The Madness of Mental Illness



The world is mad, insane. Can the world be locked up in a Victorian Lunatic Asylum please or can fundamental religion be put in the padded cell and injected up its arse or perhaps it is British and American Foreign Policy? Who knows why the world is mad but instead of football coming home, carnage came home this past week. I won't write about that but I will comment upon the 'collective subconscious'. What 9/11 did to traumatise the young minds of America in 2001, the Manchester Arena attack will do the same for the fragile psyches of Britain's children or dare I say Europe's children. Europe's children have been passive consumers of terror for the last four years. Walking passed the blue dragon on Cardiff Castle t'other day made me think that a myth and machinery has been built up around Mental Illness. The 1-4 statistic is not helpful. I think that we are all more or less sane but are on a continuum of this. An individual's life events are hugely underestimated in my opinion in a human soul's development of mental health. It was only a matter of time before the global environment caught up with all of us. Decisions have to be taken as to whether we respond with compassion or hatred. Following the latter will lead to the trap of Armageddon which has been laid for us. Bombing the shit out of the Middle East and especially the heartlands of the Islamic faith have reaped a whirlwind and Jeremy Corbyn was right to say it! Depression in my opinion and I have said it before on this blog in Welsh is anger turned inwards. Righteous anger, justified anger, moral anger, frustrated anger. It does not have a place to go in the concrete and high streets of our free market economy. The anger then finds its way like water into the weak spots and cracks ready to bring down the Tower of Babel in the future. What can we do? Be more mindful, be less gung-ho. Be more co-operative and less competitive. Be more compassionate and less hateful! Be more understanding of the whys and wherefores of the world instead of condemning a people and a religion out of hand. For every action there is a reaction. We should know this by now! We must stop taking violent actions. They have nothing to lose as we have witnessed. We have much because we have made it so! Let us be watchful because the madness of mental illness lies only one step beyond.

The Brexit Big Mouths

THE BREXIT BIG MOUTHS

A Poem

The closer we get to the day
that Theresa May expects to be crowned
the Queen of Brexit

the big mouths of sovereignty and bringing back your borders
are becoming silent now.
The Union Jack T shirts and Estuary English
The UKIP shock jocks
the naughty schoolboy rifling through a journalist's papers
Gove the ol cove
is shutting his 'let them eat cake-hole'
because the gap is shortening.
She thought she was in the winners' enclosure
when she had that 'Epiphany in Eryri'
That's Snowdonia to those that don't speak Welsh
but the nasty party couldn't keep the blue devil quiet for long.
'We'll go for the Working Class vote, you remember
the poor, the bed-ridden, the austerity driven,
champagne drinking, canape chomping underclass
They can have their bread and circus, their tribal sports
while we sort out how we are to protect our own
and the Class System.'
The Queen was in her counting house, counting out our money for
rewiring and when the Electricians by Royal Appointment have finished there,
they can jolly well get oft down to the Houses of Parliament. 
The brainwashed, the great unwashed are starting to ask questions.
The much maligned middle classes are starting to see that
the Working and Upper are all a pile of arses.
rolling around like pigs in shit in an excrement of their own making.
But you never start a sentence with a BUT, but things are starting a shaking.
The Libertines new front man is starting to sing for the young and the old and the not so bold.
The bull crap biased media are starting to hear
"We see ya"
The Empress's new clothes are starting to pong
the guy from J Arthur Rank is banging his gong.
This election could go down to the wire

Flash Saviour of the Universe

Flash Saviour of the Universe 

A Poem

https://uk.pinterest.com/intuitivemedium/susan-herbert-cats/?lp=true

"I'm no going to a poxy supermarket"

said Flash, the slowest cat in Lochinver

"Well look it's a wee bit embarrassing but

I am the only cat in Lochinver"

There's a population of 600 and I made a decree

that the folk would make sure that there was more fish for me! 

I don't mean to be such a despot, a dictator, a grumpy old man

but look when you're as slow as me you've got to have a plan.

I'm told that I am descended from ancient Egypt

which is good because I am used to being worshipped.

I stamp peoples' postal orders and tax discs with my derriere

I speak French you see, a true Jacobin, until its time for tea.

Mrs Macleod thinks I go for a nap and a lie down

but I give it ten, then I'm off into town.

I make for the mountains to meet with those like me

The clan McCat are there, with dirk and dagger, to greet me!

"There'll be no bloodshed this day but we must away

to diminish fish stocks to allow the Post Office

to live and fight in another way!

The day of the move had Lochinver locked down

there was very little movement going round the town.

The supermarket had been surrounded by hairy cats in kilts

some had made themselves taller by standing up on stilts.

"We want our service to stay the same as yore

we're not a bunch o barcodes just to be scanned in store"

The manager was hiding behind a pile of tins,

there was a whaling and a screeching and a banging of old steel bins.

The clan McCat meant business but there was to be no peace this day.

The polis had been called, the cats they ran away

Red coats arrived called Campbell

meatballs on the menu again

the queues began, the supermarket had had its way.

Now in front of the fire Flash tells visitors tales of before

but he makes sure that they are standing behind him

with his back trained to the door. 

  

The Owl wot got into the front room via the chimney

The Owl wot got into the front room via the chimney 

A Poem

http://cartoonsmix.com/cartoons/smoking-owl-cartoon.html

Auld Bert had been out owling

in fact he was all owled out

he'd only stopped for a crafty smoke

before getting back to Owl HQ

to Mrs Owl and the owlets.

His beak had hold of the Rizlas

his claw on the pouch of old gold 

and then down the chimney popped Bert

now he wont feeling so bold.

He gazed round the front room like owls do

left and right, up and down

and chanced on the sofa at front 

was an ashtray, diligently fashioned in blue onyx

and a packet of fags marked 'Supersonix'

"Don't mind if I do" hooted Berty

whilst lifted said tabs to his mush,

on went remote when a bang hit his throat 

what is this tobacco? 'Old Goat'

some arsey wildlife programme

had Bertrand all of a flap

Attenborough and Chris Packham

said Bertie "This is all a pile of crap" 

He turned telly over to Iolo

and thought 'Yes, this is the chap'

he understands what it is to be an owl

fair weather or fowl

next time on your pots,

'Put a Cowl'.

The moth with hobnailed boots

A Poem

https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/429530883200388543/

Every night about half past ten

there's tapping ont window

It's the moth with hob nailed boots

trying to find a weak spot before 

he parascends 

through shattered glass.

Nowt will keep this tiger away from lamp

He's kitted out with mess tin and webbing

he's all camouflage and clobber

obvious to the untrained eye

that he's been on manoeuvres behind enemy lines afore. 

Some foolish person made the mistake 

of calling him a poor man's butterfly so he got his mates

from the Pie and Light 

antennae down and they had a fight.

Nobody messes with the moth with hob nailed boots.

He's put some shifts in has this fella

He's a bouncer at the ugly bug ball on Saturday nights 

he can sup a crate of ale

and tell a hair raising tale

he's afeared of no'one

he's squatted a few humans in his time

has the moth with hob nailed boots. 

Nazi Propaganda

Dearest Mama fetches it for the crossword and one will take a butchers at the football coverage but I fair dropped my Fortnum & Mason's Breakfast in a Bun this morning when I chanced upon pages 6 & 7. The aryan eagle eyed amongst you might be able to make the headlines out but if you've been to specsavers let me help you. 

  

"Corbyn will face Labour attack dogs day after he is defeated", "Party's cut and paste manifesto" "The day leader backed the IRA" "They've finally lost their cool". All four articles written by two women, Caroline Wheeler: Political Editor and Camilla Tominey: Deputy Political Editor. The sound of silver spoons clinking in the best bone china must have been deafening at this editorial meeting. They are carrying on from their 'Exclusive' on Page 1 where they predict that May to smash Maggie record where they make 'BOLD PLEDGE TO BUILD HOMES FOR SALE AND RENT'. I am no housebuilder or Estate Agent but what else do you build houses for unless to sell or rent them out unless of course we are talking about Buckingham Palace. Caroline Wheeler then tells us to turn to page five where we are told 'ETHNIC VOTES WILL BE VITAL FOR TORY WIN'. By ethnics does she mean the Welsh, Scots and Northern Irish? because we do not share the same Crusader blood as her banner logo.

I am no Labour man, don't get me wrong, I hate Welsh Labour with every nerve and sinew in my body. I do not subscribe to Martin Shrimpton's view in the Western Fail that Corbyn Labour and Welsh Labour are one and the same thing. If that were the case cousin Carmine at Assembly FM would be rocking to the Socialist Beats across Cardiff Bay but he aint. 

If I hate Welsh Labour, Kinnock, Howells and George Thomas et all, then I hate the Conservative & Unionist Party even more because I was educated by them. I went to a Medieval School with a Victorian ethos who taught us about Whigs and Tories. When my Autobiography is written you can read more about it, in fact I'll put some links at the bottom of this blog post for you. As a Ffrinj Nuttar of some repute I would advise Plaid Cymru to fight Welsh Labour and not Corbyn's Socialist Labour Party. If they think they can do an SNP and take on the terrible tories and leviathan labour then they are very optimistic or very stupid. I have just done what the vituperative Caroline and Camilla want me to do and that is turn on my own. The Nazi Propaganda of the Sunday and Daily Express, the effluence of the Mail, Star and Sun are affecting voter opinion. They are confirming voters' confirmatory bias. I do not love Labour but I hate injustice.  

http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/schola-ruthinensis.html

        http://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/a-lifting-of-curse.html         

Mwy o meanderings #MentalHealth

Mae elusennau iechyd meddwl yn annog ni i siarad ond yn bersonol dwi'n teimlo mae rhaid gwneud mwy na hyn! Dwi'n lwcus, mae gen i ffrindiau alla'i siarad yn rhydd ac yn agored am sut dwi'n teimlo ond weithiau mae rhwystredigaethau bywyd yn pwshio chi i lefydd tywyll. Cwestiwn cyntaf faswn ni yn gofyn

1) ydan ni yn byw yn y ffordd gorau posib? Os gwaith ag ennill arian ydy prif nod bywyd gwell, mae canran uchel o'r boblogaeth yn gwneud yn iawn ond beth am rheina sydd yn byw mewn tlodi? Beth ydy gwahaniaeth yn iechyd meddwl y ddau ganran yma?

2) Yn hanesyddol dwi meddwl fod y Cymry wedi bod yn bobol rhi’ parchus a rhi’ neis-neis ac mae hwn wedi rhwystro ni rhag siarad am ein gwir deimladau

3) Yn y sgyrsiau yma mae elusennau iechyd meddwl yn ein hannog i gael a fydd yna son am strain, strain bywyd a straen gwaith. Mae strain mwyaf yn dod yn y gwaith neu fynd nôl a mlaen i'r gwaith mewn tagfeydd traffig.

4) O oedran ifanc cystadlu ag gwneud yn dda yn dy exams ydy'r prif nod! Dwi'n teimlo erbyn hyn i gadw eich Iechyd Meddwl mewn cyflwr da mae rhaid i chi dynnu nôl o fywyd. Roedd cwpl o oriau yng nghanol dinas Caerdydd ddoe yn ddigon i dristau ag ypsetio fy equilibrium gyda'r swn, yr adeiladu, y traffig.

Beth am Ŵyl Iechyd Meddwl fel Tafwyl? Dim Cwrw a Chyffuriau. Bodau Dynol yn ymhyfrydu yn ei chreadigrwydd ac yn ei Iechyd Meddwl #MadPride Bute Parc amdani! Picnic y gwallgofddyn! Ni fydd croeso i gyfalafwyr.

Un peth mawr dwi'n teimlo dydyn ddim yn siarad amdano ydy sut mae colli dy iaith yn effeithio ar dy Iechyd Meddwl? Sut mae aelodau Cymdeithas yr Iaith yn brwydro heb ddigalonni? Pwy sydd yn edrych ar ôl Iechyd Meddwl nhw? Mae'r nod ffals yma o Filiwn o Siaradwyr Cymraeg erbyn 2050 yn mynd i gadw ni yn ffug hapus tan 2021 pan fydd y cyfrifiad nesaf yn digwydd! A fydd na gweithwyr iechyd meddwl yn y gymuned ar law i gynnig cymorth os fydd y canlyniadau ddim fel a disgwyl?     

AWasterofTimer

I'm not a writer! Who am I kidding? Not you obviously, because you are not reading this now! No, I am not a writer, I am a wasteroftimer. I spend so much time on Twitter all the words that I write should be squeezed up together like this with a hashtag thrown in as a free gift. I used to waste all my time on Facebook but after five years of that I went cold turkey and came away for a full calendar year. I'm sure that I could do the same thing with twitter but there is something especially satisfying about getting your thoughts and whinges out in 140 characters. It is so tempting to be verbose and long winded that twitter is the art of precis made more precise. As Mike and the Mechanics start to sing the 'Living Years' ont wireless as I write this, an apt descriptor of regret, I wonder why I waste  such time on trivialities. I cannot be the only one! Perhaps you dear reader, dearest welsh shark lover, perhaps you are wincing and twinging at time wasted. "I didn't get to tell him all the things I had to say" Well unfortunately in my week of anger last week I did get to tell him all the things I had to say and it wasn't pleasant. Not only am I not a writer, I am a coward, I had to wait until my father was nearly a hundred to tell him what I thought of him and the reason being, and I told him this as well, was that "I was too scared of him when I was younger". The old adage, 'some things are better left unsaid'....I don't know. It is borne of regret and frustration. I can try and frame it differently but as you know this week is Mental Health Awareness week. Last week was 'Angry as Fuck' week and as I described in my infamous Wenglish patois that depression is 'anger turned in on the self'. We are sad, yes, very sad but at some stage we have been angry, very angry. It might have been fleeting because anger is not to be encouraged. Aren't you surprised that there aren't more shows of public anger? We are a nation in passive aggressive lockdown. When repressed anger finally erupts it can have devastating consequences like the mass shootings in America. What are terrorist attacks but anger attacks? Islamic State are incredibly and quite rightly pissed with the West and the 'innocents' are being picked off with the tools of Capitalism. Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry! We are encouraged to talk about Mental Health to break the stigma but perhaps not so encouraged to talk about the causes of Mental Distress. Scientists in white coats and big pharma will tell you that its all in the genes. Blame your ancestors who were bed blocking the lunatic asylums of Victorian Britain. It's their fault that you are like you are and here take this pill to calm you down, to anaesthetise you and as soon as you feel better get down the Job Centre and avail yourself of the power career opportunities on offer. I've wasted your time here because you thought I was going to talk about not writing but I've gone and done a Ronnie Corbett and gone off on one of my tangents. I may not be a proper writer but DAMN I am a Mental Health activist. I can't stop talking and writing about it.      

Dwi'n ddig Mary Ellen, dwi'n ddig!

Dwi'n ddig, dim fel y dug Caeredin wrth gwrs ond mae o yn ddyn digon dig ei hunan. Mae dicter ag anfodlonrwydd yn cwrso trwy fy ngwythiennau ag dwi am gymryd perchnogaeth o'r teimlad hollol naturiol yma. Rydym wedi cael ein hannog i guddio ein dicter. Dydy o ddim yn rhywbeth i ddangos yn gyhoeddus ond faint o bobol sydd yn ddyddiol ar fin berwi drosodd fel sosban fach yn berwi ar y tan neu sosban fawr yn berwi ar y llawr? Yn America mae o yn fis ymwybyddiaeth iechyd meddwl, yn y deyrnas ranedig gawn ni wythnos, ag yn ôl y son fydd S4C yn dangos rhaglenni am y pwnc. Ni fyddaf yn gweld yr un oherwydd dwi'n beio'r peiriant propaganda yma am achosi gymaint o anfodlonrwydd a dicter yn y byd. Y gobaith nol yn 1982 oedd fasa mwy o Gymraeg ar y cyfryngau yn annog mwy o bobol i siarad Cymraeg yn ei bywyd bob dydd ond yn anffodus efelychu'r diwylliant Eingl Americanaidd arwynebol mae o wedi gwneud. Oherwydd dwi ddim yn defnyddio meddyginiaeth i fy nghyflwr iechyd meddwl bellach mae fy nheulu annwyl wedi bod yn dyst i 'angry outbursts'. Dwi fel matchen chi! Chwythu fynni ar y pethau mwyaf dibwys ond dwi yn gweld o'n llesol. Dim iddyn nhw wrth gwrs, ond mae o allan o fy system yn syth yn lle mwydro fy mhen fel yn yr hen ddyddiau ac wedyn cymryd cyffuriau i dawelu beth sydd yn hollol naturiol. Dicter! Anger! A dwi'n fucking sweary angry ar hyn o bryd hefyd! Fy nymuniad fasa cerdded i lawr Great Darkgate Street neu Heol y Frenhines yn rhegi ar bobol. Mi wnes i hynny yn Amsterdam on ges i fy arestio am hwnna! "Not the done thing old boy to show your anger to the world! Keep your anger and frustration in house and take it out on your loved ones." Beth sydd yn digwydd yn y Deyrnas Gyfyngedig os ydych chi yn dangos emosiwn yn gyhoeddus fydd yr Heddlu yn cael ei galw. The Boys and Girls in Blue ydy'r first line of defence yn erbyn beth mae cymdeithas yn galw 'afiechyd meddwl'. Sut allith o fod yn afiechyd i fynegi eich rhwystredigaeth gyda'r faith fod eich iaith gynhenid yn cael ei lladd gan gôr defnydd o iaith ein cymdogion dros Glawdd Offa? Sut allith o fod yn afiechyd i weiddi a sgrechian yn erbyn cyfalafiaeth a phrofit a phres? Sut allith o fod yn afiechyd i gicio shit allan o hen fatras yn lle aelodau o'ch teulu sydd wedi carcharu chi mewn i straightjacket pobol neis neis Cymry Cymraeg. Beth oedd Punk ond sgrech yn erbyn parchusrwydd? Taswn ni ddim wedi methu fy exams a mynd off y rails faswn ni wedi hoffi bod yn blismon oherwydd fy mod i yn credu mewn bihafio eich hun ond na fo ar yr ochr arall ydw i rŵan, ar ochor arall y barricades fel petai. 
Tan iddo fo ddigwydd i chi'r bobol barchus Cymraeg 9-5 fyddwch chi ddim yn gwybod yn o iawn beth ydy 'afiechyd meddwl'. Fyddwch chi yn meddwl fod o'n digwydd i bobol eraill a dyna'r broblem i fi, fod o'n digwydd i bobol eraill a bod hwnna yn parhau'r stereotype ohonom ni a nhw. Pan fyddwch chi nesaf yn eich dagrau ac yn eich diod peidiwch byth a meddwl eich bod chi yn dioddef o afiechyd meddwl.  

Insult to Injury

Ok, the Nationality Amnesty is off, it didn't last long and all because I made the cardinal sin of opening the Western Mail. They, the British Establishment are going to build a 20m sculpture of a dragon on top of.......yes you guessed it....Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs Office. The Westminster Government's bovver boys who have been hounding me for over a year to give £5,440 of Working Tax Credits back. They are going to build the Welsh National emblem on top of her Majesty's Tax Office. Oh yee serfs and peasants of Wales, kneel down before her Majesty's dragon before you do the Principality dance. Men without hats my'n uffarn ni. They can't even crowdfund a dragon for Chirk but the Tax Man can run up a tasty little fire breather to keep a check on his obedient little tax payers down below in Central Square. This square mile of Britishness is a sinister joke because people coming into Cardiff Central Station will still be under the misguided notion that they are still in the United Kingdom when they see the huge BBC building, the Prince of Wales feathers of the W.R.U and the Principality stadium! WTF? Are they, our overlords going to have large illuminous, neon letters H.M.R.C running through from it's head to tail, flashing all night to remind the drunks of St Mary's Street how much tax they've paid on the booze that they have consumed. 
When I was in Australia in 2001 I passed through Byron Bay on my way up the coast on a coach trip and there standing on a plinth was a real live indigenous aboriginal with a headdress that you would associate more with North American Indians. Buffalo Horns, the works. I asked somebody in a coffee shop afterwards about him and they said "Oh he's waiting for the Seventh Wave, the Aboriginal peoples believe that a Seventh Wave will come and sweep the white man off the land and return Australia to its native peoples"
Well butties bach, indeed to goodness look yew, if this nonsense carries on, you might see this Ffrinj Nuttar standing on a plinth in Scwar Ganolog, Caerdydd waving an inflatable F*****g Shark in the Air. I'm off to Cardiff Central Police Station to get my Welshness back.