Critic Cal

This friend I had — I don’t make friends easy. We met at the bus-stop I pass on the way to the gym. It took a year or so of amicable passing nods before we got to talking. And then … his thick Scottish accent … my tongue-tying social anxiety … it took a further while to piece together much of a rapport. But he was patient and, unlike so many, keen to see the best in me. Besides, we found ourselves on the firmest of common grounds. Soon our early morning chats were a routine feature of my rigid routine. I’d walk up first thing from my nice warm bed to go workout-away all the mental and physical hindrances between me and the forthcoming day. And he’d have been there some time already — the first stop of the day after quietly easing away from whichever half-sheltered corner he’d managed to stake for himself in the night. The thing with bus-stops is that "waiting" and "hanging around" are fairly indistinguishable activities — at least until the full roster of routes...

The produce of a week or so's worth of rather cathartic evenings back in July...                  To Their Moot Issue                 Had we but world enough, and time,                 This indecision were no crime;                 We would sit down, and think, and weigh                 The pros and cons, our long life's day.                 You'd watch the lads-turned-dads, matchside,                 With wistful awe; I, with...

There's this Rowan Atkinson sketch where he does a comically solemn vicar character delivering a sermon about "The Amazing Jesus" -- And on the third day, there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee. And it came to pass that all the wine was drunk. And the mother of the bride came to Jesus and said unto the Lord, they have no more wine. And Jesus said unto the servants: "Fill six waterpots with water." And they did so. And when the steward of the feast did taste from the water of the pots, it had become wine. And they knew not whence it had come. But the servants did know, so they applauded loudly in the kitchen. And they said unto the Lord: "How the hell did you do that?" And inquired of him: "Do you do children's parties" And the Lord said: "No." But the servants did press him, saying; "Go on, give us another one!" [...] And they brought him on a stretcher a man who was sick of the palsy. And they cried unto him:...

I have decided to be a poet. My father said that there isn't a suitable career structure for poets and no pensions and other boring things, but I am quite decided. He tried to interest me in becoming a computer operator, but I said 'I need to put my soul into my work and it is well known that computers haven't got a soul.' My father said, 'The Americans are working on it.' But I can't wait that long. (Sue Townsend, The Sacred Diary of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4 , p102) Well said, Adrian! Stand your ground! If only I'd stuck to my poetic guns at your age ... just think of the volumes of villanelles, the stacks of sestinas, the plenitude of pantoums ... not to mention the veritable  library  of limericks I could've penned by now. Instead, here I am, operating computers day in, day out, with barely a weekday evening free to scrape together a few lines of light verse here and there. I've got some serious catching up to do ... Got gaps in my readin...

“Kekulé dreams the Great Serpent holding its own tail in its mouth, the dreaming Serpent which surrounds the World. But the meanness, the cynicism with which this dream is to be used. The Serpent that announces, "The World is a closed thing, cyclical, resonant, eternally-returning," is to be delivered into a system whose only aim is to violate the Cycle. Taking and not giving back, demanding that "productivity" and "earnings" keep on increasing with time, the System removing from the rest of the World these vast quantities of energy to keep its own tiny desperate fraction showing a profit: and not only most of humanity — most of the World, animal, vegetable, and mineral, is laid waste in the process. The System may or may not understand that it's only buying time. And that time is an artificial resource to begin with, of no value to anyone or anything but the System, which must sooner or later crash to its death, when its addiction to energy has bec...

                THE RIME OF THE APPLE CUSTOMER                 It is an Apple Customer                 And he stoppeth one of three.                 'By thy hipster beard and thick-framed eye                 Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?                 The Genius Bar has opened just                 And I've a job to do;                 The pre-booked patrons congregate:         ...

A 1st of January oh-no-the-gym-is-closed early morning walk has become something of a tradition for me since writing this. It doesn't always rain. NEW YEAR'S DAY   At 6 a.m. on New Year's Day While next door's lengthy Hogmanay Was resolutely still in play I wearily arose. My brain was buzzing, anyway, Too much to much doze.  I dressed, and found an old cagoule (Remembering the forecast squall) And stuffed it — an ungainly ball — In my fleece pocket. Then crept down to the downstairs hall And made my exit.  The streets were dark; it felt like night The more so for the frequent sight Of homeward-headed revellers, tight And waxing verbal. One stopped, and asked me for a light For something ‘herbal’…  I drew the odd uncivil jest From trendy cliques in party best Who were distinctly unimpressed By my appearance; I scowled, and scorned “such shallowness " With silent vehemence.  Towards the centre of the town Were several nightcl...