Numinous Berkshire downs, yearlings graze, bluebird cruises.. fuel queues foolishly endorse frankly maude’s madness.. no panic, earthlings .. we still have feet, just have to remember how to use them – and make politicians walk
Update. Juggler’s made the move. Rockit and Mixit are on launch pad. Settings is pecked by hens. Wads-of-cash visits Helmand, and Foto advises caution with Old Fox. It’s all in the silence. Spyche mumbles.
Settings goes off piste. Tiny catches mackerel. . Yoyo Amore and Sweet Bean plan wedding, Juggler moves out. It’s Spring … black dog sleeps in sun…spyche has no clothes
Newmarket on a wet Saturday afternoon. Wild caviare and spyche dream the dream – a dark bay colt for the Epsom Derby and a syndicate called The Destitute. If he doesn’t win we can eat him, says Caviare…
What a week in spyche’s world – UK broadcasting ‘gets’ the unconscious on radio and television. Horizon evidences Jung’s concept of the collective (unx) by wiring up ants but, best of all, lying on the One to One bar at Apple is Jungian Analysis (ed Murray Stein). Rock on! we unwired ants are on the move
Green shoots on dead branches. 100th anniversary of he who died as quietly and easily as he lived, no Stalin exit for spyche’s Dad and s/he no Svetlana, either.. time for new underwear, magical Lancome – re-generation of embodied history..
Foto and I sniff out truth over a latte … what is it that haunts the memory, lingers like music on the breeze? sweetness of the skin – individual, unrepeatable …did we lose for love?.. the scent of memory had a body.. Foto couldn’t capture it, ‘.. must be Mum’ ( hat’s off andre green) .. we laughed – truth was it was an other, whatever..
If we follow the line, do we actually go round in circles? If right is defined by wrong, up by down, day by night, opposites define our perceptions; therefore in knowing, we know nothing..
The world of psyche is a jumble .. my spyche inhabits the interstices of structure (ty Mary Douglas).. hot, in-between, yours or mine, on time and timeless, with and without, of age -and ageless. This week she’s Dukan dieting – he seems to have disappeared to the Atlas mountains looking for argon oil
The bon medecin has lured me back – agony: no booze, no rich pickings…body protesting – and this because I matter to myself?
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