Try to think about nothing

I’ve had a look at the PostADay prompt for today’s topic, as my mind is once again in the Nothingness Dimension. I really think that my mind loves visiting that dimension as it tends to go there very often.

So, today’s prompt is about some food that I have always wanted to try. Now, I love food, but this prompt didn’t help, although I have always wanted to try chilli chocolate for some strange reason. Hardly enough for an excellent blog post. Or even a very bad one for that matter. Never mind.

I also had a look at yesterday’s prompt while I was there, and it was ‘close your eyes and try thinking about nothing’.

I don’t need to close my eyes and think very hard with that one.

My mind is like the inside of a huge cave, with no lights and no sounds. An eternal, peaceful nothingness which is really very relaxing.

It’s also like looking at a part of the night sky where there aren’t any stars visible.

I feel like I’m looking into a great distance and there is nothing blocking my view – but there is also nothing to see as well.

If I keep looking, I know that I will see something eventually.

A tiny spark.

A star.

A comet.

A planet.

Mars.

Yes, I can see Mars. Well, I could see Mars – I’ve now flown passed it. I’m flying out through the Solar System. At great speed too, I must add.

I’m now in a galaxy far, far away.

The Universe around me is different. No longer just black, but every colour. Stars are shining brightly. Nebulae are all around. Fantastic colours and swirls, one looks like a Seahorse. Another looks like a cube. And a third one… it looks like a man waving.

I’m now flying through another nebula. This one is simply a swirl of coloured gases, and where the gases merge together other colours and shapes appear.

I’ve now passed through this nebula, and I’m back in the empty blackness.

I’m back in my mind once again.

Wow. All that from thinking about nothing. I wonder where I could go if I seriously thought about something? There’s a saying that goes ‘The sky’s the limit’, but I think I could go further…

No smile but plenty of laughs

My new driving licence arrived this morning. Aquatom1968 now looks like a criminal mastermind of the underworld. Luckily, I only have to carry the thing around with me for the next ten years, when it can be cut in two, as my old, and very faithful, previous one was last weekend. And extremely unceremoniously it was cut too.

What is it with ‘official’ photos that make us look so… sinister?

The fact that there is some kind of emblem ‘embossed’ over the photo doesn’t help. It has made my right eye look very beady, and my left eye looks half-closed, as the top of the embossed image (a steering wheel, I think) goes right through my eye.

My hair looks terrible. Even more terrible than it usually does, but not as terrible as the severe flick I sported around Sainsbury’s that time. I suppose the camera has caught me in a natural light, but do I really need a constant reminder that that is how I look every time I open my wallet?

The camera has also piled the pounds on me, and inserted half a dozen extra chins too. I’m surprised that they didn’t take my weight and add that to the bottom of the licence when they printed it, just to turn the knife a little more.

And the photo has a sepia tint to it. I look like an overweight beady-eyed criminal mastermind of the underworld from about a hundred and fifty years ago. And yes, I look 150 years old too.

When I open my wallet, I look nothing like the photo anyway. I like opening my wallet, so have a happy expression. I don’t like having my photo taken in one of those booths, and have a glum expression. However, they did state on the form that I wasn’t allowed to smile, they certainly got what they wanted there…

Still, the photo made me laugh. Laughter is the best medicine, when all said and done. I’ll look at the photo the next time I have a cold.

Mr Klempsey’s Sweet Shop and Tobacconist

*Shudders*

Mr Klempsey (not his real name) was probably the most frightening man you would ever want to meet. He would peer at whoever entered his tiny shop through a little space in the counter. He would serve every customer through this space if he could, but the sweet shop was on one side and was more open, and the tobacconist was in this dark little booth.

There was a sinister air that surrounded the shop outside. Inside the sinister feel was oppressive. It was so heavy it was dense. It could be touched.

Mr Klempsey had a serious distrust of children. When I was little, I’d walk into the shop after my Mum and Dad and he’d be there, glaring at me through the square. The door to the shop had one of those bells at the top when the door was opened, but Mr Klempsey didn’t need it. He knew when anyone was approaching the shop. I think he used the bell just to let his victims – I mean customers – know they were in his shop.

He’d never say please when asking for your money. He’d never say thank you when you’d hand it to him. And woe betide you if you dared to take any bottles back to claim back the deposit on them.

(For the benefit of any younger readers, we used to be able to get some money back when we returned bottles to where we bought them – or anywhere that sold that particular brand. I don’t know if this practice continues to this day, if it does you’d probably know all about what I’ve just explained. Never mind. I’ll make myself sound even older anyway… I’m five hundred and one now, you know!)

One fateful afternoon, I was asked to take some bottles back. It must have been a Thursday, as it was always half day closing on a Thursday, but Mr Klempsey never closed. Needless to say, he was the only shop open for what seemed miles around. Why I had to take the bottles back that particular afternoon, I have no idea, but I was given the task to do, so I did it.

I walked the longest way round to get to the shop. The weight of the bottles dragging me down – I had about ten to carry. Glass can get heavy, you know… especially after a twelve mile walk up and down the avenues and alleyways with them.

Resigned, I wearily arrived at the shop door. The bottles weighed even more now due to the feeling of oppression that came from the shop. I juggled the carrier bags about a little, so I could turn the handle on the door – and opened it.

The bell above jingled and clanked.

Mr Klempsey was sat behind the other counter – not in the little hideaway. I shuffled over to the counter, and placed each glass bottle on the counter in turn from the carrier bags. As quietly as a mouse, I asked if I could have the money back on them.

Mr Klempsey counted the number of bottles, opened his till – I can remember it having a wind up handle on the side, and the figures used to pop up on top. It was always old money, so I never knew the price of anything. I can’t remember what the figures were on this day’s display. He gave me £1.50 – I think it was 15p a returned bottle.

I said “Thank you” to him, still very quiet like, and he smiled. He said “There you go. Don’t spend it all at once”

Mr Klempsey had been nice. He was very pleasant toward me after that day. It was as though he’d been replaced by a different model.

I think I saw a different side to him, other than the grumpy old person staring out from behind a desk. I don’t think he had changed at all though. I think my perception of him had changed, I’d allowed myself to see the person who he really was, rather than my idea of him.

Not long after this, the shop closed. Mr Klempsey had died.

Writing this now has made me wonder if other people had seen the real Mr Klempsey… whether Mr Klempsey had allowed others to see him; and whether others had allowed themselves to see him too.

I don’t know what made me think of this memory tonight, but I’m glad I did. Maybe I need to allow myself to see more of other people I know, and not let my pre-conceptions cloud what it is I actually see of them.

If you’re reading this, Mr Klempsey, thank you. It may be thirty years or so late, but better late than never.

Ten by Fifty

This is my five hundredth post!

With Talestream, I’ve posted a few more than 500 times, and with comments here and on other blogs, I suppose the count could be pushed up slightly higher, but this is my official 500th post! Go me!

So, to celebrate this bluey-greenish milestone, I have decided to write about the things that I have learned about myself since starting this blog. And, I’ll pop in a fact or two about the number 500 while I’m at it, such as 500 nm being the wavelength between the colours blue and green in the visible spectrum. (Well, you may get the question in a trivia quiz at some time!)

Now, on to a topic close to my heart… Me! Me! Me me me!

I can persevere when I want to. I have done so with this blog. I have enjoyed writing something most days, because there have been some days when I didn’t post, but on the whole I think I have done OK.
When I first started blogging, I felt as though I was just typing away to myself. It felt good to be able to put my thoughts down somewhere different, and the early days of my blog were mostly posts of my likes and dislikes, my background and other random thoughts that occurred to me. Pretty much the same as today, although I think today’s posts are ever so slightly more random.

I have great dreams. I’ve always known that I’ve had great dreams, but by writing about them in the blog, I have been able to remember them more clearly. OK, they may not make any sense, but they were good all the same!

I have multiple personalities. In a good way – I hasten to add! – if it can be a good way – I add as an afterthought! – but I like it – I feel the need to add this too! I’ve been able to name some of these inner aspects of myself, and they have grown into ‘characters’ of their own right. Bernard and Fred off on their mission, Fingers getting the blame for typing things in an inventive style, Tom the Geek who crops up in an emergency… and who else? I know there are more there who will reveal themselves, possibly within the next five hundred posts.

A monkey is a slang term for five hundred pounds.

I like writing rhymes. I couldn’t really call my nonsense rhymes poems, as I feel this is an insult to those who write great poetry, but I enjoy it never the less. This blog is about everything really,and my take on it. Sometimes, I have to express my thoughts in a different way, and the rhymes help me to do that. I’m thinking of adding some of my doodles to the blog soon as well. I could use the term artwork, but I’ve decided to use the same train of thought as with the rhymes above.

The five hundredth word is this. Not very impressive I know, but this is my five hundredth word in my five hundredth post. This can sometimes be very significant…

I enjoy ‘meeting’ fellow bloggers. I’ve found some very interesting blogs along my short journey, and ‘got to know’ some very interesting people behind the blogs. OK, I haven’t met anyone in person, but I feel as though I know them. When I read their words, I read them in their voices… I can’t explain this in any other way, but I feel as though the posts are being read aloud by the person whose blog it is (Perhaps these voices belong to some of those other inner personalities of mine, trying to make themselves known this way). I couldn’t have written five hundred posts without the posts I’ve read on these blogs, and the comments I have received to my posts along the way. And to all you bloggers (and other readers who visit here) I’d like to say a big thank you just for popping by.. I really appreciate it.

I’m happy with this blog. I’m happy with my thoughts. I’m happy with the journey I am on. I feel good. I’ve probably written those last three words possibly a thousand times up to now, but a daily affirmation does wonders. I’ll say it again: I FEEL GOOD!

I’ve more than likely learned a lot more about myself apart from the five topics mentioned above. I’m still trying to solve my 1642 mystery, and loving the quest, for one. I’ll add to this list of lessons learned in my one thousandth post!

And look… Seven, seven, seven.

I’m no writer…

I’m no writer but I can put a sentence together. I can also put a sentence together wrong. No big deal. I like writing, and when inspiration is flowing through me I can very easily lose myself in the clicks of the keys on the keyboard and my thoughts as to where I’m going to next. Unfortunately, tonight, the pool of inspiration has been drained, I think it’s being cleaned, or rather invigorated for tomorrow (or the next day). I’m also at the mercy of Fingers, my inner typist, who tries really hard but makes at least one error in every word. I think I must b the only person in the world with a split back key… but please, how difficult can it be to type be? (In my case, regularly very difficult).

Do typos really matter that much? I own a couple of books that are full of misprints, typos and repetitions that the author says is their style of writing, and the mistakes add a more human feel to the book. I can read along and ignore the typos and misplaced apostrophe’s as I use them myself some of  the time. I can’t really read the repeated lines though, as I find it stops the flow, makes me wonder if I have read it before, and wonder why the writer hadn’t noticed that the line had already been written. I can’t really read the repeated lines though, as I find it stops the flow, makes me wonder if I have read it before, and wonder why the writer hadn’t noticed that the line had already been written. I blame this on the editing, the curse of the copy and paste.

I also own a couple of books where the writer has really thought about what they wanted to say and rather than stop their momentum they have got on with writing everything down in one go so as to get everything in before they forgot it. And breathe. But again, this really doesn’t bother me that much either.

If someone has something to say, and I am enjoying reading what they have written, I don’t notice the typos. Or I do, but pass them by.

Many years ago, I bought a book about the predictions of Nostradamus. It was a brand new publication, first edition hard-back print, and page 24 was printed before page 23. I took it back to the bookshop where I had ordered it from, and the lady in the shop said to keep hold of it, as it may be worth something in a few year’s time. I don’t know what I have done with this book, because at the time, my reading had been spoiled and I put it to one side. Today, such a thing wouldn’t bother me. And I need to find that book.

So. Reading typos, repetitions, grammatical errors, and snuck in apostrophes in a body of text are fine by me. I like spotting them as it shows I’m paying attention to the letters; and I like not noticing them as it shows I am paying attention to the words.

Seeing boards in shops declaring banana’s at so much, or a workman’s business card highlighting that no job is to big or small, or receiving an email with the word gr8 in it are a different matter completely. There need be nothing else written on what I am reading, as all I can see is what I usually don’t pay any attention to elsewhere.

I’m no writer, but I like writing. I love writing. And I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to some typos, deliberate or not.

Many apologies if you notice or don’t notice any of the typos in what I write… they are all intentional although not necessarily in their untended places. I blame Fingers myself, he is the one doing the typing.

Time Travelling

Apparently, ‘they’ have said that time travel isn’t possible.

That must be it then. If ‘they’ say it’s not possible, it mustn’t be.

Similar ‘theys’ once said travelling to the Moon wasn’t possible, and we have now gone further than that. Similar ‘theys’ said man wouldn’t fly. They were wrong then. Presumably, early ‘theys’ thought the wheel was just a figment of their imagination.

I don’t think it is what is possible or not possible that is holding us back. I think it is the way how we think that causes our limitations and failures.

Yes, it’s true that we can’t travel in time, yet. We probably won’t be able to travel in time for some time to come, but by thinking this way, there is the chance that we will be able to do it one day. We can keep trying, and keep finding new things along the way.

Or we can just give up. Not bother trying because ‘they’ say it isn’t possible.

Which has the better view? A glimmer of hope or a brick wall? I know which view I like!

Ode to an aching knee

Oh, knee, I ask thee why must thou throb
Whence I stand and walk or hobble
’Tis fine whilst seated and after several steps
So why must thou caust me trouble?

A heat you bring within my leg
A warmth that’s not so fair
Whence I happen perchance to walk
A steppe or two from here to over there

I ask thee knee, nay I beg of thee,
To help me on my way
I have no need for thee to throb,
So take thy pain away.

Oh, knee, kind knee, strong knee of mine,
I’m grateful for thy support
You’re part of me so you must know
The pain that brought these thoughts

My mind it says the pain has gone
My mind says this is true
My body agrees and all is well
Apart from the throb from you.

There must be a change in the weather due…