where art collides philosoperontap

December 1, 2010

Uppandown

Filed under: prose — dave @ 5:16 pm

Muttering under his breath, Jack shoved away his plate, the food untouched, “For Christ’’s sake, Charlie, not again, didn’t you learn the last time?” His chair scraping the tiled floor of the dining hall, he scrambled to his feet. He’d catch his eye, he might stop him making a fool of himself even now.

“MARSHALL!” A parade-ground voice bellowed at him from somewhere to his left, its echo reverberating around the hall. “Sit down when the governor’s speaking, you ignorant shit.”

Looking even more harassed than usual, the governor glanced at Jack over the top of his half-moon glasses and, recognising his orderly, gave him a quick smile. “Yes, Mr Marshall, let’s do as the Chief says, shall we, there’s a good chap.” Then, returning to his prepared speech, he tried to look stern. “Now, men,” he said, “I’m taking this spate of (more…)

November 29, 2010

East of Wragby

Filed under: miscellany — Trefor Davies @ 9:44 pm

Crossing the line means entering no mans land. Its a place where few dare go. It means you are either brave or stupid. A frozen wasteland with little sign of life. I can imagine the line of the trench, the lookout peering out uncomfortably through a gap in his scarf. Watching for nothing. Thanked by no one. The imagination plays tricks in these conditions, especially when you can’t feel your feet. You are almost looking for signs of blood circulation as much as movement out in the fields. Who is going to venture out in this weather?

In November 2010 the snow line divided the county into those who lived to the east of Wragby and those to the clear lands of the west. It was a short lived notoriety for the Lincolnshire market town but one that its residents would remember for days afterwards.

The line soon moved further west leaving Wragby temporarily buried under the snow. Whether everyone coped or not  play no part in this narrative.

November 28, 2010

A chink in life’s curtain

Filed under: chinks — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 11:06 am

It’s a comfortable old day. Snow was falling as we walked home late last night and there is an inch or so on the ground this morning. Plenty to fuel a snowball fight and enough to make sure that the golf was cancelled.

I have been out and chopped some wood for kindling and then to the garage to buy some coal and logs. It would be better to buy it in bulk at the beginning of the winter rather than in dribs and drabs but we only light the fire occasionally at weekends so we never seem to get round to sorting it out.

This morning I also bought another bird feeder. One that takes fat balls. I makes me feel good looking after my little feathered friends in this way.

Now I am sat on my own in the house, doing a bit of pottering. Today this mostly means laying down a few words. The foundations of legacy. The kids will get two things from me. Firstly they will inherit some of my genes and the effect of having lived with me for eighteen years. Then they will have my writing. None of the other worldly wealth stuff matters, not that there is much of it anyway.

I’m half thinking of having a bit of a snooze but I will have to go and pick up hannah from town shortly so there isn’t really time.

November 25, 2010

The murmur of conversation floats

Filed under: poems — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 8:45 pm

The murmur of conversation floats around the hotel lounge as I wait for her to arrive. Quite relaxed, I am slumped in a chair with a pot of tea on the table in front of me. Business conversations carry on whilst my mind drifts.

This is a state of suspension I enjoy. Others continue with purposeful intent but I care not. Not whether the deal is done, the offer accepted or the idea has life. The machinations, the process, the exhortations and driving ambitions pass by in limbo.

The attendant sees to my every need, sure in the knowledge that she has my credit card held safely, out of minds eye and harms way. I imagine an infinite stay. The rows of teapots stretching to the horizon, empty, await collection. Biscuit crumbs add to the careless feel of the place.

I debate whether to order a beer but objections are raised from within. Not conscience, merely common sense. This clarity of lack of purpose needs no assistance.  Even the tea is only a prop.

November 20, 2010

3rd Law Part 8 – Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 12:39 pm

3rd Law Part 7

The concert had its good bits and some bits where the violins strained a bit – everyone is tired on a Friday night, but these occasions are the whole point of playing an instrument. I didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight but the body still wakes up early so here I am again, streaming.

There are three sounds I hear. One is the gas ring hissing away on the cooker. It’s too early to put the central heating on – it would wake Anne up. Instead I use the cooker.

The second sound is the clock and the third is the keyboard with me tapping away at it. I notice that I seem to do a lot of typos these days. Typographical errors as was in the days of the typewriter. Maybe it is only this morning because I am still a bit tired.

I will go back to bed when I take the tea up. That second doze is a good one. The typewriter would have made a much bigger noise of course. A real clacking. My iPad makes no noise at all. I probably switched off the keyboard sounds. Stealth typing. I don’t use the iPad for writing stuff that needs speed of finger and thought. Or should that be thought and finger?

Sounds almost like the name of a pub aimed at literary types. It almost certainly has book lined walls and maybe even uses remaindered pulp fiction as beer mats. There is some poetry in there somewhere, a statement. Your book was crappy so I’m just going to use it to stop my glass marking the table. Bathos? Is that the right word. Certainly a deep disappointment.

Perhaps not. The author probably just got paid a fee for churning it out to a recipe that some bimbo (male or female – I’ve just retargeted the definition on the fly to avoid accusations of sexism) thinks they find interesting or suitably mind numbing on the beach, or both if that is possible.

Have you noticed that my paragraphs are quite short. A lot shorter probably than in that bimbo’s book. I suspect it is all to do with the font size I use in Word. It makes words look bigger on the screen so I may artificially be shortening the paragraphs although I’m not sure that there is an international standard for paragraph length. It would be difficult because different countries have different average word lengths.

I said that in quite an authoritative manner though I’m not at all sure as to the veracity of the statement (good word veracity – slipped it in to see what you think). Authoritative is also a good word though I won’t labour the point. The Germans I know for a fact have some really long words. The Welsh are also known for them but in actual fact that is based on just a single village name in North Wales. Anglesey to be more specific. Anglesey isn’t the long word, its the place where the village is. I’m not going to reproduce the long word here. It would make this paragraph too long.

Carriage return sorry “enter”. “Carriage return” is dated. Readers of this stream of words should not be confused into thinking that this is a product of the 20th, or even the 19th centuries. When did they invent the typewriter? Who invented the typewriter come to think of it? I could find out but I’m not really that interested. Ditto the refrigerator.

Due to the sheer professionalism with which I approach the writing of this stuff you probably will not have noticed that I am now using Word2007. It has a lot more features than my previous version, Word2003, well it seems to, but the problem is that I am still learning it. It took me a while to find the “strikethrough” icon for example. But I’m starting to bore you here. Shakespeare didn’t leave comments in his margins informing readers that he had deliberated over his font size or the size of his quill.

My hand writing is terrible by the way. I would have been useless with a quill. Ink spots and crossings out everywhere.
For the technically minded amongst you I have written 698 words in roughly 45 minutes. I don’t know exactly because I haven’t yet worked out where to look for the statistics on this new Word package. I only know my approximate editing time because I looked up when I started tweeting this morning.

Enthusiasm is grinding to a halt now in any case as the body reminds me that it is still a tad tired and wants to take a cup of tea up to bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

3rd law part 9

November 19, 2010

notes

Filed under: poems — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 10:22 pm

notes have feelings you know
they sometimes need love
though they can get angry
and occasionally want to be left in peace

it can often be a mistake
to leave notes to their own devices

November 18, 2010

where have all the flowers gone?

Filed under: ideas,the art gallery,thoughts — Trefor Davies @ 9:33 pm

poppy3a

November 14, 2010

The 9 random expressions of woman

Filed under: the art gallery — Trefor Davies @ 10:37 am

M&S cafe Lincoln, Sunday 7th November

she8she6
she1
she2
she3
she4
she5
she7
she9

November 12, 2010

Once Again.

Filed under: poems by children — Tags: — purple @ 5:41 pm

Gas, gas, gas,
I see a cloud of yellow,
Rolling on towards us searching for its prey,
My sergeant bellows, gas masks men come on quick,
I stand paralysed in fright, then fumble desperately to see the light,
It drifts towards us like a ghost in the night,
My fellow soldier standing next to me,
Crumples & falls, lies choking & writhing,
Suddenly he stops, lies still as a stone,
As if this cloud has sucked all the life & death out of him, leaving just an empty shell,

Men are yelling, falling, dying as I come to my senses,
The gas has gone but more terror has begun,
Bang, bang, bang a machine gun whirs, as if it will never end,
Then silence and nothing is heard,
I am standing among the dead,
My comrade is still beside me,
Eyes open, not seeing, not breathing, not living, just as still as stone.

And now 5 years later I stand in silence,
On the 11 day of the 11 month on the 11 hour,
To remember all the fallen,
Who will never see the light,
Never hear the laughter,
& will never remember anything again.

So you my fallen comrade,
I stand and in the silence remember you,
Once Again.

November 7, 2010

Violent violins of Vancouver

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 6:30 am

Violent violins of Vancouver,
Dangerous double basses of Boston,
Poisonous pianos of Portsmouth and the
Terrifying trumpets of Tunbridge Wells.

October 30, 2010

floating into the day

Filed under: poems — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 8:26 am

breakfast consumed and I am set for the day
except for a state of casual undress
that eases into a Saturday full of promise

frictionless state, free of strife

Lying Awake

Filed under: thoughts — Trefor Davies @ 5:35 am

Lying awake in bed is when you realise that when it all comes down to it we are all just animals. The grunts, loud breathing and snores coming from the person next to you!

October 25, 2010

the frosty overhang

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 8:40 pm

the central heating clicked in
and it was warm, at last,
the days of shivering
under bedclothes,
frosty hanging red nosed breath
relegated now to history

snippet on train

Filed under: miscellany — Trefor Davies @ 8:30 pm

The man was reading El Pais. I assumed he was Spanish and imagined him a few hundred years ago wearing the uniform of a conquistador. He may of course have been a Jesuit.

There was no way of telling.

Elsewhere in the compartment sat a few people in varying states of bedraggledness and a woman of indeterminate age. I wasn’t sure whether she was looking good or good looking. It was all a matter of perspective.

The train driver was also a woman.

I was only physically there.

October 23, 2010

third law of tinternet part 7 – addiction

Filed under: 3rd law — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 7:36 am

3rd law part 6

I’m staring at a towering in-tray. Most of the stuff in there can probably be thrown away or recycled. The point is I just don’t know because the higher the pile gets the less likely I am to tackle the job. It has to be said that usually when I do take on the task, which isn’t that often hence the height of the pile, I find a letter that I should have opened 2 months ago, or one that I had been waiting for but wondered why it hadn’t arrived yet.

It’s almost amazing that we still get physical mail. At work it will mostly be junk that gets binned immediately (or when I get round to it 🙂  ). Most people have learned to communicate by email, or instant message or twitter.

As the kids get older the snail mail system does lead to some amusing problems. Tom and I get letters addressed to T Davies. It irritates the heck out of him that I sometimes open his mail by accident. How was I to know? There hasn’t been anything uber-embarrassing yet. Just bank account type stuff.

Kids need to have their privacy though and at first it is a difficult one to get your brain round because “you have always controlled everything” when it comes to your kids. The hardest one was when he left home to go to university.

The old university thing is an interesting one. I did bugger all work when I went to uni. Had a great time. “Didn’t hurt me.” The problem comes when you have told your own kids that that is how you conducted yourself. Now I have nothing to contribute to the debate. As long as you pass and don’t get kicked out is all I can say.

You may have noticed a certain lack of flow in this writing this morning. It’s not because it’s morning. It’s because I keep jumping back and fore from twitter to Word. I keep doing it but not because I have an active twitter conversation on the go. Hardly anyone I know is awake. It’s because I’m addicted.

I freely admit this. It’s part of my rehab. It’s not really. That just came out but there could be a germ of an idea there. “The Philosopher On Tap rehab clinic for internet addicts”, specialising in healthy country walks without your phone. We could have individual lockers for people to keep their laptop battery and power supply so that internet access was denied.

For it to work people would have to admit that they have a problem in the first place which could be an issue. I’m not sure that “internet addiction” is a clinically recognised ailment yet. It should be though and someone has to invent or discover it for the first time. A bit like the “Third Law”.

There you go. I’ve just discovered something else. I won’t google it just in case someone else has already done so and not told me. That would be so disappointing. Can you detect an element of denial creeping in here? It’s a sure sign of addiction though I feel I am getting my addictions mixed up. How can one possibly have an addiction to wanting to have invented things?

I bet Leonardo Da Vinci didn’t have the same problem. Not that I am comparing myself with Leonardo you understand. He was the only inventor I could think of at such short notice. Barnes Wallis also springs to mind, the inventor of the bouncing bomb.  But I thought of Leonardo first and he probably invented more stuff than BW, not that I’m sure of my facts on this one.

Anyone who feels they have an addiction to the internet should leave a comment on this post. All comments will be treated in total confidence – our therapists are fully trained. Most of them have already been through the treatment themselves.

It can be quite tough at first so we do break you in gently. It typically starts by getting you to turn your phone to silent. That way you still have the comfort factor of the phone in your pocket but are already beginning the process of being weaned off. With the most difficult of cases we get them to gradually reduce the volume of their ring tone, or change the ring tone to something less intrusive.

I used to have “phone call for Trefor Davies, phone call for Trefor Davies” as my ring tone. My daughter recorded it. That would have been a good start for our treatment programme because I could never hear it – especially if I was in a pub and engrossed in conversation. I had to change it in the end because I kept missing phone calls and we must remember that the purpose of this treatment is not actually to stop you talking to people but to stop you using the phone to access the internet.

Talking is in fact encouraged under the POT Clinic rehab programme. POT Clinic makes it sound like something different. Mixed messages there. I might have to re-evaluate the name but it will do for now.

Branding is ever so important don’t you think:) . Most of my clothes have got one brand or another on them. It isn’t what you are thinking though. They are mostly ones I have been given for free through work – none of the names on the t-shirts are ones you would recognise. I’m not a poser, just a cheapskate.

Talking about t-shirts I am just making another pot of tea. I found 4 teabags in the tea pot. Obviously not cleaned out in between “rounds”. I use 3 teabags first thing in the morning but only two during the day. Need that little bit more of a kick first thing obviously. It isn’t a huge teapot.

3rd Law Part 8

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