Christopher's Online Journal

How times change; yesterday I said to Kate: if I give you a pound will you get me a newspaper when you go out, anyway, to cut a long story short, I went myself to the newsagent (Kate says the walk is good for me). The Guardian was £3.20! Wow, when did that change, no wonder their readership is falling. The Yorkshire Post wasn't much better at £2.50 but at least its supplement magazine had a piece about my home town of Holmfirth. Image courtesy of Museums Victoria on Unsplash I wanted the newspapers because I had it in mind to flash out the reporter piece on the loutharts.online website. I thought that reading how other reporters went about their writing might inspire me. You might tell me if it works, or better still you might become a reporter. I so hope others are encouraged to give it a try. Although I have to say the process for me, of putting the piece together, was quite wonderful. Especially re-reading Clare Balding's excellent piece of writing: Feast of action is helpin

The poem was about a letter, or actually more about the use of letters, or not. It was well-received, which is how we like it isn't it, well it is for moi! Most certainly. This is Friday, a day of so many times; good times, youthful times. Payday times in the clay works; where some men immediately gambled away their entire week's wages. Image courtesy of Veronique Estie on Unsplash Last night's 'education' film was Shadowman , about the American artist Richard Hambleton. As with most of these programmes it began slowly, but grew into a not to be missed story of an amazing life. Then to be followed by Mindful Escapes on the BBC where Andy Puddicombe slowly and smoothly narrates over the backdrop of quite beautiful, and amazing images from nature. Now it is America by The Nice which plays on the stereo. Yes, that particular Friday was a long time ago! Here's the letter poem: Home Thoughts From A Broad Where do letters sit In the hierarchy or the continuum of our

I had a lot of freedom as a young child. I was allowed, or encouraged, to do as I pleased, where I pleased, in what was essentially a countryside environment. And now it is being suggested that my formative years are why I now always want to do things my own way, and why I don't take instruction well. Worse still I am told that I rally against being told what to do, or how to do it; and so I choose not to argue my corner, our childhoods do form us so much, don't they. Image courtesy of Danny Lines on Unsplash So much for beginning sentences with subjects and verbs, as professed by Roy Peter Clark, in his 10th Anniversary edition of Writing Tools . It's not for me. More to my liking is Josip Novakovich's Fiction Writer's Workshop where he says: As a writer you need a strong sense of independence, of being and thinking on your own - so go ahead, work alone... Ultimately, write in any way that gives you a sense of freedom. Yes, those are my sort of words of advice, ir

The website is online. The first stretch of work is over. Louth Arts Online is at loutharts.online As expected there is more to be done. Last night, on the cusp of sleep, I was thinking about the Zero Degrees Festival, about the Walking Festival, and about Music Nights in Cobbles bar (among others). Image courtesy of Korie Cull on Unsplash It struck me that the site needs a reporter, also a place for an organiser, or at least a way for reporters and organisers to contribute to the site. I wondered if the local newspaper, the Louth Leader, was fulfilling its role as a community reporter, and if so, how does it make its mark. So, already there are more questions than answers, but the fulfillment of the beginning was itself fulfilling, lets hope it brings repeated joy. Which is the cue for today's poem: Droplets Of Joy Thin subliminal sounds of the ocean, wave by cascading wave, trickling-harp by trickling-hearts Darkness by the absence of artificial light, darkness by the closure of

I have been blinkered of late. My website work has engulfed me. Even now, as I take the time to write the journal note, I have strong feelings of being held away from what I should really be doing. It is as though the post-vaccination headache has not yet cleared, that I am still in a noisy void of disassociation. The new stove for the Old Stables is due for delivery today. Although I have not received the notification promised. Will we return to communal gatherings in there: for poetry, for writing, for music, for art, for meditation, for celebration. Does it make sense that I try to make sense of my life by indulging in such pushy activities. Would it be better if I spent more time going with the flow? John Grant starts the music this morning. I don't know where I first found him, I do know that he has a fascinating back story and makes some neat sounds. I have to go, you know what is calling, but I will leave you with an extract from a long poem, which later on does include the

The day started well enough, the IKEA   ALEFJÄLL chair went together reasonably easily, with little or no assistance! But then the first problem of the day became seriously apparent. For whatever reason, the website work which I had been working on for the last three days wasn't accessible. I'm sure it's all down to my not feeling great after the vaccination. Anyway, as Pangloss often said, it's for the best, because now I am almost a seasoned professional with the Xway software, so it's plain sailing from now on in. But just as things were looking up it was time to be sunk once again, this time by choosing to watch Sheffield Wednesday struggle against fellow strugglers Birmingham City. By the end of ninety minutes, and with my favourite player having been sent off for two, what back in the day when I played, would have been called quite ordinary tackles. No amount of meditation can calm me from the frustration that football brings; why do I bother do you ask? Well,

I make that three days in a row, including today, so ok maybe not quite on a roll, but better than I ever did in books (that is other than my 3 years of Morning Pages  when I felt the voice of Julia Cameron at my back). Now it's just up to me,  me and the keyboard, and the mind, or the essence, where I am told everything springs from. Such is my belief, or some might say gullibility, that I do believe there is more to me than meets the eye. The website is coming on a treat, just a couple of small glitches to be ironed out then it will be ready for content to be continuously added. A little bit like Pennine Publishes Poetry, a previous hosting incarnation ,  which ran away with itself back in the 1990s. Backdrop from Pennine Publishes Poetry Logo Not that I am expecting, or wishing for such popularity on this occasion; quality, not quantity is the motto this time. Talking of quality;  The Perfume of Silence sits on my desk beside me, I am looking for a good stretch of quiet time to

This is nuts. I haven't completed the first draft of the website, yet already I am doing a rewrite; with a new name, and a new web address, which I will let you know just as soon as it becomes live. It is the levels thing, which I think I told you about before. Anyway, it's been nagging at me, it's in my dreams, and now it's interrupting my morning meditation; I had to do something about it, so first thing this morning a new domain was purchased. Meanwhile, I look at Wilhelmina Barn's Graham's print Eight Lines, Porthmeor 1986. It calms me, as well as taking me right back to my fortieth birthday when I sat beside Wilhelmina in Tate St Ives. We spoke for about half an hour before she pointed to the painting on the wall and said: That's one of mine . But let's get back to the journal Christopher, who on this earth is interested in your nostalgic travels. Well, my football team lost out in a very dreary game; why do I keep tipping up my £10 to iFollow, is i

I had my first officially recorded lucid dream last night, recorded by me that is. I was by a bar, in a big upstairs room which I can't yet place. The dream went on but that is for another time, and another place, a more discreet time and place to be honest. The dratted website work is keeping me from the blog. This morning's idea was to have four levels, at least 4. Each of which would reveal a deeper level of I as a person, and we as a people. Yes, you are right, I am losing my mind. I think what makes an obsession out of the work is that I can't see an end in sight, and also I do keep being asked: what is its purpose? Of course, has Chumbawamba sang: I get knocked down, I get back up again . But this is not a diary is it, it is a journal, so if I skip a couple of days I can always make that up, can't I? The answer is yes if you were wondering, especially if I could make it up with something interesting. This morning's interesting activity was my reblogging of a b

I was just about to start on the Journal Writer page for the new website when I realised that I had not yet posted my journal entry for today. And so the website work is halted and this journal entry is begun. Is it possible for my Grammarly to be retuned to English English? I know as a little boy that I was fascinated by the letter z, I did use it wherever I could. Although not being much of a writer back then I didn't use it too often. I do vaguely remember it infuriating some of my teachers at grammar school, which was probably another reason, back in the day, for me to use it. But now it stinks of America, words like realise become way too potent with the z instead of the s. That's the rant over. I am listening to Discreet Music by Brian Eno, and the wood-burner is burning a treat, who wouldn't be relaxed, especially when those Yanks haven't yet found a replacement for our lovely letter x. Well, I can't stay long, the website is a bit of a half-complete mish-ma

One response to a forum question about projectors going blank occasionally is that it is often that the HDMI cable is at fault. Fortunately, a few days ago I spotted a new cable in the Old Stables, and I wondered why did I buy that well now I know. Fifteen minutes later, after a bit of trick standing on our small tables, I have unthreaded the old cable and inserted the new one. All that's left is to watch Final Score, although six episodes of The Americans might be a better test. Well, that installation work, on top of my not getting up until 11:15, means that the blog stuff is running a little late today. I promise to do better tomorrow, oh but that is Valentine's day, so maybe not. My website is at last breaking ground, I can imagine its realisation in a few weeks time. Meanwhile I will be approaching friends for their presentation contributions. If you want to make a presentation then please make yourself heard. Yesterday's Friday Morning Poetry Review was another good o

From apparently nowhere Friday's On My Mind popped up. At first, I thought The Mindbenders, but then no, surely it was The Easybeats, wasn't it? The point is, as a teenager, as an apprentice in a big, hot, and dirty factory, Friday was always on my mind. It just couldn't come quick enough. Also, Friday night was usually our trip out night when we would set off to Ashton, or Oldham, or Sheffield, or Wakefield, or Leeds, or Manchester, or even Blackpool once or twice to Yate's Wine Lodge then the Tower Ballroom.  Always we were in search of a dance hall and bar, or bars, even Bier Kellers occasionally where you could drink steins of lager to our heart's content, then stand on the tables to sing  along,  raucously, with the Oompah Band. Now Friday is our Poetry Review by Zoom, how times change. One day I might plot the Friday timelines from Holmfirth to Louth, and everywhere else in between. Friday was the day to start weekend overseas work trips when I worked in Leed

"Even introverts will speak to their mind; they can question their soul, they can silently rethink what they needed to say, and what not." These words are from Suntonu Bhadra at Blue Insights on Medium. He is talking about diaries, but as I have said before, for me there is not a lot of distance between a diary and a journal. And I am beginning to think that there might not be a great deal of distance between lucid dreaming and simply keeping a dream journal. I am, day by day, trying to teach myself not to get out of bed until I have recalled as much as possible of the dream. For now, I keep brief, probably unintelligible notes but, in the fullness of time, I hope to improve on this lazy style. Also in my No Thought Meditation, I have to be honest enough on those days, like today, when the thoughts flood around: Should I take photographs in the snow, where should I site the new wood-burner in the old stables, could I add a dropbox or a parchment style presentation to my websi

I knew that it would happen, but would you believe, after last night's poetry workshop using Journals as our theme here I am not keeping up with my own journal. The distraction has been the new website, but hopefully, that's put aside for a while to be proofread by someone with a better command of the English language than my good self. And of course, we have had a small fall of snow, which looks good even at five o'clock in the morning which is when my first stretch of sleep ended. I am certainly doing ok on the dream count at the moment, three today, and three yesterday, and today's included the very distinctive voice of a colleague and friend from thirty years ago; where are you now Pat Laming. Frida Kahlo was one of the images which we used as an inspiration to write a poem about journeys that we might have described in our own journals. We also talked about why we started journals, and why they often came to a close. Am I hitting the right note with this journal? D

The ringing, in my ears, is circular, cyclic, it comes and goes as if a reverberation to remind me, that at least in my left ear there is life, there is presence. It as if it is a reminder that I must, among other things, I must attend to this journal. What do they say: use it or lose it. I don't want to lose it. Today we have snow, yesterday the cold spell was just arriving though I know not from which direction, for I was immersed in creating my new website which is becoming an obsessive kind of task. So much so that with the impatience of a man who wants to get back to his work I clumsily break the yolks of both eggs in my breakfast frying pan. To calm myself down I take a cup of coffee, and slowly read Pablo Neruda's poem Keeping Quiet. Now we will count to twelve and we will keep still ... Now I'll count up to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go. I'm sure that I have seen a different translation for the last line, I will look it up, meanwhile, my inbox receives

I suppose it had to happen, and so, the very next day after my birthday, I missed out on the journal. It is what it is, to use one of the unfortunate sayings of present times. There is no explanation, other than that I was bathing in the love which had been shown towards me. Also, I was pretty much transfixed on completing my latest website. After truly experiencing the learning by doing way of working, as opposed to the learning by reading the instruction manual method, I am relieved to say that the website is now up and running at christophersanderson.net It is all a part of my attempt to keep my brain alert and alive. Is it working? Well now, I wouldn't be the one to answer that, would I? But I hope so, I certainly feel a measured sense of achievement. Actually, another reason for yesterday's slippage was our Friday Morning Poetry Review zoom session, where I did demonstrate a little bit of brain dysfunctionality but recovered in time to enjoy some neat poetry and some good

It's my birthday today, I am sixty-nine, and I've just learnt a new way to fit cufflinks. I was driven this way, to try and keep the neatness and the shape of my Sheep inc pullover. We are allowed one luxury aren't we, and mine came with a sheep in New Zealand now named Coastmoor. My younger brother posted me an email birthday message, I don't know that he has done that before,  but it is good isn't it, that in these odd times, how everyone is learning something new;  though where I would be without the Grammarly spell-checker I dread to think. The Idle Rocks hotel in St. Mawes sent me an email too, along with a voucher for a 3-night stay, for just shy of five hundred pounds. Don't they know that I'm a pensioner by now, and having to watch the pennies; but maybe in September, yes. Yesterday's visit to Marks and Spencer's food-hall, for birthday food, was a success, also the sushi for lunch was neat, especially as we watched the bright yellow fishing

I have an urgency this morning. Yesterday I began modifying one of my websites, and I am rather excited by the progress. I am using new software, new to me that is, but also new to the company making it available. For those of you who understand such things, I am using a beta version. Which of course means, that if I do make mistakes, I might not be entirely to blame. That thought gives me some comfort as I plough on. One of the things missing from the programme is a method, and an explanation, of how to post the finished work to the worldwide web. But hey ho, one step at a time suits me fine. The dreams are coming on apace, though it does mean me not rising so early, because some of the more lucid, or vivid dreams, arrive after the alarm goes off when I return to dozing or sleeping. I'm sure there is an explanation, but I won't go in search of it just yet. The manager, or the coach, of the team which my team beat last night, blamed it on the propensity of youngsters in his sid

I am on the threshold of the silver door, That is in  The Second Half of Life: Opening the Eight Gates of Wisdom. And yes I know that strictly speaking, I might not be in the second half of life, but after watching lasts night's Quantum Physics programme I recognise that all calculations are to be questioned. Not so the exquisite Mandelbrot formula   f c (z) = Z 2 +c   which gifts us the ever-repeating beautifully artistic fractals. Yes, you are right to notice that our teatime television viewing has taken a cosmic turn, which I personally think is for the best, as Pangloss from Candide himself might also have said. Isn't life really all about gaining wisdom, about cramming as much experiential learning into our life as is possible? That's not to say there isn't space for no thought between the thinking thoughts, No, Eckhart is right, we do need to visit that space of conscious awareness, fairly often I would say, I don't know for certain what Pangloss would say ab

It took an awfully long time for the confusion in my mind to settle. I had been trying to get my Synology server to connect to two of my laptops, quite unsuccessfully I might add. My brain had got caught up in the twirl of connections, passwords, users, protocols, and permissions. Eventually, I gave up and started to watch television, The Americans is our binge-series of the moment. It is suitably undemanding, which meant that gradually my mind quietened from the earlier frenzy into something like normal mode. Three episodes later, and the threat of nuclear war still on the brink (although of course, we know that it didn't happen don't we) it is time to call it a night. And then, just as we prepared for bed the eureka moment hit me. Why bother syncing two or more computers, why not just have the newest in sync, and the others backed up periodically, manually. I determined that I would set it up that way, but in the morning, because now I wanted to sleep. In future, I will try