The Polarity of Politics

A casual observer of my blog might assume that I am vaguely interested in politics. That assumption is correct. I became 'mentally unwell' in 1979, the year that Margaret Thatcher came to power, so rightly or wrongly I associate the oppression of her Conservative administration with my own unhappiness. She didn't have to tell me, because I always knew that there was no such thing as society. I have been 'sailing this ship alone' since the age of 13. I have a child's memory of the entry into the European Union and then after the winter of discontent we were straight into an administration that left an indelible mark on a generation of people. The 1980's were an incredible decade for music and I wonder whether this was a reaction to the Oppression of the Government. From the Falklands to the Miners' Strike over here to the Republican Administration of Reagan, popular culture and creativity thrived.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1980s 

As any politician worth their salt, I digress. This blog post coincides with Bipolar Awareness Day. Are you Labour or Conservative? Which end of the Bi-polar Political spectrum do you stand? Spectrum is the important word. In this forthcoming general election I am hoping that we will see a spectrum of opinion where individual voters will not be afraid to err from the choice of two on the menu which has been on the table for eons. I include this BBC link to show the British Prime Ministers and the political timeline. 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/pm_and_pol_tl_01.shtml

It appears that we are creatures of habit, Conservative, Labour, Conservative, Labour, Conservative, Coalition. So the best that we can hope for is that the next Labour, Conservative, Coalition government is not as bad as the last one. How can we have high expectations when we know what politicians (for they are human beings) are like?

We are a captive audience, we are at the whims of political parties and their members, the members who supply us with the 'Top Sharks' that we are required to vote for. The most important General Election in a generation? Yeah right.

Popeth yn Gymraeg: Afiechyd Meddwl

Well y Duw Duw, doeddwn ddim yn gwybod roedd 'na fath beth a dwi wedi bod yn 'Manic Depressive' yn swyddogol 'like' am 9 mlynedd ond yn answyddogol am 36 o flynyddoedd. Troi yn ddyn is what did it see! '13', oedran bregus iawn.. Dyma fi yn siarad ar rhaglen radio am y cyflwr.

.http://www.redbuttontheatre.co.uk/apps/videos/videos/show/17920234-anhwylder-dau-begwn

Felli, beth ydw i yn mynd i weud sydd ddim wedi cael i weud am y cyflwr yn barod? Dim lot really! Mae un neu ddau dwi'n nabod yn teimlo fy mod yn defnyddio fel esgus i beidio cymryd rhan yn fywyd go iawn, go iawn. Yn fy nhyb i, bywyd go iawn sydd yn anfon pobol yn benwan. 'Reality' fel plentyn doeddwn ddim yn meddwl fod 'reality' yn mynd i fod fel hyn. Dwi wedi bod yn ddyn rhydd am y naw mlynedd diwethaf, wedi cael yr hawl i ffoi rhag cyfrifoldebau confensiynol bywyd. Wrth gwrs mae hwn yn dod gydag amodau, llau o bres, llau o gyfleoedd i brynu profiadau sef y sinema a theatr ond mae'r rhyddid yma dwi'n teimlo wedi cynnig cyfle i asesu pethau pwysig bywyd fel teulu a ffrindiau. Fuodd gwaith gwastad yn niwsans i mi, yn debyg i gysgu a bwyta a mynd i'r tŷ bach. Rhywbeth roedd rhaid i chi wneud. Un peth hoffwn i ategu ar 'Diwrnod rhyngwladol anhwylder dau begwn' ydy'r faith fy mod yn teimlo mae bod yn rhan o iaith a diwylliant lleiafrifol yn dod gyda sgil effeithiau a all dylanwadu ar eich iechyd meddwl. Mae dyn yn teimlo'n gyfrifol dros dranc yr iaith ond dydy o ddim yn gwybod sut i fynd o gwmpas gwneud rhywbeth amdano. Mae yna euogrwydd ag agwedd amddiffynnol yn perthyn i'r peth. Cywilydd am beidio bod yn berffaith mewn unrhyw iaith. Cywilydd am ganiatáu'r bywyd mawr, cyfalafol, cystadleuol, gwleidyddol boddi ein hetifeddiaeth. Mae hwn yn siŵr o fod yn elfen o Iechyd Meddwl y Cymry Cymraeg!  

Hurting People, Hurt People

http://www.nbcnews.com/storyline/german-plane-crash/germanwings-crash-u-s-victims-dad-sad-parents-pilot-n331386

As a blogger with a diagnosed mental health condition I feel that it is incumbent on me to pass comment in a blog post on the tragic events of last Tuesday. I posted the meme below on Facebook & Twitter on Wednesday without thinking how appropriate it was for the situation regarding Andreas Lubitz. The link above is the most compassionate observation and the link at the bottom, the least compassionate. The middle link is about the victims. As people with a mental health diagnosis we can either play the victim or the survivor. Unfortunately in this case, there were no survivors but Andreas Lubitz was the victim. A victim of the world that Robert Tansill Oliver is angry with. I am wondering whether we should all be angry with the world instead of just watching the news. Shouldn't we all be grieving now? We could have been one of the victims or we could have been the pilot. Information came out very quickly on this tragedy as opposed to the Malaysian Airlines loss of last year and this voice recorder, we are told, points to a suicide mission. Suicide is anger with the world, turned in on itself! In this case, Andreas took 150 of the world with him. What intrigues me is that the question asked immediately was "Is this a Terrorist incident or is this an act of Religious Fundamentalism?" The question I want to ask is why aren't these cases of Mental Health?  A philosophical question perhaps but what if torn up 'sick notes' were found in the cockpits of the aeroplanes that flew into the twin towers. 'The terrorists should not have been at work today because they were feeling angry with the world'. Feeling angry with the world has now been medicalised. 'Depression'. In the light of these events shouldn't depression now be criminalised? You are not allowed to feel, sad, empty, angry. If a Captain can leave the cockpit and go to the toilet, why couldn't you leave a robot alone to fly the plane. Andreas Lubitz was no robot. He was a living breathing human being, as are you and I and as were the passengers on that plane. I'm not a conspiracist usually but in this case, I thought that everything had been done and dusted too quickly. We are told that there is no such thing as society, the individual is everything, therefore in this case, we blame the individual. We cannot blame Lufthansa and the Airbus A320 because they have a reputation to maintain and an economy to pursue.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-32047560

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3015033/PIERS-MORGAN-Depressed-pilots-like-Germanwings-Andreas-Lubitz-medication-mental-illness-not-flying-passenger-planes-s-not-insensitive-s-protecting-lives.html#ixzz3Vbn7jrhY

Thinking Aloud

”One of the first laws against air pollution came in 1300 when King Edward I decreed the death penalty for burning of coal.  At least one execution for that offense is recorded.  But economics triumphed over health considerations, and air pollution became an appalling problem in England.”  

~Glenn T. Seaborg, Atomic Energy Commission chairman, speech, Argonne National Laboratory, 1969

”The automobile has not merely taken over the street, it has dissolved the living tissue of the city.  Its appetite for space is absolutely insatiable; moving and parked, it devours urban land, leaving the buildings as mere islands of habitable space in a sea of dangerous and ugly traffic.”  

~James Marston Fitch, New York Times, 1 May 1960

”Your grandchildren will likely find it incredible - or even sinful - that you burned up a gallon of gasoline to fetch a pack of cigarettes!”  

~Dr. Paul MacCready, Jr.

”It wasn't the Exxon Valdez captain's driving that caused the Alaskan oil spill.  It was yours.”  ~Greenpeace advertisement, New York Times, 25 February 1990

"There's so much pollution in the air now that if it weren't for our lungs there'd be no place to put it all.”  ~Robert Orben

Driving in Cardiff is becoming difficult and slow. The number of cars on the roads like the population is increasing. We likes our convenience. I have an old car, to get back and forth to West Wales, to visit family. If I was just static anywhere, then I would get rid of it. I can cycle or walk. I find driving stressful. So many things that could go wrong. They are talking of building a 100 million pound cable car from Penarth to Cardiff which in theory sounds good but it will be more of a novelty, a fun fair attraction than a sustainable alternative transport solution. People are welded to their cars. Here in West Wales only yesterday, a large car was left idling outside whilst its owner was inside buying up nuisance items in the village shop. Nuisance because I was kept waiting. The Shark Fisherman does not possess great patience and this is another reason why driving is not a pleasure or a passion. You don't know what hassle or hold up you are going to face when venturing out. Defenders of the automotive industry and the Jeremy Clarkson's of this world would point to the economy. Many people are employed building cars! Oil and Petrol production again but what about the environment? What about the smog in Paris and Shanghai and London. At least Bozo Johnson is thinking of making idling cars come with a fine but is a £20.00 on the spot fine enough? I wonder whether the human being knowing that they have a short lifespan are designed to have long term thinking. All this crap about the world we will leave to our children. Well, leave your car behind then if you are just going a few hundred yards. It won't kill you. In fact it might extend your life. We drive as if we are at war, the driving test and lessons left long behind us. Our hands and arms will never see ten past ten on the steering wheel again. I fear that people will have to be given a financial incentive not to have a car or cars because the convenience and habit is just too great. Giving up smoking is difficult enough but giving up a smoking exhaust is nigh on impossible.    

Hermit

This Blog is called Shark Fishing for a reason. The sharks referred to are human sharks. Treat me like a wounded animal, a beast that has been scarred by life and we'll get on but treat me the way I look, like a thug, then I know that you are a 'judge a book by it's cover' sort of bod. I'm short, squat and bald. I don't smile a lot. My neighbour said last week that he smiled at people. It disarms them. He is 'Hail fellow Well Met'.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hail_fellow_well_met It is an education to watch him in action. If I am with him, he engages people in conversation and I withdraw to a safe distance. He told me last week, that I shouldn't rely on him, that I should go and seek people out, look for other reservoirs of knowledge and wisdom. I told him that he has spoiled me for other people. I have been dwelling on my poor social skills and lack of interest in interacting with people. Prior to mental health diagnosis, I did work that involved lots of people but I created plenty of space and time within that for alone time. I don't know whether it has to do with introversion or mental illness but not wanting to get involved with people feels natural, a default setting. I am happier with individuals who I identify similarly as 'wounded beasts'. It's probably an intuition or energy thing. To engage with 'the herd' as I perceive them would be an admission of failure. It would admit that they are right, that the way that most people live and work is the correct way. I disapprove of so many things to do with modern living that I have essentially become a hermit in the city. I have chosen not to drink because sitting in pubs listening to drunk people and watching Sky Sports knocks years off your life. Have you seen the cost of going to the Theatre and Cinema recently? Because I perceive that there is a serious lack of interesting worthwhile work about, I choose not to work, because interacting with people is always a risk in case I say something rude or upset them. Being paid to be nice. All this and more on International Happiness Day. Also on a point of principle I don't want to fill out an application form, provide a CV or two relevant references. Reluctant to do what everyone else does or what I perceive other people do. In looking for a suitable image for this post I came across the Blog below . Thank you to Andrew Waugh for purloining his image without permission.

 http://www.forbiddenplanet.co.uk/blog/2011/looking-for-happiness-in-too-much-solitude-hermit-by-andrew-waugh/

I think I am writing this and putting it out out there in the ether and blogosphere because it would horrify me if I spent the next twenty years like I have spent the last twenty. Avoiding Life. Wounded animals retreat and hide and observe and re-appear when they perceive it safe to do so or they just go off and die. Watch this Space. 

Castell y Dryslwyn Castle





http://cy.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castell_y_Dryslwyn

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dryslwyn_Castle
 



I wandered lonely as a c**t

I wandered lonely as a c**t

I wandered lonely as a c**t

that floats down Grange and Riverside

when all at once I saw a crowd,

beside the Taff, beneath the sleaze

A host, of golden daffodils;

continuous as the stars that shine

fluttering and dancing in the breeze

along the margins of Cardiff Bay.

They'd jumped off the Water Tower

and legged it over the Bridge

They were trying to escape the developers

Terry, Trace & Smidge

They knew the BBC were coming

and didn't want to pay to play

A poet could not but say

"Well done lads and lasses"

and get out of the way.

One thing they hadn't banked on

was the rugby and the piss

burger wrappers and human crap

that flash upon that inward eye

for oft, couch potato I lie

in anxious and pensive mood

which is the bliss of solitude

and then my fart with methane fills

and blows within the daffodils

Terraced Soldiers

brightly colored 

terraced tombs

standing

holding their secrets

bed rooms

bad rooms

tin baths

Mam's teats

collier boy

no privacy in the privy

even for a Dad with a bad 'tymer'

Dad-cu ties the Dickie bow

before going down the club to sing with the choir

"One more Calon Lan boys

before they take me to the Crem"

A pint in the Resurrection

and a shuffle off home

for tea

in the

Terraced Soldiers.

tymer:temper 

Scott of the Antarctic

http://www.captainscottsociety.com/memorial.html

http://www.roathcardiff.net/2012/07/31/roath-park-and-captain-scott-2/

Have we always been Wales?

Ffolineb aderyn brith i son am yr adar glas

Y Ddraig yn teimlo llai Cymraeg

Parch at ddyfalbarhad y cefnogwyr. 

Ond maen nhw yn teimlo am Vincent Tan

yr un peth ac mae fy nghymydog yn teimlo

amdana i

"We didn't want you here in the first place"

Mae fi a Vin the Man yn fewnfudwyr!

Mae'r selogion yn teimlo fel trigolion Sir Feirionydd.

Rydym wedi boddi ei lan a dangos ei man gwan.

Does dim calon da Cymru bellach.

Os yw ein 'Big City' ddim yn croesawi'r iaith: Pa obaith?

Beth am i ni 'Y Welshies' troi ein cefnau a newyno'r lle o’r iaith

Dros nos, ddim gair o Gymraeg!

Fydd sawl un ddim yn sylwi

Dim ond dynion pres 'Brains a Rygby'

Fydd triongl Pontcanna yn dawel nawr

Y Mochyn Du yn troi nôl i fod yn 'Black Pig'

Archfarchnad lle bu Clwb Ifor Bach 

Y Senedd yn symud i Gaernarfon

Fydd hogiau Caergybi dal yn dal trên i Gaerdydd

Oherwydd yn ei thyb nhw mae Caerdiff yng Nghymru

Ond we who lives ere knows different like.

The Concise 33 Strategies of War

A Book Review

Not my usual fare I grant you but I have been feeling in my water for some time now that the world is preparing for War and I want to be ready for it. At my age, having turned Forty 'F*****G Nine, I will probably end up in the Home Guard. I will be the man in the corner that looks like Private Godfrey but I will have the drop on the other members of the Battalion because I will have the knowledge gleaned from the above book. I know nothing more about Robert Greene but I now know about the tricks of the trade. I have thought for a long time that we are animals in suits and it wouldn't take long for us to revert to our feral, caveman instincts. Civilisation is a thin veneer that we wear. Just look around you in Asda & Walmart at Christmas Time. Every Time I leave the house I feel as if I am at war. I am in a constant state of alert. I am competing with others for space, time, food and attention. Chapter 1 encourages us to declare war on our enemies. The Polarity Strategy! Well I have been at war with myself since the year dot because my polarities are all over the place. Maybe now is the time to officially declare war on the world, perhaps with a Magna Carta style signing rather than in the Passive Aggressive mode that I have been using up until now. 

This is what the Independent had to say about the book http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/reviews/the-33-strategies-of-war-by-robert-greene-468732.html  

I thoroughly enjoyed every chapter, as my occasional random postings on Facebook testify to! Am I perhaps really a bloodthirsty Machiavellian type? Chapter 3 was a challenge. It told me not to lose my presence of mind. Chapter 32 was teaching Grandmother to suck eggs. The title of this one "Dominate while seeming to submit" The Passive Aggression Strategy. 

My Father was a Pacifist and my heroes are the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr and Mahatma Ghandi so how can I explain my attraction to this book. Well, it is a short read which helps and even though I am not allowing the bloody images of war into my consciousness, they have always been there in my subconscious. As part of my Insanity in 2005 I imagined that I had been a soldier in the Red Army and had covered my hat in Soviet Badges. I consumed The World at War narrated by Lawrence Olivier, the first time around in the early seventies when war was recent history but now because it has become distant history, we know that it is time for war again. You could do worse yourselves, you peace loving types, than get this book out of the library and read it by torchlight under the covers, cursing your friends, enemies and the whole of humanity as you go!  

Something Inappropriate; The wonders and necessities of the word 'F***!'

Tameca L Coleman is an award winning and published writer across many genres and has interests spanning a great range. She is also a singer, massage therapist, yogini, itinerant nerd, and tourist in her own town. For more information about this Kitchen Sink Approach

visit her in Facebookland: https://www.facebook.com/TheKitchenSinkApproach.

Back in the eighth grade, I wrote an article for the school paper about the so many other and more creative words that were available. I was frustrated with my peers' overuse of words like 'sh**' and the holiest of holies, f-bomb. “Liberally used” was a term I’d deem as an understatement and I’d cringe every time some curse raked the air. “You can do it better,” I wrote, “Use your words. Learn new words.”, I openly chided my friends. I asked them and criticized. I even offered suggestions for them to more creatively express their frustrations. Personally, such words would never have crossed my lips. I’d hoped to create a more peaceful landscape without the interruption of such filth. Plus, my parents would never have approved. We used to get our mouths washed out with soap for words like that.

But times have changed for me.

Lately, I have found that often, no other words suffice and the holiest of holies is not only at times most appropriate but is also, at times, profound.

There’s this great video about the word which is intelligently done (barring the misspellings) that explains the word’s flexibility and even some of its history. Looking at the word like that, through its versatility, makes me think that it is intelligent. I’ve even found a video by a spiritual leader named OSHO (watch it; you’ll laugh). Now, we have a word that is intelligent and . . . spiritual. 

It’s not that I need any other validation for usage of the word these days (not that I use it all the time) but the validation certainly helps. The word is more than useful.

Sometimes, there are simply no words for whatever is occurring. It’s one of the reasons the f-bomb comes in handy; it takes care of those moments when all that is needed is an expression that indicates that something is wrong. From stubbing one’s toe to suffering through mortal ailments that can’t be explained, it certainly seems most appropriate. Even passages of statements and exclamations sprinkled with the word seem right or at least, natural, at times. What else is there, afterall, when the brain is blank for anything but frustration and surprise?

The word has not lost its significance, let alone its shock value. It’s still heavily connoted and apparently means many things. The word also has not lost its healing power.

That’s right. I said “healing power.” Did you know that there have been studies done about the effects of cursing? Swearing apparently helps to reduce pain perception and increases pain tolerance, per one study. Sure. Someone could yell some incoherent ARRRRGH! or AHHHHHHF! in response to a good toe stubbing or maybe any other word as a reflex to pain (try FUN! or FLOWER!)  but personally, I’ve found that  it seems to only take one Fuck to master the pain of a toe stubbing whereas ARRRRGHing or AHHHHHHFing seems to just keep the pain going in its hot and pulsating lament.

Swearing apparently can also bring people together in cameraderie. Learning this reminds me of a passage I recently read from some of Roland Barthes’ work about an activist of the French Revolution named Jacques René Hébert who sprinkled his publication (Le Père Duchêne) with “fuck” and “bugger” as an indication that something was wrong. The seemingly meaningless peppering of the words indicated the whole revolutionary situation which maybe couldn’t always be explained or expressed. Barthes writes, “Here is an example of a mode of writing whose function is no longer only communication or expression but the imposition of something beyond language, which is both history and the stand we take in it.” To push against what’s imposed upon one takes some special words, perhaps. If nothing else, it’s a solid and effective indicator. In such cases, words should be used, whatever the ones you’ve got.

Forty F*****G Nine

My life is nearly over, yet it has only just begun

I feel like F******G off and sitting in the sun

The first ten years were childhood

the next ten then were teens

twenty something treacle

30, I was running out of beans

My forties were my favourite because I did Jack Shit

now with 50 looming I don't know where I should sit!

Should I get my medallion or powerful motor bike?

I'm more of a pipe and slippers man

I could become a Yorkshire tyke.

Wales is my straitjacket

Wales has sent me mad

It's about time I freed myself

and became really, really bad.

You know it's not going to happen

You know it's not on the cards

because I am a self pitying blogger

who thinks he is one of the bards.

William Topaz McGonagall 

would shudder at my shitty attempts, 

Failed Poet, Failed Playwright, Failed Lover

Failed Mover, Failed Shaker.

Let's face it

if you haven't made it by forty nine

it's time for you to go and sign

on.