There will be mud on the carpet tonight and blood in the gravy as well. The wifebeater is out, the childbeater is out eating soil and drinking bullets from a cup.
[Anne Sexton (1928-1974), U.S. poet. “The Wifebeater.”]
Superior men are good without instruction ; medium men are good with it ; but low fellows are bad despite of it.
“The best index to a person’s character is how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and how he treats people who can’t fight back.”
― Abigail Van Buren
“The Little Boy and the Old Man Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.” Said the old man, “I do that too.” The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.” I do that too,” laughed the little old man. Said the little boy, “I often cry.” The old man nodded, “So do I.” But worst of all,” said the boy, “it seems Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.” And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand. I know what you mean,” said the little old man.” ― Shel Silverstein
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
― Anaïs Nin
“It was much better to imagine men in some smokey room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told the children bed time stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, then what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.”
― Terry Pratchett, Jingo
When one sits in the Hoop Of The People,
one must be responsible because
All of Creation is related.
And the hurt of one is the hurt of all.
And the honor of one is the honor of all.
And whatever we do effects everything in the universe.
Hey, there! Hoop-la! the circus is in town! Have you seen the elephant? Have you seen the clown? Have you seen the dappled horse gallop round the ring? Have you seen the acrobats on the dizzy swing? Have you seen the tumbling men tumble up and down? Hoop-la! Hoop-la! the circus is in town! Hey, there! Hoop-la! Here's the circus troupe! Here's the educated, dog jumping through the hoop. See the lady Blondin with the parasol and fan, The lad upon the ladder and the india-rubber man. See the joyful juggler and the boy who loops the loop. Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Here's the circus troupe! Source: A book for kids (1921)
“I like your red scarf.” the worn lady said as she looked at the ground which served as her bed.
Our eyes never met though her words hung in my ears,
and as I walked on they became sharp and clear.
Rushing back to her corner she was still there – I gave her my scarf which she wrapped round her hair.
She looked up at me from her home on the ground, her words were soft so I knelt myself down.
“You didn’t just listen you heard what I said. It’s the warmth I was craving not the beautiful red.”
The gloves on my hands came off as well and I stood up to leave this poor woman’s hell.
As I walked away she called, “Come see me again! I’m always right here.” But she left that corner with me that day and in my mind is held dear.
Don’t be carried away by the show of a peacock.
On wet days
they hang on the verandah railing
like wet curtains
become grey cushions
that fell in a river
but on dry days
shimmer and tremble
shake that castanet
the Spanish dance begins
up goes the opera set
raised as if a cord were pulled
or a child’s stand-up picture book
their strong grey legs
strut and hawk this show
around the farm
from town to town
and the singing
it were best left to others
like Cinderella’s sister
no-one dares mention
such ugliness to them
while the little plain butcher bird
sings so ravishingly
sitting almost unnoticed on a post
“Every morning an impala wakes up knowing that it must outrun the fastest lion if it wants to stay alive. Every morning a lion wakes up knowing that it must outrun the slowest impala or it will starve. It makes no difference if you are a lion or an impala, when the sun comes up in Africa you must wake up running”
~ anonymous, Zambia
©Wilfred Blake (1934)
There’s a rumour going round the town
As I’ve heard people say –
That a wild animal is at large
Out there at Break 0’day.
The woodcutters saw this tawny shape
Slinking ‘thru the scrub
Up there on the hillside
Near the derelict old pub.
Peter Jackson’s gang, who saw this beast
Declare it was a lion –
And that they are men of integrity
There’s certainly no denyin’.
They say that it’s a man-eater –
And women too, presuming:
That’s why some blokes took their wives
To Break O’ Day mushrooming.
The farmers of the district
Were suddenly in shock;
If this creature isn’t soon destroyed
It will decimate our stock.
Bill Fry’s party then went out
On Big Game Hunting bent.
The tracked it ’round the water race
Past Charlie Walsh’s tent.
They followed it across the bridge
That spans the water race.
And of paw marks on the other side
There was not a trace.
Then someone spotted further on
A patch of muddy bog
But the critics say those tracks were made
By Tommy Marshall’s dog.
Now Tommy’s dog is very large
And he is tawny grey
And was known to wander far and wide
Even out to Break O’ Day.
It has never been seen again
‘Cept by a bloke who was on the grog
And it’s thought that what the woodmen saw
WAS Tommy Marshall’s dog.
The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Thursday 8 December 1932
If they had been Roman, then someone would have
Died every night for months on end as the Boobook
Owl’s chime coursed through the evening like a late
Night telephone call’s bad news. Metronome regular,
The beat of its hoot shelled them relentlessly, enfilading
Their ears from the patch of remnant blue gums across
Waghorn Street. The book book of its mournful cry, as if
It was a trapped sailor in an air pocket of a capsized ship,
Beating a morse code tattoo with a leaden wrench. Inside
Its tree’s iron hull, the school ruler long bird received the
Suburb’s dying souls nightly, like an apprehensive mother
Drawing up her child’s medicine in a feather light syringe.
When he heard it, fear suckled their young son who forbade
The repetition of its summons & shrieked if he heard its call.
When you’re the most happening person at the party, it’s time to leave.
― Kelly Cutrone, If You Have to Cry, Go Outside: And Other Things Your Mother Never Told You
I don’t think I’ve drunk enough beer to understand that.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent
The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 – 1939), Saturday 5 May 1923,
An Australian poem.
The sun was hot already – it was only 8 o’clock
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.
He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
“Typical bloody sheep,” he thought, “they’ve got no common sense,
“They won’t go through a gateway but they’ll jump a bloody fence.”
The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt
She’d stay there ’til she carked it if he didn’t get her out.
But when he reached the water’s edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.
He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down
If he didn’t rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.
He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn’t stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam
He caught up with her, somewhere near the middle of the dam.
The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn’t get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.
She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side
He swore next time he caught that ewe he’d hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.
The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away
He didn’t really think he’d get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch
The farmer yelling wildly “Come back here, you lousy bitch!”
The stock rep didn’t hang around, he took off in his car
The cocky’s reputation has been damaged near and far
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!
I would that with sleepy, soft embraces
The sea would fold me—would find me rest
In luminous shades of her secret places,
In depths where her marvels are manifest ;
So the earth beneath her should not discover
My hidden couch-nor the heaven above her—
As a strong love shielding a weary lover,
I would have her shield me with shining breast.
Maya Angelou: If you have only one smile in you, give it to the people you love. Don’t be surly at home, then go out in the street and start grinning ‘Good morning’ at total strangers.
“If he’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on his mind. If he creates expectations for you, and then doesn’t follow through on little things, he will do same for big things. Be aware of this and realize that he’s okay with disappointing you. Don’t be with someone who doesn’t do what they say they’re going to do. If he’s choosing not to make a simple effort that would put you at ease and bring harmony to a recurring fight, then he doesn’t respect your feelings and needs. “Busy” is another word for “asshole.” “Asshole” is another word for the guy you’re dating. You deserve a fcking phone call.”
― Greg Behrendt
AUSTRALIAN DRINKING CULTURE.
Accountability – Knocking over someone else’s beer will only be tolerated if there is a full replacement on the table. In some mining communities, the spilling of ones beer requires the guilty party to receive a punch in the arm from all other members of the party which could be up to 60 people.
If I see one more person freak out on drugs here, I’ll ring the fuzz in Wanganui, and when they arrive, I’ll point you out as the distributor. A broad man like you shouldn’t mind a spell in Wanganui jail.
(Oliver, W.H. Port Nicholson Press 1983).
“I’ve learned to get really good at this – say one thing when I’m thinking about something else, act like I’m listening when I’m not, pretend to be calm and happy when I’m really freaking out. It’s one of the skills you perfect as you get older”
― Lauren Oliver, Delirium
“How I treat a brother or sister from day to day, how I react to the sin-scarred wino on the street, how I respond to interruptions from people I dislike, how I deal with normal people in their normal confusion on a normal day may be a better indication of my reverence for life than the antiabortion sticker on the bumper of my car.”
― Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out
The hard work of keeping an addicted mind focused is more challenging than you might think. An addicted mind (even one in recovery) is very prone to distractibility. It has been trained to seek immediate rewards and doesn’t tolerate waiting very well. If the mood or desire strikes, the drug addict will act impulsively. Drug seeking behaviour, taking off in the middle of something, becoming aggressive or argumentative – all of these behaviours stem from the immediate gratification “training” of addiction.
The spot check inventory. Steps one through nine have sensitized us to see the truth about our own behaviour and the manner in which the rest of the world, especially people, respond to our actions. Having developed this awareness, we come to see, during each moment of each day, what is really going on. In other words, we are living in the truth of the moment. We have, in addition to a new awareness, also developed some measure of ability to actually control our actions. No longer are we simply sleep-walking under the direction of old habits—habits, the way we think and act when we are not thinking about what we are doing, and our elaborate delusions. The process of exchanging good habits for destructive old habits is, unfortunately, laborious.
Funny Posts and Solid Information for those who suffer from bipolar disorder and alcohlism
Funny Posts and Solid Information for those who suffer from bipolar disorder and alcohlism