Unconscious mind

Freudian Theory is based largely on the unconscious mind as well as sex. As though sex is the tenement of each and every person, knowingly and unknowingly in the subconscious. However another way to find out what is going on in the unconscious mind is to ask it associative questions. Like if someone said to me "pub" I'd likely reply "Guinness," the one and the other going together implicitly. So when I sat down while watching TV just pressing buttons on my mobile phone I didn't think much of it at all. A few moments passed and I picked up my phone again then saw I'd keyed in a telephone number. Except it had a number 9 on the end, but for the 9 it was a perfect match. Something was working on a subconscious level because I know I didn't do it consciously.

A message had come through. It may have been a spiritualist meeting and the table had been knocked twice. Either that or it had a wobbly leg and was about to tip over. So I followed my unconscious mind to find out where it would lead.

It was Sparkling Eyes phone number. It was about time I spoke to her because we'd had a no talking period. I picked up the phone and rang. It was on answer phone. Well it can only mean to me she still doesn't want to talk to me. I've taken the hint and so it will be.

My other concern is Ex English Teacher, he was due to have a hick line put in to begin his chemotherapy. I'd rang him up at the weekend and he seemed odd; because phone conversations with him can last a long time. This conversation lasted only 5 minutes or so. It was like he didn't want to talk to me. That's his choice. Maybe he wanted his phone line free because he was expecting someone else to ring or he had some other matter to attend. Yet it seemed impolite, if this were the case I'd of thought he'd say. It's the unspoken messages which speak the most. So I tackled it explicitly and said it seemed we both didn't have much to say, there was no reply. I am of the mind to consider let it be. There's only so many kicks I'll take. Although it does bother me to a degree, I'll not dwell on it, life is not worth getting yourself worried over things.

I do try my best not to jump to conclusions about most things. It's because I think too much and can then be prone to prevarication. It's also a facet of working at the Fish Factory. Which requires a conscientious fish sorter to know legislation and question things which don't add up. It's the information I am not being given I wonder about. What it would tell me. Like the information hidden in Freud's concept of the Unconscious mind. It will not tap me on my shoulder and then whisper into my ear what it's thinking. I have to piece it together.

Ambiguous events are a bit like trying to remember a dream. Very much grasping at clouds and watching the mist dissipate between fingers.

So when given something to read I'll read it then make sense of it, or hope I make sense of it. Then ask questions and answer questions in my meandering thoughts until I'm satisfied. Further in the quest for understanding this is best done with a clear mind. So I expect I'd better put down this Guinness, for the moment anyway.

Listening

I sit listening to Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. Listening. Haunting, lingering and arousing to the point of cheeky the clarinet plays. Then just at the cusp of cheek and the edge of spice, it slows down back into a touchy mellow and playful friend. Listen. Then you will hear.

The second movement is accompanied with the pronounced aid of strings. Like the clarinet but more rythmic and so complimentary like apple pie and custard. One fills in where the other is left and together they are a wonderful melding of tastes but still quite distinct. Cheeky. Haunting again. Slow. Then popping up yet again the Clarinet raises it's head.

Is it so? The soul moves in music, the heart in emotion and the mind lost in thought.

I think I'll just sit and enjoy somewhere restful between sleep and consciousness.

Antipidean seat

I stayed in the Fish Factory till late, this meant when I turned up at the pub there was already a large group sitting at the usual table. So I took a seat on the edge. No one acknowledged I had come in and sat down. Then I suppose I should of said hello, but one guy was talking. Taking up attention. I put my paper on the table and looked at the giant sized Soduku I been trying to do for the past 6 days. Then sipped my Guinness. It's what happens on a Friday if I get in the pub late.

The bloke who was doing the talking must of liked the sound of his own voice. He's got an opinion on everything. He just gasses and gasses. It's like as long as he is chatting away and people are listening nothing matters. He sits there pouring out his verbal diarrhea in a mildly intoxicated fashion. The drink must of been getting to him. But what a load of bollocks. Utter and complete tripe. I was quite. There are important things to say but he likes the sound of his own voice. I wouldn't mind betting he has it on tape. Gets home and when the wifey isn't listening to him he turns his tape on and discusses crap with himself. The man who talks bollocks has walked into the room, all bow, put up your glasses and listen to this complete tosser. For although the alcohol will diminish the words he says, he'll still be a tosser in the morning.

I drank my pint and left, saying little. Feeling I could be a little bitter. But Guinness isn't is for chilling. I'll wake up in the morning and with all my faculties about me will hopefully not resemble a tosser. Hopefully, well it depends how many I drink the night before.

Lighter mornings

Having gone to bed early last night it was easier to get up in the morning. Partly the reason was because of light. Just coming through the window. It's like the world is now saying "hey dude, you've had enough sleep time to get your ass up outa that bed." The world says it in such a way if you didn't take much notice you'd not hear it. But it's there "get up dude."

So my mind and body are now tricked. If I go to bed late and the world shouts at me to get up in the morning I then start to feel I have not had enough sleep, and in reality I haven't. "tough dude." There it goes again. I could even be mistaken for having some kind of mental illness "nah dude, it's just me, the world, waking you up." Who would of thought a personal communion could go on with Old Mother Nature. "Dude, not so much of the Old." As I thought a bit temperamental. Well persons of the female persuasion can be. I'm sure if she were a ship this world would sail into troubled waters just for the fun of it. To see how far I could puke over the side no doubt.

All in all, I suppose being woken up early isn't so bad. "So I been saying Dude, it's good to get up." Insistent isn't she?

Hair cut

I walked into the Barber's shop, there were already 2 customers but as there were 2 hairdressers and no Que the wait wouldn't be long. Glancing down at the table by my seat was a newspapers so I began to read the day's news. A moment passed and one of the customers started to complain. He was telling the hairdresser not to touch his neck. His hair looked odd. A bit like a Mohican's style, except it wasn't sticking up. He'd had a band of his hair each side of his head practically shaved off. The hairdresser picked up a mirror and showed the moaner what it looked like he said "it's OK boss." Another moment passed and then the customer moaned again. At this point the hairdresser had enough. He politely asked the moaner to leave there would be no charge. Though it sounded to me like the moaner was a bit of a nut case. He wasn't communicating what it was he wanted. Then I thought maybe it was the hairdressers not so brilliant English skills.

So I sat in the chair next. Asked for my usual and chilled out, closed my eyes and just relaxed. Wondering what it is about some people who are so conscientious about the latest hair style, that it is the most important thing in the world to them. I have never not paid for a hair cut. Even when I haven't liked them. In particular I used to go to one Barbers where the hairdresser a woman would always cut my ear. My head was something out of Punch and Judy as far as she was concerned. Perhaps she was a lesbian, or perhaps I reminded her of an ex and so my ear would be nicked. Then she'd carry on nicking my ear until one day I became a Van Gogh look alike. I had enough of her. And even when I tried to avoid her I'd some how end up in her chair. In the end I voted with my feet and went to a different Barber's. I'm more attached to my ears than an particular hair style so it was the wisest choice.

Silly Sophia saw my hair cut when I got home and she said it was perfect. Because she's learning about hair cutting at college. Thing is every time I get a hair cut I later start to get headaches. It's my glasses. They just pinch too much. Come to think of it if I lost an ear I might lose the headaches? Nah, think I'll just put up with them, take my glasses off and bump into lamp posts, OUCH. Somethings you just can't avoid.

What's wrong with me?

I went to the shops this morning and while there caught a group who were busking. But were actually practicing a bit of self promotion. While in a shop getting a newspaper an old man behind me said the group were good. He'd got their CD and they had been on TV. I wondered out of the shop and stood there listening to a song.

Then it hit me. In a few short moments I was getting quite emotional inside, I could feel myself wanting to cry. It wasn't as though the song was particularly soppy because it wasn't. The music was up beat. It was me. Something is happening to me and I don't know what it is. My emotions at times take control. I can't help it. I become more of a woman than a woman, and get the urge to choke up, well inside and shed a tear. But heaven's someone save me. Not in my own town while out shopping.

Maybe I'm an old woman at heart. I better keep an eye on this kind of thing, who knows where it could lead to, next week I'll be knitting, giving out recipes and reading Barbara Cartland books. Someone tell me, I need help! What's the answer?

Parcel arrives

Well Sparkling Eyes said she had sent something. All I knew was it was a parcel and should of come on Valentine's Day. I had asked her if it was something I could eat. The answer was yes. And although I had probed to see if she would say, Sparkling Eyes kept stoom. She would not let the cat out of the bag. I'd even reasoned along the lines of how she had to always open things up before the day, or make a very good guess. When on one Christmas she had guessed 8 out of 9 prezzies just by feeling the wrappers. It can be so soul destroying. This time I was the recipient. Even when there was a mix up of address she did not say what it was. Then I found out when I got home this evening.

A giant box awaited sitting on the settee, taking up space for two persons. The wrapping tape said not to use anything sharp to open it. Which was a puzzle coz how can anyone take off such tape without using a knife? So I was careful, and edging a knife under the tape managed to take it off. The box was light for it's size, which should of been a clue. For there I could see a big Valentines balloon in the shape of a heart. There was also a basket with a half bottle of white whine and a box of delicious chocolates. Wow, am I so lucky. Sparkling Eyes has hinted to me now, about sending flowers on valentines day, and said she wants to be surprised. I'm guilty the dozen red roses were not a surprise, but were nice. So next year what will it be, I'll start thinking about it now then come the next 14th February I just might come up with something a little different from flowers.

The chocolates were marvelous, the wine went down so quickly and my head is still in a dizz. Am I so lucky or what?

Warm feelings

There are somethings which always seem to tap into my emotions when I see them. Things I just can't help myself but smile and feel happy about. It's a warm feeling. And of all the things happening in the world at this precise moment the warmth hits nothing really has much relevance. It's as though in a brief second the world has revealed itself and a kind of Nirvana experience ascends. Weird, but true.

Coming home on the train I had such a moment. I sat down and then noticed in the next set of seats in front of me a young boy of perhaps 5 or 6 years. His mother was a young girl back to me. She was fussing over her son. He stood there straight and just let her do what she had to do. Straighted his hood, made sure his buttons were done up, zip in place, gloves on hands. He looked at his mum with big brown eyes and a smile, he was happy just to let her prepare him for the next stop. I smiled and the warmth hit me. It's the same emotion which comes to me when I think of time spent with Sparkling Eyes. Something warm and beautiful just swaddles me. It's comforting to feel.

I got off the train and put on my MP3 player. Choosing UB40, and thinking to myself if I were not white, I'd be black. Because I just like a lot of black music. Reggae can be great to listen to, it might be something to do with the slow rhythmic beat which is said to be close resemble the heart beat. Whereas some music can make your heart race, reggae just has a chilling effect. Though I don't listen to it all the time. Then suddenly a track came on, the warm feeling hugged me it was "I need you babe." I had hopelessly tried singing a duo with Sparkling Eyes. Unfortunately vocal talents and memory have a migrating effect on me when they are combined. It must be one of those unique conditions some people have, where they can not remember words to songs and I got it. So, I read the words off a laptop and the track replayed several times. I was drunk I expect Sparkling Eyes was as well but it didn't stop us belting it out the words. Thing is even now I can't remember the bloody words. At least the feeling was there to trespass onto my casual existence now.

Think I'll get myself one of those tea cosy hats, with bright colours unfortunately I don't have the hair for dreadlocks, never mind the hat will do nicely.

Checking out Parliament

Today I went with the retired English Teacher, Green Car man and a Tacit oriental to see Parliament. It had been organised through our Member of Parliament by the ex English Teacher. I and Tacit man had to meet ex-teacher at the train station, at the prescribed time of 9:40 a.m., Green Car man was going to make his own way into London and had admitted he found outings of his sort were at times stressful when the pressure was on to be at a certain place at a certain time. Tacit Oriental man met me outside the station, he looked like he'd just got out of bed his eyes were all puffy. I was eating a sausage roll even though I'd had breakfast. English had got off the train to greet us, he will be going up to London again tomorrow to begin his course in Chemo therapy so this was his exercise and preliminary run.

The tour took about an hour and a half, we had to wait outside the doors for 20 minutes because some idiot had set of the fire alarm earlier. There was a group of school children who could not of been older than 9 or 10 years at most, and I couldn't help wonder if Parliament was the right place to bring them at that age. All would of been in one ear and out of the other I have no doubt for such young ears. On taking the tour we walked through some large rooms which were ornately decorated with paintings and often gold leaf. The tour guide said they were priceless. Paintings of kings and queens were on walls left and right in the Royal Gallery. In one gallery the paintings looked poor, I commented to Green Car man they looked no better than pieces an A'level art student could of put together. We saw the Lords room and then the Parliamentary room. The Lords sitting area again was quite ornate an area behind the speakers chair where the monarch would sit at times, again in gold leaf. The seats were of a red leather, and tourists were not allowed to sit on them. Whereas the parliamentary area was quite plane, with very little in the way of any decoration, green leather chairs and noticeably the public gallery had a fully enclosed layer of bullet proof glass. The parliamentary building had been bombed in 1941 so what we had seen was what was built after the war. Whilst the Lords Chamber had survived the second world war it's ornate design was about 160 years old. The decoration of the royal gallery and the Lords chamber only did one thing to me, get up my nose. I felt a cloud of anger shadow my disposition.

Time and time again tax payers put money into government and then it goes to support royalty when it could be used on hospitals, public transport systems, the poor anything but glorify a trumped up family we term as royalty. A family of parasites who will forever be parasites and never know the realities of real working life.

Some misled people believe they have been abducted by aliens. I can only think they are suffering from some kind of mental illness. But just supposing it were a real event and just supposing some people were abducted and never returned. Now if I were an alien I'd mark the cards of the entire Royal Family and lineage. I'd take them out of their cushy little palaces they have built, experiment on them and remove all vestiges of the royal demeanour. I'd then return them impregnated with the thought they were all ordinary working people. Maybe slap a couple of ASBO's on the odd blue blood just to help them blend in a bit more. Then I'd magically removed royalty from every record ever kept, up to Cromwell. Who would of been re-written as the man who did us all a favour and chopped their heads off. Cromwell, Cromwell oh why didn't you go further? Maybe he had a square head and it got stuck in one of his round helmets.

Run for the hills

The Talkatives are about to arrive. Well Mrs Talkative and the gang of not so talkatives with dog in tow. I need earplugs, Valium, walking boots (to take the dog out), patience, maybe another Valium, 2 pints of Guinness, a doppelganger to fill in when necessary, a helmet, a spare chair because there will be nowhere to sit, muscular strength, to hold the dog while on a lead, more patience, a get away car with powerful engine, doggy poo bags, maybe a third Valium (how many can you max out on I ask?), something to keep the kids amused, I know dress them up in red and put them in a field with a bull, yes I do love them, a course of Prozac, a little more alcohol, oh someone kick me in the head. A strong spiritual belief the day will come to an end though it may not feel like it. Somewhere to sit down again, rest, close my eyes and enjoy peace for soon all will be hit with the bombshell of the Talkatives.

Where did I put the valium? Please anyone with an address of the closest 24 hour pharmacy, bar and hospital?

Some one likes the SSP

Spoke to Sparkling Eyes last night who was very excited about things happening in her life. Going from 24 hours to 16 hours work a week, running as a Scottish Socialist Party (SSP) Councillor in a very Tory ward, how she saved the life of a budgerigar from a deppressed existence and her dedicated support for funding and building of a local community centre. Not forgetting her requirment to do some work on an SSP stall and go to meets. She spoke with energy, enthusiasm and purpose. Then tried to get me to go to a Socialist party meeting. I grabbed my nearest crucifix and waved it about, she then said I should even try going to a Tory party meeting just to find out what they were about. At this point I then jumped into a bath of holy water and chanted verses from Revelations. My response was her enthusiasm had effected me so much I felt like now putting in my membership of the Liberal Democrat Party or perhaps the Labour party. I then mentioned in London there did not exist a SSP party and noted the Socialist were raving lunatics too hard core for my liking. I was not going to be persuaded. No way Jose.

A short discussion then ensued at how I was a lazy shite, and needed to put more effort into my Ritz man activities. I deliberated on the state of my branch union and how it could be a very powerful body if some of the key members had the ability to come together rather than the internal fighting going on. Politics and incompatible personalities seem to go hand in hand. How on earth the political system works is mind bending. Especially when we all end up with some trumped up self important idiot in power. In psychology they call this risky shift. It's where the opinions of the whole are shifted to a more extreme view because of the extreme voters and you end up with a leader/event/choice no one really wanted. Sparkling Eyes put me to task as she usually does whenever she feels like it. I sat back and took a little ass whooping. Sometimes you just have to, but it doesn't stop me from loving her, even if she's a member of the Reds, I appreciate and accept her opinion, it's valuable. Just as I'll stand by my own opinion. Now what would life be like with out such events I ask.

I may get to see little Monster Boy this morning which will be wonderful, the most difficult thing is getting him to stop talking about Doctor Who. Last time I tried bribery which worked half way. It was a nice and pleasant respite. Perhaps I'll try again when I see him. Maybe it is all a case of people will do what they feel they have to do. Sparkling Eyes will be a torch barer for socialism, Monster Boy a Doctor Who fanatic, me a lazy shite. Lets rephrase, me a concerned deliberator who ways up the pros and cons makes evaluative decisions from an informed view point, after he's watched a good DVD. Actually i've been watching fewer than I normally do and writing more blogs. Freedome of expression thank heavens we all have it.

Change

While out at lunch time, I couldn't help notice how my home town was changing. How it all looks different, how the people walking about are different than they would of been 20 years ago, how there is a feel, a different feel to the place. London is changing everyday but I had been so fortunate as to see relatively little change in quite a long time where I live. But now it had all crept up. Sneaked up like the slowly cooling water of a hot bath, and only when you start to discern the first shiver of your body you realise you're cold. In the same way, this change was now overpowering in my home town.

The worst thing about this was my perception of fear, fear I don't like it and my area is now changing beyond my control and understanding. I am unsettled. In an area hit by poverty it is now being made more poverty stricken. It's the thought of a new block of flats being built, at 27 stories high. It will bring low cost housing, rental, druggies, and even greater deprivation. How can such a project be given authorisation. Where a plaster is needed, instead a sythe comes swinging.

There are some very certain certainties in life, birth, death and change. When I get up in the morning I change from PJs to clothes, when handing over money for an item I usually get change, I often change my mind, whereas some people appear not to change. They provide stability in their character and then I wish they would change. The weather changes from day to day, and work will always be work. So for the things I can't change, then I suppose I have to put up, shut up or have a pint and look at the funny side. There's nothing like a happy refrain, God help me nurture this, but not to they point of hysteria.

Now whose this bloke if he exists then?

Crocs in the water

The freebie paper today had a picture of a swimming pool in Australia, and in it was the biggest crocodile I have seen. Though I don't know what the scale of the pool was, the crock was big, very big. And there I am with my mild dose of Arachnia phobia, except for the friendly ones and there's some poor Aussy wondering if it's safe to dip into his own pool. I suppose a quick dip before breakfast might very well of been a breakfast in itself.

It could be an example of mankind encroaching into a land where he should not be, a wild which should be left solely for the wild. It makes me wonder if crocks suffer from Arachnia phobia's, I doubt it. The elephant comes to mind as well. Or the stereotypical notion elephants are scared of mice. Could it be true or just some trollop made up by a mouse who had an inferiority complex when the elephant knicked his cheese. As for cheese I'm sure mice prefer biscuits, but the biscuits are kept in a jar, it would be easier for and elephant to empty the jar. I can see a trunk wrapped round our biscuit jar right now. We're fortunate all these animals don't speak the same language.

Next time I pass a pool, I'll wonder if there's a crock in it. As long as he's not eating my biscuits, chatting to the mouse and passing the peace pipe with an elephant I should be OK. Boy don't mankind just take so much for granted lol.

Johnny Cash

Woke up this morning and got up to pluck a hair from my ear. The rest of the morning I spent listening to Johnny Cash. Wondering if I were in a band and had the talent to write songs sing them and entertain people while they downed a pint or two, it would be story songs like Cash's. Ones to make people laugh, sing along to the words be happy, contemplative and enjoy the moment.

It's incredible to think Johnny has influenced people all over the world. When listening to Cocaine Blues I suddenly realised this was probably the first music track explicitly about drugs and murder. Of course in a tongue in cheek way so as not to encourage anyone to consider either one. Cash is very down to earth in his music and verse. He's song are for the people who have suffered set backs in their lives. Problems, issues, alcohol, drugs, fighting and having a laugh. Even with the occaisional inuendo. It's brilliant. Yep in a small part of the UK there's a 40 something tapping his toes to Johnny Cash now wishing he wore a stetson, rode a horse and strummed a guitar.

I'm not Johnny Cash because there can only ever be one, so it'll have to be a blog instead.

Awaiting

Sometimes when I do something, like question another person and they react towards me, I wonder if I have done something wrong. Whether there will be repercussions against me, and what they will be. Which I suppose is part of worrying when worrying is really no good at all. So it is like being in a waiting room for the dentist. I'm awaiting my appointment check up, it may be just a straight forward clean up or it could mean something else in a couple of weeks time. It's the waiting bit which plays on the mind. As I am now waiting whether my role as a Ritz man in a meet with a small fish against a big fish will lead to an accusation against me.

It's odd when stating the obvious how some big fish react. They may take offence, quite often this is because the poor little fish in the factory actually know some more. It goes on, on quite a big scale. For instance when the Chief Fish gives themselves a nice big £18 k payrise. Whilst ordinary cleaner fish who work part time may only be on an anual pay of £4k total. The higher up the chain a big fish is the bigger a head they get, the bigger a sense of their own financial worth. I wonder if they ever consider they actually become less liked by the little fish, looked on with distain and a nasty taste in the mouth.

So at this moment I am waiting to see the outcome of the meet. I know I did nothing wrong when I consdered the event in question. So I'll just have to see. I wonder if I should now contemplate a visit to the dentist, it's due. Thing is I have difficulty opening my mouth wide enough, unless I'm sticking my foot in it, and then it seems to go in quite easily.

Strained Day

It's been a stressful day. This evening I spent about 3 to 4 hours word processing events of the previous 2 days. I had a moment to see Little Monster Boy which is always very nice and a short discussion with Sparkling Eyes which was also nice.

The events arose from being the new Ritz man on the block. Helping the little Fishes in situations where the big fishes want to chastise or throw them out of the pond. Todays event even played to an extent on my own paranoia. As a result I may get a complaint about myself. Great, something to look forward to. It's true my own fears don't help if things get bad, well then I thought. I should let them and not add to the stress of it by worrying. Unfortunately worry and paranoia are traits which go along with my temperament. Perhaps I wondered I should not be a Ritz man. My mind was put at rest in part by the Ritz chair and beautiful Sparkling Eyes. She is such a comfort. I realised further when stressed the world is pereceived differently, you become more observant. And more appreciative of precious things and people. I realised smiling and nice people become a crutch and very valuable.

I suggested to Sparkling Eyes, she I and the DIY man get a trailer with a field. Grow our own vegtables, never go to work again and live of social security. The world would be somewhat different. But I'm sure some other object would rise it's little head and cause my stress, or paranoia to resurface. Oh well off to bed, at least there only the ghosts can get me, at the moment I'm so tired I don't really care if they do. Boooooooooooooo