My Brain

This was written at the age of about 17, in my “sort of journal”. It probably explains a lot about me, and definitely shows up the early onset of idiocy!

In case some readers do not know what tripe is, you probably don’t want to know, but this is what it looks like:

tripeSeriously, would you eat this?

The harder I try to put my feelings and thoughts into words, the more difficult it becomes.

To write down these words, on paper, is even more difficult, nye impossible. The seeming infinity of the brain’s reasoning functions, and its associated thought patterns, far surpass the ability of man to put these resources to use.

Ever since time began, man’s brain has puzzled even the most brilliant specialists. Looking like a lump of tripe, its intricacy, yet simplicity is still not fully understood and, I think, will remain so until long after I’m dead.

With the brilliant circuits, made up of still more brilliant microscopic electronic components, man has strived to produce an artificial “brain”. However, the powers that made us, obviously did not intend us to know the “elixir of life”, for that’s surely what the brain must be.

Man can artificially produce all components of the body except the brain, and, perhaps, someday he may be granted the knowledge of knowledge. God help us when he is. Just think of the corruption it would bring.

I do not see, however, how such a wonderful collection of matter can possibly understand itself. The mere fact that it is so marvellous makes it unbelievable and, therefore, I think, almost impossible to fathom. I say almost because, in this age, specialists have successfully probed and repaired and, in one case transplanted brain matter.

I could go on for pages and pages but my lump of tripe tells me to stop, and who am I to argue with such wisdom?

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Twittering Tale #57 – 7 November 2017

It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 140 characters or fewer.

saddle-2613958_1280

Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.

The emu skull looked great mounted on the shiny springs. The bone was acquiring a fine patina, but it was still a most uncomfortable ride!

(139 characters)

Skies of Tomorrow

I ask about the skies today and wonder on tomorrow

On clouds, and wings, and stranger things, to beg, to steal, to borrow

Perhaps I’m here, but maybe not, I’m sure I do not know

Just as I come, I turn around, and then proceed to go

I float away, and drift on high, in cuddly, snuggly clouds

I hover high, up in the sky, all covered in the shrouds

I look down on the fields and towns on rivers and on streams

I ponder now on what I see and wonder what it means

 

I am indebted,  entirely, to Ward Clever for planting these thoughts in my head, based on his lovely post which you can find at:

https://wardclever.wordpress.com/2017/10/07/skies-of-tomorrow/

 

A bent lady, eclipsed by wet ducks?

There was a young lady from Gwent

who found that she came as she went.

She didn’t know why,

that as she passed by,

her back was incredibly bent.

 

She went to the doctors to ask.

“Lost cause” he said, “Go buy a cask.

Drink plenty of sherry

until you are merry,

sit back in the sun and just bask.”

 

She died and was buried at noon.

Some said it was awfully soon.

Some others thought “Why,

when I look at the sky,

can I see both the sun and the moon?”

 

Of course, it is perfectly plain

that we often see ducks in the rain,

and the lady from Gwent,

who came as she went,

was horribly bent and insane!

Spitting image

This morning I was talking to my brother in law about my time in the army. It’s not a thing I do very often. When I do, I recall all sorts of odd facts that have been filed in the back of my memory bank.

This afternoon I saw a youth spitting on the pavement, a filthy, dirty habit I abhor, BUT, it did remind me of something I witnessed as a very young trainee soldier, at the age of 16 or 17.

A couple of lads were marching (we were not allowed to walk!) past the drill square (you stepped onto it at your peril, unless undertaking drill practice). One of them spat onto the square.

Immediately there was a terrifying roar of the Regimental Sergeant Major’s stentorian voice.

“You there! PICK THAT UP.”

And he did!

 

From that idle thought this poem popped

 

My mouth is full of spittle and I care no jot or tittle

I am going to spit it out upon the floor.

As my juices flow I find my spittle starts to grow

and, as time passes there is more and more

I know not why it is but my spittle starts to fizz

It is spilling from my mouth and from my nose

So beware if passing by for I’ll spit right in your eye

as I’m covered all in spit from head to toes!

Twittering Tale #40 – 11 July 2017

It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 140 characters or fewer.

Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.

recordplay

He was just going round in circles, not getting anywhere. Just as he thought of a brilliant plan, a huge black disc fell and squashed him.

(138 characters)

Dead or Alive?

I always thought, when I was young, I wouldn’t live to forty.

My Mother said I wouldn’t do if I was always naughty!

Yet here I am, a pensioner, exceeding expectation

and, now that I’ve passed 69, I look back with elation. 

 

I never thought that I would be a great success in life.

I only wished to have a job, and, maybe, take a wife.

Well, some successes came along, as husband, and as Dad

and very nicely my whole life has left me rather glad.

 

My Mum, of course, was always right; she often told me so!

Her all surrounding love was great , it gave a warming glow.

She’s now long gone, and so has Dad, and even my big sister.

But memories they linger on, and my, how we have missed her.

 

So, when I wake up each new day I thank my lucky stars.

I’m happy with my wrinkles, and with my many scars.

My Mum was right. She always was, as I’ve already said,

but wait a bit! I just woke up. Well, bugger me – I’m dead!

Quid Pro Quo

images-18
I gave her quid
she gave pro quo
my new pet squid
she loves me so
she gives me hugs
with all her arms
with gentle tugs
she shows her charms
she loves me so
I’ve said before
she lets me know
she loves me more
she sucks my neck
she sucks my sides
but what the heck
she goes and hides
behind the chair
behind the shed
but she’s still there
I see her head
she likes to think
she’s one of us
she writes with ink
and takes the bus
there’s jealousy
from my dear wife
she fails to see
and gives me strife
she thinks I pay
too much attention
she doesn’t say
she fails to mention
she thinks I’ve gone
right off the grid
suggests a swan
instead of squid
but that would hurt
she’d get upset
if I did flirt
with another pet
I have to go
my squid awaits
she lets me know
that we’re just mates
but I know truth
I really know
my squid called Ruth
she loves me so!