Whether we believe in God or not we can all agree religion is a human construct. I like this poem Church Going by Philip Larkin.

The title contains a pun as the poet visits a church and imagines how in the distant future people's memory of what churches were for might disappear.

He wonders whether the last to remember will be architectural fans, antique lovers or people with a fetish for Christmas. Or, he asks, will the 'cross of earth' retain its power because of the weight of human business - births, marriages, deaths - that has gone on there?

Here's an excerpt:

I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.



(Above is St Luke's Church in Liverpool city centre...it was bombed during the blitz in the second world war and remains as a monument.)

I count myself with Larkin here. Churches will always have a power even if, as in my view, it is built of human history and longing.

Now, on a less melancholy note.................

Been catsitting this weekend and listening to music and reading.

Hard to read with this on though.... I love it when the chewy bass kicks in.

[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssJfWcj4dK0[/url]

Fuck yeah!

follows the cover song thread....

with Monk Time

[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPju-0E5ZKc[/url]

and Nun Time

[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuNZ1FUKYLw[/url]

I was reading T4Texas Waiting for Marriage thread in General Discussion and it got me thinking about that great British poet, artist and christian mystic William Blake. He would have been downcast to realise that 200 years later the church was still sermonising against human nature.

He's probably best known for writing the words to the hymn Jerusalem which many people would prefer to see as the British national anthem or the poem The Tyger which goes:

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

When he was just a kid he had this vision of angels in a tree in a park not far from where I live now.

I've walked all around that park and looked out for angels in the trees but I haven't seen any or sensed an immortal hand or eye. I'm an agnostic which for me means I don't believe in any gods although I'm not saying there aren't any.

Even so, I'm right with this fella Blake when it comes to religion. Check out his painting Web of Religion:




It's as if humans are bound by religion against their nature and see too how the web is like a cloak of religion too.

In his poem The Garden of Love he writes:

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

For the church to make sex before marriage, homosexual sex or sex with contraception a sin is "binding with briars [our] joys and desires."

Like Blake I believe Jesus was a historical figure, there's not much argument about it. But I don't believe his example was one of 'obey the law'. He suffered capital punishment for breaking the law.

Last word to William Blake:

If he had been Antichrist, Creeping Jesus,
He'd have done anything to please us:
Gone sneaking into the Synagogues
And not used the Elders & Priests like Dogs,
But humble as a Lamb or an Ass,
Obey himself to Caiaphas.
God wants not man to humble himself

Ate paella cooked on an open fire last night, drank wine and slept in.

Think I'll take more pics tonight... been a slow, lazy day.

Computer's back in action after the connection wiped out for 24 hours and there's a mixed bag of news.

Well, the bad news is I've finally got round to taking a couple more pics, good news is the cam phone quality isn't that good so you can hardly see me.

Hopefully they upload ok, I'm on the case now.

Laters!

I need to post some more piccies.

Lol, I mentioned to someone sexy I should be getting myself verified and she said: "We'd ALL like to see you verified."




Ok then, so long as you didn't say that in a spooky voice.





I've seen Rosemary's Baby.






Cheers people, been another fun night.

xxx

Football Boots



About once every soccer game you see someone flying into a tackle with the studs of their boots showing.

Studs (or cleats) are essential for grip but dangerous when pointed at another's shin.

When you see someone flying in like that it might be cos they've lost their head in the heat of the game or maybe there's a bit of history with the person who owns the shin. Often it's accidental but the player's gonna get some comeback whatever the context.

And so once in a while I see a post flying into an NN forum with its studs showing. My instinct is to shout disapproval even when I think the culprit a fair player generally and even when I've been known to fly in with foul tackles myself.



Clown Shoes



Clown shoes are big and clumsy and if you're wearing them you can tread on the toes of others without even realising.

Clowns aren't even funny.

Sometimes I wear clown shoes in the forums.




Soft Shoes



It's late here as I post this entry and I haven't the first clue if what I just wrote makes any sense. I'll post it anyway and hope I'm wearing soft shoes.

Running the World by Jarvis Cocker is an angry little number from the soundtrack of Children of Men and it's on me voice message now.

Prologue

She would have put it down to wishful thinking but then she sees the nurse's eyes widening too. There can be no doubt about it, the bulge in the front of Dr Y's trousers is moving and beginning to point in a most inappropriate and unprofessional manner.

“Okay Ms X,” he smiles. “I think we may be able to do this without any additional lubrication.”



Chapter 1

It had been a busy month in the office what with orders piling up before Christmas and trying (successfully most of the time) to evade her boss' wandering hands and the last thing X needs now is to take time out to go the doctors. But there it is in black and white: '3.30pm – check-up – docs'.

“Shit,” she says closing her diary. She'd completely forgotten and come into work wearing the usual smart black dress and jacket combo, a white blouse and then those things she was beginning to worry about. How excruciating. He would see her black fishnet stockings and assume she was trying to tell him something, he would be embarrassed.

Her first thought is to ring the surgery, make an excuse, say she is really, really sorry but her period has come on early or something. Then she thinks she will buy something more conservative to wear at lunch. The morning wears on and she doesn't make the call. Then it turns out too busy to take a lunch break at all. The funny thing is though, now when she thinks about the prospect of herself splayed helpless in front of Dr Y, stockings emphasising the nakedness of her cunt, clit stud glinting under the hot light, she begins to tingle and has to rub herself beneath the desk through the sheer material of her black panties.

to be continued