tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-153221772024-03-18T20:13:32.058+00:00CORNUCOPIAStephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.comBlogger1372125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-51818203723176670082024-03-18T20:12:00.002+00:002024-03-18T20:12:48.518+00:00FEATURE - The Yellow Scream<p> I owe my Husband for this one. He has put me on to the work of this guy. Its sort of self explanatory, so I'm not going to write anything about it at all. Yes, its hilarious, but I also would call it truly wonderful. This is a drastically edited version, the full video lasts forty minutes.</p><p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cJNx0LTLGOc?si=ybVKT43zfg3SiRoj" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p>Now, doesn't that make your day feel a whole lot better?</p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-61252291481286276652024-03-17T08:32:00.064+00:002024-03-18T19:49:26.938+00:00SACRED MOMENTS - Asking The Question<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkLwmmuvQVCcjfkiwUl7RqvNZ0NQIJWhsRttxW-66c8STEZ2n11nbgDbd9zJaAC3HXkYCs_UD1eo_nthAqiVdmXYQyxTfYLo0thc2Wt5QTphfc4j3Z-aWIAMH7Wn3gaie-MazaGtpfqNERIZ6XhDK2z_WkdJw9l9p3rSAvPx_8pNL4qSmhuGw/s1279/Passing%20Through%20Phases.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="1262" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRkLwmmuvQVCcjfkiwUl7RqvNZ0NQIJWhsRttxW-66c8STEZ2n11nbgDbd9zJaAC3HXkYCs_UD1eo_nthAqiVdmXYQyxTfYLo0thc2Wt5QTphfc4j3Z-aWIAMH7Wn3gaie-MazaGtpfqNERIZ6XhDK2z_WkdJw9l9p3rSAvPx_8pNL4qSmhuGw/s320/Passing%20Through%20Phases.JPG" width="316" /></a></div><br />I'm about to begin a series of articles under the banner of Sacred Moments. I thought this explanatory preface might be necessary to lay out my approach. <div><br /></div><div>It might be tempting to divide what is sacred into two. - What we hold sacred, can refer to secular values we uphold and wish to exemplify - A sense of the sacred, can be an experience pointing towards something other, the divine in all the various configurations of it that can be imagined.With Sacred Moments I'm more concerned with the latter, whilst at the same time unconvinced such a strict bifurcation can ever be clearly maintained. There is inevitably some interplay, and this in itself is worth examining.</div><div><br /></div><div>These articles intend to explore on an experiential level what a sense of the sacred is and has been for me. There is an inbuilt autobiographical slant, Incidents have popped up in a multiplicity of places and circumstances, not just in a religious context or in nature. Sacred Moments simply will note where these have occurred. In the writing of them it has felt similar to an act of archaeology, excavating, identifying, conserving and then placing them in the museum of my Self. To be curious about my own history, how I have told it, and how I now tell it. Noting the shifts in emphasis and implied meaning.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though a sense of the sacred appears to arise out of nowhere, they do nonetheless have a context, a particular setting. Even if where they are situated doesn't necessarily appear to make much sense of it, nor explain it. I'm attempting to adopt the broadest perspective on what can be conceived of as a sacred experience. I don't think a sense of the sacred is solely about the spiritual highs.</div><div><br /></div><div>I forget, as do we all, that we have had any such experience, and still do have sensations of the sacred. However evasive or difficult they might be to pin down or own up to. They get easily explained away, denied, rationalised or simply ignored as we quickly move on to the next instance. Sacred Moments is a vehicle for reclaiming them as things worthy of note, and sometimes even to find that they have had a greater influence upon you, perhaps more than you've previously credited them with. </div><div><br /></div><div>You cannot chase, hunt down or develop an expectation where and when a sense of the sacred will happen. Similar to happiness you cannot will a sense of the sacred into being. Which is not to say there is an absence of reciprocity. There can be causal encounters arising 'seemingly' in response to intent, but that 'seemingly' is not to be too readily overlooked.</div><div><br /></div><div>The primary thing is noticing. And in that noticing I'm already recognising themes and patterns. So in my more left brain moments of certainty or cynicism, my tendency to categorically deny or begrudge a perceived lack of spiritual experiences, these examined patterns will make that a more difficult stance to uphold. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-7771690001061475232024-03-07T09:33:00.015+00:002024-03-07T14:08:22.567+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Freedom - John Verveake<div><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b></div><b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGHwGmF3pEorAZcLqtbhnX5ZygYo1-dnM3ELAkGKSHMNW4BdZK5f0wEwgRTH6jZdL2P8c9IAbLUeLqJ736WiwkbDXnl7FTwGrTMtzYUgZ2LH7c6_V_KtvSwsROL1VrfZwPaIaEWG7fgJzjwBVIjCyIkbMXEYxVTR7Dgr42h0RALy6K6CXuS7F/s225/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBYWFRYVFhUYGRYYHBwZGBUYFRgaGBgYHBgZGRgZGBocIS4lHB4rHxgZJjgmKy8xNTU1HCQ9QDszPy40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHjcrJCs0NDQ0NDQ1NDQ0NTQ0NDQ0NDE0NDYxNDQ0NDQ0MTQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQxN.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGHwGmF3pEorAZcLqtbhnX5ZygYo1-dnM3ELAkGKSHMNW4BdZK5f0wEwgRTH6jZdL2P8c9IAbLUeLqJ736WiwkbDXnl7FTwGrTMtzYUgZ2LH7c6_V_KtvSwsROL1VrfZwPaIaEWG7fgJzjwBVIjCyIkbMXEYxVTR7Dgr42h0RALy6K6CXuS7F/w400-h400/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBYWFRYVFhUYGRYYHBwZGBUYFRgaGBgYHBgZGRgZGBocIS4lHB4rHxgZJjgmKy8xNTU1HCQ9QDszPy40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHjcrJCs0NDQ0NDQ1NDQ0NTQ0NDQ0NDE0NDYxNDQ0NDQ0MTQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQxN.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />'Freedom is not an absolute good </span></i></b><div><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Freedom is an instrumental good.'</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>John Vervaeke</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Taken from a conversation with Jonathan Pageau.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-53603667933875656512024-03-07T08:45:00.009+00:002024-03-09T12:45:03.242+00:00MY OWN WALKING - Journal March 2024<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2M3-JdplrY4t2qgqtrfk6zuK51xD9W0YYLIfleLEtPCYnREM5EoGwY3ffIw2fFqzEk4ioHre6e-xkEGOVitprJWpE_E0T1XEiMbZlunA4hu5X0IHiObjHRlJNNcExTPLaj_hgFlttOs3Dtyv_ux2Rlo0b6sHtLJl-FlzZdkGsPBmPwlW-vGL/s1587/20190329_141932.jpg"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2M3-JdplrY4t2qgqtrfk6zuK51xD9W0YYLIfleLEtPCYnREM5EoGwY3ffIw2fFqzEk4ioHre6e-xkEGOVitprJWpE_E0T1XEiMbZlunA4hu5X0IHiObjHRlJNNcExTPLaj_hgFlttOs3Dtyv_ux2Rlo0b6sHtLJl-FlzZdkGsPBmPwlW-vGL/w160-h200/20190329_141932.jpg" width="160"></a></div><div><br></div>The day to day discipline of a spiritual practice, once established, is often carried out with the aroma of unconscious competence permeating it. At least, that has been my experience. The basic bread and butter of spiritual practice - ethical behaviour and a compassionate and devotional focus, are what I still expect of myself. These essential foundational practices inevitably become second nature. This is so to the extent that I have to check in with myself from time to time - is this what I'm doing or have things gone a bit lax lately? Such a spiritual health check I find is ongoing, and part of the practice. Any practice is not just a matter of will and discipline, it also requires faith and a sense of its purpose.<div><br></div><div>Most religions have 'advanced' or 'higher' practices that are more left field. Ones that tend to be placed on the 'mystical' book pile. Teachings often erroneously referred to as 'hidden' or 'secret' ,but are really only reserved. These 'mystical teachings' usually represent the ĺiving breathing soul of a religious tradition. That they are withheld from common knowledge and use, is significant. They are meant to be rare treasures, but as we know the promise of gold, however distant, can also stimulate greed and covetousness. To bring out the avaricious gold hunter in us all.</div><div><br></div><div>Mystical teachings tend to turn what you thought you knew about a tradition completely on its head. Whatever is knowable as divine or transcendent, becomes this absolutely unknowable thing. Whilst that daily spiritual practice you thought really necessary, can suddenly appear to have no value, if viewed absolutely. Because ultimately it is a provisional teaching, thoroughly transitory by its very nature.</div><div><br></div><div>I've become quite intregued lately by the degree of coincidence in trajectory of differing religions 'mystical' traditions. That so many of them ascend into this territory of the unknowable. Whether it's- the Tao which can be known is not the eternal Tao - the Shunyata that escalates its emptiness to the point of emptying emptiness of itself - the Zen concept of thusness, of abandoning any self consciously directed, goal orientated path towards Enlightenment - the apophatic Christian Mystical traditions where the cuddly notion of the bearded patrician, the interventionist God, is completely abandoned. Everything becomes an series of statements of what God is not. And what God is definitely not, is gendered, or even a being you can make requests of. Whatever the tradition, the graspable knowableness of a religion vanishes up itself. And on this most critical of horizons, dissolves into the vast unknowable ocean of nothing in particular.</div><div><br></div><div>In past eras such 'mystical' or 'advanced' teachings would never be mentioned to a person who was thought not yet ready for them. In fact it was often considered detrimental to a person's spiritual progress to do so. What was once a carefully guarded initiation, is now available in book form or on the Internet, or worse still, dispensed like a sweety to suck on at the end of a public talk. </div><div><br></div><div>We have an easy unfiltered and casual access to what are basically 'higher' teachings. Instinctively we recognise them as important, even though we'll most likely misunderstand or misapply them. The temptation to believe we can skip adhering to our foundational practices and simply head straight to the nub of it all, can prove irresistible. Why waste time on things that require application, time and devotion, particularly when you have to let go of them in the end? Why not go straight to the heart ? Save time and effort. This is where hard graft finds itself in an unseemly tug of war with instant gratification.</div><div><br></div><div>There is a story from The Lotus Sutra about The Magic City. A group of travellers sets out on a long and dangerous journey. Knowing many of them might be inclined to give up, their leader and tour guide conjures up The Magic City. Telling them this is their destiny, what they are heading towards, its just over the horizon. Having heard about the Magic City they all want to get there. After weeks, months and years pass The Magic City still has not yet been reached. Many travellers lose faith in their objective, turn back, or fall by the wayside. Eventually those that stick with it do reach The Magic City. At this point the leader clicks his fingers and makes it all disappear. Confessing to them that the Magic City was simply a skillful ruse to help them maintain their focus and confidence, so they did not lose faith in their journeys purpose. Enabling them to get to a place where they can do without such imaginary destinations.</div><div><br></div><div>Buddhism refers to its own foundational teachings as The Raft that gets you to the farther shore. The place where it's raft of practices and teachings becomes redundant. And Buddhism is not alone in having this inbuilt structural redundancy. In the story of The Magic City the disciples are only told of their leaders deception of them at the end, once they've reached their goal. Would it not then be intrinsically unhelpful, if not demoralising, to know about this 'deception' right from the moment of embarking on your spiritual journey,? How would you respond? How would that feel? For once you know, you cannot unknow.</div><div><br></div><div>Whether its a Magic City, Enlightenment or The Promised Land, however we mythologise or imagine the goal, destination or purpose of our religious faith, its an inaccurate, if not illusory, comprehension we are dealing with. So when an atheist says - religions they're all made up and a comforting fantasy - well, in a way they are. They are an instrumental truth, not an absolute one.</div><div><br></div><div>Magic Cities are of necessity illusory, and to simply highlight that does miss the point of them big time. Underneath these foundational myths lies the ocean of unknowing, that an atheist too has no answer, conception or understanding to effectively encompass it with.<br></div><div><br></div><div>For a believer the way to miss the point is to mistake the myth of The Magic City for a real place. To believe in its literal existence. What the story is informing you of, is that our beliefs are only ever useful inexactitudes. Partial truths that gesture you roughly in the right direction. The degree to which you rigidly hold yourself to those beliefs, will not necessarily speed your progress. No one gets far on a spiritual journey without a provisional faith that there is some sort of top to the mountain that you are climbing. Even that the mountain itself is real.</div><div><br></div><div>Faith, I find, is perpetually in a productive, but often slippery, interactive dialogue with our doubts. My religious doubts usually arise from the desire for a sense of something tangible, of having made progress, for an achievable goal, for a conclusion to the journey I'm travelling, banging their head against reality, the hard resistant wall of unknowing. I have had to learn to be more equanimous towards the unknowable nature of where faith itself may be leading me. That makes holding to its amorphous nature challenging. Hence. I guess, the need for The Magic Cities in the first place. </div><div><br></div><div>This is a humbling place to find myself in. To know that I don't know. My ego bristles with being held in the trap of my not liking it. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-38542524143799972492024-03-02T20:47:00.014+00:002024-03-04T20:38:19.370+00:00FINISHED READING - Light Perpetual by Francis Spufford<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4qRpxgcJLnWTQ0slJdjyCtlgjNWSymVJ5zm091lNQEaxr0pKU7C39xAYZlXSwSzqcK9-unV69mQlDtCvRDpRqh1Kp-2BcBW9MuZn4w8ezSk83NqM2hTUkHtuQZ39jI79oU6r3Mepe-EiBAhCa0-A-7m_5p6jcsSAoOFOkxHsFx4MhoGK5lQ7/s214/image_webp;base64,UklGRhgUAABXRUJQVlA4IAwUAABQUQCdASqMANYAPkkgjkUioaETGK2wKASEsoBlkhWrWlhcq97vw7qN8700+YJ_efAA+CXOaf8_1v9Dz63vpJ9NXabXovXf5rfjcvK4n63_xPXF2t8BH29_reBXAJ9Zv9f9xHwafc+cv2W9FP9Y_5PrR_1_Hi+_f9D2C_5__XP+V.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="140" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4qRpxgcJLnWTQ0slJdjyCtlgjNWSymVJ5zm091lNQEaxr0pKU7C39xAYZlXSwSzqcK9-unV69mQlDtCvRDpRqh1Kp-2BcBW9MuZn4w8ezSk83NqM2hTUkHtuQZ39jI79oU6r3Mepe-EiBAhCa0-A-7m_5p6jcsSAoOFOkxHsFx4MhoGK5lQ7/w262-h400/image_webp;base64,UklGRhgUAABXRUJQVlA4IAwUAABQUQCdASqMANYAPkkgjkUioaETGK2wKASEsoBlkhWrWlhcq97vw7qN8700+YJ_efAA+CXOaf8_1v9Dz63vpJ9NXabXovXf5rfjcvK4n63_xPXF2t8BH29_reBXAJ9Zv9f9xHwafc+cv2W9FP9Y_5PrR_1_Hi+_f9D2C_5__XP+V.webp" width="262" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>In November 1944 a V2 hit the New Cross Road branch of Woolworths. One hundred and sixty eight people died. Fifteen of them were children, lives cut off from all the fascinating and tragic things the second half of the 21st Century would bring. Francis Spufford teaching at Goldsmiths College on his way to work, passed every day a plaque that marked the place and date that doodle bug fell to earth, and its obliterating consequences for all those lives, robbed of the unfolding of their lives.<div><br /></div><div>Out of this single adopted tragedy he has created the entirely fictitious lives of five children who died on that November day. Inventing a life for them, ordinary lives with ocassional flashes of the extraordinary. Lives filled with significance and insignificance, joys and mistakes, moral incident and immoral ones, aspirational and thwarted dreams.</div><div><br /></div><div>Through this authorial slight of hand he takes us on a multifaceted journey through the edited highlights, the significant peaks and troughs of their lives and the last half century we simultaneously journey through. Those moments, the ones with greatest emotional significance, frequently dashed with the stinging vinegar of regrets and remorse. They are all here, richly embellished, but different in their essential trajectories.</div><div><br /></div><div>One character struggles all their life with the consequences of mental ill health. Another has success as a rock star only to fall back to earth as a teacher in a local comprehensive. Hiding her past life from everyone, including herself. Another is a bit of a wide boy, an ethically dubious chancer who swindles people, stomping over the lives of others on his way to a fleeting success, who loses it all in the end. There are infidelities, both real and imagined. Relationships turned sour and abusive as a partner becomes embroiled in the brutal politics of the far right. A families inability to help their bulemic daughter. One man struggles to make a success of his life, stymied again and again by the rapid advances of economic change.</div><div><br /></div><div>These can only ever present you with small glimmers of the flavour of this wonderful book. Spufford's writing has a uniqueness of voice, deceptively light, but with great lyrical dexterity, a sense for the colourful detail and the incidental but significant landscape within which everything takes place. None of the characters are quite able to escape the circumstances of the place of their birth. </div><div><br /></div><div>As all these five people approach the end of their entirely fictitious lives, we see them reflecting on what has passed, with all the mixed feelings that a looming point of demise will inevitably summon. The usual recipe for life, is a meal of paths followed and not followed, actions with consequences, decisions and indecision, obstacles overcome and flows gone with. How often the memories of our past are so discoloured by our emotions at the time. Misremembering there significance entirely.</div><div><br /></div><div>This book is founded upon the strength or otherwise of its origin story. All of it arising out of the conceit of a 'what if.' This allows Spufford to take us on an evocation of periods and events. Events that these five people travel through and become ciphers for, in a much larger comment on the way people have adjusted to the changes wrought, for good or ill, upon this country. The consequential damage to people's lives, the malformations of spirit in everyone who lived through them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't quite find my way out of the nagging question, of what the framing of five tragic deaths with imagined future lives brought to the table. How different would the book be if the sentiment of its origin story was removed ? I wasn't convinced that it mattered enough. The significant power of the book would remain and stand up well in the telling.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">CARROT REVIEW - 6/8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0iAgZLvAeDe_L9BiqZFS6ldSA4m4px32PHJUGHHKRSrQW2FfpsoAjQxZSTVe1pKyCY-x5W2Ee-W1I_xv6s0BfLEfPfWv-TOtvnHiwBWynDGSmwB68bm_l9RIw8e-KTlpW19G-ieV-xK8W4WM-G56pr879Et9oLIOGKZB3N3oFUDGrSb8v8lAk/s884/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="113" data-original-width="884" height="41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0iAgZLvAeDe_L9BiqZFS6ldSA4m4px32PHJUGHHKRSrQW2FfpsoAjQxZSTVe1pKyCY-x5W2Ee-W1I_xv6s0BfLEfPfWv-TOtvnHiwBWynDGSmwB68bm_l9RIw8e-KTlpW19G-ieV-xK8W4WM-G56pr879Et9oLIOGKZB3N3oFUDGrSb8v8lAk/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-32162932767229729792024-03-02T17:55:00.000+00:002024-03-02T17:55:19.286+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Martin Shaw - Navigating Mystery<div><b><i><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxnYnKieC5zaHD4oXVVCUX1Qj_SeIC-HREoCjNC6-HWNELMqnKdPu-FID2JXmi6HILd6jRgcdswmys1FF-Mg9nUTREMy5_aBWUm0VwSxqP6LJaIHyo6Egk7I2RQIQ2rt1HhjJ7_ras6d12RrYdR_jhKJ1vp9XgxX2SBxOHa-uaBEqhGEHdW36/s259/_images%20(1).jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxnYnKieC5zaHD4oXVVCUX1Qj_SeIC-HREoCjNC6-HWNELMqnKdPu-FID2JXmi6HILd6jRgcdswmys1FF-Mg9nUTREMy5_aBWUm0VwSxqP6LJaIHyo6Egk7I2RQIQ2rt1HhjJ7_ras6d12RrYdR_jhKJ1vp9XgxX2SBxOHa-uaBEqhGEHdW36/w400-h300/_images%20(1).jpg" width="400"></a></span></i></b></div><i><b><span><div><i><b><span><br></span></b></i></div>'We need to move <br>from living with uncertainty <br>to navigating mystery.</span></b></i><div><i><b><span>It's just inelegant <br>to not at least fail beautifully.'</span></b></i><div><br></div><div><b>Martin Shaw.</b></div><div><b>Mythologist & Storyteller</b>.</div></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-62111594047292763812024-02-29T19:00:00.006+00:002024-02-29T20:05:17.957+00:00THE BEST BEFORE DATE - 1998 - Abdul & Cleopatra by Jonathan Richman<p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/I_ajJZ8efBA?si=wJUDcGczhvAUGpdo" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></p><p>Its easy to underestimate Jonathan Richman, he can be so whimsical and playfully to appear like a naif man/child. And certainly at the height of his popularity with <a href="https://youtu.be/2ZyMPToh9Yg?si=TxDToFRSbmc_SjS7" target="_blank">Egyptian Reggae</a> it did look like rock n roll went to the local play school. I saw him live at least a couple of times and it was live that you experienced how he could take over the hearts of an audience and say look lets play for a while. Yes, there is bucket loads of sentimentality, but it nevertheless has real heart, and this moves you. So you listen with delight to a song called <a href="https://youtu.be/WNprABtBdqA?si=hFkAOAXZQjZjqEQQ" target="_blank">I'm A little Dinosaur</a>, and come away from a concert with all your cynicism momentarily removed. But then there are songs like <a href="https://youtu.be/z1WTgWpfSlU?si=Rthb9gZgEyid52HY" target="_blank">Lonely Financial Zone</a> which beautifully capture the soulessness of a financial district when everything is closed for the weekend. I guess what I'm saying is the guy had charm and the talent to back it up.</p><p>What I appreciate about Abdul & Cleopatra is how firmly tongue in cheek it is, the lyrics on occasion delightfully forced into their rhymes.</p><p><i><b>'Adbul's not seen Cleopatra, It's been almost now a year, And how I wonder where she's at-ra, As I wander through this world.'</b></i></p><p>This is classic Jonathan Richman, great sense of rock n roll at its most pure direct and punchy, allied to a silliness that is wonderful to hear unfold. <br /></p><p><i><b>'Well, Cleopatra take my patience and test it. Test it, Cleopatra take your time as you may. My time has been well spent. I dun cleaned up my tent. You'll like it when you see it someday.'</b></i></p><p><br /></p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-45976146736620135972024-02-29T19:00:00.002+00:002024-02-29T19:34:49.116+00:00SHERINGHAM DIARY 105 - The Eternal Minute<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyX3IGv83N5dX-XpfLS9l1R4KM3BbsyX0ulRP06g2Hpyd78meIYBJyvgYLLOjfh9t9789rVPOtq4oOzePQ23DQV2MNhyu_ayNzIEpD35MopvNoT6SCa70T7pZ3x1pXU08zjGilqmBG5d5FnMOVzu5k6HJcYKs0AqSLyslQcejHAEudC2EPdxBY/s180/_images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="180" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyX3IGv83N5dX-XpfLS9l1R4KM3BbsyX0ulRP06g2Hpyd78meIYBJyvgYLLOjfh9t9789rVPOtq4oOzePQ23DQV2MNhyu_ayNzIEpD35MopvNoT6SCa70T7pZ3x1pXU08zjGilqmBG5d5FnMOVzu5k6HJcYKs0AqSLyslQcejHAEudC2EPdxBY/w400-h400/_images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Sometimes on social media you have to just double check yourself, when something does not remain as it was at the time of writing. I posted a film review recently in which ' a classic piece of 'show not tell' film making' got auto corrected to "shoe not tell". Which I imagine is cinema for foot fetshists and chiropodists, about unsightly 'onions' and 'chalices'.<div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">24th February 2024</span></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7l8FVmrn3iH8j0TsoW45CoAllnzdb-In28irJ1FM1ESvz1etjWf-PQzBpnr5yqRSiIlkve0_L0NrztxlBFhAQGAKutAE4n65NQ25TfeRwpYQjQHtRVdI-cA0bx-2s2EF2upzOAlnlU5MBeqo4D-Q-54GaG_sTu6LRlaF1_iYDWmHkRPoLt_6J/s4080/20240218_102411.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7l8FVmrn3iH8j0TsoW45CoAllnzdb-In28irJ1FM1ESvz1etjWf-PQzBpnr5yqRSiIlkve0_L0NrztxlBFhAQGAKutAE4n65NQ25TfeRwpYQjQHtRVdI-cA0bx-2s2EF2upzOAlnlU5MBeqo4D-Q-54GaG_sTu6LRlaF1_iYDWmHkRPoLt_6J/w300-h400/20240218_102411.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><b><br /></b></div><div>Tomorrow is a week since we set up Cottonwood Home as part of the craft offering at Seagulls & Samphire. And we had enough sales this Saturday to cover our basic monthly fee. It appears to be working. Early days obviously. This February Half Term was not great weather and it is usually a bit of a blip that then flatlines until Easter arrives. And Easter is not till the end of March. So let's wait and see. The fitting out went smoothly as you can see from the photos. There is a bit of refining and tweaking still to be done in some areas. But this was a good enough start.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaAJNZuAvQhlI9v4imCc_6xyemv_lg6TkbUscXwRbyW-8AY3hNFZYuD_1_YaBE8W8hGfiwUeB7qZvUTe_Y5bE6FmiramuPYvXf4uddtj-59orrwzmPMmSLE0M3CpPq6mOGngD_7j_Vjs7RHZyTmRRSzfA8HRsqsyzadvPBIh-AAXL8oTjWlDr/s4080/20240218_123256.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixaAJNZuAvQhlI9v4imCc_6xyemv_lg6TkbUscXwRbyW-8AY3hNFZYuD_1_YaBE8W8hGfiwUeB7qZvUTe_Y5bE6FmiramuPYvXf4uddtj-59orrwzmPMmSLE0M3CpPq6mOGngD_7j_Vjs7RHZyTmRRSzfA8HRsqsyzadvPBIh-AAXL8oTjWlDr/w300-h400/20240218_123256.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Preparing and getting it all together did however prove utterly draining. It was the first full on week we've had since the shop closed. This present week has been one of energy recharge and recovery. Both of us developed muscle strains in our chest, that seemed an odd bit of synchronicity. We've been luxuriating in days off, doing nothing, finding pleasure in our own creativity, and coffee in a variety of local cafes.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYOZSZBPHbvlOLwQkWEr2gmPy-IaCgVqBiojPbq-9UlrDNp_1AS3TQm34ewp9nNfgf57-X6AOM60d9VFhwZj2Rjjbw2-ngDgldRvG2ek-JaZzCDqGnJULUkdmYbNIt7DVeW4k4EWT0cHCNEfEApHIusKqlfet7uAd8CS-NQiTAD4YC9FP47mp/s4080/20240218_123308.jpg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYOZSZBPHbvlOLwQkWEr2gmPy-IaCgVqBiojPbq-9UlrDNp_1AS3TQm34ewp9nNfgf57-X6AOM60d9VFhwZj2Rjjbw2-ngDgldRvG2ek-JaZzCDqGnJULUkdmYbNIt7DVeW4k4EWT0cHCNEfEApHIusKqlfet7uAd8CS-NQiTAD4YC9FP47mp/w300-h400/20240218_123308.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">25th February 2024</span></b></div><div>A bit of a bummer this week - our car (Barbara the Meriva ) suddenly developed a gear malfunction mid week. Hubby only just got it to the local garage in time. They haven't had a look at it as yet. But they've forewarned it could be either a quick two day job or up to a month before its fixed. So we are having to get re- accustomed to being carless. Walking in and out of town. Doing smaller shops and online food orders. All things we used to do when we first arrived in Upper Sheringham and were without a car. That was seven years ago this coming April !</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qA7FeBSKuw2hitzWKIS_rSMA6YBK2J2UmoeoVSEGMhHDybUWHUj78pTVq9wWBQhjMveyTMYSz-mixL-YKvw515OPl3_iCLVxzPnZdYmgI0jjVLkPH2awE0qNqMJHQRw9gIGqmy2yAn8urzLgunvfQ3BV9XId0sSb8TvZ4Y72AlrZeZ1tXqGT/s296/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBYWFRgWFhYYGBgaGhwaGhocHBoaHhoaHhoaGRgcGhokIy4lHB4rIRkYJjgnKy8xNTU1HCQ7QDszPy40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHzQrISs0NDQ0NDQxNDQ0NDQ1NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQxNDQ0N.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="296" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qA7FeBSKuw2hitzWKIS_rSMA6YBK2J2UmoeoVSEGMhHDybUWHUj78pTVq9wWBQhjMveyTMYSz-mixL-YKvw515OPl3_iCLVxzPnZdYmgI0jjVLkPH2awE0qNqMJHQRw9gIGqmy2yAn8urzLgunvfQ3BV9XId0sSb8TvZ4Y72AlrZeZ1tXqGT/w400-h230/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBYWFRgWFhYYGBgaGhwaGhocHBoaHhoaHhoaGRgcGhokIy4lHB4rIRkYJjgnKy8xNTU1HCQ7QDszPy40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHzQrISs0NDQ0NDQxNDQ0NDQ1NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQxNDQ0N.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>All the things that having a car makes easier, suddenly develop a huge layer of impediment and complexity. Buying big or heavy things makes you have to use buses more. But buses around here are few and far between, to and from Upper Sheringham. You have to think quite strategically about bus timetables and making the best use of the time between your arrival and departure. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">27th February 2024</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtObWLfJqoDjvXtc4JPZK23k1hhAxbMjNGwPvN00EB6Z3E5slTVLu1Wsp5_70CLj9DfH-PNFW7PLzC4CPMkjwhNiV3Usw2-jEQw0YgmLeeW58fxWN95DLtP6IGtz_EwzyhtWv9zMw_so4vWTBsOgZ7tDM1RugE1_ShxYEjIdjMuIkEjlM_LPM3/s225/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBIREhgSEhUZEhgSGBgZGBkYGBgYFBwYGBkaGRgYGBgcIy4lHB4rHxoaJjgnKy8xNTU2GiQ7QDs0Py40NTEBDAwMEA8QGBERGDQhGCExNDQ0MTQxNDE0NDQ1NDQ0NDs_NDQ0MTE0MT80NDQxMTQ1NDQ0ND8xPzQ0M.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtObWLfJqoDjvXtc4JPZK23k1hhAxbMjNGwPvN00EB6Z3E5slTVLu1Wsp5_70CLj9DfH-PNFW7PLzC4CPMkjwhNiV3Usw2-jEQw0YgmLeeW58fxWN95DLtP6IGtz_EwzyhtWv9zMw_so4vWTBsOgZ7tDM1RugE1_ShxYEjIdjMuIkEjlM_LPM3/w400-h400/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBIREhgSEhUZEhgSGBgZGBkYGBgYFBwYGBkaGRgYGBgcIy4lHB4rHxoaJjgnKy8xNTU2GiQ7QDs0Py40NTEBDAwMEA8QGBERGDQhGCExNDQ0MTQxNDE0NDQ1NDQ0NDs_NDQ0MTE0MT80NDQxMTQ1NDQ0ND8xPzQ0M.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div>When is a minute not a minute. ie. not actually a minute in length? What is the longest minute you can ever experience? Well, you know at the end of cycle in a washing machine, that last minute, the one that takes an absolute age. You stand there impatiently waiting to open the door, watching the 1 minute go on and on, till it eventually disappears with a click. How long was that minute? Well we have timed these, just as a piece of public information gathering. So using our Hotpoint machine as the test, in a forty minute wash, that final minute is actually a minute and a half. But on a thirty minute wash, that minute lasts the enormous length of twelve minutes. You read it right, twelve whole minutes! </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>29th February 2024</b></span></div><div>Being carless reminded me today of the days in my upbringing in Halifax when the fishmonger would drive up the back terrace to sell off the back of his van. So much has been lost to our age of easy convenience. The consequence of which is that Upper Sheringham no longer has a shop or pub to service the needs of its locality. Though it would probably be one of the first things to make a return should our petro-economy collapse.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>ITS JUST WRONG - </b><b>ITS JUST WRONG -</b></span><b style="font-size: x-large;"> </b><b style="font-size: x-large;">ITS JUST WRONG</b></div><div><br /></div><div>The much uttered words of the week have been the above mantra, which is as far as our government can go to explain why Lee Anderson had to lose the party whip. The fact that the Tory party has a deeply ingrained problem with Islamophobia cannot be mentioned. Somehow Islamophobia has been turned by some into a mild justified response, and not at all bad, not like the filthy antisemitism some Labour party members indulge in. Oh, and Mr Anderson, it is a noticeable sign of weakness if you cannot apologise or admit you've made a mistake. Feeble masculinity often chooses to masquerades itself as taking a firm principled stance over the corpse of their reputation.</div><div><br /></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-76096289620252173272024-02-26T12:22:00.000+00:002024-02-29T18:48:14.521+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Martin Shaw - Dreaming<p><b><i><span></span></i></b></p><div><b><i><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxnYnKieC5zaHD4oXVVCUX1Qj_SeIC-HREoCjNC6-HWNELMqnKdPu-FID2JXmi6HILd6jRgcdswmys1FF-Mg9nUTREMy5_aBWUm0VwSxqP6LJaIHyo6Egk7I2RQIQ2rt1HhjJ7_ras6d12RrYdR_jhKJ1vp9XgxX2SBxOHa-uaBEqhGEHdW36/s259/_images%20(1).jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxnYnKieC5zaHD4oXVVCUX1Qj_SeIC-HREoCjNC6-HWNELMqnKdPu-FID2JXmi6HILd6jRgcdswmys1FF-Mg9nUTREMy5_aBWUm0VwSxqP6LJaIHyo6Egk7I2RQIQ2rt1HhjJ7_ras6d12RrYdR_jhKJ1vp9XgxX2SBxOHa-uaBEqhGEHdW36/w400-h300/_images%20(1).jpg" width="400"></a></span></i></b></div><b><i><span><div><b><i><span><br></span></i></b></div>"I'm interested in dreaming. <br>I'm interested in the idea that Christianity<br>has forgotten its a dream, and<br>what I mean by that, <br>is not the kind of dream <br>where you've eaten too much cheese,<br>not the kind of dream <br>where your Mother turns into a sofa,<br>but the kind of dream<br>where you wake up, and you say -<br>'I have to change my life'.</span></i></b><p></p><p><b><span>Martin Shaw - Storyteller and Mythologist.</span></b></p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-13435206982833366562024-02-23T16:00:00.002+00:002024-02-24T06:46:09.093+00:00200 Words On - At The Heart Of Resistance<div><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZsSulOKnlT0FPD_OqcWXB8Z_wGG1aGa-CiILKTs-oCsk8w_bfY0jnBrHYkA6OIV5NA1DJXpvbUCsoJQEhRa_9v7tZSXKXfH-mPPD-ZyETytQ4PrdwMFtgxPjbOymWwB9rEEsQh4U9Ff_aGfKke5v1g7PV9Cks3HvQKeA7-BXcfIxN-W0mRgt/s259/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhMSExIWFRIWFRcWGRIVFxUVFRYYFhcXFxcXFxUYHSggGBolGxcXIjEhJSkrLi4uGB8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZsSulOKnlT0FPD_OqcWXB8Z_wGG1aGa-CiILKTs-oCsk8w_bfY0jnBrHYkA6OIV5NA1DJXpvbUCsoJQEhRa_9v7tZSXKXfH-mPPD-ZyETytQ4PrdwMFtgxPjbOymWwB9rEEsQh4U9Ff_aGfKke5v1g7PV9Cks3HvQKeA7-BXcfIxN-W0mRgt/w400-h300/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhMSExIWFRIWFRcWGRIVFxUVFRYYFhcXFxcXFxUYHSggGBolGxcXIjEhJSkrLi4uGB8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-9083f997-7fff-1ce9-0ffc-a722aac16185"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Whatever the political creed of authoritarian, they are no friend to democratic ideals, beyond the point of getting elected through them. The trickster nature of fascism, is all about the effective merchandising of a fantasy ideal.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Our civilisation is bewildered. We no longer have a lived sense for what drove the post war liberal consensus, a concept we are so easily prone to satirically deride. Our faith in it appears lost. We do still want to have faith in something, to have our faith renewed. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">What do we now put our faith in? </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">However, trust has been badly bruised through repeated disappointment. Putting our faith in anything, is easily sabotaged by cynicism. Cautiousness stymies our commitment. When faith has vanished, when we don't know what we are fighting for or don't want to fight for anything anymore. How can we resist?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Buddhism has no direct equivalent for faith, the nearest is sraddha which means - that which you rest your heart upon. To resist the inhumanity of political extremism, requires we reconnect with what we still rest our heart upon. Then to consider how best to resist, defend and fight for that. Our words cannot remain empty of motive and purpose.</span></p><div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-16117345241292401422024-02-23T07:08:00.001+00:002024-02-23T07:08:43.838+00:00THE BEST BEFORE DATE - 2010 - Wonderful Life by HurtsThis is one crackingly good song, surrounded by a cleanly orchestrated full body of synths and rhythms, saxophones, guitar and a impassive vocal. It's off beat tumbling back rhythm moves the song along on its positivist route. Whilst the rest of it exudes a weary European melancholic drone. Whilst he reminds his love object not to let go of the wonderfulness of life.<div><div><br /><div><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7TttjeXZYE8?si=B8SzxnexLVe9i9PU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>It's a shame that this never made sufficient impact in the UK charts at the time. Perhaps it referred back too much to a previous era of synth duos, to stand out as distinct twenty years later. Hurts have gone on to have greater success in Europe than the UK. But nothing they've released seems quite to match the song quality and production glory of this debut single.<br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Ditto its video. When Hurts got picked up by RCA they completely re did the original video. It was all monumental Modernism and Mediterranean lifestyle with statuesque dancers galore. Whereas the original video looked like it was set and filmed in someone's basement living room. Starkly heightened black and white, exaggerated textures, the fuzzed edges to the film framing, all hiding a lot underneath its stylistic sheen. The background behind composed of carpet tiles and rolls of fibre insulation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there are the two guys. One blank faced on the synth, the other expressionless on the microphone. Oh, and a female friend who they brought in just because they know she can dance. Dressed in a black lace off the shoulder dress. She stares out at nothing, and when called for to gesticulate, her limbs moving wildly in angles to the music. During one pause, you see her pulling down the bottom of her dress, to straighten the hemline. The posed gaucheness of this video really works, it said something quite distinct about Hurst as a group, a mixture of rough and smooth.. The second video version the record company, took elements of the first and threw money at them, but could never hope to capture or improve on. It had an honest rough arty edge, whilst the other was a conventionally stylish bit of slick fakery.</div></div></div></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-31662746920433597422024-02-22T19:00:00.000+00:002024-02-22T19:05:10.264+00:00200 WORDS ON - The Fascist<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM55NKY7rNkFominTy6anMVBJWVSFG4nYV_GQ-xBi_wlETXCTzU62HyIniTB5Xj9NBZ6ooQuF7XGtuHotSvODW87iSY1BCkghxe9N0zS5ctqn223M2JUOsO9E9-6nwHTmBFapyyL8d91OPKE1pkdbGBsrF0UlT4VxlGWR92f0Ef6C-2GvBxaca/s134/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBUWFRgWFRUYGBgaGBwYGBoYGBoYGBgYGhgaGRgaGBgcIS4lHB4rHxgYJjgmKy8xNTU1GiQ7QDs0Py40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHjQrJCw0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0N.jpeg"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM55NKY7rNkFominTy6anMVBJWVSFG4nYV_GQ-xBi_wlETXCTzU62HyIniTB5Xj9NBZ6ooQuF7XGtuHotSvODW87iSY1BCkghxe9N0zS5ctqn223M2JUOsO9E9-6nwHTmBFapyyL8d91OPKE1pkdbGBsrF0UlT4VxlGWR92f0Ef6C-2GvBxaca/w400-h191/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAoHCBUWFRgWFRUYGBgaGBwYGBoYGBoYGBgYGhgaGRgaGBgcIS4lHB4rHxgYJjgmKy8xNTU1GiQ7QDs0Py40NTEBDAwMEA8QHxISHjQrJCw0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0NDQ0N.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br />Increasing populism, fundamentalism and authoritarianism are red flags, warning of the decline of a democracy. A Fascist administration is slowly slipping into being a possibility.<br /><br />Described as 'the politics of them & us' what Fascism brings to the table is an unbridled Nationalism. Often attempting to restore a nations pride through mythologising a period when the country was deemed to be great.<br /><br />Fascism tends to emerge in countries already broken and on their knees. The Fascist leader arrives posing as a man of the people, come to save his country from its destitute state. Desperate people do desperate things, Where a bit of lite fascism might do us all a bit of good. <br /><br />Fascist's arrive and take a wrecking ball to the countries democratic governance and culture. State persecution, media disinformation, social division, racism, misogyny, homophobia, a climate of fear is cultivated around the idea of enemies within, here dissent itself becomes traitorous, all become prevalent.<br /><br />Fascists will never leave office quietly, they usually having to be removed by force or assassination.. All Fascist administrations triumph via one man's ego gratification and end in egregious tyranny. The toppling spirit of democratic freedom and renewal can takes quite a while to re-emerge.<br /><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-6612115334415578022024-02-18T14:36:00.012+00:002024-02-19T20:13:37.091+00:00VIDEOS OF - River Stiffkey In Flood<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxDakPQKqaZ3T5Gg_Zfo5DwSt1loK55zNj7R7QMCTOz4ifhY3Y0n9GNcZpa9FR4v8v-W9HDc4_VPYE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwmn65zUcHsIRHIBhnikMqhSRgYuYM1rngTRjLCLIHWG5stDEH2e98mHuUfYH8FYYDfSOglCi0uObw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw0bh4M4XbYBpp-QDbgK-_-oxzGv3t0KaAJCNpmRo2Xf4aEWphA9_kUusvoF6YMTadRDWZlMynXSAs' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p>Now, the River Stiffkey is for most of its length is narrow and slow flowing, it gently ambles its way to the sea. But these videos I took at Walsingham Abbey show it can be a bit of a demon when roused.</p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-53705903390330324082024-02-16T16:24:00.027+00:002024-02-16T19:29:54.076+00:00SHERINGHAM DIARY No 105 - Snowdrops in Walsingham<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsH_iKExlSWXDnWzCVNk28jgCkcaXjqqAcfXxgg1SrDqkk8rWU90hCLiwdyKu-QxgDERYdRD-3ZM_x5I_bNusvrAWq0ynURenesnb80AvFIOeEpzgxermw6Y_J8R7fgDS6cF0sh-W5edsrOTiE5uL0MJL7KQtP23wJY_pXzwUIE2VabkS-JypQ/s4080/20240211_115356.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsH_iKExlSWXDnWzCVNk28jgCkcaXjqqAcfXxgg1SrDqkk8rWU90hCLiwdyKu-QxgDERYdRD-3ZM_x5I_bNusvrAWq0ynURenesnb80AvFIOeEpzgxermw6Y_J8R7fgDS6cF0sh-W5edsrOTiE5uL0MJL7KQtP23wJY_pXzwUIE2VabkS-JypQ/w300-h400/20240211_115356.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div>In the aftermath of seemingly endless assaults of storms and torrential rain, the rivers of England have protested by bursting their banks and spreading themselves far and wide across old flood plains, once thought moribund. Devasting homes and land to a point not seen since the deluges of biblical imagination.<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5i_rqfn7sG7ayeYrgBh1zDdnpHLWCNfcDQHLYBY7ylwJx9_23fkTdoV4AP5kV3bAqsHO9g1qL4kbK6vneXkDcDLeZypoLFy211Rb110vh1_pcI_l_SRUqS8y2EDaF_Vy8gpsKl8nGpui_4CD9VHO-3-38DuPZwghljk7aGgUhUXxefQ5ghnr/s4080/20240211_115747.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5i_rqfn7sG7ayeYrgBh1zDdnpHLWCNfcDQHLYBY7ylwJx9_23fkTdoV4AP5kV3bAqsHO9g1qL4kbK6vneXkDcDLeZypoLFy211Rb110vh1_pcI_l_SRUqS8y2EDaF_Vy8gpsKl8nGpui_4CD9VHO-3-38DuPZwghljk7aGgUhUXxefQ5ghnr/w300-h400/20240211_115747.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><div><br /></div><div>And so it is, that even a small minnow like river such as the Stiffkey, that runs through Walsingham on its way to the sea marshes of Stiffkey itself, has transformed itself from a gentle and refined meandering into a surging swirl of taupe coloured mud.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ScFHJ1If_nHHJEHIGYGy2kjBsOc3u0o0y99_m7U1eb6zH9fLEKNSqmIckuB5i0nxUoJrYGpe3xyDEPxSD_oZFcw6NmkyuUkP5uGMd1qkb7-WoSYP52_pjgIAHDzhjsmoGbxZ1UxL-5YuekPmLNybsbL16mcLVSdLRI1yV8OO3dGjIogN77RZ/s4080/20240211_121711.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ScFHJ1If_nHHJEHIGYGy2kjBsOc3u0o0y99_m7U1eb6zH9fLEKNSqmIckuB5i0nxUoJrYGpe3xyDEPxSD_oZFcw6NmkyuUkP5uGMd1qkb7-WoSYP52_pjgIAHDzhjsmoGbxZ1UxL-5YuekPmLNybsbL16mcLVSdLRI1yV8OO3dGjIogN77RZ/w300-h400/20240211_121711.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiloRUjNSg_LD9Vkmt-MMcqCKUxsR_Gq2qXLBLzMi0ypEDptWuAm27nde0kwEfEXifg4li8odelQEyS_QqZF-nYW3rFq4ANNbLIdfiqjKDG_-2zFEv7YsCguIOTa45nGCKV1jduSvFoZ_ynCYiyilOK9I7tU5KHL45OuwvBx3H-rYjxlv-a8oTN/s4080/20240211_115106.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiloRUjNSg_LD9Vkmt-MMcqCKUxsR_Gq2qXLBLzMi0ypEDptWuAm27nde0kwEfEXifg4li8odelQEyS_QqZF-nYW3rFq4ANNbLIdfiqjKDG_-2zFEv7YsCguIOTa45nGCKV1jduSvFoZ_ynCYiyilOK9I7tU5KHL45OuwvBx3H-rYjxlv-a8oTN/w300-h400/20240211_115106.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Into this freakish swelling overwhelming moment, comes a more expected time of transformation, the blanketing of Walsingham Abbey's grounds with clump after clump of pure white snowdrops. And humankind of all ages and genders pay to wander through its archaic beauty. The first brightness, a glimmering at the end of winter,is now positively nigh.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtOsEzAmNwQReFIINewTcMrazJVOdikEJ6MAfl-3Hb6ED4YctlHZqdTWzPR5EviV8F6gP9VpL1_e5ePyAiWSgyb9Qhdz7HUfzL42ZwS5BGb_fQJY2tKsN9ah6Dj3nBDP8xScsW4QctSgkLzL2-Rn7JMhLtj-Pa2FLebxyaiSi0A0vkMWTPY2v/s4080/20240211_115901.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtOsEzAmNwQReFIINewTcMrazJVOdikEJ6MAfl-3Hb6ED4YctlHZqdTWzPR5EviV8F6gP9VpL1_e5ePyAiWSgyb9Qhdz7HUfzL42ZwS5BGb_fQJY2tKsN9ah6Dj3nBDP8xScsW4QctSgkLzL2-Rn7JMhLtj-Pa2FLebxyaiSi0A0vkMWTPY2v/w300-h400/20240211_115901.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It's a special time anyway, but this year the fresh water course that once brought monastics to build on this site, is swirling itself forcefully across the Abbey's grounds. Bringing an unknown drama to the starkly broken minimalism of window arches and buttress ruins, not perhaps seen for centuries. This was just one huge thrill of nature, thrusting and asserting its power to be manifesting in an unexpected form this time.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jb8s9TDQDw8V7dG_Vjln0a3ezzeG59jcAcyXYGVEGoK6BrtQoa-Si_ZCBwUJAZcfvDFiNJpl0hEYI0M3paIIhPotzRi6rww_LjyivgnhBb3eUl0X_jom9qUbHTGPe6RnXs5nuGrKWU_lalBjz2MgTpGuUGrVA4HxW9BLvIwdSSeuwaMsRoGi/s4080/20240211_115540.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3060" data-original-width="4080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jb8s9TDQDw8V7dG_Vjln0a3ezzeG59jcAcyXYGVEGoK6BrtQoa-Si_ZCBwUJAZcfvDFiNJpl0hEYI0M3paIIhPotzRi6rww_LjyivgnhBb3eUl0X_jom9qUbHTGPe6RnXs5nuGrKWU_lalBjz2MgTpGuUGrVA4HxW9BLvIwdSSeuwaMsRoGi/w400-h300/20240211_115540.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVGJ2Vu0YEDbuGFF-oxBkVZp7Ht5_yoWSlYHQ0Qrz21kxySnahNCq_lFUfKkw3Zx1WG2GIMmDZX0SEGjkwOHTWnkQ3lCg4WO6i1Ceh-vbLSYLIyGZqGcZI7Ipj1ORJNrmifWCktkja-4WPkdHnAsJ7Nd5xELCiyBYgPDMzNXw9xVmo3EeZwV7/s2576/20240211_115922.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVGJ2Vu0YEDbuGFF-oxBkVZp7Ht5_yoWSlYHQ0Qrz21kxySnahNCq_lFUfKkw3Zx1WG2GIMmDZX0SEGjkwOHTWnkQ3lCg4WO6i1Ceh-vbLSYLIyGZqGcZI7Ipj1ORJNrmifWCktkja-4WPkdHnAsJ7Nd5xELCiyBYgPDMzNXw9xVmo3EeZwV7/w400-h300/20240211_115922.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-77240531594679221662024-02-16T15:54:00.054+00:002024-02-16T19:20:01.764+00:00SHERINGHAM DIARY No 104 - Assume Form<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87qQ-USjwGV-Y7szHppEK-4z1aTQCefrdZh_njiDQ9-LBZJfrloo5RdsM1jfmqX5_kvw4TDAQppVrWXC27bI-zLOKssa3LdlHT6XMTf_GZSSjoGfi6CFxrjbyOiAp-3g4MPj-dGaP2i627ocoBiQfIrOM_SNXMlGqrMWJ6XWi2GPtAIZoT1w1/s4080/20240113_141644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3060" data-original-width="4080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg87qQ-USjwGV-Y7szHppEK-4z1aTQCefrdZh_njiDQ9-LBZJfrloo5RdsM1jfmqX5_kvw4TDAQppVrWXC27bI-zLOKssa3LdlHT6XMTf_GZSSjoGfi6CFxrjbyOiAp-3g4MPj-dGaP2i627ocoBiQfIrOM_SNXMlGqrMWJ6XWi2GPtAIZoT1w1/w400-h300/20240113_141644.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 1st 2024</span></b></div><div>I continue doing an hours work in the garage most days. Anymore than that has the potential at least, to tip one's mood from intial frustration into despondancy. But this affect is easing as the garage nears being sorted put. The task is reaching its later stages, down to six boxes that require to be gone through, getting rid of the bikes and junk, and reassembling our old shop counter to be our online packaging station. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTkblKCP50Di57Fk-bkUrZ0VcpEs-7SIqDULm7uakPqgW7ZmrvuX1AtMM65ALXu9N199s3lo6BAfsMR2GXHhAtZN1yrxzSXeVk8xgGm9X2tTiiGbDPUxRmNSPXNZP9qlqOs_D2t4q347AcldcBW1Z0dEiW8yafOKlGRzBtJ7QQEQmjoPxWqX5/s2208/20240216_190959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="2208" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTkblKCP50Di57Fk-bkUrZ0VcpEs-7SIqDULm7uakPqgW7ZmrvuX1AtMM65ALXu9N199s3lo6BAfsMR2GXHhAtZN1yrxzSXeVk8xgGm9X2tTiiGbDPUxRmNSPXNZP9qlqOs_D2t4q347AcldcBW1Z0dEiW8yafOKlGRzBtJ7QQEQmjoPxWqX5/w400-h300/20240216_190959.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I've also begun excavating a trench in the detritus that is currently overwhelming the damp course, removing this from the outside walls. I'm doing it in small stages, as I sense this will strain my back should I overdo it. All sorts of stuff, have I discovered, dumped there over the years. Today I found an electric iron, complete with flex. The rest is litter, hedge trimmings and assorted building rubble.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 2nd 2024</span></b></div><div>I've had a knitting project, a meditation blanket, left unfinished from last year. I bought the yarn two years ago at Worsted Wool Fair. Running out of the wool stymied me in the completing of it. But I suddenly got inspiration and before you know it, its now done. Today I 'blocked' the first section of the lengthy immensity of it. This is currently occupying the bedroom floor whilst it drys out.</div><div><br /></div><div>During any garage sort out you rediscover things you've half forgotten existed. I have half a dozen of my artworks stored in the garage. One has been in a half dismantled state for quite some time. It needs a bit of tlc and a bit of renovation - voila! - a new project has emerged. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYj-1crZvSs3k_2MyhIWtvOn5gdLJysQhuIkh2WYcUt_YbXiLKSq2JQ088-9XxgTR-_W3YsxO9u65BFurLiqgnGRajSYwMXUzKnAoucjcI4iGQNl4WuLKINn-uZohgyCBtVp7tcWth0W1l4R9pDrcwl2aX1jdrWbFelBM_XPRqKgWLQVTMFHI/s3981/20240204_075007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2164" data-original-width="3981" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYj-1crZvSs3k_2MyhIWtvOn5gdLJysQhuIkh2WYcUt_YbXiLKSq2JQ088-9XxgTR-_W3YsxO9u65BFurLiqgnGRajSYwMXUzKnAoucjcI4iGQNl4WuLKINn-uZohgyCBtVp7tcWth0W1l4R9pDrcwl2aX1jdrWbFelBM_XPRqKgWLQVTMFHI/w400-h217/20240204_075007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 3rd 2024</span></b></div><div>We bought a hyacinth in the supermarket the other day. Watered it, excavated a nice pot from the pantry to put it in. After only a few days in the warmth of our lounge, the flowers began to grow, and then surge. It became clear it was bolting wildly. They then began to lean precipitously toward the windows direction, seeking the light. I put them actually in the window hoping they would move back upright. No such restoration of verticality was achieved. However, it struck me there was in a certain prostrate elegance, straight out of a Meredith Frampton painting. And so decided to just let it be.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozC1G4nE1BcdxvBmveCd77-4PKrpSLorh7-dvWEij35ND521_XKsRHsFhyfn9dcOW6g3jI4WdydWZD7YL0a3WX568xCrGzZS0_AVU90I4x-SLuANY1tK-q9XZ-vCYu_4lGDMc3U1vRVjVY08iEr5dRHAGrEMK4vBHrbt7qu5zHC05OOdcxEDZ/s4080/20240209_093958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3060" data-original-width="4080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgozC1G4nE1BcdxvBmveCd77-4PKrpSLorh7-dvWEij35ND521_XKsRHsFhyfn9dcOW6g3jI4WdydWZD7YL0a3WX568xCrGzZS0_AVU90I4x-SLuANY1tK-q9XZ-vCYu_4lGDMc3U1vRVjVY08iEr5dRHAGrEMK4vBHrbt7qu5zHC05OOdcxEDZ/w400-h300/20240209_093958.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 8th 2024</span></b></div><div>As the month progresses our post shop world has begun to assume form. Experimenting with having shops as stockists of our makes. We now have our best selling lampshades, soaps, makeup bags and notebooks in Cottage Beads & Crystals. A shop next door to our old shop site in The Courtyard in Sheringham.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have now entered the making phase for our next task. Preparing to merchandise a section of Seagulls & Samphire, a craft makers outlet in Blackney, to take our stock. This is happening in about a weeks time. This stockist idea is very new for us. Planning our making to ensure we have sufficient backup, in an early stage. We will learn from experience how it works, and how much effort it requires to keep on top of it. We have other potential stockists in Wells next the Sea and Old Hunstanton.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime I have stock to make, but mostly I'm getting my head around possible ideas for merchandising the area in Blakeney. I had a look at the area last week. I find it a challenge to work out how to make best use of anything when its in the abstract. I need an active sense of a space and trying out ideas within it. Only then can I tell you what will work and what won't.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 9th 2024</span></b></div><div>Yesterday I bought wool for a new personal knitting project - a sleeveless jumper in a gansey style pattern. The wool is a lovely golden mustard colour. The pattern is executed largely in the round, which will be a new thing for me. Past experience with using preparatory knitting swatches as a guide, is they are not infallible. So much can be down to informed but subjective interpretation, and the knitting tension you actually achieve can vary with personal mood. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1PLJpFXcGIKsWlW-SCeuIVjdpq6cbEsd51ezxUOXkHqrb5OG_IKDW0c99TKx5z1QQgrT6kgyI7hsCXRvYHm21XaOd5tXuvdVr3bSlYtwqmjlFdYSBQBqZXvfwbU1ElpWx1QZL3t3VonH5zRjQT8P5owCuTX3VbgAbMeGpGzbgOklIdAH2AeO/s183/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBwgHBgkIBwgKCgkLDRYPDQwMDRsUFRAWIB0iIiAdHx8kKDQsJCYxJx8fLT0tMTU3Ojo6Iys_RD84QzQ5OjcBCgoKDQwNGg8PGjclHyU3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3N%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="172" data-original-width="183" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1PLJpFXcGIKsWlW-SCeuIVjdpq6cbEsd51ezxUOXkHqrb5OG_IKDW0c99TKx5z1QQgrT6kgyI7hsCXRvYHm21XaOd5tXuvdVr3bSlYtwqmjlFdYSBQBqZXvfwbU1ElpWx1QZL3t3VonH5zRjQT8P5owCuTX3VbgAbMeGpGzbgOklIdAH2AeO/w400-h376/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBwgHBgkIBwgKCgkLDRYPDQwMDRsUFRAWIB0iIiAdHx8kKDQsJCYxJx8fLT0tMTU3Ojo6Iys_RD84QzQ5OjcBCgoKDQwNGg8PGjclHyU3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3Nzc3N%20(1).jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I've chosen a suitable yarn, it's DK 100% Shetland wool. This knits up and holds its integrity well. Some wool I experimented with behaved like an elastic band and was a nightmare to knit evenly and maintain tension with. I've not begun knitting it yet, there is a degree of nervous hesitancy hanging around. I'll start whenever I feel ready. Observing the jumper as it assumes form on my needles.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">February 16th 2024</span></b></div><div>On Sunday we install our stock in Seagull & Samphire in Blakeney. Its been the first really full on week with making, since we closed the shop. Hubby has also to fit it around his part time work, which being half term is more time demanding. We have just had to decide to do what we can do, and be OK with that. We have an idea of how we want it to look and be stocked like. But we'll refine that over the next few weeks. I've finished my work on merchandising stands, just a few clocks to make now. We install on Sunday. We will end up taking way more than we will need. To be honest I can't wait to get stuck in, and find out how best to work the space. Watching it assume its form before my very eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETgEt6v1NrDmt5K8Wbs0hLQaLbZSZHLJ3r_1rk04h6WSTtXlH9WYsXw2MmvYn0gu7Z1wSJQPh0j0hF8B1A9wCF__XBpArNLTfzbg5cq_fBpJ2WxpHA5X9TIuA5XHIrRifSXwCiztzYTk_v53WnT7y2MHL0ZlFPYAzYCqE4C0EUGMI9_eHKNcF/s4080/20240216_190630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3060" data-original-width="4080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETgEt6v1NrDmt5K8Wbs0hLQaLbZSZHLJ3r_1rk04h6WSTtXlH9WYsXw2MmvYn0gu7Z1wSJQPh0j0hF8B1A9wCF__XBpArNLTfzbg5cq_fBpJ2WxpHA5X9TIuA5XHIrRifSXwCiztzYTk_v53WnT7y2MHL0ZlFPYAzYCqE4C0EUGMI9_eHKNcF/w400-h300/20240216_190630.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-61043449491342853902024-02-15T19:00:00.007+00:002024-02-18T15:57:31.171+00:00LISTENING TO - Drop 7 - by Little Simz<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkHMNzCpj0E3YwRxY35ywJB4jNs0zeHPuYZ796o04TMbfmVuZeh4f_Hrfwy6nSzQLFvwVYBsi13-avu2uBnSjiDPri5Dv045gQ6JQVedf_CLi8AvpZed_lLbGfipd2uXxC9xNR0XeHjMMRvjuWelOcYxhZGjjZHMCy1kJ9rrqpbVgqg6K-ztY/s259/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxANDw8PDw8ODxAOEBAODw8QDhAQDxANFhUXFxURFRYYHSkgGBolGxgVIzEiMSotLjouGR8zODMsNyg5MCsBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikkHMNzCpj0E3YwRxY35ywJB4jNs0zeHPuYZ796o04TMbfmVuZeh4f_Hrfwy6nSzQLFvwVYBsi13-avu2uBnSjiDPri5Dv045gQ6JQVedf_CLi8AvpZed_lLbGfipd2uXxC9xNR0XeHjMMRvjuWelOcYxhZGjjZHMCy1kJ9rrqpbVgqg6K-ztY/w400-h300/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxANDw8PDw8ODxAOEBAODw8QDhAQDxANFhUXFxURFRYYHSkgGBolGxgVIzEiMSotLjouGR8zODMsNyg5MCsBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg" width="400"></a></div><br><div>Little Simz has apparently being doing these Drop sessions for a while, hence we have already reached No 7. They are similar to preparatory sketches. Presenting, in rough outline and brief notes of colour, what may or may not, be oracles of work to come in the future. These may feel like slight, even half formed things, but they possess their own power nonetheless.</div><div><br></div><div>Little Simz has rightly had a lot of accolades showered upon her since the magnificence of Sometimes I Might be Introvert. Transcending the overambitious and portentous aspects of it, such as those empowering therapy 'interludes'. No Thankyou, that followed, sounded very like outakes remaining from the previous albums sessions. Justified though that was by including some great stuff like Gorilla, it felt like she was just marking out in a time of transition.</div><div></div><div><br></div><div>Drop 7, is seven tracks varying in length from just under a minute in length, to a single worthy three minutes plus. These are all huge steps away from the dramatically orchestrated storytelling of the previous two albums. A central highlight of Introvert, was the track Point & Kill. This fusion of afro beat with her rap styling was an immensely visceral and invigorating listen. </div><div><br></div><div>The best of Drop 7 taps into aspects of that vibe, but takes it somewhere else entirely, tapping into her own version of techo afro futurism. such as on Mood Swings. </div><div><br></div><div></div><div><br></div><div>In comparison to the lushness of her recent work, these feel paired back cooled syntheses. Echoes of African drums and wind instruments pop up as rhythmic high hits and embellishments. Her raps, on ocassions, take on a playground skipping chant like quality dancing over the top, as on S.O.S.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div></div><div><br></div><div>What I'm enjoying about Drop 7 is seeing her further blossom as an artist. Success and praise came slowly to her. Now it has arrived, she is confident in herself and her own creative process. She is not ready to sit back and rest on her laurels, however well earned. Judging by Drop 7, there is much more to come. I for one can't wait to see where that takes us next.</div><div><br></div><div><b><span>CARROT REVIEW - 7/8<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nBqE_YSNPZy0WH8Q9FdIrffu04BP_Ms6LzJDiye8xWPdkMDLHDEFeBIXriKsZuzCqbV-GrYzCHaHHJImivflYs-JFWjvv55bcwQLV0zvQG-9F5taDgmcrjsrih48cHMIs1wfPKbmj0Vm6qMQnjt5CI3J6kuH2Bc7-iZw0_4zaEccwaRQU7oI/s884/7.jpg"><img border="0" height="41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9nBqE_YSNPZy0WH8Q9FdIrffu04BP_Ms6LzJDiye8xWPdkMDLHDEFeBIXriKsZuzCqbV-GrYzCHaHHJImivflYs-JFWjvv55bcwQLV0zvQG-9F5taDgmcrjsrih48cHMIs1wfPKbmj0Vm6qMQnjt5CI3J6kuH2Bc7-iZw0_4zaEccwaRQU7oI/s320/7.jpg" width="320"></a></div><br></span></b></div><div><b><span><br></span></b></div><div><b><span><br></span></b></div><div><b><span><br></span></b></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-69727291964878619612024-02-15T18:00:00.001+00:002024-02-15T19:00:33.893+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Martin Shaw - Damaged Language<p><b><span></span></b></p><div><b><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWO5ZJCajOtBtjp25KVJQy7gL5y7PdiK9GQlhHUK6VUfLMO57wqLv7_EK99ElY-gsfWdMuKPJOttqJJ5pGEwExBK35BWBfcfFH1eNx_bQMflL0kAgtaurt2o6AJqKtvr1a0O9TaJoiVfW___oXUQJL_pJYTfnBR5O7-xOZbs353lIYSSnj0A_/s259/_images%20(1).jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWO5ZJCajOtBtjp25KVJQy7gL5y7PdiK9GQlhHUK6VUfLMO57wqLv7_EK99ElY-gsfWdMuKPJOttqJJ5pGEwExBK35BWBfcfFH1eNx_bQMflL0kAgtaurt2o6AJqKtvr1a0O9TaJoiVfW___oXUQJL_pJYTfnBR5O7-xOZbs353lIYSSnj0A_/w400-h300/_images%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></div><b><span><i><br /></i></span></b><p></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>" The language that we speak these days<br />is a very damaged language.<br />We speak a language of danger<br />of trauma and pain<br />and these things are absolutely real.....<br />A story has to be significant to you <br />for you to remember it.<br />It has to give you that bolstering,<br />that largesse."</i></span></b></p><p><b><span>Martin Shaw - Storyteller & Mythologist</span></b></p><p><br /></p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-78271876197543952942024-02-15T09:44:00.033+00:002024-02-18T16:02:06.821+00:00FILM CLUB - The Silence - 1963<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YemcXvQTMKk-k5g5ZwOJomDQmI_ctH9OATvJ6qxQ6mtcEYqZ5_JM5uQ8TSJmmtLTJW1TAGzb3c9VKApXdLqyGhYEhizmaa9GVDKFcGYHCnVLOTDO70VOgB77rvJpHv-XCd97RcHbhCFPfOBBFn9kBkBchPDocdn5EUjKtqu_DtO9nIjCW-NP/s260/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxITEhUSEhIVFRIXFRUVFxcVFRgVFxUVFxcWFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGhAQFy0fHyUtLS0tLS4tLS0tLS0tKy0tLSstLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLSstKy0tL.jpeg"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YemcXvQTMKk-k5g5ZwOJomDQmI_ctH9OATvJ6qxQ6mtcEYqZ5_JM5uQ8TSJmmtLTJW1TAGzb3c9VKApXdLqyGhYEhizmaa9GVDKFcGYHCnVLOTDO70VOgB77rvJpHv-XCd97RcHbhCFPfOBBFn9kBkBchPDocdn5EUjKtqu_DtO9nIjCW-NP/w298-h400/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxITEhUSEhIVFRIXFRUVFxcVFRgVFxUVFxcWFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGhAQFy0fHyUtLS0tLS4tLS0tLS0tKy0tLSstLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLSstKy0tL.jpeg" width="298"></a></div><b><br></b></div><b>Bergman Faith Trilogy</b><div>Two women are travelling on a train with a young boy. The boy. Johan, is the son of one of the women, Anna. The other woman is her sister Esther, who is seriously ill, and is seen consumptively coughing up blood. Johan left to his own devices, watches the endless queues of army tanks passing by from the train windows. Esther's illness forces them to stop off in a small town Timoka, staying in a large but sparsely populated hotel. The town has dispossessed people on horse drawn carts carrying all their possessions passing through. Whatever place the family have arrived in, this is a country riven by some sort divisive conflict.</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwq32MFOmqgyUy93W2DYbc6l2OdZeJQvYR8GS_aNMR0aLYT4FWOm-k_0L92HU1WC47LmHYYkklKNpYH7p23U8vDE4msfW79ZxLIkuuEdm6AgYV74FywrZytNSkZhQdbbHTIbbrd9SwRpZthfzeif4BqMKEc32gY5hCXpF3Fuy9nf1NUEYXcCb/s300/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhUSEhIVFRUVFxcVFxUVFxUVFRUWFRUXFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCwq32MFOmqgyUy93W2DYbc6l2OdZeJQvYR8GS_aNMR0aLYT4FWOm-k_0L92HU1WC47LmHYYkklKNpYH7p23U8vDE4msfW79ZxLIkuuEdm6AgYV74FywrZytNSkZhQdbbHTIbbrd9SwRpZthfzeif4BqMKEc32gY5hCXpF3Fuy9nf1NUEYXcCb/w400-h224/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhUSEhIVFRUVFxcVFxUVFxUVFRUWFRUXFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg" width="400"></a></div><div><br></div><div>So there is a constant and palpable unease surrounding them. Feeding into the frisson of tension between the two women. So much about who they are, how each sees the other, is inferred or mentioned only in passing. Esther's previously dependent relationship on her deceased Father, seems to have been an entirely unhealthy one. There is strong incestuous air between Esther and her sister, one that Anna wants to break free of. </div><div><br></div><div>There is silence because there are secrets that cannot be openly spoken of here. No one is really talking about what they want, only what they don't want. Why have they ended up here? What was the original purpose of their 'little trip'? Were they originally trying to escape a home situation, and a husband, that was itself unbearable? </div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixekebCNppt4IQGAC2ua_c-kpe_SXo5BOi_gBkzAuC-H_Aopxtl8-19FT-2kEXFZ9n4isHBUj-qM4mRdgFNRNKKXnigykJWBo7-RCd_wholiVTAu8yoozvXq8gM2FfCwGSF8H2qgFb-7ZxLn2oyFe97ESP06VC0oUV8YrplHaRkGs4qlh-99pQ/s300/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMSEhUTEhIVFhUXFxcXFhcXFxcaFRUXFxcXFxUXFRcYHSggGB0lHRUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixekebCNppt4IQGAC2ua_c-kpe_SXo5BOi_gBkzAuC-H_Aopxtl8-19FT-2kEXFZ9n4isHBUj-qM4mRdgFNRNKKXnigykJWBo7-RCd_wholiVTAu8yoozvXq8gM2FfCwGSF8H2qgFb-7ZxLn2oyFe97ESP06VC0oUV8YrplHaRkGs4qlh-99pQ/w400-h224/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMSEhUTEhIVFhUXFxcXFhcXFxcaFRUXFxcXFxUXFRcYHSggGB0lHRUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg" width="400"></a></div><div><br></div><div>The Secret has a minimal script with little meaningful dialogue. Bergman wished in retrospect he'd gone further on cutting back the amount of spoken lines.There is also, for 1963 a remarkable amount of nudity. Film distributors being extremely nervous about it at the time.The Silence has ended up as one of Bergman's top rated films. It's a superb, almost text book example of a film devoted to the 'show not tell' movie doctrine.</div><div><br></div><div>It does not appear clear at first, why this film is part of Bergman's Faith Triology. If anything it is bereft of religious commemt or spiritual feeling, which is probably the point. Here is what an absence of faith looks like. One could, however, read it as an allegory. Everyone is travelling through life without any sense of purpose, seeking love as self gratification. The Father ( God ) is already dead. Without his presence the women's relationship, and the broader world, has become dysfunctional, surrounded by wars, death camps, incest, untold amounts of suffering. All sorts of dubious preferences now fill the moral vacuum of 'the God shaped hole'. The world is a much colder hostile place and lacks human feeling, without any common point of reference. Everyone is dissatisfied with everything and everyone.</div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuY1aqLD8uuUnw6QKNcuceiRpbSpDHdRHWkyluce75CHAiQ9A21bkgJWybFTAHt0gG09csxTgSsbA6dsTjK6tGnwEQs4X7HyQIV8o5vo_BNM4ZK78RkJATS34R_hlZoo65ASJ4j3EB4l78wt1njXKG9KzogFV12MHYTcVIac3QIokWdQWgu5y-/s257/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMTEhUSExMWFRUXGBoYFxgYGBoYGxoaGxgYHRgaFxgaHSggGh0lHRgdITEiJSkrLi4uGB8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuY1aqLD8uuUnw6QKNcuceiRpbSpDHdRHWkyluce75CHAiQ9A21bkgJWybFTAHt0gG09csxTgSsbA6dsTjK6tGnwEQs4X7HyQIV8o5vo_BNM4ZK78RkJATS34R_hlZoo65ASJ4j3EB4l78wt1njXKG9KzogFV12MHYTcVIac3QIokWdQWgu5y-/w400-h305/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMTEhUSExMWFRUXGBoYFxgYGBoYGxoaGxgYHRgaFxgaHSggGh0lHRgdITEiJSkrLi4uGB8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKBQUFDgUFDisZExkrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrKysrK.jpeg" width="400"></a></div><div><br></div><div>In the previous two films individual characters were struggling with doubt or losing their faith altogether. In The Silence there is no faith left anywhere. There is nothing but nihilism and a whole wide desert of meaninglessness. These few individuals are rattling around Europe robbed of any overarching sense of purpose. Staying in a mostly empty hotel in a collapsing society. Esther is drowning her real feelings in a diet of cigarettes and alcohol. Anna tries through seeking casual sexual encounters to fill her sense of emptiness. But niether finds their strategies really satisfy them or provide them with a sense of renewed direction in their lives. This is a despairing Godless world that feels completely moribund, and goodness is it bleak.</div><div><br></div><b><span>CARROT REVIEW - 7/8<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit737KB891jQ2tqmxzLY5oP40rJ2C7wM3WoxVpHfhWg0S69O0Rtrlb1APYbteOBcud2mujn5os019OEzuWLWQHL5V-G3P8dgXhf_Tp2EQkBSBKQObR0NR651OO63m2LJqRGLt41lZS_z7Eipt0yXneN28vHmvHVfXkrD8S3dZ7UndPnZ66mXzK/s884/7.jpg"><img border="0" height="41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit737KB891jQ2tqmxzLY5oP40rJ2C7wM3WoxVpHfhWg0S69O0Rtrlb1APYbteOBcud2mujn5os019OEzuWLWQHL5V-G3P8dgXhf_Tp2EQkBSBKQObR0NR651OO63m2LJqRGLt41lZS_z7Eipt0yXneN28vHmvHVfXkrD8S3dZ7UndPnZ66mXzK/s320/7.jpg" width="320"></a></div><br></span></b><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-75895803548188500152024-02-12T20:00:00.000+00:002024-02-12T20:23:47.539+00:00200 WORDS ON - The Authoritarian<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tF7NcVaP4Rio9N14HCJTGn4Y-VRWYxL8DeBW5GI-BONXLNdB5MCkN-32PBiCktxWKuplENHMOnrncRHUAdzeNlcp7EynmAw8mcUnnckBv7vVwsfvhc3G9QryiQKoHy0MuWv85RhNn8U3YlvuBK8xqguY2di1AJfWrPJS_dlOyP99AGgX6Z4q/s106/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxAPDxAQEBAPEA8PDw8PDw8NDw8PDw8OFREWFhURFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKDg0OFxAQFy0dHR0tLS0tLS0tKy0tLSstLS0rKy0tLSstLS8tLS0tLS0tKy0tLS0rLS0tLS0tL.jpeg"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tF7NcVaP4Rio9N14HCJTGn4Y-VRWYxL8DeBW5GI-BONXLNdB5MCkN-32PBiCktxWKuplENHMOnrncRHUAdzeNlcp7EynmAw8mcUnnckBv7vVwsfvhc3G9QryiQKoHy0MuWv85RhNn8U3YlvuBK8xqguY2di1AJfWrPJS_dlOyP99AGgX6Z4q/w400-h155/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxAPDxAQEBAPEA8PDw8PDw8NDw8PDw8OFREWFhURFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMsNygtLisBCgoKDg0OFxAQFy0dHR0tLS0tLS0tKy0tLSstLS0rKy0tLSstLS8tLS0tLS0tKy0tLS0rLS0tLS0tL.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br />The Authoritarian is frequently a populist, and a fundamentalist, but not wholly so. The Authoritarian exists on the political extremes left or right. Though elected by democratic vote, they do not believe in liberal permissiveness, accountability, cooperation, fairness or justice. Unless these suit their own agenda. Reforming the political system is done for their own singular advantage.<br /><br />The Authoritarian leader, possesses charisma in order to bring the will of the people on board and be electable That charisma acting as a charming spell concealing the slight of hand beneath. Upholding freedom of speech only to the extent it gets them heard. Opposition overtime becomes subjugated and slyly silenced. Rights to protest, access to justice, challenging government policy, human rights are curtailed.<br /><br />The longer The Authoritarian stays in power the constraints of democracy begin to chafe too much. Any sense of being a democracy increasingly becomes a sham, decoupling themselves from the rule of law or need to compromise. A parliamentary majority lets them impose legislation, control the media, demonise minorities in society. <br /><br />The Authoritarian holds elections merely to further self aggrandise the leaders ego. The voting system is effectively rigged. By stealth an elected dictatorship has formed under your nose.<br /><br /><br /><br />Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-3979064878191915002024-02-12T19:00:00.000+00:002024-02-12T19:44:12.756+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Martin Shaw - Place<p></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6wlNYxq_iav9skqM4CiXrqExOg55b67ABtn6NcT1o5_msMRElu52zF4AoeUwzwTDW8x_0OfRxnyf48TQT5-1385wdRHpWSrbyxIwjmtYwYQ72Jhu_ah36Af_gV3HkAJSte2in_bJK79GBLhKmcqPHqztuRhnWo0hiayg6OoEAJtLAxsoVA3h/s259/_images%20(1).jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6wlNYxq_iav9skqM4CiXrqExOg55b67ABtn6NcT1o5_msMRElu52zF4AoeUwzwTDW8x_0OfRxnyf48TQT5-1385wdRHpWSrbyxIwjmtYwYQ72Jhu_ah36Af_gV3HkAJSte2in_bJK79GBLhKmcqPHqztuRhnWo0hiayg6OoEAJtLAxsoVA3h/w400-h300/_images%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;">"<i>We are of a place, not from a place."</i></span></b><br /></div><p></p><p><b><span>Martin Shaw - Storyteller & Mythologist</span></b></p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-16468132965093791462024-02-12T08:15:00.000+00:002024-02-12T19:37:41.902+00:00FINISHED READING - A Wicked Deed by Susanna Gregory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNRtE9hLRhx11bu3A0mlF8gM7aSbL5k6Oh9Wi00kHDlVGFEDCHHZ6wBNXNMJla7qQ41krKU6oMmNJg_SbzJYXXo6iaQZK8WxCMpq8vOqsk-4ntpCyQrFNwr79Ge71NMXvjcxtApwKa4kcwO-RepJ3oIS9zSwu5FnWLdHjt7UB3f3ECiV5k_Pd/s289/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMSEhUTExIWFRUXGBoXFxgYFxgYGBgVGBUXGBcYFxcYHSggGB4lHRgXITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGxAQGy0lICYrLy0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS4tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tL.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="174" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXNRtE9hLRhx11bu3A0mlF8gM7aSbL5k6Oh9Wi00kHDlVGFEDCHHZ6wBNXNMJla7qQ41krKU6oMmNJg_SbzJYXXo6iaQZK8WxCMpq8vOqsk-4ntpCyQrFNwr79Ge71NMXvjcxtApwKa4kcwO-RepJ3oIS9zSwu5FnWLdHjt7UB3f3ECiV5k_Pd/w241-h400/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxMSEhUTExIWFRUXGBoXFxgYFxgYGBgVGBUXGBcYFxcYHSggGB4lHRgXITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGxAQGy0lICYrLy0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS4tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tL.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div><div><br /></div>In this the fifth of the Mathew Bartholemew Chronicles, He is sent, with Micheal, a few students and a number of legal minded monks to Grundisburgh. The local lord, Thomas Tuddenham wants to bequeath the living of Grundisburgh parish church to a Michealhouse cleric. This large party from Cambridge is sent to familiarise themselves with the location, and be companions to Unwin introducing him as the new vicar, and draw up the necessary documentation.<div><br /></div><div>As they near the village they find a man hanging half dead, whom Mathew attempts to save. When they return later with Tuddenham there is no visible sign of him ever being there. Tuddenham, they find, is way too keen on the documents being drawn up quickly. No one understands quite why. There appears to be a lot of contention and resentment between the local nobllity, over land ownership and precedence.</div><div><br /></div><div>Before any documents can be drawn up Unwin, the prospective vicar is murdered. Just the first of many deaths that follow in the village. So what is going on? Why does someone want to prevent the signing of the document being drawn up?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The first in the series that moves the location outside of Cambridge. This definitely reinvigorates Gregory's storytelling by removing it from the familiar sense of place of the college environment. Preventing any feeling of de-ja-vu emerging, which somewhat bedevilled the earlier novels. The change of setting draws more out of Gregory who gives us here, a fresher and more spritely style of medieval who dunnit. Great atmospheric use is made of the abandoned village of Barchester. Like many villages in this period, completely depopulated to extinction by the plague. </div><div><br /></div><div>It keeps you guessing and wrong foots you cleverly, as one might expect. She continues to paint greater emotional depth into Bartholemew's character. Here he is definitely more of a cross patch than in previous incarnations. Ribled and alarmed by the local quacks and their dangerous remedies. There is a sense that his disatisfaction with the lack of a private life is growing, and some sort of shift of attitude towards his future career path is underway.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, endings, endings for Gregory still bring this deadly dull thud to the concluding chapters. Any tension or sense of threat is dissipated, nay thrown away, by endless questions demanding clarification - So, was it you who killed...... Once again Micheal and Bartholemew are held captive by various folk who openly brag, or extensively fess up to the complexity of their misdemeanors. Providing the minute detail of all the whys and wherefores of the case, and unresolved issues. This is exasperating and, to this degree, entirely unnecessary. Maybe, it's time I took a long break from the circus of these Medieval Cambridge clerics.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;">CARROT REVIEW - 6/8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGZTYmt71jc-petLbXz9OciYACn8h8PfHZ1F8EjVpKBhSnlyYkuLotYzH91gPSRQChRxceX85cPnYR9-5kOUWguwVbx-u-tDsm6rnEf3_wZemsSVDWtY02prnIrRJBnDQb7bqZeZMtXENMzvd_UV_FgRchLgXfxGrYvw6xUL-y4JIB_8bm-yl/s884/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="113" data-original-width="884" height="41" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGZTYmt71jc-petLbXz9OciYACn8h8PfHZ1F8EjVpKBhSnlyYkuLotYzH91gPSRQChRxceX85cPnYR9-5kOUWguwVbx-u-tDsm6rnEf3_wZemsSVDWtY02prnIrRJBnDQb7bqZeZMtXENMzvd_UV_FgRchLgXfxGrYvw6xUL-y4JIB_8bm-yl/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-18834248981268681002024-02-09T05:47:00.046+00:002024-02-10T06:25:34.393+00:00200 WORDS ON - The Fundamentalist<span><p dir="ltr"></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGdX11htK4FQTkxi056FnvQYEMiAOwcdYEHd4UrzGiHdJcP_E66hH9MJbQVl4x1WqOeXaPtHpqVLjVU_N2jl4cWGTe96tA9Jcj9majStJIn0MyXzHppJsQl6b9eEXPYvpXlzF-KsKdlPWF8gvbwmN-IuTVXnwoACJKHzwoapLWupBSIfBfMG8W/s99/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhUQEBIVFRAQFQ8VEA8PDw8PDw8PFRUWFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGhAQFy0dHR0tLS0rLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0rLS0tLS0tLS0tKy0tLS0tLS0rL.jpeg"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGdX11htK4FQTkxi056FnvQYEMiAOwcdYEHd4UrzGiHdJcP_E66hH9MJbQVl4x1WqOeXaPtHpqVLjVU_N2jl4cWGTe96tA9Jcj9majStJIn0MyXzHppJsQl6b9eEXPYvpXlzF-KsKdlPWF8gvbwmN-IuTVXnwoACJKHzwoapLWupBSIfBfMG8W/w400-h170/image_jpeg;base64,_9j_4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD_2wCEAAkGBxISEhUQEBIVFRAQFQ8VEA8PDw8PDw8PFRUWFhUVFRUYHSggGBolGxUVITEhJSkrLi4uFx8zODMtNygtLisBCgoKDg0OGhAQFy0dHR0tLS0rLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0tLS0rLS0tLS0tLS0tKy0tLS0tLS0rL.jpeg" width="400"></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">A Fundamentalist is thought of essentially as a phenomena of religion. Fundamentalism, however, is a semi-religious inflection manifesting in wider range of contexts. Generally where ever faith and belief in the rightness of anything, becomes an unquestionable absolute.</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">A Fundamentalist pins their colours proudly on the flagpole of literal truth, of a philosophy, the practical application of an ideal, or an inspirational piece of writing. Whatever is deemed wrong with the world would be cured if these words were literally put into practice, A Fundamentalist is not interested in opinions or nuance, but in these foundational documents being adopted as 'gospel truth' by everyone. Principles or rules, becoming frozen dogma,</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">A Fundamentalist prides themselves in knowing exactly where they stand. Confident in the rightness and superiority of their beliefs, moral or economic purpose. Rigidly holding to the purest version of a religious, political or economic theory, robs them of humane understanding and basic compassion.</span></p><p dir="ltr"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">A Fundamentalist turns the economy into a pseudo-religious belief system. A pure capitalist system best operated completely free of restrictions. This turns wealth creation into an arbiter of what is good and has value, and the inordinately wealthy individual into a wise prophet or minor deity.</span></p></span>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-8495152676274986902024-02-06T13:42:00.012+00:002024-02-06T19:47:39.181+00:00SHORT STORY - Deep Listening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmdHGW_2k6LYt-MZvWbi2a2RVlGzPhS6pvRCxQeKv53AOhZr2JHR64_gAzTV-W6E7FZv3skMHAKS4VG639bYgXK8oGTyKm4Xav02EiAY_2dttRAATfO1ewtzKpFWGEK0j9CrZmzPguLaW9L9vMcK4bdWEubIk-IiYCUHczlMNVW8DLf3k-w_I/s174/image_png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAARMAAAC3CAMAAAAGjUrGAAAAflBMVEX___8AAAD8_Pzb29vz8_MwMDDOzs7o6Oj5+fmzs7OlpaWWlpbExMTMzMz29vaGhoaurq46OjpLS0thYWF3d3fGxsaQkJA_Pz_i4uLY2NhRUVHt7e2goKBwcHC6urpERER+fn5paWkpKSlbW1s.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmdHGW_2k6LYt-MZvWbi2a2RVlGzPhS6pvRCxQeKv53AOhZr2JHR64_gAzTV-W6E7FZv3skMHAKS4VG639bYgXK8oGTyKm4Xav02EiAY_2dttRAATfO1ewtzKpFWGEK0j9CrZmzPguLaW9L9vMcK4bdWEubIk-IiYCUHczlMNVW8DLf3k-w_I/w320-h320/image_png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAARMAAAC3CAMAAAAGjUrGAAAAflBMVEX___8AAAD8_Pzb29vz8_MwMDDOzs7o6Oj5+fmzs7OlpaWWlpbExMTMzMz29vaGhoaurq46OjpLS0thYWF3d3fGxsaQkJA_Pz_i4uLY2NhRUVHt7e2goKBwcHC6urpERER+fn5paWkpKSlbW1s.png" width="320" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div>There was an excited thudding of the heart as an unbidden thought emerged. And that thought suffused and settled itself upon their mind like a descending fog. And that thought spoke to him and said - <i>' could you listen to a piece of music, without your mind wandering or falling asleep? Wouldn't that be a challenge. Are you up for trying?' </i>A nod of the head indicated consent, whilst a tightly bitten bottom lip perhaps spoke otherwise.<div><br /></div><div>Their mind woke up to what the carrying out of this new task could entail. It was ideal, part applied practice, part pleasure, part strenuous endeavour. What would be the right piece of music to accompany this? Well, that took a while to establish. They had to overcome a certain nerdy ambition they possessed, that quickly infested their sense of the task at hand. How long the music should be, wildly fluctuated in length. They didn't want to be a pussy, and so thought- lets go for a full twenty minutes. This shifted down in five minute geared increments, then cranked itself upwards again, until another minor genuflecting moment of retreat. Back and forth it went on like a game of hesitant table tennis. </div><div><br /></div><div>Having provisionally settled on five minutes, the next issue was musical style. In many ways popular music was better at a short musical form. The discipline of three minutes being widely adhered to. Rarely stretching longer though, even five minutes was a bit of an ask, unless you chose a 12 inch remix. Classical, however, was the reverse, a long form of musical encounter, that placed little value on brevity. You had your minute waltzs, but longer, as in five minutes longer, was harder to find outside of the odd Chopin Etude, a Gymnopedie by Eric Satie, or something considered charmingly unfinished. Most frequently it's romantic loquaciousness recognised no horological boundary.</div><div><br /></div><div>Annoyingly they found the right music hard to find, let alone forgive. When a piece of music, proved to be even a few seconds over or short of the required time. They reminded themselves they weren't in competition with anyone, except, of course, themselves. Boy this was proving hard. It was an experiment after all. If they should ultimately fail, well, no one else need know about it. Yet, why did four minutes eighty four feel so much worse than four minutes ninety? How come everything always has to be so neat and bloody precise, but mostly wasn't?</div><div><br /></div><div>Setting aside Sunday evening. They lined up the chosen music on the computer, plugged in the headphones, pulled up a favourite armchair, and pondered whether it was ever possible to truly prepare oneself for listening intently, without distraction. They made a cup of tea. Then realised perhaps that was not such a good idea. What if they needed to pee two minutes in? Thoughts about the distended nature of your bladder, once they seeped into your mind, you'd never be able to shut them up. This 'in the moment' deep listening stuff, needed more careful preparation than anyone would have first imagined.</div><div><br /></div><div>So the phone was unplugged, mobile turned off, all the doors either locked or do not disturb signs attached. Did the room need to be darkened? Lights on or off? Eyes closed of open? Headphones or speakers? The issues provoked these questions, and they kept on coming. The sense that all this prevarication over actually starting the experiment, was simply nervous delay. The perpetual nature of them grew increasingly discomforting, until they struck more base, sabotaging, carnal motivations. Shoes on or off? Sitting up or lying down? Clothed or naked? <i>No, just no to that. You know what you'd do - in time to the music no doubt. Shame on you.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, fully clothed, out of a burgeoning self exasperation they pressed the start button, and just as the opening chord struck immediately put it on hold. <i>No.That was too hurried. Rewind. Pause, take several minutes to deep and luxuriate in the breath. Still a bit hyper, calm down, breath slower - be gentler. Prepare your entire psycho- physical being. Imagine a pond with ripples becoming stiller and unruffled like a mirror. Yes, that one always works.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>And....then...they fell asleep. <i>Oops, nodded off for a bit there. Are you really alert enough? Well slept enough? You can always come back to this later. Go take a brisk invigorating walk. After an hours walk at sunset, and a ten - twenty minute nap, have another go. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>This time they sat bolt upright. Touched the button and off they went. <i>Gosh I always love this opening, so magnificent and grand, reminds me of when I walked through those estate woods in Norfolk last autumn, low sun, the extended shadows, and...</i> <i>Hey, are you listening? Nope. Stop the music. Pause. God, you're only giving a bloody running commentary. Not truly listening with the entirety of your whole physical, mental, emotional, spiritual being. You"re writing a review. What's your strategy with this then, oh mighty deep listening guru? Rewind, Start again. Deep, deep sigh. And.......</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>God, No, I'm just so annoyed with myself now, really really uptight. What to do? Just listen to the god damn music! What's so difficult about that? Cool the anger dude. Deep breaths, let them go, let them go, Let Them Go, from the head down to the feet....and again. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>No, No, No, I can't do this right now, I'm so damn wired. A cup of tea. That's back on the agenda. Get up, switch on the tap, fill the kettle, wait till it boils, bag in the teapot, splash of cold water, pour the hot water in, wait till it's brewed, time three full minutes, milk in the cup, then the tea, retire to the sofa, sit and slowly drink it in. Now why can't listening to music be like that, eh? Like switching on a kettle and making a cup of tea. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>You know, maybe this is simply not the right time, another day perhaps. What am I trying to prove here, eh? OK, move on then - check your phone - one missed call - nope - they can wait - swipe. I'm chillin for a bit, know what I mean?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Written by Stephen Lumb</b></div><div><b>February 2024</b></div><div><br /></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-16940951090565452842024-02-04T16:48:00.033+00:002024-02-04T19:07:39.885+00:00200 WORDS ON - The Populist<p dir="ltr"></p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4S63PYIlpf3HjTXW-KXH9NGKjaQsxzpJNquE3kibhL5Kasu0WY3BgmrFAJSSjDOa9e2UOWtIu00-o3lHoMBlF8WOSHxsY9PXE_XEldp-knADnGeLqGFnNesZKXjM33byq3GsONCt-sIljP0Vi4PeKhGs5vWEDhEEWHovQSicQvNyEotjCVfe2/s136/_images%20(3).jpg"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4S63PYIlpf3HjTXW-KXH9NGKjaQsxzpJNquE3kibhL5Kasu0WY3BgmrFAJSSjDOa9e2UOWtIu00-o3lHoMBlF8WOSHxsY9PXE_XEldp-knADnGeLqGFnNesZKXjM33byq3GsONCt-sIljP0Vi4PeKhGs5vWEDhEEWHovQSicQvNyEotjCVfe2/w320-h209/_images%20(3).jpg" width="320"></a></div><div><br></div><br><div>Populist politicians present policies as popular expressions of 'the will of the people'. This cannot be claimed by any party when it draws its legitimacy from a third of the population. At best exhorting the ‘will’ in a majority vote first past the post system,is only partial in its efficacy. Drawing upon tropes of the populist is a political strategy centuries old. <br><br>The Populist adopts whatever they believe has wide popularity in the general public, or within their imagined core voters. <br><br>The Populist will often say one thing to be popular, and speak the exact opposite later the same day. In a different context and time, contradictory ideas are given equally enthusiastic voice. Resulting policy inconsistency brings chaos in there wake. Truth becomes chained to context and place, not the facts of the matter. <br><br>The Populist is compelled by their own innate inconsistency, to argue they never said something, have been misquoted, or taken out of context. If these fail to stick, they lie or attack whoever is pointing out the cognitive dissonance. <br><br>The Populist stands for nothing substantive, except their own popularity and pampering of their ego. They are tragically, the consequence and crude manifestation of Post-Modern relativism.<br><br></div>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15322177.post-29524180222105416602024-02-04T10:25:00.001+00:002024-02-04T10:25:40.199+00:00QUOTATION MARKS - Martin Shaw - Beholding<p><b><i><span></span></i></b></p><div><b><i><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfUwcocfSKfWdencNCJpJH6_3TJ4YPDiCTZO3WbahHJNwGPv07RyI8vDMW6XHsapCLl5aWvuNcTG3uusT2ap9nnRxwbrFPkR-8bBnakOOU4ujne58sktqnjip81XaLxNtBCBeUfdFkXwfeYQYOPOS6zCicZRPDAU3n71ebaum-Dd4QA_ESM6a/s259/_images%20(1).jpg"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfUwcocfSKfWdencNCJpJH6_3TJ4YPDiCTZO3WbahHJNwGPv07RyI8vDMW6XHsapCLl5aWvuNcTG3uusT2ap9nnRxwbrFPkR-8bBnakOOU4ujne58sktqnjip81XaLxNtBCBeUfdFkXwfeYQYOPOS6zCicZRPDAU3n71ebaum-Dd4QA_ESM6a/w400-h300/_images%20(1).jpg" width="400"></a></span></i></b></div><b><i><span><span>"You need to move your vision<br>from seeing the world<br>to beholding the world"</span></span></i></b><p></p><p><b><span>Martin Shaw - Storyteller & Mythologist</span></b></p>Stephen Lumb http://www.blogger.com/profile/02678913737149352988noreply@blogger.com0