Monthly Archives: May 2013

Old quarry

They were down at the old quarry, where the newer humans threw themselves off the cliff as though they were on fire.

“I can’t get out yet .” Her smiled duplicated his own as the realization clarified. “I’m too old… to be, shall we say, this happily tumescent”.

” I don’t mind if you don’t.” She paddled lazily around him. “And as for Arwen, she’s seen much fatter men than you wearing Speedos in Greece”.

Arwen’s vivid, lovely scream plummeted with her from the 30 meter height. then smothered in the water. Then she surfaced, eyelashes like spider legs, smiling and spouting water. The world was hers and he was entrusted to love and protect them always. For at least this Sunday.

Life is also always wasted on the olde, he thought. We don’t understand it. Like cutting fretwork; you always snap something. But this summer, he wouldn’t think of that. His role was to be oldish and enjoy the myriad miracles. He almost had that down. It was becoming a doorway he could open at will, rain or shine. He wondered how it would feel when it all caved in, when he felt the knife’s twist, the seeping poison that was jealousy.

They all submerged at once and bobbed to the surface in a magical synchronicity. It would be easy enough to say those words, those three words that would bludgeon everything they had delicately built. His hand touched her thigh as he lifted a hand to wipe water from his eyes. She was too beautiful for words. And Arwen, simply a miracle. He pushed himself down into the colder current, pushed deeper, eyes straining through the murk. What are you after?, he interrogated himself. “Something from my past that has gone,” he answered himself. The quarry’s deeps were impenetrable.

The thing, when you were young, was to be seen out of the water, not in it.

He stayed deep, watching the churning entry of the jumpers and divers; in fragments of silence listening to his heartbeat.

He surfaced with a tranquilly empty mind, to Claudette’s voice. This was rare, and he listened like an anthropologist, never quite keeping up with her words. “What the hell? Where did you go? We thought you’d drowned or something.”

Her words echoed away. And what could that ‘something’ be?, he wondered. Impossible to answer, impossible to put right. He paddled arms and legs, listening, watching the leaping world of youth as if he were a tree, deep-water-rooted. When the time was right, he could simply say “I’m sorry” and probably have to do it maybe once more and then the day would right itself.

He beckoned to her and she ignored him, her gaze scanning the water and cliff for Arwen, until Arwen popped up at her mother’s back.

“I was trying to find you and couldn’t see you anywhere.”

“Well, here I am.” She kicked off, spraying them both with water.

“Just kiss him,” she said.

They stared after her and noticed that they had held hands somewhere in between then and now. He lifted her hand to kiss it. Then she turned, this secret woman, and kissed him fully… gently… on his lips.


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May 31, 2013 · 12:29 am



She was kind. She was as much my sister as my cat. She slept on the pillow beside my head, all night (except to pee or nibble).
When I sat on the couch, she would place her paw on my hand. We held hands. And cat haters say they are aloof…

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What time is it?

May 28, 2013 · 11:59 pm | Edit

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Some philosophies and some occult texts  claim that there is no such thing as time.(See, for example, the cultish Seth series, by Jane Roberts who claimed to channel an entity named Seth, who spoke often of the nature of time and reality).

How is it then, that we get so bored when we have “too much time ‘on our hands’ “? I am not simply being facetious here. I am once more musing on a (to me) interesting philosophical and existential issue. This common phrase speaks of time and, metaphorically, a reality that can be physically held.

Scientists who have attempted to measure time explain that  “a clock that runs at a constant rate — the same number of pendulum swings in each hour — cannot follow the actual sun; instead it follows an imaginary “mean sun” that moves along the celestial equator at a constant rate that matches the real sun’s average rate over the year.[1] This is “mean solar time”, which is still not perfectly constant from one century to the next but is close enough for most purposes.” [Wikipedia, the fount of all knowledge known to man, tells us this. (Thank you Wicca – I mean Wicky).]

There are some arcane philosophers-cum-mystics who claim that everything is happening at the same time. But how does this ‘same macroscopic or microscopic time’ behave? Our time, (which we might reasonably call microcosmic time) is created and measured by man in many ways: The orbit of earth around the sun, phases of the moon and the seasons, and by machines of one sort or another which track more or less regular movement. Thus we have the sundial, the pendulum-driven clock, and the spring and cog meticulous wristwatch, for example.; oh, and that thing that runs on tiny batteries the size of Clonazepam pills (which calm us so that we can live in time more comfortably…. “But I digress…”

These ‘machines’ regulate time according to the needs of man  perhaps more than they do an actual moment of autonomous time, (if we can put it that way).By autonomous time, I mean some thing called time that exists per se, disconnected from man-and woman-kinds’ needs, observations and earth’s place in the universe at any given time/space.

At the macrocosmic level, does time exist, any more than up, down or sideways exist? Direction in space and in time cannot exist without a point of reference. We are that reference, which makes both time and space relative; to us.

If earth time and cosmic, non-linear, but very real time were in some fashion synonymous and simultaneous ( which I am convinced they can’t be and are not) we become aware, to some extent, of a nice marriage between the two formerly mutually exclusive time realities. We can do nothing with that, I suppose, but it is nice. [Interestingly, perhaps only to me, the word ‘nice’ at one time ‘back then’ had the meaning of acuteness, of a very subtle, hairline comprehension and articulation of something.  My observations are hardly nice, in that way – but they are nice, as in ‘happy.’ The marriage of earth-relative time and cosmic time would show us that time does not depend on us, is not our necessary invention. It would integrate us with the cosmos, as one joins in with the hand-clapping rhythm of a song already being sung.

By the same token, even before indoctrination into this society, and the ‘consensus reality,’ which we all generally accede to, bodily functions all carry on; all of which take place over time: This proves and creates time in and of itself. If there were no time there could be no digestion, no bodily growth, no embryonic development in the womb, no birth and so on. Given that reality, even the most arcane yogi is enveloped by time. Perhaps it is the yogi’s illusion that time does not happen as we witness it to do. We don’t suffer the illusion – the yogi does.

Samuel Johnson responded in the 18th Century, when presented with the argument that reality cannot be proven, “If I kick my foot against a stone and feel it, is this not proof of reality”?

I paraphrase, regarding time. “I inhale and exhale; this, in microcosm, is proof of time’s reality”. If we have nothing to do but breathe, that breathing marks time itself. If this is an illusion, it is a damned stubborn one. I don’t find that boring: Life is literally in my hands. Time and reality become plasticine, as every mystic child intuitively knows.



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This is me and Emma – my other beautiful cat. My stomach hadn’t enlarged then.

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May 28, 2013 · 11:40 pm

Writers need to buy time.

Hi all.

A blog mate/supporter of mine needs donations from readers, other bloggers and so on, to finance him so he can continue writing. Believe me, this is not an uncommon situation – and at least he has not taken to drink to get through the peculiar writer’s hell one can go through when one is a truly serious writer. Please go to the following link and read his campaign, and help if you can.

Best to all.

A.H. Richards (sometimes aka ‘Aldous’)

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Check out my 2 books. More to follow, pretty soon –  robots doing the dirty work, and loving it – cloning, warfare, all that the serious sci-fi buff could want…

For a start, these two.

Cheers for today.

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cleaning – big tongue

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