Carl Jung

Carl Jung
"To find a way back to source is a perennial human need."

AR WERTH/FOR SALE

AR WERTH/FOR SALE
AR WERTH/FOR SALE

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Wednesday, 16 August 2017

The smell of Poo 💩

                                                                             





     http://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/people-saying-centre-cardiff-smells-13481656💩


We finds (kairdiff vernacular) out yesterday that people have been complaining about the smell of poo in Central Cardiff. It's been there for years and only now are people waking up to the fact. The smell is a metaphor for the managed decline of the so called Capital City of Wales. I have lived in the less than salubrious suburb of Grangetown since November 1988, more off than on in recent years and when we used to go out on the piss, we'd (my fellow piss heads) and I would come home and for some reason we'd always put this Vic Damone song on high! I had a Crooners CD that I was rather partial to when pissed. Whether it was the melancholia from the alcohol or a realisation that we lived in this shit hole and had to make the best of it, I don't know. There could be some huge fatbergs in the sewers or it could be a pre-emptive odour from unseen shamanic forces announcing to tired parents and austerity hit shoppers that a huge pile of poo namely the BBC building will be opening in 2019 and also a new HMRC HQ is to go up with a Tax Payer subsidised dragon atop that will be able to drop 💩 on the peeps below. This combined with the Western Mail Building and the Welsh Rugby Union nestling beside the pigeon droppings of the Principality Stadium, is anybody surprised that the centre stinks of shit? Don't forget that this area will be housing 4,000 Civil Servants shortly. They are all going to have to take a 💩 somewhere. They are moaning about it down the Bay as well, this could of course be the right dishonourable Neil Hamilton opening his cakehole again or it could be a message from the city forefathers that helter skelter development could land you in the 💩. This odour is just a taste of things to come. Bitter? I'm bastard citrus butt!


Further Reading

Friday, 11 August 2017

The Beauty Queen of Leanne





As a Ffrinj Nutter who had a dalliance with the Welsh Nationalist Party/ Plaid Cymru/ The Party of Wales many, many years ago I was perturbed to see in the last couple of days that there is now a jockeying for position in attempting to unseat the Leader, Leanne Wood. Very ungentlemanly conduct considering that it comes from a WET Eisteddfod field from a man riding an exercise bike in Green Wellingtons. Like other pundits I would state that it is not the Leader that is the problem, it is the Party. Root & Branch it needs a full valet service, the cobwebs need to be blown out of the corners and instead of being a defensive party as in Tarian Cymru they need to become the Jack Russell of political parties. They should have been amongst it with Sports Direct UK and BBC Newsnight recently. A well meaning tweet here and there wont cut the mustard I'm afraid. Just in case you are unfamiliar with the unusual suspects let me give you a run down of the runners and riders. 

(All Photographs are the Property of the BBC)

The man in green wellingtons himself. A name to conjure with and one which will give Newsnight researchers a headache.
Was not a member of Plaid Cymru when he jumped ship from the H.M.S BBC straight into the arms of  the Anglesey Assembly Seat. Another member had been selected for the seat but was encouraged to step down as the Rune stone was seen as a safe bet. A careerist at the Beeb and the same in Plaid Cymru it would appear. There is something of the automaton about Rhun ap Iorwerth. Despite any perceived faults in her leadership at least Leanne Wood is human.



Smug Simon Thomas, he of the Fisher Price toys quip, credited with losing the Ceredigion Westminster seat to the Liberal Democrats, recently won back by the thrusting Ben Lake. Bit too shifty and a shit stirrer to be the Leader of a Political Party and very unlikely to throw his hat in the ring unless he does what he did last time, stand in the first round, lose and throw his support behind a better horse.


Adam Price, Leanne Wood's left hand man and long time confidante would be a popular choice for Leader with the new Taoiseach of Ireland, Ruth Davidson and Kezia Dugdale in Scotland being openly gay leaders of their respective parties. A fine orator with the Westminster experience of trying to impeach Tony Blair. If I was a betting man I would put my 20p in the slot for the Garnant boy.


An outside choice but one to watch out for on the stand side is street fighter Neil McEvoy. The pugilists' politician, this is the type of Jack Russell character the party needs to win back voters and popular support. He has done it in Cardiff as a Councillor, whether he can galvanise the whole of Wales remains to be seen. Whether the traditionalists and feminists within the Party will give him that mandate is another matter entirely.

And to the incumbent herself, Leanne Wood in her own words is a campaigner. She has steadied a leaky ship and was a very visible presence in shutting down UKIP in the TV debates. Rose through the ranks quickly because of her enthusiasm. Some say she was fortunate in 2012 because of the weakness of the other candidates but you don't stay leader for five years unless you have a magical something. Her taking of the Assembly seat of the Rhondda was historic.

Plaid Cymru is a party that unsettles itself. If a Leader can be challenged every two years it doesn't leave that leader in a very secure position. Like Football Managers we all think that we can do things better but it is not the manager that it is at fault here but the players. There is something rotten in the State of Wales and until that is scraped out, it really does not matter who is the leader of this particular party. Unless they change the rule that a Westminster MP cannot be the leader of the Party, then you are left with the scraps in Cardiff when you have the likes of Liz Saville Roberts and Jonathan Edwards in London.    







   

Monday, 7 August 2017

Chwaraeon Uniongyrchol



Hwhaa a Hullabaloo, dyma ni eto yn amddiffyn yr iaith yn erbyn cyfalafwyr anglophone. Rydym wastad ar y cam nol, wastad yn amddiffyn. Tarian Cymru?
Ydy o ddim yn amser i fod yn ymosodol ynglŷn â'r iaith tybed? Oni bai fod chi yn mynd i dalu pres mawr i gwmni cyhoeddusrwydd cyhoeddus o Lundain i wneud y Gymraeg yn fwy derbyniol i bobol sydd heb yr iaith sut yn y byd rydym yn mynd i gyrraedd y filiwn erbyn 2050 dywed? Dydi'r softly softly approach yma ddim yn mynd i weithio. A ydy o'n amser i fod yn gas ac yn fileinig gyda'r iaith? Gwrthod siarad Saesneg o gwbl. Os dydyn nhw ddim am drafferthu dysgu iaith ni pam ddylwn ni siarad iaith nhw. Iaith ein Gormeswyr after all! Iaith ddeiseb y Ring of Iron yn Fflint? A ydyn ni fel cenedl wedi bod yn rhy barod i droi at y Saesneg? Dwi yn un o'r gwaethaf, dwi yn cyfadde’ a dwi yn tristau am gymaint o sothach a rwtsh Saesneg dwi yn rhannu, it's the go to language of choice cariad if you want to get on. Beth am wersylloedd iaith i oedolion yng Nglan-llyn a Llangrannog ble mae Cymry yn tynni llyw i'r iaith a gwireddi chwedl y twristiaid ac yn mynd i drefi glan mor ac yn dechrau siarad Cymraeg gyda’i gilydd o flaen estronwyr? Mae fy nhad yn cofio fod yn Llandudno yn nhridegau'r ganrif ddiwethaf a Chymro yn gweiddi ar Dwristiaid neu Fewnfudwyr "You have no right in our country" mewn acen gref y Gogledd. Yn Llandudno o bob man. Erbyn hyn ar y Costa Del Crime fuasa'r esgyd ar y troed arall a fasa’r Saeson yn deud " You have no right speaking Welsh in your own Country" fel gwelwyd yn Chwaraeon Uniongyrchol ym Mangor. Tynnu blewyn o drwyn y Cymry maen nhw chi ac maent yn llwyddo bob tro. Mae'r ymateb yn nerthol ond pisio yn y gwynt rydym yn gwneud oherwydd dim ond aros am y digwyddiad nesaf ydan ni. Beth am i ni'r Cymry creu stŵr ag agor busnesau ble mae'r iaith Saesneg yn cael ei gwahardd. Cafes a Thafarndai yn drefi Glan Mor ble mae 'No English Language Rule'. Dwi di ddeud o blaen fod y Cymry ddi Gymraeg, ein cyd dinasyddion sydd ddim yn siarad Cymraeg yn waeth na'r Saeson. Passive Aggressive di'r Cymry! "Let's ope it dies out of its own accord" ydy mantra hwy. Ydan ni wir yn sylweddoli pa mor anodd ydy o i ddysgu'r iaith ddadleuol yma? Ddysgu iaith i fod yn amddiffynnol amdano fo? Faswn ni yn reight awyddus i ddechrau'r 'Apartheid Cafe' yn Aberystwyth ble fydd neb yn cael yr hawl i siarad Saesneg. Hardly the best business model in the world cariad ond ar ddiwedd y dydd cyfalafiaeth sydd a fydd yn lladd y Gymraeg oni bai fod ni yn dweud enough a digon yn uchel ac yn aml.     

Friday, 4 August 2017

Serious Scotland





Last week I spent Monday night to Friday morning in Glasgow, Scotland. I had travelled up to Crewe on Arriva Trains Wales and then transferred to Virgin Trains which was like an upgrade from a BB in a seedy backstreet of Blackpool to the Waldorf Astoria. Even though Virgin and Richard Branson did the dirty on Jeremy Corbyn I hope they are one of the Rail Operators who are tendering to take over from Arriva in January of 2018. I had read somewhere that Glasgow did not feel like a British City and it did feel different, perhaps Scandinavian. The air was fresh and clean, it did not feel like a polluted city although I did experience walking through a rush hour and in that respect it was like every other British City. People trying to get home at exactly the same time. Whenever I arrive someplace new, I walk like a madman ( I can use such terms for I am a madman) to get my bearings, like a Baudelaire flaneur on speed and this I did the first night along the Clyde walkway where I was delighted to see a statue to 
Dolores Ibarruri:La Pasionaria.
The part of the Clyde that I walked alongside from behind Central Station to the West of the City was a little non descript. I don't know what I had been expecting but it must be how visitors feel when they see the Taff in Cardiff flowing through Bute Park and out to Cardiff Bay, a little underwhelmed. Never mind the following morning I decided to walk down Sauchiehall Street where I had a breakfast bagel and coffee and the lady asked whether I was from Newcastle. Bit further South I replied. "Speak a bit more" she commanded. "Well alrighty" I replied "I will have black pepper and brown sauce on my bagel, thank  you" "Och yes I've got you now". She didn't say where she'd got me pinned down to but she'd got me. Satiated, I decided to try and find the Blue Plaque of R.D.Laing.  I had looked at a map and seen that it was in an area on the South side of the City called Govanhill and I saw Govan and thought it must be in that direction but having walked for miles I decided to ask directions and thus started the most helpful series of events. I was told twice by two different people that it was behind Pollockshaws and that perhaps I should get a No 90 Bus and I'm glad that I did because who was driving that bus at approximately 12.15pm on Tuesday 25th July 2017 but Mr Mohammad Sharif of First Bus Glasgow. I asked him for a Day Pass and directions to Ardberg Street. On alighting, he told me to catch another bus and get off after one stop and cross the road and work my way down and I would see it and like a mirage in a desert I found it. I had walked for miles and was feeling extra grateful. Govanhill by all accounts was an area with a high percentage of refugee families but one thing that struck me was that there was a fairly easy going vibe and that if I was a Refugee or Asylum Seeker in the UK, then I would rather be based in Glasgow than anywhere else. There didn't seem to be the edge or tension of other cities despite the after effects of austerity. I looked up at R.D Laing's Blue Plaque and thanked him for his life and legacy of challenging Psychiatric Orthodoxy and headed back for the centre of the city. Despite having bought a Day Pass I walked and walked. I don't know what it is, there is a level of addiction to walking that I tend to only stop and look for alternatives only when I am well and truly knackered. Glasgow was impressing me with its earthiness, its lack of pretence and its general ambience of good nature. It was my first visit but I'm sure it won't be my last.



The Wall Art was fantastic and here is just a small sample. I am not an artist or a musician. I am a bad poet and I should really have gone to Dundee to track down the birthplace of William Topaz McGonagall but I am a big fan of Street Art and I appreciate a good busker and Glasgow was well endowed with those as well.


Because I am no longer an imbiber of hard liquor I decided to take inspiration from the Shark in the Wall Art below. Only water for me on this trip. 




After being very impressed by the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum on the Wednesday morning and less so by the Tenement House in the afternoon my curiosity about the City's 'Fitba' had to be satisfied on the Thursday. In the morning, it was pissing down and I hailed a bus on the West Side of the City and of all the buses and all the bus drivers in the whole of Glasgow who should pull up but Mr Mohammad Sharif. I was so glad to see him, I bought another Day Pass and when we got to the last stop in the centre I offered him a couple of quid to buy a coffee as a token of my appreciation but he refused  and just said that he was happy to do a good deed and that it was nice to be appreciated. I cheekily asked him for directions to Hampden Park and the Scottish Football Museum and he pointed me towards the No 6 to East Kilbride.
                         
 Near to the Bus Stop was a surreal picture. I had to take a photograph.

Somebody, perhaps on a night out,had left a decent pair of shoes in the middle of the pavement. I thought the symbolism was stunning. Had the owner been abducted by aliens? Had he decided to leave an old life behind? On my Instagram Page I framed it as the inspiration for a Creative Writing Competition and I would be delighted if you would consider taking part.

Having played Rugby for most of my teens, twenties and early thirties I now hate the Welsh National Sport and have thrown my allegiance behind the Football. Rugby was the script but football was the passion. Were you in Anfield in 1977 when Joe Jordan handled the ball and denied Wales the right to go to Argentina and the World Cup Finals?



Well here is the football from that game and it's on display at the Scottish Football Museum in Hampden Park, Glasgow.



I don't know how aggrieved Welsh fans still are about that night because they've been to France now with Chris Coleman's side in the European Championships last year but even in 1977, 1958 seemed a long way back in time, the last occasion that they had qualified for the finals of a major competition.
I mention this fact because it struck me that Scotland and Glasgow in particular had a sense of civic pride. They treated their footballers like heroes almost elevating them to a God like status. In  Cardiff and Wales we do not have that sense of civic pride. Where is the National Football Museum? 
If Big Joe Jordan had not handled the ball that night, then the world the following year would not have experienced one of the wonder goals of all time in the World Cup Finals in Argentina in 1978.

                           
I realise that I am ageing myself terribly in this blog but hey time and tide waits for no man. The Scottish Football Museum was a great trip down memory lane. If you go, make sure you combine it with a Guided Tour of Hampden Park because the Volunteer Guides are wonderful. I didn't and regret it.  I headed back into the Centre again with my Day Pass and decided to visit the Peoples' Palace. Once again a great example of civic pride. It showed the history of Glasgow. 


Of all the exhibits this one particularly caught my interest.


 Sing up there at the back!

Friday, 28 July 2017

Guest Blog Post: Jennifer Lemming

Jennifer Lemming has poem and fiction published in, or forthcoming in Foothills Press, Tipton Poetry review, Hobo Camp Review. Daughters, Rufous Press (Sweden), Outrider Press, The Camel Saloon, and News Verse News. 

She considers lyrics to be just a breath away from poetry, and in winter of 2009 won 3rd place in the Jazz Beyond Jazz blog Blues lyrical poem contest for her poem “I got the I Can’t Sleep Baby Blues”. 

In 2004 “Sundown” Peter Kobal put music  to her lyrics and recorded “Thunder Song” l, on his CD “The Only Star”, available from Driftwood Music., also since early 2017 included in KDAK 102.FM playlist. 

In Feb 2011 she was a finalist the Lincoln Poem event in Zionsville, Indiana which was sponsored by Brick Street Poetry for her Poem, 

"Lincoln's Zionsville Whistle Stop".

She considers lyrics to be just a breath away from poetry, and in winter of 2009 won 3rd place in the Jazz Beyond Jazz blog Blues lyrical poem contest for her poem,I got the I Can’t Sleep Baby Blues.  

Her chapbook, The Clever Level was published by Celestial Panther Publishing, summer 2012. 

Her chapbook, Diamonds in Asphalt is forthcoming from Dark Heart Press. 


I am beginning to reflect on what emotional and cultural atmosphere which envelopes me as I write, what inspires me, yes, but also my actual physical surroundings.
I wrote my first really good poem while finishing college. I wrote it just sitting in the computer lab located in the basement of a building on campus,. After only about a ten per cent editing, and a couple years of submissions, it went on to win a first prize in a poetry festival!
While I’ve written poems and short stories at various locations using a pen or pencil and paper I’ve slowly graduated to computer composing, which is easier and still produces results, but the process is not quite the same...
I’ve sat on a park bench editing a printed copy of a poem I had been working for a long time but it didn’t quite gel. But on that park bench that overlooked a glorious view of the Missouri River in North Dakota, I knew the beat of the poem was wrong. While I was bent over with concentration and reworked the rhythm but mostly I missed a spectacular sunset that passed while I was writing. That day I was pushed hard by my muse, the rhythm laid out in my head like a map as I scribbled it down feverishly; that poem remains one of the best, beat for syllabic beat, of all my writing.
Producing a personal favorite and one of my best short stories in a 2-3 hour span while with ear buds plugged in, I listened to sad, gothic, sometimes French music in a YouTube loop. As I pounded out a story with a good beginning, middle and end, all three story acts flowing from my tapping fingers with ease (several rounds of grammar editing came later) I listened, sometimes to the voice of Edith Piaf, and sometimes to others, all softly wailing their humanity while I wrote a story about bees and vampires.
I composed lyrics to a song a lifelong country western singer recorded as I sanded, then varnished a dresser on the porch of our New Mexico house.  We had moved the very southernmost edge of New Mexico a few months prior.  I was processing variety of experiences overloading my system. They included an endless skyline which showered us with a glorious star shows at night, stories of I was hearing from people who had completely different experiences from anything I have ever witnessed.
I stood on that porch and wrote a lyrical poem, line by line between the sanding and polishing process. Eventually that poem landed in the hands of the singer and producer known as “Sundown” Peter Kobal who put music to my words, recorded the song on his CD The Only Star.
Now I am in Bismarck North Dakota since 2014 and this song, Thunder Song is on the playlist of the community radio station. What a trip, what more is ahead of me.


Below is a poem I wrote shortly after arriving in Bismarck. I arrived from a 1,000 mile trip from Indiana with dog and possessions in tow, to met my husband at our new dwelling.
What a life! What more to experience.


Plains Song

Avoiding gopher dugs and digs,
I rub sandalwood oil
mixed with buffalo grease
on my bare arms. Opening
my mouth to bite at the cold,
I finally see the moon
after the membrane of clouds pass
and I try to hold on
until your love reaches shore break
inside my heart,
and shatters all geography.


published Hobo Camp Review - Winter issue 2016






Saturday, 15 July 2017

Yourself, Teach Welsh


"Now then indeed to goodness look you" as the the Times of London might say, we have seen a  furore from the defenders of the Iaith and quite rightly so, the 'Tarian Twitterati'. I posted a couple of quixotic tweets myself but we have learnt from the cognoscenti that the best thing to do is ignore those who insult our 'Mam Iaith'. When they insult Cymraeg what they are actually saying is a version of 'Yer Mum' oft used by schoolchildren to attack or wind up their peers. We rise to the bait en masse in righteous indignation because we feel threatened. We personalise the attack because we speak Welsh. Cymraeg, even though it is our strength and shield is also our achilees heel. It is one of the things that we feel most passionate about, that the slightest twitch of criticism can send us into paroxysms of defensiveness. The psychology of Welsh Speaking is worth a study in itself because most of us are brought up in a soup of Saesneg and we regain the language in our own different ways. We have strata of standards of Welsh where inferiority complexes show themselves up to the light. "Mae fy Nghymraeg ddim yn digon da" "My Welsh isn't good enough" How often have we heard that or have we said it ourselves? You wouldn't dream of saying "My English isn't good enough" so why have you taken yourself into the Second Division of the Linguistic League with this lazy refrain. I don't actually care about the standard of my Welsh but I do care passionately about the language and its survival. Personally I don't think that competing against each other once a year at the Eisteddfod Genedlaethol is the most productive way of ensuring its survival as competition and indeed education is a turn off to a lot of people. Unfortunately the elders are expecting the yoof to embrace Welsh in their hundreds of thousands. The Welsh Assembly Government have set their target of 1 million Welsh speakers by 2050 after having a sibrwd in their ear by Cymdeithas yr Iaith and a very good thing too. There is nothing like a target and a deadline to get the blood flowing. Unfortunately many of us writing and speaking Wenglish will be dead by then so are we going to sit back in our rocking chairs and let the banks and supermarkets take the strain or are we as Carwyn Jones has urged going 'take possession and responsibility' for the language? Every single one of the 546,000 or whatever number the Census has manipulated us into thus far, need to become Teachers of Welsh. We need to pounce upon unsuspecting tourists having their ice creams in Llandudno or white water rafting in Llangollen and engage them in Cymraeg. We see its value and importance but persuading the other victims of austerity of its priority in our lives might be a different matter, but we don't know until we've tried. For my part I am tutoring a little Midlands Person who attends classes and comes to me for Conversation practice. I continue to write my beloved 'bratiaith' on this blog but I am aware that if we are all serious about 1 million Welsh Speakers by 2050 then we ourselves are going to have to become 'The Teachers of Welsh'

Wednesday, 12 July 2017

Digon o Ddyn




Digon o Ddyn




Dych chi ddim yn ddigon o ddyn i gyfadde’ eich bod yn gaeth i gystadlu?



Yn ddigon o ddyn i fynd i ryfel dros y Gymraeg ar drydar?




Ydach chi yn ddigon o ddyn i gyfaddef eich bod yn 'bore'?




ar unig beth i chi yn mwynhau di 'Final Score'.




Ydach chi'n ddigon o ddyn i ddeud fod cael cachiad yn well na chael rhyw?


Ydach chi'n ddigon o ddyn i sylwi fod pob brawddeg yn spew?
  


Dwi ddim yn ddigon o ddyn i alw fy hun yn ddyn oherwydd dwi di wneud gormod o bosau yn deud fy mod gen i ymennydd menywaidd 




Dwi'n ddigon o ddyn i guddio tu ôl i Weplyfr ac i ddweud y pethau maent yn disgwyl i mi ddeud.




Ond bywyd afiach ydy un o gymhariaeth.




Dych chi'n ddigon o ddyn i brynu siocled a siampen
i wrando yn astud yn lle cynnig ateb




i sylweddoli dy fod ti yn perthyn i dy wraig a dy blentyn 




Ti'n ddigon o ddyn i sylweddoli na fod yn ti dy hun yn hunanol?
a chydymffurfio ydy'r unig ffordd i fihafio.




Dwi'n gwybod dy fod ti ddim yn ddigon o ddyn a dyna pam dwi'n gofyn
i weindio di fyny am fy mhleser. 




Paid â becso (Sowth) hogyn (North) does 'na ddim dyn ar y ddaear yn barod i gyfadde
fod o ddim yn ddigon o ddyn.



Hitler navigates the A487 from Aberaeron to Aberystwyth

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David's books

How To Be Idle
Second Sight
Freud: The Key Ideas
The Yellow World
Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other
Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
Ham on Rye
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Mavericks
Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
Hovel in the Hills: An Account of the Simple Life
Ring of Bright Water
The Thirty-Nine Steps
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul


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