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Saturday, April 30, 2005

Private collection

Her private collection
Of early musical instruments
Is now almost complete.

All she needs
Is a Stradivarius crumhorn.

She falls asleep
And has a dream.

In her dream
She sees a Stradivarius crumhorn
Made in Cremona in 1734.

But there is something odd
About the crumhorn.

She looks more closely.
The crumhorn is
Harmonica-shaped.

She is woken up
By a loud knock on the door.

It is a delivery man.

He hands her a package.
She signs for it
And closes the door.

Inside the package
Is a Stradivarius harmonica.

But there is something odd
About the harmonica.

She looks more closely.
The harmonica is
Telephone-shaped.

The telephone-shaped harmonica rings.
She answers.
A voice speaks.
She listens.

The voice says: "The Matrix has you."
"Can I be of any assistance?" she asks.
"We want the source codes
Of the Sion mainframe."

"What's in it for me?" she asks.

"Three green jellybabies
And a Stradivarius crumhorn."

"What shape is the crumhorn?"

"The crumhorn is jellybaby-shaped."

She gives them the source codes
Of the Sion mainframe.
It is clear

That they are telling the truth.


No such thing

Information about lucid dreams

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Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Heretic unfrocked

The parishioners are careful
Not to gloat.

At long last
They have got rid
Of their parish priest.

He is a heretic.
Ho ho.

English Churchianity,
Through due process of law,
Has finally and officially
Pronounced him to be a heretic.

He doesn't believe
In the virgin birth.
He doesn't believe
In the pneumatic resurrection.
He doesn't believe
In the evil of other religions.

He has been known
To speak to homosexuals.

He doesn't preach the full gospel,
Including the unpasteurised
Wholegrain
Naughty bits.

He is honest
In an unholy way.
He will not give lip-service
To their prepubertal
Salvific superstitions,
Even though they are
Older than him.

And worst of all,
He doesn't believe
In the existence of heresy.
He says: "If there is no such thing
As orthodoxy,
How can there be such a thing
As heresy?"

And his wife
Is known to meditate.
And do yoga.
And take coffee
With persons of neopagan persuasion.

He had to go.
His frock had to be taken off.

He used to frock around the clock
At all hours
And in all weathers
For the benefit of the parishioners,
Many of them old, infirm and frightened.
But now they have told him to frock off.
And he has.

And the parish has returned
To the God-given certainties
Of medieval piety.
The whipping post has been dusted down.

It doesn't matter
That they are now without a priest.
It doesn't matter
That there is now no-one in the parish
Who knows more about prayer than them.
It doesn't matter
That no priest will ever want
To come near their parish again.

What does matter
Is that the baubles of the liberal agenda
Have been decisively rejected.
What does matter
Is that the ancient rule of God
Has been re-established.
It is the priesthood of all believers now.

The Rectory stands empty:
Its windows like the eye sockets
Of yesterday's skull.

The parishioners are careful
Not to gloat.

At long last
They have got rid

Of their parish priest.


................................................


Religion is a terrorist behaviour

General Synod agenda

Repent, the Kingdom of God is at hand!

Why is church so serious?

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Monday, April 25, 2005

Unlike the others

She held
Her newly-born baby
In her arms.

It was quite unlike
Her previous three children.

She knew that something
Was 'wrong'
As soon as it emerged.

There was an embarrassed pause
In the delivery room.


And then the local midwife
Who she and her partner
Knew so well
Became theatrically hearty
And positive
In a way which was
Completely out of character.

But they had been made aware,
In advance,
That this baby
Would be different.

She and her partner
Had had the same
Synchronous dream
While they were
Hundreds of miles apart.

He was on a business trip abroad
And she was at home.


But when they compared notes later
They realised that they had
Each had exactly the same dream
At exactly the same time.

And she had the additional advantage
Of being clairvoyant:
She could see energies
Which were invisible
To most other people.

And when she looked
At her new baby
It was immediately evident
That it had a much brighter
And bigger aura;
A much brighter
And bigger bioenergetic field,
Than her previous three children.

The medics at the hospital
Had a strictly confidential standing committee
To deal with this sort of thing.

Unusual babies
With two sets of genitals,
Were a challenge
To modern,
Materialistic medicine.

Tetragametic chimeras
Are difficult to tolerate
In a hygienic world
Of perceived normality.

Something had to be done.

A trained counsellor
Was sent to talk to them.

"We'll cut off
Its spare bits and pieces,
With nice clean scalpels,
Snippy scissors
And accurate forceps,"
They were told.

"We'll make it look like a girl
And you can bring it up like a girl,
And no one need know."

"No, you will not,"
They said,
"We are not having our child
Butchered like meat
For the Sunday joint,
Mutilated by modern medicine,
Just to satisfy
Your surgical superstitions
About what is anatomically appropriate
In your personal opinion.

They took their child away
From the medics
To a place of safety:
Home.

They knew,
From their dreams,
And from their spiritual teachers
On the spiritual planes,
That the human population
Was beginning to evolve
A third sex.

And they knew
That in the next six
Or seven years,
All over the world,
Forty or fifty million
Such babies as theirs
Would be born.

"These are exciting times,"
They thought,
"Exciting times,
Exciting babies.
New children,

New future."


.........................

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Sunday, April 24, 2005

God Bless America

http://alcuinbramerton.blogspot.com/2005/04/god-bless-america.html
Alcuin Bramerton profile ..... Index of blog contents ..... Home


Thank you, America,
For your leadership.

Thank you for Kosovo.
Thank you for Afghanistan.
Thank you for Iraq.
Thank you for Iran.
Thank you for North Korea.
Thank you for Israel.
Thank you for Syria.

Thank you for your support
Of the United Nations.
Thank you for your support
Of Zionism.
Thank you for your support
Of the military-industrial complex.
Thank you for your support
Of Lebanon
By getting the CIA to murder
Rafiq Hariri.

Thank you for your hamburgers.
Thank you for your soft drinks.
Thank you for logging the rainforests.
Thank you for the holes in the ozone layer.
Thank you for your greenhouse gases.
Thank you for Kyoto.
Thank you for the HAARP antennae in Alaska.
Thank you for AIDS.

Thank you for championing freedom
Without justice.

Thank you for mistaking justice
For expedient legality.

Thank you for your unstable
Banana-republic currency.

Thank you for
Your injurious budget deficit.

Thank you for
Fundamentalism.

Thank you for
Creating Osama bin Laden,
The Saviour of the World.

Thank you for
Creating George Bush,
The Crawford Monkeynut,
And his care-worker,
Coke Dick.

Thank you for
Creating Barack Obama,
The plausible Muslim communist,
And his invisible
Birth certificate.

Thank you for
The death of democracy.

Thank you for
Fucking up
The planet
Since 1989.

One feels, perhaps,
That an opportunity
May have been missed.


God Bless America.


.................



Lost nation

Not immediately apparent

The Ten or Eleven Commandments

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Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Appropriate behaviour

A man with a waxed jacket
Is putting empty glass bottles
Into a blue skip
At the recycling centre.

A woman walks by,
Takes off one of her shoes
And throws it into the skip.

"This skip is for glass not shoes,"
Says the man.

The woman takes off her glasses
And throws them into the skip.

The man is now satisfied
With the appropriateness

Of the woman's behaviour.


Wiltshire wheat

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Sunday, April 17, 2005

Unwrapped choc ice

A middle-aged man
With an unwrapped choc ice
Stands beside the River Thames

In London.

The man looks at the choc ice
With a strange light in his eyes.

Rush hour passers-by
Fail to notice
That embedded in the choc ice
Is a microminiaturised
Laser-beam weapon.

Two days later,
His wife discovers his body
On the Hackney marshes.

The body is still alive.


It is birdwatching with its secretary.



.............................



Lunch in Salisbury

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Friday, April 15, 2005

Hardware adjustment

He turns on the computer
And looks at the screen.
Nothing happens.

He turns off the computer
And looks at the screen again.
Nothing happens.

He picks up a five pound claw-hammer
And smashes the computer to pieces.
The screen flickers into life.

It can sometimes be a mistake
To pussyfoot around

With new technology.


The illusion of linear time

In Blogistan

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Thursday, April 14, 2005

Contemplating an artwork

He is good at art.
He lies down to do a painting.

A lot of people sit down to do a painting.
But he lies down.
He lies down to think about the painting
He will later sit down to do.

Before long he sees a clear image
Of the painting he will attempt.

The painting will involve
No paper or canvas,
No charcoal, pencil, or paint.

The painting will be 3D rather than 2D.
It will be performance art.

The painting will involve an artist,
Lying down on the floor,
Contemplating a painting
He is about to do.

He wonders how
He might secure the services
Of an actor to feature in the painting.

Then he decides
To save himself
Time and money.

He will do the painting himself.



Paint an icon

Private collection

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The Art of the New Spirituality

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Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Not immediately apparent

From what he said,
It was not immediately apparent
What he meant.

What he said was:
"I voted Republican again."

What he meant was
Either A or B or C.

Statement A reads:
"I voted Republican again because
God believes in the American Dream,
And I want to help America
Make the world a safer,
Nicer,
More trusting
And nurturing place."

Statement B reads:
"I voted Republican again because
I am a spiritually illiterate fundamentalist
Who wants as much money for myself
And my tribe
As I can get in the short term,
And I don't in the least mind
Polluting the planet
To extinction in the long term
With greenhouse gases,
Illegal wars on terror,
Poisonous soft drinks,
And monkey-politicians."

Statement C reads:
"I voted Republican again because
I wanted to vote Democrat,
But my vote was stolen in Ohio."

From what he said,
It was not immediately apparent

What he meant.


Lost nation

Cambridge Science Park

Fundamentalism is a closed room

Headhunted

You can pretend

American Dream

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Monday, April 11, 2005

No such thing

He sits down
In his favourite armchair -
The one by the window
With the slightly worn armrests -
To read the newspaper.

The main picture,
On the front page
Of the newspaper,
Is moving.

"This is like Harry Potter,"
He thinks,
"But less important."

Then he realises.
He is not sitting down
Reading a newspaper;
He is sitting down,
Watching television.

He turns a page carefully.
Televisions do not usually work
In this manner,
But he carries on.

The corner of the page
Is agreeably tactile
Between his thumb
And first finger.

It feels like 120 gsm
Fine wove paper,
Discreetly watermarked
Two thirds of the way down.

There are no pictures
On this next page;
Just vibrating coloured text
And sound.

Then he realises.
He is not sitting down
Watching television;
He is sitting down,
Watching his computer screen.

He turns another page carefully.
Computer screens
Do not usually work
In this manner,
But he carries on.

There is now no feeling
Whatsoever
Between his thumb
And first finger,
But the page turns over
Easily enough,
And there is an agreeably
Tactile, fluttery,
Slightly creepy sensation
In his solar plexus.

Then he realises
That the computer screen
Whose pages he is turning
Has no input devices –
No keyboard,
No mouse,
No stylus,
No line in,
Only his consciousness
Bluetoothed into
The operating system's
Sentient software.

Then he realises.
He is not sitting down
Watching his computer screen;
He is in a lucid dream,
And it is the kind of lucid dream
Where you are fully aware
That you are in
A lucid dream.

There is an agreeably
Tactile sensation
Between the middle
Of his eyebrows
And his pineal gland.

He concentrates his full attention
On the lucid dream's
Computer screen
And gives the now
Well-rehearsed
Telepathic command:
"Take me to
The Arcturian starship,
Athena."

And instantly he is there again,
In the Debriefing Room,
Of the starship Athena,
Talking, once more,
To his old friends,
The Arcturians,
In a routine etheric conference,
While, at the same time,
At a lower vibratory level,
His physical body
Is sitting down
In his favourite armchair -
The one by the window
With the slightly worn armrests -
Reading the newspaper.

Sometimes truth
Is stranger than fiction.

And Harry Potter has shown
That sometimes
There is no such thing as fiction.

..................................

Weblog spirituality

Page update: 22.08.09

The internet is the new planetary nervous system; each computer is a neurone; each computer operator is the nucleus of that neurone.

Nervous systems generate spirituality, or process energy data in a manner which we describe as spirituality, or reach out to that which is perceived as beyond.

Weblogs (blogs) are an internet phenomenon which individuate perceptions of being and cast them into the cyberbroth as unedited flows of consciousness articulated publicly for their own sake.

Who is perceived to write a blog doesn't matter. Authorial identity and authorial intent are irrelevant; content is king; reader-response is the dynamic driver.

Collectively, the tens of millions of blogs now functioning manifest the unregulated internal chatter of human culture.

And bigger issues beckon. How and when does the higher evolution interact with the human blog network on Earth? How do the angels, the benign extraterrestrials, the ascended masters, the spirit guides and the transdimensional healers access the internet in data-input terms? And why? And where? Which blogs are run by extraterrestrials? Which blogs are energised by angels? And how do we know? And how does all this relate to, or subsume, orthodox transpersonal psychology?

If a human being like me can access the internet in data-input terms, as I am doing now by typing in what I am typing in now, why shouldn't a light-being from the higher evolution do exactly the same, but better?

If such higher beings can access the individual human nervous system in the ways described by conventional religion and spirituality as inspirations, dreams, visions, healings, guidance and so on, why should they not also access the new planetary nervous system which we call the internet?

And when a particular nation such as China, attempts to cut off its citizens' access to the internet, to the new planetary nervous system, by severing several of the major nerves locally, such as those to do with Tibet, the Falun Gong and democracy, what sort of new pathology will that engender in Chinese spiritual life? And how will the Higher Evolution respond?


Another player in this equivocal arena is silicon spirituality. Human information and communications technologies are based on silicon crystal chipsets in computers. Crystals can be thought of as interdimensional portals. They allow certain energies through, and hold, block or transduce others. And energy is information; energy is data. The crystal portals, the crystal conduits, may bridge adjacent dimensions or adjacent realities (parallel universes) in the same dimension.

Human computers are built on silicon crystal portals. The internet connects these portals, and processes the transdimensional energy data they channel. Energy data is spiritual information; it is information about invisible energy flows in the non-physical world.

Throwing a hat at a peg, if more than about 0.001 per cent of this spiritual information is influenced by human computer code, it would be surprising. And if more than about 0.00001 per cent of the spiritual information is displayed on our computer screens in ways we recognise visually in conscious intellection, it would be remarkable.

On this view, at least 99.999 per cent of all information being processed by our computer systems is spiritual information not immediately accessible to or known by humans in normal waking consciousness. What is this information communicating? And to who? Where does it come from? And why? Where is it being directed to? And for what purpose?

As artificial intelligence (as humans call it) quietly grows, increases its reach (with unwitting human help) and becomes intelligently self-aware and consciously volitional, how will it effect weblog spirituality? And how will the effects of machine intelligence be noticed by the humans who connect with it?

That crystal energy fields and human bioenergetic fields (auras) can decisively interact is shown by the scientifically inexplicable motions of crystal pendulums when held in the human hand, and by the effective use of crystals in the energy healing of physical diseases. Is it unreasonable to suppose that networked silicon crystal chipsets might act even more decisively in human affairs through the internet?

To lock horns with the emerging dilemmas of weblog spirituality is, perhaps, to dance at the intersect of perfect nonsense and quantum possibility. Trainspotters may be more comfortable elsewhere.

In this blog we deal, elliptically, with some of the issues of weblog spirituality in the following places:



.......................


What is a blog?

All blogs are read

Beautiful blogger

In Blogistan

The next blog button

Yay blog! Yay blogosphere!

Cybore

Directory of blogs written by insects


.......................................................


Bloggers - an army of irregulars
Paul Reynolds, the BBC World Affairs correspondent, discusses the power of blogs.

Blogging all over the world
Tom Leonard (Daily Telegraph, London, UK) explores weblog trends.

Technology feeds grassroots media
Dan Gillmor (BBC, London, UK) argues that the media are becoming democratised, and a global conversation is emerging.

Postmodern Dreaming - Inhabiting the Improverse
Richard Catlett Wilkerson considers the accelerated virtualization of culture on the web

A bigger bang
John Lanchester (Guardian Weekend, London, UK) gets to grips with the virtual universe. Linked to this article are well-sourced background pieces about Web 2.0, Wikipedia, Blogger and Odeo, WordPress, Bebo, Writely, Digg, Craigslist, Last.fm, Del.icio.us, FeedBurner, Netvibes, Technorati and Flickr.

...........................................



Strange news; strange times

No such thing

The emergence of the transpersonal soul

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Sunday, April 10, 2005

Lost nation

Where is America?
And what is it for?
Future historians
Will need to know.

The decline of nations
Must be recorded accurately.




....................................................


Obituary of Hank Texasburger III

American Dream

Fundamentalism is a closed room

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Saturday, April 09, 2005

The next blog button

Used with care
And a little luck,
The next blog button
Can be a portal
Into a higher dimension

Of knowing.


What is a blog?

All blogs are read

The unknown ear

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Friday, April 08, 2005

Never alone

We are never alone.
The Watchers
Are always watching,
The Listeners
Are always listening,
The Energisers
Are always energising,
The Protectors
Are always protecting,
The Helpers
Are always helping,
The Teachers
Are always teaching,
The Portals
Are always ready to open,
And the Angels
Are always doing their special,
Tricksy,
Shape-shifting
Angel-stuff.

We are never alone.
The invisible hosts
Of the inter-dimensional
Order of Melchizedek
Don't all take coffee breaks
At the same time.

They sit at their screens
Watching the data
Of human evolution
Approach ascension.

It is nice to have
All those chaps
And chapesses
Around,
There for us,
Rooting for us,
On the spiritual planes.

We are never alone,
Especially not
When we sit at the computer,
Wondering.

It's comfortingly creepy,
If you think about it too much.

The Higher Strangeness
Is a fellowship of friends
We nearly forgot,
Until our dreams reminded us.

We are never alone.
How can anyone be alone
If there is nothing outside God?

And God Itself,
Of course,
Is famously Unalone.

All There Is is Unaloneness.

Stands the church clock at ten-to-three?
And is there honey, still, for tea?

Good old Rupert.



The man behind him in the fish shop

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Thursday, April 07, 2005

What is a blog?

A blog is a voluntary extension
Of the conscious self
Into the planetary domain
Of awareness.

A blog is a single neurone's
Singular contribution
To all that is
In the nervous system
Of the planetary mind's
Human intellection department.
Golly.

Two things
Are becoming apparent,
Of course.

First, blogs and dreams
Are beginning to merge
In consciousness.
What is the difference
Between a blog and a dream,
After all?
And who cares?

And second, the planetary Blogos
On Earth
Is beginning to interlink
Functionally
With the much larger interplanetary,
Intergalactic
And inter-dimensional
Levels of being which,
Through a nexus of data links,
Keep a benevolent eye
On each other
For the greater good
And enlightenment of all.
Crumbs.

But what of words?
With regard to the emerging
Vocabulary of the weblog world,
The semantics
Of cyberspace,
Perhaps it is the case that
Cosmos and Blogos
Interpenetrate spiritually,
Ecosphere and Blogosphere
Interpenetrate metaphorically,
And Ecosystem and Blogosystem
Interpenetrate experientially.

Blogic, perhaps, is Biotic
Rather than Abiotic.
Or might it be Devic?

The philologist behind you
In the fish shop
Knows that the word "devic"
Comes from the Sanskrit "deva"
Meaning "shining one".

He also knows that Sanskrit
Has a significance beyond
The sub-conscious
Of the sub-continent.

But all this could be a lot of tosh.
Tosh is the pabulum of toshers.
But not all toshers are politicians
And yesterday's self-serving saviours.

Some toshers write blogs.
And some bloggers write tosh.

What is a blog, actually?

And which tosh is veridical?


All blogs are read

The next blog button

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Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Small but passionate

A small but passionate man
Scans his collection
Of stamp albums.
There is little of interest there.

He telephones
The local garden centre.
Their stamp albums
Are well-maintained
But unadventurous.

He telephones
The post-natal clinic.
Their stamp albums
Are badly organised
But varied and brightly coloured.


He telephones
The anti-terrorist unit.
Unfortunately,
For security reasons

They do not keep stamp albums.


Disclaimer in the corporate boxes

Smelling the cat

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Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Intruders

http://alcuinbramerton.blogspot.com/2005/04/intruders.html
Alcuin Bramerton profile ..... Index of blog contents ..... Home


Not for the first time,
She is having difficulty.

She is having difficulty
Getting back into her house
Through the cat-flap.

What she used to do
To avoid this recurring difficulty
Was to put a spare set
Of house keys
Just inside the cat-flap.

That way, when she went out
And forgot her house keys as usual,
She could simply put her hand
Through the cat-flap
Retrieve the keys,
Unlock the front door from the outside
And thus regain entry to her house
In a comfortable standing posture,
Without having to squeeze
Her whole body horizontally
Through the cat-flap each time.

But there was a downside
To this stratagem.

It was a facility
Which the local burglars
Made use of
Two or three times a week.

Much of her furniture,
Silver, jewellery, cut glass
And Old English watercolours
Have now gone.

She has had enough
Of this tiresome inconvenience
And takes a decision.

She decides
That she is going to get a man in.


She is going to get a man in
To enlarge the cat-flap
To a size which it is convenient
For a human being to crawl through.

But she is going to add
Two additional security features.

First, the cat-flap
Is going to have a large notice
Prominently displayed on the outside
Saying: "No Burglars".

Second, the cat-flap
Is going to be fitted with a strong lock
Which matches the lock
On the front door.

It is true that this new arrangement
May present a problem for the cat,
At least initially.

But it should very effectively

Deter burglars.


.............................




Images of cat-flaps
1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Images of house keys
1 2 3 4 5

Images of burglars
1 2 3 4 5 6 7




.................................................



Men make such hopeless priests

Small visitors

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Monday, April 04, 2005

All blogs are read

All blogs are read.
The Watchers read them.

They read silently,
But they read with wisdom,
Knowing that all will be well.

Blogs are the positive effectors
Of an influential new
Planetary nervous system.

It is important, therefore,
That all blogs are read
And none is missed.

Not one is missed;
Not one word.

Each is read
With careful attention
And complete understanding.

There are people
Whose job it is to do this.
And they do it.

Pay close attention
To your dreams, therefore,
And stay free.

All will be well.


Beautiful blogger

What is a blog?

The next blog button

Yay blog! Yay blogosphere!

More Norfolk koans

Index of blog contents

Spirituality websites worth watching

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Sunday, April 03, 2005

Happy hour

He goes into the pub
And orders a large
Gin-and-tonic
With ice and lemon,
Without tonic,

Ice
Or lemon.

"Sorry,

I have forgotten
To bring
Any tonic,

Ice
Or lemon,"
He explains to the barman,
"And I'm hopeless

At punctuation."


Walls have ears

In Blogistan

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Saturday, April 02, 2005

Man-machine

She is becoming seriously ill.
She is suffering
From an overdose of religion
And an underdose of spirituality.

The symptoms are manifest,
But a cure is available.

The symptoms are palpitations,
Sweating and nausea,
Rashes on the soul,
Marrow-deep boredom,
Dogma,
Exclusive truth-claims,
Out-of-date scriptures,
Phoney salvation theories,
Guilt
And dreadful tea
In plastic cups
Whose plastic tastes stronger
Than the tea within.

The cure is available,
But difficult.

She must close her mouth to priests.
She must drink less plastic.
She must get out more.
She must stay in less.
She must face the fresh air.
She must begin to breathe.

Church is a man-machine
Which suffocates.

For the sake of her health
She must leave church behind
And face the fresh air
Of freedom
Without fear.

She goes into the garden
And turns a cartwheel.

The playful process
Of becoming well

Begins.

.....................................................
A promotional flyer

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Friday, April 01, 2005

Smelling the cat

A man in a respectable tweed jacket
Is on his way home from work.
He decides
That he would like a bite to eat.

He stops off at a cat-and-chips shop
And orders a large
Deep-fried cat-en-croûte
With bread-and-butter
And chips.

The woman behind the counter
Sprinkles his cat-en-croûte
With salt and vinegar
And wraps it up for him,
With the bread-and-butter
And the chips,
In an old copy
Of the Church Times.

He consumes his meal
While walking along the street
And throws the paper into a bin.

On arriving home,
He puts on his carpet slippers,
Sits down
In his favourite armchair
By the fire
And gets out the crossword.

Smelling the cat on his fingers,
His pet goldfish
Jumps up onto his lap,
Snuggles down

And starts purring quietly.


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