The Sad Story of Storm

Some of you may know, I really love dogs.
I think dogs are more than just man's best friend.

To me, they are not animals, they occupy a strange realm between humanity and the rest of animalkind.
It always surprises me that people are closer related to mice and rats than dogs.

When I do visit my family, it is mainly to see the dogs. The eldest is quite old now, but when I was a teenager, and he was a puppy, he was very important to me.
He always slept at the end of my bed, though he shouldn't have really.
If he's ill, my mother will always let me know. I want to be there when he goes.

I'll probably cry, too.

Something happened this weekend which upset me a little.

The Baker has a brother, who up till last week lived with his girlfriend and two children.
And a massive Staffordshire Bull Terrier, Storm.

Now Storm is a handful.
I wouldn't get him angry, and I love playfighting most dogs.
He is like a frothing missile of fur and gristle.



Anyway, The Baker came down Friday night and told us that his brother and his partner had a row and dumped the kids and Storm on his mother.
He was going to take Storm back to Manchester with him, and my flatmate was going to mind him, whilst we went to the party.

I really don't know what was going to happen to Storm next, or how he thought Storm could stay in his flat all day whilst he was at work, bearing in mind the hours The Baker works.

Events pre-empted any of this.
We got to The Baker's Mum's, to find the Dog Wardens taking Storm away.

It had all been too much for him, the uncertainty, the confusion, the bitterness of the break up.
And I don't suppose he got much love during that period.

It turned out he'd killed a cat that morning, and The Baker's brother had disappeared.

The Baker was furious (at his brother, and justifiably in my eyes), his mother was clearly angry and upset- as well as concerned for the children, abandoned by both parents.

The saddest bit was when myself and my flatmate were sitting on the patio having a fag.
The children came up, playing with Sprout, The Baker's Mum's dog.
The eldest said 'He's big, but not as big as Storm. Storm's sleeping now in the garage. Storm loves to play.'

It cut me, it really did.
Who would tell them?
And when?

Liz would understand.

So we were all a little downhearted when we set off again for Manchester.
And The Baker was very angry and disappointed with his brother for letting all this happen.
For not loving his dog.

The good thing is, a home will be found for Storm.
But that's only because of people like Dog's Trust.

I'll let you in to a secret. I only give monthly donations to two charities. One is SPUC, the other is this.
I sponsor a dog called Freddie at eight pounds a month.

I did this initially, because I can't own a dog, I don't have time to look after it, but I so miss having a dog.
Giving eight pounds a month for Freddie partially satisfies deep yearnings within me.

To me, this really is a charity worth giving to, because dogs give us so much, yet are entirely dependant on us.

Please consider adopting a dog through Dog's Trust.
Because there are dogs out there who haven't received the love that all dogs deserve.

Love- What is It?

Some might see this as a complex question.
Many will argue, fairly, that there is more than one kind of love.

In a sense, that might be fair, but the fact is, all those different loves can be grouped together under the banner of 'strong positive bond.'

Some might say, it has to be an emotional bond, but I'm not sure about that.
I think it's possible for it to an intellectual one.

Indeed, I would argue that for any sentiment to have ultimate validity, it MUST be logical.

This is where I have a problem.

The theological concept of love poses no problem for me.
God Is Love.

Since to me, God and Energy are one (This is the Scientific basis of my Theism), and God and love are one, it follows that Love is Energy.

Since the whole universe is constructed and driven by energy, one way or another, it follows that Love holds the universe together and drives us forward.
Nothing there to contradict Theology.

In this context, the theological definition of Hate makes sense too.
All hate is perverted love.

Pure Love, after all, aims at the highest good.
Hate uses that same intent and perverts it to war against the highest good.
All evil is caused by loving something other than the highest good.

This is true meaning of the truism 'It's a fine line between Love and Hate.'

Pride, Anger, Envy, Avarice, Gluttony, Idleness, Lust.
The seven deadly sins.

Each one caused by a Love other than the highest good.

Love therefore, must be objectively defensible to be true.
Anything other is a perversion of the ideal.

This brings me to the ideal of Romantic Love.
What IS it?

Everyone will say that they know what the emotion is.
Certainly, it's the strongest feeling I can think of.

And for long, people have believed it to be unique.

Not so.
Take enough Ectasy, and you'll feel it for everyone in the room. Why do you think they call it the 'Love drug.'
It is a chemical feeling. That in itself has no validity.

Are we to believe that the Dance Scene is the height of Romantic Ideals?

Just because we can justify that sentiment to itself does not increase it's objective validity.
In a sense, it should reduce it. Ecstasy wears off and we have control over how much to take, or in the majority of cases, not to take it all. This gives it advantages, Romantic Love does not have.

Nietzche believed that Romantic Love was a product of the Later Middle ages, a reaction to the strict teachings of the Church on all matters sexual, an attempt to separate that beautiful intensity from the 'dirty' concept of lust.



Looking back at western cultural history, I can see his point. The Greeks and Romans made no distinction between Romantic Love and Lust, nor did the Vikings. Their legends make this clear. It was a powerful sentiment, one which engaged the myth makers much, but it was not always seen as particularly beautiful.
Freya, Goddess of 'Love' to the Vikings, slept with four dwarves in exchange for a necklace.
Theseus abandoned Ariadne, as Jason abandoned Medea.
And Helen of Troy seemed quite happy to be abducted by Paris.

Is this really the highest form of Love?

This is an emotion we are describing, it doesn't fit the bill.
This is Lust as it should be, Lust where you love the person you find fulfillment with.

True Love can only be a product of the intellect, a capability of seeing the higher good and sacrificing all that gets in the way of that.

True Love is the ability to override every emotion you have in the interests of humanity as a whole.

True Love is the complete suppression of individual desire.
It is the complete surrender of any emotion which is rooted in your concept of you.

Love is something that can only be found within.
Hatred, the force that divides and destroys, is Self.



Many Thanks to Welshcakes for this Award and profuse apologies for not responding quicker.
It seems our local exchange had problems with too many Broadband users and gave up.
Today (apparently), it is back in business, 21st Century Stryle.



Again, on to five more!

I just read a very moving post by Shelly Raydeane, so I'm going to pass it on her way.
The rest have all inspired posts in the past. Apologies to those who already have one.
Pommygranate, Ed, Alexys and Helen

Enforced Blogging Break- Sorry!

Unfortunately, I'm temporarily offline.
Blame BT.

I hope to get it sorted ASAP.

I will be back as soon as I can be.

There are some interesting posts on the way.

See you all soon!

Love you all!

Thank God That's Over

By which I mean the summer.
Summer in an odd numbered year.
I hate them.

I'm not the only one either. I know loads of people who have been saying how time really has dragged until the season starts again.

And how.
It's three months without one of backdrops to life.
One you take for granted.

It's not so bad in even-numbered years, you get a few weeks of England getting your hopes up for nothing to keep you going (Though, seriously, the World Cup to is more important than Christmas or anything else, I do not miss a game. Period)

It's not just having no fooball to watch, it's not really having football to talk about.
It's not being able to ring uo your mates to wind them up when Tottenham LOSE one Nil to SUNDERLAND.
Hey, we were never going to beat Chelsea! 3-2 is GOOD.

We'll hammer The Villa, and get a good mid table finish.

And that's all I want.



I often find it stange when people who don't like football complain that they have to put up with it being the main focus everyehere for about a month every two years.

How do you think the rest of us feel about No Footie for THREE months, every two years?

I do feel a part of my life is gone, when the season is over.
Football is easily the best game ever invented, every other sport is tedious by comparison.
Football is simple, no daft rules, no complex scoring system, just twenty men, a ball, and moments of brilliance.

And the passion.

It really is a beautiful game.

A Man To Move You

I'm going to cheat tonight.
I think I did mention recently that I've got a lot on right now.
I had hoped to visit a few blogs tonight before going away tomorrow, but I have guests tonight and must be at a party tomorrow.

So I hope you'll find Keats enjoyable. I think he's pretty amazing, myself, though he doesn't float everyone's boat.



Keats was two years younger than me when he died.
But he was easily the greatest of his set.
Shelley, Byron, yes, they wrote a lot of good poetry, all of it making Wordsworth look as talented as Baldrick, but Keats, Keats was up there with Coleridge and Blake.

I really hope you like this as much as I do.

Ode To A Nightingale

MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,
That thou, light-wingèd Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delvèd earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South!
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stainèd mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last grey hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.



Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmèd darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that ofttimes hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?

Top quality.
Don't you agree?

Blogging- Why Do I Do It?

None of us needs to justify why we do it, really.
I just thought after last night's post you might wonder why I started blogging.
Apart from, why not?

I'll be honest, this time last year, I didn't know what a blog was.
The only e mails I received were work related.
I knew of chatrooms. Me and a mate used to go in them as students, with names like Ho Chi Minh, and wind up Americans by going on about Vietnam.
It happened rarely, mainly when we couldn't find any more Tabatha Cash sites.

Profuse apologies to all Americans- we were nineteen with a bizarre sense of humour.

I discovered the medium by chance.

I am a betting man.
Not a compulsive gambler, there is a huge difference.

I never bet on horses, dogs, cricket, rugby, or anything I know nothing about.

I DO bet on football and elections.
For General Elections, I do my assessment months in advance, constituency by constituency.
If you travel a lot and are a chatty person, you pick up a lot of useful local information.
But I was also finding the internet pretty useful for finding out things I needed to know.
In fact, I was researching my prediction for the Scottish Elections, when Google led me to a couple of blogs.



The information on there was helpful, so I checked the blogroll.
Maybe some of these blogs would give me further gems.

On one of these blogs, was a post I had an opinion on.
A strong opinion.
And one of the commentors felt strongly another way.
Not being one to be quiet, I accused him of being an apologist for racism (which he was).

I could have left it.
Anyway, I returned the following day to find myself assailed.
It took two days and about ten long comments from me, but I like to think I fought the corner against closet racism.
And when this debate was over, I felt different.

The medium had caught me.

So I visited other blogs looking for fresh debates.
One of them necessitated me getting a Blogger ID.
Unfortunately, I didn't realise you could have a Blogger ID, without a blog, so I ended up having a blog.
I wrote short posts to myself thinking, hell, if someone DOES click through they might read it.
This happened sooner than I thought.

But something very important happened before it did.

I happened to be at a party where a girl told me a truly horrifying story.
Basically, her stefather raped her pretty much nightly from age twelve upwards, whilst the mother was on night shifts. It's not the first time I've heard such stories from the people it's happened to, but there was something so sweet about her, it did actually make me want to cry.
It affected me for days.

In a sense, it was the last straw for me.
It was the final proof for me that we live in a completely sick society where nobody really gives a damn.

I realised I believed passionately that we could do so much better as a species, than we are doing.
For years the intensity of my convictions were something that only emerged during the long political discussions myself and The Baker had at weekends after heavy clubbing sessions.
Or at parties.
I saw a medium where I could literally, say what I wanted.
With the arguments being judged on their own merits.

And they would be a matter of public record.
And yet, they would be distanced from me.
I could carry on as normal.

I embraced the medium properly in March of this year.
And here we are.

I wouldn't mind betting many of you have similar stories to tell.
On the whole, I think it is rewarding.

Found this over at Kizzie's.

60%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?

Austin Singles from Mingle²

My flatmate would disagree.

By the way, CityUnslicker has done a very thoughtful response to my post on interest.
It's worth going over and having a look at his take on the subject, before you make your minds up.

So blogging.
Time consuming, yes.
Waste of time?
Would I do it if it was?

Love the lot of you! xx

Show The Working

My maths teacher always told me to show the working.
I couldn't.
I could see the answer, but not how I'd got there.
I'm older now.



It's only fair of me to say that the opinions I have on things are partly based on a lot of reading over the years. I'm not in fact that big a reader, it's just I don't really read novels. I prefer something that's going to tell me something I don't know.
I like to see something in a whole new light when I've finished.

But more importantly, my opionions are based on my own experiences and observations, on my own thoughts on the questions I have found myself asking.
I'm only relatively young still. I'm sure several of my opinions will alter in time.

My childhood wasn't awful, but it was stifling.
I was never an overacheiver at school. I was considered gifted but lazy, as well as a disruptive influence.
I thought school a complete waste of time, and I still think most of it was.
Ironically, it wasn't learning I hated. I'd skive school to stay at home and read Spenser and Malory as a teenager.

Going to University was the best day of my life. For me, it really was the first day of the rest of my life.
I pretty much broke with my family, only to see them at Christmas and Birthdays, and I don't really regret that decision. There have been occasions when I had to return to living with my parents for odd spells, but we don't see the world the same way.

At University, I led a sort of double life.
I lived it up. A lot.
I didn't do a lot of studying.
For three years I slept from 6 AM to 1 PM.

But I was also active in a political party for the first and second year. At one point I even had a position in it.
I was pretty good on the doorstop, wearing a Rosette. That bit I enjoyed.
The meetings bored the hell out of me.
I understood the arguments we spouted, to the degree of how to use these tools in debate.
But I never thought of the issues in human terms.

Hell, ultimately, I supported them because it was my favourite colour...

Well, three years of wasterdom left me pretty ill equiped for working eight hours a day, five days a week, even with a bit of paper saying I had a degree.



I ended up in sales, because I wanted a job that I could get paid for without working too hard, and still have money to get completely trashed on Pills on a Friday night.

This lack of a plan, did get me into a hell of a mess over the years. I drifted blindly through relationships, sold a variety of different products and experienced a lot of things, good and bad, that many people never do.

I had a pretty mispent youth, but I also suffered through it. I went through a few Hells.

I suppose I really began to become very thoughtful in my late twenties.
I found myself questioning so much of the world we live in. I couldn't help but ask, do these things HAVE to be that way?
Why are things that way?

I found myself applying my own observations to political and economic lines of thought.
I think you have to truly go through Hell, to truly question.

One thing I could say for sure, there wasn't much constructive I had acheived.
But that in itself raised a problem. Whilst this was certainly all my fault, it didn't alter the fact that my making zero contribution to society WAS a loss to society. Even if I had little talent, it was some talent of some sort, and society certainly hadn't received it.
And then I saw the deeper problem. Individualism cuts both ways. I had used my individualism to get an easy life, without really giving anything.

And let's be honest, that's what I do now, except I'm better at it.
But only because I'm better paid, have a stable life, don't take drugs every weekend, and therefore, can make it work.

I'm paid, but trust me, my social contribution remains ZERO.



The problem with Individualism, is that it leads people like me to structure their lives in a way that pleases them best. They always will.

The society we live in, basically rewards me better for contributing nothing to its overall well being, than anything socially useful.

I'd love to write for a living, but no one would pay me.
So I work as a salesman.

I lead a cushy life. Do I deserve it?
Not a jot.
I'm just benefitting from living in the right part of the world, and having found a way of making the system work for me without trying too hard.

I'd love to make a positive difference- but I'm not paid to.
I actually hate the concept of selling my labour. I often feel no better than a prostitute.
I just can't get excited by the corporate drivel one talks day in, day out.
It's Newspeak, all of it. I feel positively soiled by it.

And I loathe the crap we all pretend about the virtues our society pretends to have.
So many of the accepted values of our society, the orthodoxies of our time are some of them, completely ludicrous.

And if you publically question them, they'll shout you down. They won't let you be heard.

These are the reasons why, I FEEL crushed by Ingsoc.