden – guilt free, I’m able to take things easier! Wednesday afternoon, the sun breaks through in glorious splendour and the impulse to go forth and till the fields grows strong.

I settle for something a little strenuous and, transplant a few tomato seedlings, from the windowsill propagator into pots ready for placement in the greenhouse. Although not excessively hot, a little time in the sunshine coupled with a moderate exertion proves overpowering. The glow of satisfaction, at another little task completed, is counterbalanced by a tediously frustrating shattered-ness. In this instance the weather proved both friend and foe.

I can only give thanks for all the things I can manage and, a new preparedness to listen to my body.

HIDDEN MESSAGES

Sunday lunchtime, a newspaper falls through our letterbox, it arouses our curiosity. Three sub-teen girls are going along the road, folding and delivering the aforementioned news sheets. I smile and think that’s it’s perhaps the periodical paper produced by the county council and the children are enjoying their little job, helping mum and dad out.

My beloved gets up from the table and brings the ‘literature’ through to the dining room. “It’s about green policy”, she reports. Sure enough, the bold headline news is ‘Protecting our local green belt’, not quite the kind of green policy I anticipated. I then glanced at the newspapers header which read ‘Harrogate & Knaresborough District News’ subtitled ‘Delivered free by your local Conservatives to over 40,000 homes’. So instead of a newspaper we have a propaganda sheet.

They certainly start them young on the propaganda trail, these Tories. A sudden disclosure flashes across my mind as the very young children go about their Sunday job, delivering these sheets of waste paper; Tories plan to re-introduce child labour.

I think about this for a couple of minutes, concerned about the corruption of innocent children for party political ends. I think a little bit more about it and, the realization dawns that they have to utilize the very young as anyone older, and with a modicum of intelligence, will remember the disastrous socially divisive policies of the Thatcher era. (Sadly, Blair and his ilk corrupted Labour, transforming itself into New Labour, by adopting the same monetarist policies; the very policies that led to the global financial meltdown).

How could one forget the Saatchi brothers inspired Tory campaign, which brought about their election victory at the end of the 1970’s, showing a dole queue under the banner heading ‘Labour Isn’t Working’. At that time unemployment was reaching the one million mark, within a couple of years Thatcher had transformed that into more than 3 million unemployed. They attempted to massage the figures by placing people onto different welfare benefits but the exponential growth of the unemployment figures continued, even excluding those numbers (in reality people) surreptitiously ignored!

I remember too the Poll Tax riots, which led to a U-turn in the policy of the Lady who was not for turning. Self-interest, greed, “no such thing as society”, was the legacy that Conservative regime bestowed upon the country. A legacy of broken lives and self-centred individualism is their proud claim.

But, the message I received yesterday was their readiness to re-introduce child labour.
Cameron and his ilk attempt to portray a conservatism with a human face but, the truth is that Thatcher’s cohorts will be disclosed once that veneer receives the least scratch. Tory ideas, practised by New Labour, helped to get us into the current difficulties, why should anyone trust the real full-blooded instigators of this change to rescue us!

A Teddy Bear Substitute

They walk around self-obsessed; poor dears, they probably can’t help it. All those around them may as well not exist or, perhaps for these teddy bear bearers the only reality is themselves, the contemporary solipsistic tendency.

Wherever they go they chatter to their teddy bear, without whose presence their life would apparently be totally devoid of meaning. It’s quite strange how far the teddy bear, like the comfort blanket, has metamorphosed to meet the requirements of the discerning contemporary solipsist.

Of course I may be wrong; the problem may not be solipsism but, rather a total lack of manners. They wander around town, out in the countryside, in supermarkets, DIY stores, chattering away to their teddy bears. I suspect that these transmogrified teddy bears are extremely hard of hearing as it always seems to be the case that their owners have to raise their voices to reassure themselves that these pieces of plastic understand. I know they must be some kind of teddy bear; one can tell, by their owners whole demeanour, that the whole universe would fall apart without this faithful toy. Indeed, some owners have developed a technique whereby they can cuddle the toy under their chin, should hands be required to tackle some other task in their solitary universe.

Oft times, one may witness these sadly deluded people persist in stridently chattering to their plastic toy as they load up their shopping baskets, present the baskets at the till without uttering a word to, or exchanging a glance with, the till-operator. I was brought up to believe that such behaviour was the height of rudeness; perhaps their solipsistic outlook should make me feel more tolerant towards them.

It was quite a surprise to me when I finally discovered that this inanimate object, around which their entire existence seemed to revolve, had actually been called a ‘mobile phone’. Still, it certainly seems to have become a substitute teddy bear or comfort blanket.

I only wish it had been a dummy substitute; at least with their mouths filled I wouldn’t have to listen in to their hysterical shouting!

*********

This posting also appears on Mal's Murmurings

tempus fugit - carpe diem

Doesn’t time fly by when one has nothing to do? Maybe I should correct that; one can usually find plenty to do but, time is always too short, especially when one has no fixed agenda.

There was a song, “Who Knows Where The Time Goes”, to which I always wanted to respond, “don’t ask me; it’s one of life’s little mysteries!” Mind you, there have been occasions when time seemed to hang like a leaden pendulum, especially when working as an accounts manager and we suddenly changed from old fashioned double entry book-keeping to a purpose built computerized system. Whereas on the one hand it was a much quicker process, much time was spent twiddling the thumbs, whilst we awaited the snail-mail delivery of our weekly printouts from the mainframe situated some ninety miles away.

Where once a simple glance at the ledger would show where any discrepancy had occurred, thanks to new technology, we now had to trawl through sheaths of lined paper filled with endless repetitions. Don’t get me wrong, accounts work was never mine by choice but rather a means of sustaining me whilst I got on with the important things in life. In those days, the only time that flew by was those hours outside of the office ones!

Later employment, working for the museums and art gallery service, both front and back of house, proved much more rewarding (even if somewhat less lucrative). Once the opportunity arose, not infrequently, to get on ones hobby-horse, time passed as if it had a rocket assisted launch. Even my last paid employment as a caretaker/steward at a thriving parish church, where I frequently toiled well beyond the appointed hours, saw the hours float away!

Nothing to do? I’ve been thinking about that, as my digits stray across the keyboard on auto-pilot: there’s always too much to do, especially the tasks for which I possess neither the necessary physical or emotional stamina! Stamina and intermittent brain-fog permitting, I can get on with my writing, watercolour painting, amateur website building etc, tending to the aquarium and pond inhabitants needs (sometimes not as frequently as I ought to – a missed filter clean/change here and there seems to occur due to lack of time and focus) and general pottering around in the garden.

I even manage to fit in the occasional socializing visit to ‘Open Church’ or ‘Café Culture’, events which health reasons had deprived me of for a rather prolonged period of time. One of these days, I may regain sufficient stamina to go to a gig or concert which was at one time a fairly regular part of my life.

I am extremely grateful for all that I can manage although still succumbing to bouts of frustration regarding the many things that I can no longer manage. Fortunately, “pacing” imposes itself on me when otherwise I would be tempted to return to the old boom and bust cycle. It’s almost as if my self-discipline now disciplines me.

Who knows where the time goes? I don’t really care, we only have one life and we’d better make the most of it!

Exporting Gun Crime

""I continue to believe that we can respect and honor the Second Amendment rights in our Constitution, the rights of sportsmen and hunters and homeowners who want to keep their families safe, to lawfully bear arms, while dealing with assault weapons that, as we know, here in Mexico, are helping to fuel extraordinary violence. Violence in our own country as well. Now, having said that, I think none of us are under the illusion that reinstating that ban would be easy."

In other words: Our president can deal with all manner of big problems, but the American gun lobby is just too strong to let him push a rational and limited gun regulation through Congress.

It's particularly infuriating that Obama offered this statement of powerlessness just a few days before today's 10th anniversary of the massacre at Columbine High School in Colorado -- and just after a spree of mass homicides across the United States took the lives of least 57 people.

No other democratic country in the world has the foolish, ineffectual gun regulations that we do. And, unfortunately, what Obama said is probably true.”

Who will face down the gun lobby? – E. J. Dionne Jr - WashingtonPost

Gaza aid being blocked by Israel

Gaza aid being blocked by Israel, says reporter


Thousands of tons of humanitarian aid intended for the people of Gaza are sitting at the Egyptian border because Israel has not authorized them to pass, says a freelance journalist on the spot.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Source URL:
http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/node/9204

AVIAN CONNECTIONS

Although the weather has been somewhat changeable, I’ve been able to spend a bit of time out in the garden. Whilst in the garden I’ve acquired a new and unexpected friend, who I’ve christened “Blackie”; I know it maybe shows a lack of imagination but the friend in question is a male blackbird who seems to spend an awful lot of time alone.

Whenever I venture out, he’s usually sat on the fence or the greenhouse roof; when he’s hungry he places himself in the middle of the ground feeder whilst nodding in my direction. So I pop back in the house to get a handful of sprinkles and, he stays in situ whilst I scatter them on the feeder tray.

Today when I ambled up to the more wildlife friendly area of the garden, he followed me hopping on to various shrubs and the fence. I always try to proffer a friendly greeting, perhaps it’s the tone of voice rather than the words used that matters, and we exchange a few sucked sibilant “tt,tt,tts” in full recognition of each others presence.

Each time I venture out and he presents himself (like an over zealous friend) in very close proximity, I’m almost overwhelmed by an amazing sense of privilege. Strangely, or perhaps not so strange, he’s a bit more wary of my beloved but she still delights in my enjoyment of the relationship.

Pronghorn evolution : a matter of fact?

The voiceover tells us, matter-of-factly, that the Pronghorn evolved to outrun the now extinct American Cheetah [Yellowstone - BBC2]! How do they know? Surely this is hypothesis rather than fact; isn't it possible that the Cheetah failed to evolve fast enough to be able to catch the "fastest antelope in the world" or to vary its dietary requirement to devour other fauna in the region? Presumably, long before it became extinct, this species of Cheetah had occasionally found something to feed on!

Dichotomy - IAIYH

I've just had a Damascene conversion; I now realize that this ME thing is all in my head.

My head keeps telling me that I ought to be able to do things (after all six or seven years ago it was no problem!). Of course, my body tells me in a most excruciating manner that I'm not able to do those things. The head starts grieving for the limitations of the body, the restrictions on any socializing that I used to enjoy etc.; so I try to exert myself a little more, the effects a couple of days later are devastating.

There must be something wrong with my head, it has the false belief that I ought to be able to manage these things!

Suddenly the remembrance, from long ago days when I studied philosophy, you can't derive an "ought" from an "is". Then I knew that my head was wrong, it's just a bad philosopher. I may still have ME but, I'm not going to let my head make me feel guilty about it!

Send your message to G20 world leaders

New post on "Mal's Murmurings"

My latest posting, "Weather Impromptu", can be found on Mal's Murmurings

Running the settler gauntlet : Guardian

"The children flew along the torturous gradients as nimbly as the gazelles we'd encountered earlier on the trail, and – to the untrained eye – the walk through the stunning South Hebron Hills would have appeared utterly calm and carefree. However, that the pre-pubescent players required our accompaniment at all belied the seemingly benign nature of our journey. Were it not for the presence of the international activists, the likelihood of the children coming under attack from nearby settlers would have been too high to risk them setting off for Tuwani from the neighbouring hamlet of Tu'ba. "

Seth Freedman - 'Running the settler gauntlet'.



http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/16/israel-palestine-tuwani-west-bank-settlements

Facing The Void

Perspiration comes at the flick of an invisible switch, trigger factor unknown; unfortunately inspiration refuses to disclose itself. Yes, the body’s thermostat is playing up as usual but, the mind seems to have just stopped functioning altogether. I find myself staring at a blank screen, expecting something, hopefully in a verbally understandable form, to appear. A sense of vacant distraction seems to be the present role-play in which my mind sits uneasily.

I just wonder could it be the lack of caffeine, since last Friday’s doctor’s order, which leads to this almost perfect lack of stimulation. I’ve even sunk back into the nicotine habit, by way of compensation for this absence; I suspect that isn’t what the doctor had in mind. It may be slightly better if I only knew what this decaffeination process was in aid of; which of the multiple ailments, my psychosomatic being endures, will be alleviated by this exclusion from my dietary regime. It almost seemed like an afterthought when my GP threw out this proscription just as I was about to leave the surgery!

Perhaps it will take time before any benefit is realized, if nicotine poisoning hasn’t already undone any prospective benefit. At present I’m all too well aware of an aching void of boredom, taking the place of tearful frustration.

Co-incidentally ...

Having been told by my GP, on Friday, that I had to give up caffeine, I came across an interesting article in one of my beloved's magazines (whilst sat in the loo) this afternoon. Certain words leapt out at me, especially where it referred to the beneficial flavenoids to be found in tea and coffee. This on top of the references to caffeine in last evening's Garrison Keillor's Radio Show (referred to in my beloved's posting on Bright Light).

My life is certainly rich in co-incidence at the present time!

ME/CFS - Challenges of daily living

"Christine Milner is one of 250,000 in the UK who suffers from chronic fatigue, or ME. Here she gives a personal insight into what her life is like.

You wake up in the morning with a pounding head, aching from head to foot.

Your arms and legs feel like lead, your brain seems stuffed with cotton wool.

You console yourself with the thought that by this time next week you'll feel better.

Except you don't. No medication makes any difference to the way you feel, and over the coming weeks and months various doctors and well-meaning friends encourage you to "just do a bit more each day", even though you have as little energy and as much pain as you did that first day."

This is the beginning of an excellent article on living with ME/CFS - the full article can be found in the Yorkshire Post of 04 March 2009 ... Learning to live with challenges of chronic fatigue one day at at a time

Salt Flow

Just when things can’t get any worse, somehow they manage it; Wednesday’s crash (KERRR ..AAAA…SSSH!) was followed by an even greater slump on Thursday. Serially interrupted sleep seems to do little for one’s morale or physical well-being; the emotions make an overt display, this time in the form of tears, not just the odd sob but torrents of salty liquid.

At times weeping can feel quite therapeutic, a sense of having freed ones-self of a deep rooted, repressed, aching frustration but, just as I began to feel more secure, the least little incident opened the floodgates once more (e.g. an inability to accept a phone call). This time I feel that there’s more than a hint of depression to the frustration, and yet in my daily routine I feel that (subject to omnipresent limitations) I have a most positive relationship with the universe. That recent sense of dis-ease with which I occupy my own skin is the only alienating factor – objectively I (subjectively) love life, and everything it throws at me, challenges and pleasures each finding a fit place; all that’s really required is a healthier bearer (body) of my bundle of sensations.

That’s the really odd thing about depression, it bears little resemblance to self-pitying sadness; no matter how much one tries to rationalize this cloud (as to its cause) one is never able to get to the core of the matter. Much of the time I’m completely unaware of its lurking presence.

One is depressed in spite of ones-self, not because of!

Sinna's Kerrr...aaa...sssh!

A sequel to yesterday's 'Transitional Demands' posting can be found on Mal's Murmurings - Go to KERRR ..AAAA…SSSH! - I suspect that the title suggests a lot!

Transitional Demands

What a pleasant surprise; I’ve just been counting the cost and it isn’t half as costly as I’d anticipated; admittedly, sometimes the price is paid later. As a parallel to climbing the property ladder, if one takes too many risks with their “pacing” they have to be prepared for landing up in negative equity. I’ve recently been trying to extend the boundaries of my pacing regime, how else am I going to know what I can manage but, at the same time, I’m listening to the signals my body transmits back to me.

We’ve recently decided on a course of revamping our bedroom, which requires a little shunting around, and spasmodic removal of, the extant furnishings and accumulated detritus. Yesterday was the time to assemble a couple of wardrobes, a task which at first seemed rather daunting, though it proved rewarding as one managed to satisfactorily assemble the said units (despite the manufacturers best endeavours to ensure the misalignment of certain component parts). It proved a rather perspirational endeavour, during which I several times struggled to ignore both pain and stamina thresholds before finally collapsing at the eleventh hour; not a moment too soon. Our friend John, who lives just down the road and had earlier proffered assistance, arrived on his white charger to finish off the task in hand.

An early night being required, by body and spirit, there followed a somewhat restless sedimentation of hours, exhaustion seemingly serving as a barrier to sleep. After 13 ½ hours of bed rest(lessness), aching joints, bones and muscles were hardly in any worse shape than has been the norm over recent months / years, and the brain seemed to be functioning as well as can be expected. A slow emergence into the daytime world was par for the course; sleep eventually caught up with me, early in the afternoon, as I listened (!) to Radio 4 with hands crampingly poised on my laptop keyboard.

For little signs of progress I give thanks but, I am intentionally avoiding any further exertion today, a fair reward for yesterday’s endeavour.

10 Ways to Kill Fatah - Uri Avnery

"Contrary to the demonic image that Israel constructed for him, Arafat was the ideal partner. He was a strong leader and all sections of the Palestinian public accepted his authority completely – including those who criticized him, even including Hamas. He had the two attributes essential for making peace: the will to achieve it and the ability to convince his own people to accept it.

But, strangely enough, our government moved in the very opposite direction. The peace negotiations did not even start. The settlement drive continued unabated. Everywhere in the West Bank one could see the red tile roofs of the settlers springing up. The absolutely essential passage between the West Bank and the Gaza Strip was not opened – in spite of the solemn undertaking of the Israeli government to open four “safe passages”. Not only did the economic situation of the Palestinians not improve, but on the contrary, it worsened perceptibly. Before Oslo, Palestinians could move freely in the whole of the country (including Israel proper). After Oslo, that freedom of movement was restricted more and more." -

Uri Avnery

10 Ways to Kill Fatah can be found at :

http://zope.gush-shalom.org/home/en/channels/avnery/1235859721/

Find out how Malcolm enjoys A PRIVILEGED LIFE! [ The link is to a posting on MAL's MURMURINGS]

Through the night ....

Some days, the body just doesn’t belong to the skin which encapsulates it. No matter what the elasticity may be, there’s quite simply too much flesh to quietly co-exist within these restraints. To be honest, in my case, this experience of existential (and probably somatoform) disease and despair is more likely to occur at night time, when total exhaustion overwhelms the necessity of sleep.

Last night was a case in point; having already been shattered earlier in the day, my recumbent body alternating between disparagingly cold shivers and shudders and clammy overheated perspiration. More about the, most enjoyable, day’s preceding events later**; suffice it to say, some couple of hours before the witching one, I was already in a sufficiently somnolent state to anticipate a solid night’s sleep. Unfortunately, my whole psychosomatic being chose to rebel against nature’s course.

Everything was fine as my beloved snuggled up but, inevitably, there came a time to turn over and, this led to the discomfort switch flicking itself to the ‘on’ position. Left side, right-side, back-side, front-side; none of these postures bore any resemblance to comfort in any manner. Hands under the pillow, between pillows, pillows propped up; none of these proved the necessary perquisite for slumber. But the searing aches were worst of all; starting from shoulders, hips and ankles, these debilitating arrows swiftly became all pervasive.

Each slight movement led to a nauseating tearing of the armpits and the groin; disrobing was definitely the order of the night, pyjama tops and bottoms were swiftly discarded but, it still felt as if, at each susceptible body juncture, these discarded robes were tearing into the flesh. The accompanying sense of nausea, caused in no small part by the post-nasal drip, my all too persistent companion did little to alleviate my overall sense of distress. It was quite impossible to hold back the gut-wrenching screams emanating from somewhere deep within my psyche.

Visits to the bathroom, and occasional dressing gown bedecked ambling saunters around the room, served little purpose other than to relieve the bruising monotony of simply lying there in the hope that sleep would soon befall.

A few years back, similar nocturnal discomforts were par for the course; it’s strange the alarm that their excruciating return causes. Come morning, the longed for sleep (and relaxation) arrived and I’ve just managed to raise myself from the duvet lair at 1.15PM. And I’m here to tell the tale.

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**PS (21/02/09 - 8.28PM) unfortunately I've been lacking the necessary stamina or resolve to fulfil this prediction: a very worthy report can be found on my beloved's blog 'Bright Light' - "Our Wedding Anniversary - Part One" and "Our Wedding Anniversary - Aftermath"

Former MI5 boss Stella Rimington accuses government of exploiting terrorism fear | UK news | guardian.co.uk

Now, isn’t this a surprise! !!!!!!!!!!

Former MI5 boss Stella Rimington accuses government of exploiting terrorism fear | UK news | guardian.co.uk

COLONIAL REVOLT …? ..? ..?

I somehow found myself rather disappointed by this evening’s episode (6/8) of “Christianity: A History” (Channel 4), whose premise (according to Radio Times) purported to be:

“the revolution in which the peoples of Africa, Asia and Latin America seized the religion of their former colonial masters …. and are now set to overturn the established Christian world”.

To my surprise, given this premise, there was not even a passing reference to Liberation Theology in any of its manifestations.

We were treated to well worn stories of how Catholicism, in Latin America, was forced to allow the indigenous people to adapt the faith to their own traditions; (the whole history of Christianity’s expansion in the West, perhaps even before the Constantinian usurpation, has been one of adapting to societal and traditional mores). Eventually we came to the threat of splitting the Anglican Communion because the African nations attack such western liberalism as women priests and attitudes towards homosexuality. What kind of “revolution” sets out to turn the clock back on Christian inclusiveness; why, in this context, no mention of parts of the African church, in a completely reactionary manner, condoning and even conniving in the harsh persecution of homosexuals.

All too frequently we were treated to scenes of African Pentecostal fervour, with not the merest hint that contemporary Pentecostalism has also been a trend in many W.A.S.P (and even R.C.) churches, as well as those in the developing world.

Where, may I ask, is the revolutionary transformation?

**********************************

My posting on 'Mal's Murmurings', Gentle Changes, is on a more domestic theme.

Playing it safe?????

Two items, along the same lines, caught my attention today (one in the New York Times, the other the Washington Post); I must admit that one side of me wonders if the (capitalist)system is worth bailing out whilst, at the same time, it should be obvious to anyone that without some kind of bailing out action such vast numbers of innocent people are going to suffer!


"And the argument that our culture won’t stand for nationalization — well, our culture isn’t too friendly towards bank bailouts of any kind. Yet those bailouts are necessary; and even in America they may be more palatable if taxpayers at least get to throw the bums out." - Paul Krugman : Obama on nationalization

"Geithner did not want the administration to seem leftist, so he rejected the temporary nationalization of the bad banks. Yet the advantage of nationalization is that it's straightforward: The government would take over the bad banks -- as opposed to throwing endless sums of money at them -- clean them up, and sell them off." - E.J.Dionne Jr.:Lost in the Middle

Slow Running

 

I doubt that it’s possible to resist this inbred protestant work ethic, and its consequent guilt trip. I’m the guy who, for many observers, seemed so laid back that, even when standing upright, my spine must have been around 45 degrees from the horizontal and yet, this gnawing guilt persistently upsets me.

For the past few years, for health reasons, I’ve been unable to undertake any employment paid or voluntary, each day being so unpredictable, presenting the unexpected obstacle or fresh hope; physical and emotional stamina rarely coincide even on the best of days. A major regret is that, when I was enjoying better health, I pushed myself that bit too far; my current ability to pace myself, to subsist on a lower altitude plateau, does not come easily.

A very good day for me, these days, means running at as high as 35% of what would have been a quite sluggish activity level for me a few short years ago, and yet, I’m still plagued by guilt. I ought to be doing more; forget the fact that taking a shower is frequently a daily task too far, cleaning my teeth an effort too much when exhaustion suddenly overtakes me, I should be doing more; I should be out there earning an honest living.

Of course the media, and politicians of all persuasions, almost daily attack anyone living on disability or incapacity benefits as degenerate scroungers. If only some of that vitriol could have been spared to attack the greed driven recklessness of the banking fraternity, or the many hours wasted (and billions of pounds lost to treasury) by those working out ever more devious tax-avoidance schemes for those who already have more income annually than most of us can expect to earn in a lifetime, our economy might now be in a far healthier state.

Perhaps in a few months time, when I chronologically comply with / qualify for the Old Age Pension, the “guilt” will flee from me. Somehow that could be the time for freeing up; it’s currently difficult to admit that I’m enjoying being a gentleman of leisure, whilst I so wish for the energy to be running in a far less leisurely mode.

plumbing the heights and scaling the depths

A dull, numb, lightly throbbing pressure behind the eyeballs; a leaden ache above the eyebrows; a general sense of hollowness within the skull and torso – the kind of discomfort that it is so difficult to express. Today, this has taken pole position against the competing sharper, sometimes excruciating, pains and discomfort emanating from the sciatic nerve.

It’s extremely difficult to formulate a table of aches, pains and discomfort; how does a constant low key gnawing, of a bruising kind, compare to an experience of an acute electric shock? Can numbness in any way be correlated with a more instantly sharply stinging sensation?

What does one express on a visit to the GP?

In my case it’s always the (perhaps transient) currently preoccupying dis-ease that is foremost in the more general catalogue of sensations; the ongoing symptoms of a chronic condition are rarely raised. These (permanent) discomforts are always least apparent when one has the physical and emotional stamina required to make, or permit my beloved to make, the appointment in the first place. I am fortunate with my GP’s, that they generally give me the time necessary to make the point but, even so, there are always the omnipresent discomforts that I don’t want to bother them with.

I suppose that the recent disabling excruciating pain, caused by a herniated disc, so overshadowed my regular discomforting companions that, had I been able to overlook the surface anguish, I could have imagined myself as being in the best of health.

The snow, outside of course, reflects the sunshine’s dazzling glare around the sitting room; my eyes ache from this glorious assault. The gas fire is turned up high but, the cold shudders, which I’m experiencing, strive to deny the fact.

Firms' secret tax avoidance schemes cost UK billions | Business | The Guardian

I’ve always known that there’s one law for the rich and another for the rest of us! Indeed, I suspect that a very fine margin separates the (nominally) legal tax avoidance and the (definitely) illegal tax evasion. The business communities lack of patriotism is most noticeable – they’ll take all the handouts and avoid any payouts; the poor as always subsidise the rich.

“The veil of confidentiality that covers these tax avoidance schemes is so difficult to penetrate that nobody knows exactly how much tax goes missing each year. But HM Revenue & Customs estimated that the size of the tax gap could be anything between £3.7bn and £13bn. The Commons public accounts committee put it at a possible £8.5bn and the TUC said £12bn.”

Firms' secret tax avoidance schemes cost UK billions | Business | The Guardian

ON THE WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY

“Of all the beautiful phrases in Barack Obama's inauguration speech, these are the words that stuck in my mind: "You are on the wrong side of history."

He was talking about the tyrannical regimes of the world. But we, too, should ponder these words

In the last few days I have heard a lot of declarations from Ehud Barak, Tzipi Livni, Binyamin Netanyahu and Ehud Olmert. And every time, these eight words came back to haunt me: "You are on the wrong side of history!"”

These words are the opening of an article by Uri Avneri – it really warmed my heart to discover such an Israeli journalist and peace activist (a former Irgun and Knesset member). 

To my shame I had never previously been aware of the life and work of this great man. His website address is: http://www.avnery-news.co.il/ 

I stumbled across the full article on Ekklesia.co.uk

Editorial: Why the BBC is wrong over the Gaza appeal | Comment is free | The Observer

“That the population of Gaza is experiencing a humanitarian crisis is a matter of fact, not political hypothesis. That the crisis follows directly as a result of action by the Israeli Defence Force is also hardly a matter for speculation. What grounds then, might the BBC judge a charitable appeal on behalf of the people of Gaza to be politically partisan?”

I’m still in a state of disbelief over the BBC’s exceedingly partial decision against the citizens of Gaza!

There should never have been a need for editorials such as this.

Editorial: Why the BBC is wrong over the Gaza appeal | Comment is free | The Observer

BBC Conspiracy

 

Much as I can be fascinated by conspiracy theories, I don’t always have much time for them. The BBC’s refusal to broadcast an appeal, supported by such subversive organizations as Christian Aid, Red Cross, Oxfam etc., for humanitarian aid for Gaza, on the grounds that it might demonstrate bias is almost beyond belief.

 

There must have been considerable pressure applied, from Zionist / Pro-Israeli pressure groups, to help the BBC reach such a ridiculous decision. Interestingly, a caller to BBC Radio 4’s “Any Answers” programme who dared to hint at such collusion was immediately and rudely disconnected by the programmes presenter.

 

Methinks there’s something rotten in the state of Broadcasting House.

 

Matters Arising

 

 

Tensions mount as the appointed hour for the great disclosure approaches. Although pretty cool about the whole thing, the nearer the disclosure the more, at an almost unconscious level, little anxieties creep in; “what ifs” abound. Perhaps some sinister shadowy condition is the source of my ailments, an organic disease that I’d rather be unaware of.  The whole episode becomes quite absurd, one has a scan to try to find out the cause of a certain condition only to (belatedly) realize that perhaps it would be better to remain in the dark about such causes.

 

My beloved was becoming more overtly concerned about what the scan may have disclosed; worried about organs of the body that may be diseased and, of which my severe discomfort may simply be an obscurely veiled indicator of a much more critical condition. Her obvious upset with this thought, found a counterpart in me as my (only vaguely considered) concerns were given body and substance. This was perhaps the transforming motive whereby my “Que Sera, Sera” was converted into an anxiety laden wondering what.

 

We visited my GP this morning; he soon put our minds at ease by saying that the report sounded much more sinister than it really was; amongst other things, the MRI had disclosed a 12mm hernia on one of the discs, it really is amazing what havoc such a tiny intrusion / protrusion, in the vicinity of the sciatic nerve, can wreak. He then presented me with the options of consulting a neurosurgeon or, “doing nothing” – quite simply continuing with a programme of pain management as and when necessary. For the time being, I’ve settled for the do nothing option as I’m all too well aware of the risks involved in any spinal surgery.

 

Should the extreme pain be sustained for increasing periods of time, becoming incapacitating on an even more regular basis than at present, that’s when the neurosurgical route will have to be followed.  

Sleeping - Waking - Waiting

 

It’s no longer sleep that’s the problem but rather waking. Great as it feels to be getting some real deep sleep, having previously experienced so many painfully restless nights, the necessity of sleep now seems to be overplaying its hand. Whilst I am really appreciative of the extra time (theoretically) I have to spend with my beloved, as she has been taking a few days leave, my extra sleep requirement has somewhat eaten into these precious moments.

 

Presently, my pain management routine seems to be kicking in; it’s almost a case of pain remaining at acceptable levels, permitting one the ability to think, and even concentrate, for a somewhat more sustained period. There is just so much to be grateful for!

 

This afternoon, I received a ‘phone call from my GP’s practice and, have duly made an appointment for Wednesday morning to discuss the results of my MRI scan. I’m not committed to anticipating either the worst or the best from these results; it’s simply a case of remaining patient until I get them. It was quite a surprise to hear so soon as, when I’d had the scan last Thursday, they informed me that it would be approximately two weeks before my doctor would have the result.  

Mal's Joy

Today's posting, Commonplace Joy, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Sonic Vibrations

Disrobed and prepared, time hangs slowly, waiting to enter the unknown zone.

The first bit’s nice, lie down, head on the pillow; a pillow propping up the knees to ensure optimum stability and comfort, alleviates my anxiety regarding maintaining stillness for the duration. Headphones firmly clamped in place, emergency / panic button placed at ones fingertips and it’s all systems go. Just a last check to make sure one’s arms are well tucked in, before the slide into the cylinder begins.

Curiosity takes over and, I’m desperate to know how light or dark it’ going to be in the belly of the machine. As it turns out to be light, next decision to be made is do I close my eyes or leave them open; the awareness that its light also enables one to be fully aware of just what a confined space they are within. Close the eyes and this restraint has gone; there could be all the space in the world out there so, what’s the worry? To my surprise there are no worries at all, nor is there any real awareness of time.

The soundscape is rather like an avant-garde techno-trance experiment. What’s lacking in the drum and bass field is more than compensated for by the healthy bass balance in all the proffered sounds, bass, treble or mid-range. To my ears, this random array of note clusters strikes me as quite tonal, a remarkable absence of discomforting dissonance.

It’s virtually impossible to apply any regular time signature to this precocious rhythmical melody; at times one is aware of the absence of note-clusters, a blanketed industrial washing machine being heard some distance off, before the music begins again.

Following on from this excursion, to a rather exclusive little music club, my GP will be informed of the results of my MRI scan within two weeks.

Waiting Time

 

An almost crystalline purity and perfection pervades the morning sky. The  brightness, that clarity of light synonymous with crisp cold days, swiftly elevates the spirit,a kind of exalted invitation to the dance.

Having managed to strugglingly manouevre myself downstairs, on finding  a relatively comfortable chair, I gaze out across the bedraggled garden. This little landscape has been victim of a far from modest elemental buffetting; the combined artillery (both light and heavy) of wind, rain and cold brigades, has beaten the earth into submission.

I'm all too well aware  of those little preparatory tasks. that remained undone, in the run up to winter but, hopefully, I will feel more up to tackling the  necessary recuperative tasks when the the season changes.

Malcolm - 7 January 2009

Body Talk

A crisp bright day encourages me to venture out for a stroll. My body instinctually vetoes the idea.

I know, on this occasion, that the body is correct – I’m quite used to listening to it these days – but the thought of a little stroll, accompanied by my very own breath ghosts remains appealing. Momentarily, a surge of resentment washes over me; why should I tolerate these corporeal restraints?

A searing bolt of transferred pain replies, as if to demonstrate the wisdom of the body. The spirit yields to the assured pragmatism of the flesh.