Appetite for Apathy

My appetite for apathy

is plain for all to see

I'm like the Bodhisattva

sitting under his Bodhi Tree

The DWP think I'm just lazy

The mental health team know I'm crazy

Girls and women think me hazy

I'm just fine, "call me Daisy"

I've been sat here for three years

the cat on my lap called Brexit

just purrs and purrs and purrs

it's covered in WTO agreements and furs 

I'm watching rallies for Leave

and rallies for Remain

but because we're British old chum

no civil unrest, never the twain. 

During 'Mindfulness' we're taught not to swear

but I'm fucking Welsh so I don't fucking care

my mind refuses to settle, anarchy up in my tree

deep breathing, "It's not bloody working, I told you see"

Chaos is the name of the game

World Wars and Blood Letting, let's have more of the same

You can go on all your marches and shout

"Not in my name"

You can give it all peace and love

and caress that soft white dove

but you and I know

it will either be Johnson, Mogg or Gove.

It is then that I must cease my appetite for apathy

I must grab my staff and my bow

I will join the Welsh Guerrilla Fighters

and sow and sow and sow

The seeds of Welsh Independence have been planted deep

This Brexit malarkey has kick started mission creep

We wont put up with Eton fops with Beatles mop tops

We want the cream from the table no longer the sops

So the next time you see me sitting, staring out to sea

pat me on my head and give me a treat

and I'll show you my big fat feet 

tattooed on the heels 'Fe Godwn ni eto'  

Reefer Madness

https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lanpsy/article/PIIS2215-0366(19)30048-3/fulltext

Oh come on Sharky Fishy folks, you knew that I would be writing a post about this because in the words of the Consultant Psychologist, I'VE GOT LIVED EXPERIENCE. Don't worry, even though I found God in prison or perhaps he/she found me I don't buy into black and white, binary thinking on this subject. Let me tell you, it wasn't the Cannabis, it was my un-diagnosed mental health condition that led me into a prison cell. It was the black and white thinking previously, the intrusive thoughts of Pure OCD that found me self medicating with 'da herb'. I got to say, I was having a good time before I threatened to explode an invisible bomb under my jacket in a bank in Hilversum, Netherlands on August 8th 2005. The bombs that went off in London on the 7th July triggered a mental health incendiary device in my fractured mind with the assistance of very strong cannabis. I remember going into a coffee shop and asking for something to inspire the creative juices, you see even back then I was a pretentious sod and thought I could write. The patron went to the fridge and brought out a coin shaped flattened piece of bud with the weed logo imprinted into it. I think it cost me something like 15 euros or it might have been 50 euros at the time, I was too high to care what anything cost for God's sake. He emphasized that I would only need a fingernail full in a joint for effect and what did Dai dewdrop by ere go and do?! 'crumble fucking crumble innit'. The substance in question was called 'Scuff'. It was strong skunk and once you get the taste for that stuff then there ain't going back to the living room dabble of the literary cultural elite.

If we were able to smoke in surroundings and environments that were conducive to relaxation, where ambient music and chilled art were aurally and visually relaxing. This is what they have tried to create in the Amsterdam coffee shops but when you are hiding from the police in a South London tower block the effect that your skunk joint could have on you could be radically different.    

Shamans used marijuana way back, when they moved from Siberia on to Turtle Island so mystics and wise persons have been using it WITHOUT ill effects for centuries. It is the conditions in which we use and go on to abuse that has to be addressed. Weed is nature, it grows from the ground. It is not manufactured in laboratories, well at least it never used to be. It is not weed that is the problem but Capitalism. It is the people who wish to make a quick million bucks from your choice of escape route from reality. Reality is Capitalism, Capitalism leads to oppression and repression, people smoke and do drink and drugs to escape the oppression and repression and the circle of life continues. In hindsight was my charade in the bank a futile cry of despair against Capitalism? 
Who are any of us to tell anybody else what to do and what not to do but whenever this subject raises its head I always like to chip in because there is never a high without a corresponding low. As a Manic Depressive, I should know.

Hiraeth

I'r Gymry ar wasgar mae o yn air sydd yn cwmpasu popeth am Gymru ond i mi sydd rhaid trempio strydoedd Aberteifi, Aberaeron ag Aberystwyth mae o yn air hyll. Mae hiraeth i Gymro neu Gymraes yn y Gymru gyfoes yn gyfystyr a bod yn naive a sentimental. Rydym ni yn hiraethu am Gymru sydd erioed wedi bod. Rydym yn byw yn y gorffennol. Yn ddiweddar roedd ein hiraeth ac ein sentimentaliaeth yn weledol i bawb pan wnaeth rhywun oedd yn hiraethu am ganeuon a chyfnod Elvis paentio dros symbol oedd yn hiraethu am yr oes cyn boddi Cwm Tryweryn. Pob clod i rheina a aeth i'r trafferth i paentio drosti eto ond faswn ni yn mynd mor bell a deud fod ein hiraeth ac ein sentimentaliaeth am y gorffennol yn dalli ni i sefyllfa druenus y presennol. Mae llythrennau bras ar racsyn o wal ddim yn mynd i warchod ein hiaith ac ein diwylliant. Fydd Cymry dosbarth canol cyffyrddus y crachach a Chaerdydd ar gyffiniau yn stopio ei cheir mawr ar y ffordd fyny i Lanrwst dechrau mis Awst am selfie treftadiaethol yn Llanrhystud yn fodlon ei byd bod "arbrawf diwylliannol llynedd wedi bod yn llwyddiannus yng nghrombil Anglo Americanaidd y Bae cariad!" A dyna beth ydy'r broblem gyda hiraeth. Edrych nôl ar oes aur yr iaith Gymraeg heb sylweddoli fod ni wedi gwerthu mas fel cenedl ag unigolion. Rydym yn ceisio amddiffyn yr iaith gyda thargedau amhosib i godi calon er mwyn i ni gyfiawnhau ein bodolaeth fel cymuned leiafrifol. Mae'r bobol sydd yn galw'r Cymraeg yn 'Iaith y Nefoedd' yn anfon fi'n benwan. Esiampl arall o defnydd air ynamarferol. Os ydynt yn iawn am y 'ffaith' beth am i ni trefnu 'Dosbarthiadau Duw' wedi ariannu gan Llywodraeth Cymru ble mae 500,000 o wirfoddolwyr yn cynnig ei hunan i ddysgu iaith y nefoedd erbyn 2050, oherwydd mae na wahaniaeth mawr rhwng siaradwyr Cymraeg a defnyddwyr y Gymraeg. Mi faswn ni yn disgrifio fy hun fel siaradwr a nid defnyddiwr ag os i ni yn mynd i rhoi ein gobeithion i gyd ar ysgwyddau pobol ifanc mewn ysgolion, miliwn o siaradwyr Cymraeg fydd gyda ni yn lle miliwn o ddefnyddwyr. Dwi'n meddwl mae rhaid i carwyr yr iaith stopio hiraethi a meddwl o ddifri sut i cyraedd y copa yma. Mae angen rhywbeth yn debyg i 'Visit Wales' ar yr iaith. Bwrdd Datblygu yr Iaith Gymraeg. Yn lle cael un person mewn swyddfa yn ymateb i cwynion trwy'r amser mae angen i cenhadwyr ieithyddol (Duolingo) mynd ar hyd a lled y byd i ehangu y gair Cymraeg.Os ydym ni yn meddwl gallwn ni ennill drosodd ein cyd Cymry gyda dadleuon dros barhad iaith y nefoedd dwi'n meddwl fydd rhai i ni ategi 'pisio yn y gwynt' i'r gair hiraeth. Niwsans ydy'r iaith i lawer o Gymry sydd ddim yn ei siarad, rhywbeth sydd yn wneud iddynt deimlo llai o Gymry ac mae hwnna yn peth drwg. Yn lle ceisio bod yn glyfar ac yn nawddoglyd ar drydar gyda'r trolls sydd yn lladd ar yr iaith dewch allan o eich cregyn a gwnewch rywbeth ymarferol, ymosodol yn lle fod mor amddiffynnol trwy'r amser.
Rydym yn dathlu pan mae Aldi newydd yn agor, oherwydd rydym ni yng nghysgod Brexit, yn gwerthfawrogi pethau rhad. Yn lle Ceredigion beth am ofyn i newid yr enw i Sir Aldi. Un yn Aberteifi ag un yn Aberystwyth cyn bo hir. Maent yn parchu'r Gymraeg ag yn talu'n weddol i'w gweithwyr. Gadewch y gair 'hiraeth' i rheina sydd yn canu yn ei chwrw ar ôl gem o Rygbi, gadewch iddi barhau fel y gair mae pawb arall di Gymraeg ei iaith yn cysylltu gyda Chymru " ooh you know that feeling, that longing for a place that you've never been to" . Fel un sydd yn paratoi i werthu mas unrhyw funud fyddai yn dweud 'Croeso i Gymru, you are welcome to it'

My Asperger’s Journey: GUEST BLOG POST

https://linktr.ee/lucyreidarts

'I can play the piano' whispered 5-year-old me to our deputy head teacher Mr. Dennis who was supervising a rainy play time. I was whispering after tapping him on the arm to get his attention, which is how I communicated with people at school in those days. We were playing eye spy and someone had said 'p' and it was for piano, I could only play a handful of tunes that my Dad had taught me, but at that moment I felt that I could share this information with Mr. Dennis, he was a teacher I liked and who turned out to have endless patience and encouragement for me throughout primary school. Mr. Dennis must have seen a confidence in this whole interaction – it was out of character for me – because the following assembly when it was someone's birthday, he announced that we had a famous pianist here to play 'Happy Birthday' for the lucky child (!) He then proceeded to welcome 'Lucy Ludlam' (my maiden name) to take a seat at the piano, and I couldn't get there fast enough, which was incredible for someone who avoided anything public or in the spotlight at all costs; hell I even avoided speaking if I could. So, for the rest of my days at primary school whenever there was a birthday, I was your girl at the piano, my birthday was always in the summer holidays so that sorted that dilemma. Asking people what coloured knickers they were wearing, being obsessed with bathrooms – particularly the toilets, painting friends that came round to play - literally daubing them in paint, or sitting them and myself in mud baths I had concocted, running around naked in public(I must stop that one), simply staring in people's windows (later I would put a toy periscope in the window with me slightly out of view when I learned that folks just didn't appreciate my immediate curiosity and perhaps more subtlety was needed) were all a day in the life of me. In fact the bathroom obsession or 'special interest' as we now know them to be, became the bane of my Dad's life as I clearly remember his exasperation when been taken to see 'Watership Down' at the pictures and after asking to visit the loo FOUR times and not actually going for a pee but to look at the bathroom, it's, décor and more importantly, THE TOILET (the colour was very important to me back then) - 'DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO GO FOR A WEE OR ARE YOU JUST GOING IN TO SEE WHAT COLOUR THE TOILET IS?!!!' was my poor Dad's desperate tones; he knew me well. At Girl Guides I stormed out after a recorder performance at a garden party at Captain's house where us performers were to receive our 'music badge': the reason? We were supposed to find and learn a piece of music – I had composed my own, and afterwards, although Captain broke this news gently to me I was inconsolable; Storming home never to grace Tetney Girl Guides again... ever, even after Captain visited our house to coax me back: It was too late my pride was wounded my creative temperament thwarted it was the end of my precocious music career. Growing up, I always felt I was on one side of the glass and most people were on the other side; not in a big conscious way or with any 'woe is me' I just didn’t seem to 'get it'. I spent a lot of time wondering and in awe of how people just seemed to 'get' things: that knowing look at each other, laughing at jokes that aren't funny, not finishing sentences off yet everyone seeming to know what was intended at the end,(was everyone linked telepathically?) not knowing when to stop talking – yes I did find my voice and boy didn't I make up for the years of hardly speaking - not knowing when people were bored with what I was saying; rewind to February 1999 (yes I have a great memory for dates and times) a social gathering at my sister's house; friends and family, myself? Sitting talking to (well in hindsight 'talking at') my Uncles flat mate, I was over enthusiastically discussing the concept of the universe inside a banana as you do and thought that she was captivated until my sister leaned across to her and proposed 'Would you like to see my dresses?' and you betcha Uncles flat mate was outa there giggling and hand in hand with sister at the speed of light, leaving me thinking 'b-b-but I-I-I was just about to suggest that the banana that our universe was inside could possibly be inside another banana or even an orange...' oh the confusion, oh the rejection; perhaps I should have asked if she wanted to view my knicker drawer, if it's clothes that keeps 'em entertained..

You Don't Look Autistic

Maybe it's the lack of a light up purple sparkly nose that's missing from my face; that sign of an autistic person? 'But you seem so nice!' What? - as opposed to all the horrible Asperger’s folks out there?! Etc, etc. I had a late diagnosis for Asperger's Syndrome - in my 40's, and like many other later diagnosed adults, we slipped through the net, nothing was widely known about Asperger's back then...there's the years of struggling to hold down a job because you get so overwhelmed and tired around lots of people and activity and information; autistic people sense everything intensely or more richly which overloads our senses and we either meltdown (often mistaken for a tantrum) or shutdown which means that you can't do anything and can sometimes mean going non-verbal. We've often slipped through the net because we are verbal and can appear 'normal’ on the outside(or neurotypical meaning non autistic); we do something called 'masking' or 'autistic camouflage' where all our lives we copy and mimic other people just to 'get by' we might not always understand why people do things differently to us or why we can be so off putting to others at times but we soon learn how to try to 'fit in' as a result of people's reactions to us. This takes an extraordinary amount of energy and effort. So, if we can do all this, what's the problem? You can learn to at least look like you fit in yes? So, aren't we all happy now? Well, no, because we are 'wired' differently. Autism is classed as a developmental disability, and I guess this is so if everyone who isn't autistic is wired EXACTLY the same, but I'm not convinced this is the case. Many of us are proud to be autistic 'Oh there's so many people being diagnosed as autistic these days' I hear, and 'Isn't it just an excuse?' or 'Oh we're all a bit autistic/ on the spectrum etc. etc', well if there are so many of us, isn't this telling us something? Perhaps we are meant to be this way, we have our own skills and talents?

Anyway

Many things were thrown in to sharp relief when I got my diagnosis , everything seemed to fit in to place in my mind or at least it explained why many of the things that had happened over the years had left me feeling so confused; the shame and inadequacy that I had felt for years, the strange looks when I would go off on a diatribe about knickers, The Incredible Hulk, whoever I was fixated on at the time, universes within bananas (!) oh the liberation, the pride of officially belonging to a group of people who are often described as quirky, brilliant, socially awkward, creative, anxious and often also 'geeky'; although the latter isn't as far as I know an official term...yet I am married and I am a mum of one; a brilliant daughter who is currently awaiting an autistic assessment. I am a textile artist who is trying to flog her stitched landscapes both online and in galleries and often succeeding which is wonderful.

You can view them them here if you wish

https://linktr.ee/lucyreidarts

I love working on my own where I can get on with what I am good at or at least I hope I'm good at it, I have to be very disciplined; guilty face as she clicks back on to the guest piece she's supposed to be writing for David's blog, oh too easily distracted even when I love something as my brain has many things happening in it at once...phew...

Ah yes, David

Last and not least, thank you for inviting me to write for your blog, it is an honour. I've known David for 8 years this September, and although we've never met in the flesh, we've communicated through various social media sites - blimey I'm making it sound so official. I first read his wonderous blog 'Amsterdamned' and put a very favourable comment at the beginning and we struck up conversations from there. I rate David highly as a human being; at least I assume he's from Earth and not an alien? He often caused me fits of laughter with his posts when we were on FB and provoked deep thoughts with his more political posts and taking a peek at his poetry which is very much his own brand. So that's me, I don't always know when to conclude, so I shall do so now, rather abruptly? I don't know, but I'll give it a go; thank you for making it to the end without falling asleep or throwing something at the screen or if you did...I'm sorry.

love me, love my mood disorder

love me, love my mood disorder

https://www.bphope.com/is-this-love-that-im-feeling/

my dear darling precious what the fuck do you want now?

I refuse to put an * in fuck because we all know it says

the other word for sexual intercourse

which is what we do sometimes

when I am not being an arse

it’s not you, it’s me

but when it’s not me

it’s definitely you

because you really get on my tits sometimes.

Oh my bloody valentine, whose idea was it to love and be loved in return?

It is incredibly wearing to watch ourselves

tearing each other apart.

Your tears make me angrier because they remind me of my own weakness

men don’t like to be vulnerable

I’d have thought that you would have sussed that by now

but you continue hunting for my soft bits

I don’t even enjoy making up any more

My stomach turns as

the next argument churns.

Relationships aren’t for everybody

That’s why God reversed his name and invented Dog

for the sad and lonely men

who insist on unconditional love

like what Mum and Dad gave

and for the ladies there is cat

who share their same aloof, indifferent temperament.   

“No need to get personal” you say

but everything is and political

every utterance is vetted for semiotic meaning

"listen my love my soul is bleeding

stuff your flowers, your chocolates, your jewellery, your going out

because I’m giving in to my mood disorder

you are not worth saving

my head is up the spout".

I see you six months later

Exes now are we

I yearn for the laughs and the sex

You look as if you miss a bit of me

but not all

It’s best if we part at the fork in the road

I leave you in your pursuit of another toad.