Even more quotes – Robin Williams

Even more quotes – Robin Williams

Robin was not only a comedian!

No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world.

This is something I believe. I don’t go along with the ones who say there is nothing we can do – there’s no point in trying. I don’t believe that. It is always worth trying right up until you roll over dead. What else is there? You try your hardest to put things right. That’s why I write and blog! If I was younger I’d be out with Greenpeace or Extinction Rebellion!

A woman would never make a nuclear bomb. They would never make a weapon that kills – no, no. They’d make a weapon that makes you feel bad for a while.

You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.

I miss him too! What a sad end to someone so full of life.

Photography – The Dales Pt. 8 – The walk to Mount Ingleborough.

Photography – The Dales Pt. 8 – The walk to Mount Ingleborough.

Day three was sunny and we set off to walk to Mount Ingleborough. My Nanny came from Ingleton and it was nice to think that she had walked these hills as a child. She had led an interesting life.

As a child her mother had died and she had run away from home at the age of twelve in rebellion against her stepmother who was a very strict religious woman. She had worked in a hospital laundry in Lancaster. She had met up with a boxer at the travelling fair and run off with him. He took on all-comers for three rounds. He left her pregnant down in Portsmouth and gave her his silver cups which she pawned.

I thought about her as I made my way up those hills. She would have stood where I was and looked at this incredible landscape. It was where she grew up.

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I was fascinated with this tree on the horizon. I took a lot of different shots of it.

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Mount Ingleborough coming into view.

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Roy Harper – McGoohan’s Blues – a song of great social observation, venom and brilliance.

Roy Harper – McGoohan’s Blues – a song of great social observation, venom and brilliance.

One of the best songs ever written.

Roy doesn’t do many two and a half minute singles. At his best he does great epic songs of twenty minutes. He needs all of that to get the scope necessary to vent his spleen at all the stupidities we are surrounded with.

McGoohan’s was one of the best. It was based on the Prisoner Series featuring Patrick McGoohan. It hit out at religion, society, the establishment and all the stupidities.

If ever we needed someone to illustrate mankind’s greed and violence we need them now. The world’s a mess.

Maybe Roy and Bob Dylan will emerge to lead us to a better future. I eagerly await the next epic. Roy’s a genius and the best songwriter Britain has produced.

Listen to the track and follow on with the lyrics – then go and buy the albums (I suggest Folkjokeopus, Stomcock, Bullinamingvase, HQ and Lifemask.

Nicky my child he stands there with the wind in his hair
Wondering whether the water the wind of the where
I fear that someday he might ask me if mine is the blame
And I’ve got no reply save to tell him it’s all just a game
And Heather and I lay together and I was in love
She weighted up the gains and the losses and gave me the shove
The fear of mankind’s untogetherness pounds in my heart
The deceit of my friends the betrayals of which I am part
And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing here questioning

And I’m just a social experiment tailored to size
I’ve tried out the national machine and the welfare surprise
I’m the rich man the poor man the peace man the war man the beast
The festive consumer who ends up consumed in the feast
And my fife eyed promoter is clutching two birds in the bush
He’s a thief he’s as bad as the joker they’re both in the rush
He’s telling me Ghandi was handy and Jesus sold his ring
(Dunno who to, God maybe)
“And everyone knows dat dis dough’s gonna make me de king”

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing here questioning

Meanwhile the ticket collectors are punching their holes
Into your memories your journeys and into your souls
Your life sentence starts and the judge hands you down a spare wig
Saying: “Get out of that and goodbye old boy have a good gig”
And the town label makers stare down with their gallery eyes
And point with computer stained fingers each time you arise
To the rules and the codes and the system that keeps them in chains
Which is where they belong with no poems no love and no brains

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing there questioning

Meanwhile the TV commercials are sweeping the day
Brainwashing innocent kids into thinking their way
The wet politicians and clergymen have much to say
Defending desires of the sheep they are leading astray
And Ma’s favourite pop star is forcing a grin he’s a smash
Obliging the soft-headed viewers to act just as flash
The village TV hooks its victims on give away cash
The addicts are numbers who serve to perpetuate trash

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry shuffleing

And the bankers and tycoons and hoarders of money and art
Full up with baubles and bibles and full of no heart
Who travel first class on a pleasure excursion to fame
Are the eyes that are guiding society’s ludicrous aim
And the village is making its Sunday collection in church
The church wobbles ‘twixt hell and heaven’s crumbling perch
Unnoticed the money box loudly endorses the shame
As the world that Christ fought is supported by using his name

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry burbling

And the pin-striped sardine-cum-magician is packed in his train
Censoring all of the censorship filling his brain
He glares through his armour-plate vision and says “Hmm, insane”
The prisoner is taking his shoes off to walk in the rain
And the luminous green prima donna is sniffing the sky
She daren’t tread the earth that she’s smelling her birth was too high
Her bank balance castle is built on opinion and fear
Which is all she allows within three hundred miles of her ear

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry burbling

And I’ve seen all your pedestal values your good and your bad
If you really believe them your passing is going to be hard
And I’ve thought through our thought and I know that its blind silly season
Occurs when our reasoning is trying to fathom a reason
And if you really know it’s all a joke but you’re just putting me on
Well it’s sure a good act that you’ve got ‘cos you never let on
But if all of that supersale overkill world is for real
Well there’s nowhere to go kid so you might as well start to freewheel

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing there burbling

And I had this dream in here same time as standing awake
These various visions rushed through as I giggled and quaked
The distant guns thunder my end and I duck for a while
Auntie Lily is handing me candy she chuckles I smile
And our village is where I was born and it’s where I will die
And I’ll never be able to leave it whatever I try
The ebb and the flow of the forces of life pass me by
Which is all that I’ll know from my birth to my last gasping sigh

And O how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see the dying lying there obeying

My age and my time
The blood fire wine and rhyme
That fills my dream reminds me of an atom in a bubble on a wave
That held its breath for one sweet second then was popped and disappeared
Into fruitful futilities meaningless meaning
Meaningless meaning

Under the toadstool lover down by the dream
Everything flowing over rainbows downstream
Silver the turning water flying away
I’ll come to see you sooner I’m on my way
And there’s a mirror that I’m looking straight through
And I get it
And there’s a doorway that I’m ducking into
To forget it
But flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter

Over the mountain fairground
Candy flies stay
Under the moonshine fountain
I’m on my way
Lemon tree blossom ladies
Poured my tea
After the blue sky breezes following me
There’s a river that I’m making it with
And I know it
And I’m floating to I don’t care where
I just go it
But flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter

Daffodil April petal hiding the game
Forests of restless chessmen life is the same
Tides in the sand sun lover watching us dream
Covered in stars and clover rainbows downstream
And the question in the great big underneath is forever
And the fanfare that I’m forcing through my teeth answers “Never”
But the flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter

The pumpkin coach and the rags approach and the wind is devouring the ashes

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

Heavy rain clouds hung on the horizon threatening a torrential downpour but we decided against the rainproofs. The sun was already blistering; the air so heavy with moisture that you could bathe in it. If it rained it would be a relief. We’d be soaked but our shorts and T-shirts would soon dry off. We set off along the rainforest trail to the music of cicadas and unseen birds.

The forest has a sweet scent of decay and vitality. Everywhere there is green – green leaves, green fronds, green lianas and green epiphytes. It feels alive. We are strangers in a new fecund world. We are searching for animals, our cameras at the ready. We find some too.

By the end of two weeks we have photographed sloths, iguanas, turtles, agoutis, parrots, macaws, flycatchers, monkeys, caiman, butterflies, moths and dozens more – each a delight to discover and a wonder to see. We have watched spider monkeys at play and capuchin monkeys cracking open coconuts, sloths slowly clambering through the foliage and huge iguanas, like dragons, clinging to tree trunks.

It felt so alive.

Our skin rusted in the sun and humidity. Our bodies adjusted, sitting on deck watching the jungle slip past, with a cool breeze in our face; rushing to put on our scant clothing to scamper up to the top for the sunrise, to search the deck at first light for giant moths, butterflies and beetles; sorting where to go, down jungle trails, canoe rides, or simply walking around. When in the unfamiliar even the ordinary is extraordinary. It is amazing how quickly one adjusts. This is our new normality.

Slowly we return home. The sun gradually loses its intensity. People take every opportunity to relish the last of its warmth, some asleep on loungers, some reading, some watching the seas for whales, dolphins or seabirds. We have left the tropical heat behind.

Back home we unpack, start on the mound of washing and go for a walk. No shorts, T-shirt and sandals but wrapped in layers of shirts, jumpers and thick coat topped off with hats, scarves and gloves.

Walking down the lane, looking out over the waterlogged green fields I could not help thinking what a mess we’ve made of it. This was the green Yorkshire countryside. Before the industrial revolution a landscape of forest, full of wildlife, now an endless denuded green desert, with just the odd crow and pigeon, plus a few creatures clinging on in the remaining hedgerows.

We live in the vestiges of the wonder of what once was. All over the world 8 billion mouths are busy devouring miracles.

Even in my lifetime I have seen the decline.

The bitter wind bites into my face. Rust is fading as the memories fade, as nature fades, tree by tree, hedge by hedge, ditch by ditch, bug by bug.

I have no camera with me. There is little to photograph. The creatures of my youth have disappeared.

It was a cold bleak Yorkshire day.

Photography – Dales Pt. 9 – Ingleborough.

Photography – Dales Pt. 9 – Ingleborough.

Ingleton is a beautiful mountain. I have never approached it from this direction.p1130118 p1130119

I was taken with the way the mood of the place changed with the different light conditions. I took these three shots with different sunlight. p1130124 p1130125 p1130127

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So what’s wrong with socialism?

So what’s wrong with socialism?

Socialism is a range of economic and social systems characterised by social ownership and democratic control of the means of production;[

It is a system that is opposed to the rampant greed of capitalism. This mantra of profit before all else, greed and to hell with everything, is what is creating inequality, environmental destruction, overpopulation and fuelling war. There’s a better way.

I like democracy and having a say in what is going on.

Socialism is based on the idea of equality.

It is associated with environmentalism, feminism and liberalism.

They are all things I am in agreement with.

I’ve been listening with interest to the arguments put forward at the Labour Conference and good ones they are too.

An end to austerity and the vicious attacks on the poor, disabled and public servants.

I want an educational system for everyone – not selection and a series of grammar schools for the wealthy while the rest get the slops.

The nationalisation of the Post Office. How on Earth does it make sense to have thousands of cars and vans running around the countryside delivering amazon parcels instead of one streamlined, joined up service? It’s a bunch of poorly paid people being exploited for profit. We have a national system that is efficient and streamlined it’s called the Post Office.

The Nationalisation of the Railways. I’m sick of hiked up prices for travel. A piecemeal set of companies all in it to cream off wealth for a bunch of rich owners. I want an efficient, joined up, safe, cheap service, development and a service that provides comfort and speed. It needs to be under public ownership.

The end of Trident. Trident is a hugely expensive red herring. It can never be used and is minuscule compared with the USA and Russia (and probably China too)  It’s only reason is to give Britain a place at the top table. Well I could do without a place at the top table. The money could be spent on anti-terrorism, schools, hospitals and housing.

I want the greedy bankers and capitalists to pay more. I want a country with more equality and less greed.

I want the environment being respected and conserved. I don’t want fracking destroying our countryside and polluting the water.

I could go on. I can’t find much I disagree with.

I’m a socialist, a paid up Labour man. I believe in equality. I want capitalism curbed.

I want the Labour Party to unite and get behind the leader and get their message across. It’s time we started showing up the Tories for the bunch of greedy capitalists they are.

There is a better way – it’s the Labour way. I’m a SOCIALIST through and through.

Bob Dylan – A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall – Lyrics – an example of the more poetic, complex style of antiwar song.

Bob Dylan – A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall – Lyrics – an example of the more poetic, complex style of antiwar song.

This is a classic example of how Bob Dylan rapidly developed, to change his style from one of being journalistic and simple into a more poetic and complex style.This is an anti-war song inspired by the Cuban Missile Crisis. Bob, like many of us, thought that we were all going to be blown to hell by a nuclear war. We did not think we would get home again as the US and Russia squared up and threatened the world with annihilation. How close we got.

Bob thought that he did not have long so wrote everything he had into one song. The imagery is immense – dead oceans, crooked highways, sad forests, burnin’, nobody listenin’, white men and black dogs, guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children, executioner’s face well hidden, mouth of a graveyard – it went on painting pictures! What a song. How powerful!

This was Dylan still singing about issues but using a more poetic language.

We were lucky that time – a hard rain didn’t fall on us – but it is still falling on Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan, Libya and Somalia, Nigeria and Sudan.

When the hell are we going to sort this all out without resorting to violence and war?

“A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall”

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin’
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
I heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.Oh, what did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell and speak it and think it and breathe it
And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it
And I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singing
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

If you are at all interested in my writing on Blues and Rock Music you can check out my books here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Opher-Goodwin/e/B00MSHUX6Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1474797981&sr=1-2-ent

I would recommend the Blues Muse or In Search of Captain Beefheart to get you started:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Blues-Muse-Opher-Goodwin/dp/1518621147/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Search-Captain-Beefheart-Opher-Goodwin-ebook/dp/B00TQ1E9ZG/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474886379&sr=1-4

or

537 Essential Rock Albums Pt. 1

https://www.amazon.co.uk/537-Essential-Rock-Albums-first-ebook/dp/B00OEMO7TA/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474902569&sr=1-3

Opher’s tributes to Rock Geniuses

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ophers-World-Tributes-Rock-Geniuses-ebook/dp/B00U0NLP4W/ref=la_B00MSHUX6Y_1_32?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1474967124&sr=1-32

Happy Reading!!

Singer-Songwriter – Andy White – Religious Persuasion.

Singer-Songwriter – Andy White – Religious Persuasion.

andy-white

Andy is one of those singer songwriters who says something worth listening to. I like singers with passion who want to address the issues that are besetting us. Religion and the fundamentalist intolerance is one of many.

I like the Subterranean Homesick Blues parody!

someone’s got to stand up or
nothing’s gonna change
till religion
is rearranged

Well Andy White is certainly standing up! And he’s coming to Hull on December 2nd!

Where are all the others standing up to protest about what is happening to the world?

Andy White – Religious Persuasion Lyrics

‘protestant or catholic’
cried a voice from the crowd
‘not you again st peter’
I was thinking aloud
should have packed my bags
headed off for the coast
had my time already come
to meet the heavenly host?
they switched on their halos
adjusted their harps
checked that the blades
on the pearly gates were sharp
I asked them what they meant
about religious bent
they said ‘that’s the test’
I said ‘that’s the test-ah-meant’

they were giving holy orders
I think you’ll find
I was up against persuasion
of the religious kind

it was hailing marys
at the drop of a tract
said the 7 deadly sins
were staying round at my flat
I pondered on the churches
of england and rome
hadn’t paid the rent
for my spiritual home
needed guidance from the leaders
whose names I knew
archbishop…
and john player number two
I quaked in my sackcloth
threw away my joss-stick
burned my koran and said I was agnostic
‘I mean an atheist’ I cried
as they moved in for the kill
the walls tumbled down as they
handed me the bill

they weren’t impressed
with my distinctions
I think you’ll find
that I was up against persuasion
of the religious kind

a lamb to the slaughter
a human sacrifice
I told their spiritual leader

his sceptre looked nice
a hymn book skimmed my ear
but I was only grazed
I dived for cover
as the sawn-off bibles blazed
in the gore I gasped
‘was it something I said?’
then a solid granite altar
hit me on the head
a collection plate plunged into my groin
they marched off discussing
the battle of the boyne

as I expired I was thinking
they’d been rather unkind
but I was up against persuasion
of the religious kind

bleeding and naked
I was somewhat at a loss
the good samaritan was drinking
at the sign of the cross
recalling their question I felt totally alone
as I peered out from underneath
the tablets of stone
in the gutter lay the crushed
remains of a bible
it proclaimed their grievances
were purely tribal
they made me see the light
for that I offer my thanks
I was collared by the dogs
now I’ve joined their ranks

onward christian soldiers
I hope you don’t mind
being afflicted by religion
of the persuasive kind

now if you’re visiting some irish town
the politicians’ heads stuck in the ground
and the only bell ringing has a
graveyard sound

someone’s got to stand up or
nothing’s gonna change
till religion
is rearranged

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Fleet Street, Lies, Propaganda and my father.

Fleet Street, Lies, Propaganda and my father.

My father came from a working class family in London. He was a cockney. His Mum (my grandmother) was Irish and my Granddad was a cockney meat porter in Smithfield market. My Grandmother was very austere and my Granddad like a knees up. Somehow they got along.

My Dad was highly intelligent and hard working. He taught himself after having to leave school at fourteen in order to earn money for the family. He had a place at Grammar School but his parents said they could not afford the uniform so he had to leave.

He taught himself to type and worked for Reuters news agency. Then he moved into Fleet street and worked for the Newspapers. He worked his way up to be manager of a big office of telephone reporters for the Evening Standard. He was brilliant at it. But management did not recognise his talents or reward him because he was not one of them.

He told me not to believe anything in the newspapers – particularly the gutter press. He said they were owned by the rich, they distorted, lied and fabricated stories to suit their owners.

My Dad did not play the game. He did not come from a Public School, did not have the right accent, was not in the Rotary Club or Masons. They treated him like scum. When he died they replaced him with someone doing exactly the same job on three times the salary.

The Express, Mail, Telegraph and Sun are pure tripe in my eyes. They are blatant propagandists and deliberately indoctrinate and incite. I don’t believe anything that’s in them.

Sigmund Freud Quotes – Psychoanalysis of the psychos!

Sigmund Freud Quotes – Psychoanalysis of the psychos!

Freud does throw a lot of light on the human condition. He is well worth thinking through – a very bright man!

img_0537

America is a mistake, a giant mistake.

It was founded on a religious fanaticism (that still persists and blinds people to progress) and was built on genocide, racism, slavery and violence (that still persists). USA USA – so tribal!!

America is the most grandiose experiment the world has seen, but, I am afraid, it is not going to be a success.

Every civilisation has its day. Why should Americans think they are better or deserve more than anybody else?

I have found little that is ‘good’ about human beings on the whole. In my experience most of them are trash, no matter whether they publicly subscribe to this or that ethical doctrine or to none at all. That is something that you cannot say aloud, or perhaps even think.

If by trash he means selfish, greedy and stupid then I would agree. I prefer animals. People are too deceitful and untrustworthy.

Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.

Poetry is the essence of truth.

Civilization began the first time an angry person cast a word instead of a rock.

Will we ever become civilised? Doesn’t look like it. People like their hatred and violence too much. They want to ‘Make America Great’ and be ‘Strong’ instead of a helping hand and compassion/equality.

Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires.

Freud said that religion is a mass delusion. We dearly want to live forever, fear death and want to live in some wonderful place with our loved ones forever. We want some parent in the sky to love us and look after us. It seems childish to me. We want something that doesn’t exist.

Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.
To recognise your own motives is the first step towards understanding life. We can then go forward.
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
We read too much into things.
We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.
Love hurts.
The ego is not master in its own house.
We are not in control of ourselves.
Most people do not really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility.
Sheeples follow the sheep. They like to be ordered around. They like strong leaders who tell them what to do and what to think. It takes the pressure off them. I think for myself!
Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness.
that’s life!!!
What progress we are making. In the Middle Ages they would have burned me. Now they are content with burning my books.
They might be back to burning people again soon!
One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.
We’ve got to have a purpose – something worth fighting for! If you are out of step with the whole world but believe in what you stand for – fight for it!
I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father’s protection.
That’s why we keep voting for these psychopaths – they are black and white father-figures! We want them to protect us and make everything right! Unfortunately they are selfish, greedy, megalomaniacal and mad. We never learn.