Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Psychology humour and notes on Therapy

 stage lights come up. person is sitting in a high wingback chair, reading through some notes. there is a long silence asthey rustle through the notes. After two minutes, during which audiences seek for clues, a bell rings OS and the man rises, crosses stage and after a minute returns with another man, offers him the second chair. Again there is a long silence, then the 2nd man begins to speak:

Scene II. They wrestle - actually physically wrestle - on the floor. When one has pinned the other down they rise, adjust their clothing and settle back down in their chairs, breathing heavily.

Scene III. The female client crosses and kisses the therapist. 
therapists rooms should ideally be a metaphor for therapy itself...light, airy, calming, containing, comforting, conscious...how can people do therapy in neon lit dry walled windowless bunkers?
a clearing in the thicket

Sign above rubbish bin in psychology block:
Please place your assignments here

Schedule for psychology classes:
Depression: downstairs
Bipolar - Monday - upstairs, Wednesday - downstairs
Suicide (1)
Suicide (2)
Suicide (Final) - please meet on the roof
Paranoid Schizophrenia: Fridays - bomb shelter
Thursdays: bus stop
Happiness/positive psychology: Nirvana Quadrangle
Borderline personality disorder: Side Entrance Gate Four (near perimeter fence)
Narcissistic disorder - met at the one way moirror on the reflective side
Psychology lecturer reading out the list of required reading for course


If everyone agrees that I am valuable
does that make me valuable?
And if everyone agrees that I am not valuable
does that make me worthless?
How many people have to agree about me for me to agree with them?
And what if one lone voice holds out that I am valuable...
will that be enough to convince me
how does my mechanism of conviction work??



The question in group therapy is: what about me attracts these particular projections of yours? Ande what about you attracts these particular projections of mine? (facebook is a kind of unconscious group therapy with no facilitator)
Its one of those delicious paradoxes that Freud
whose work was so subversive and revolutionary
in the context of late 19th/early 20th European "civilization"
insisted that his work become a rigid orthodoxy
from which no deviation was allowed


How can I get to like and respect me? This is the crucial question
Perhaps by a daily practice of detailed and specific self-acknowledgement


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Poems 2011- 5771

See also poems 2012 - 5772

For Pessoa

I've had this strange pain in my side
I think G-d is trying to make
a woman out of me

If I had known you
like Adam knew Eve
I would not lie
in the dark and grieve

coming through customs
I try to look innocent
despite the fact
that I am

I've often had this fear well up
that I am this liar, living this lie,
and by luck or chance have escaped detection
until now, but my death
and the manner of my death
will expose the length and breath
of my inadequacy for the task
but upon enquiry
as to what will be exposed
and to whom....

what task?
who decides?

"I was born under the star
of timidity and there's nothing I can do about it...."
so my story goes
early infected by the mono coccus
of self doubt
I have lived my life
suspended over failure


My poetry is not dead
its just sleeping

A travellers' prayer:
O Lord, give me the strength to get out of bed

Masa alunkot chozeyr - korbanot (ayin Vayikrah)
sound clip 02 on phone)

(Is there a conflict between doing my duty and wanting to write poetry? No)
My duty is to write poetry
I care so much for my own story
and everything I do is just for my own glory


An Israeli woman soldier
with a gun strap between her breasts:
life and death
in one delightful package


Gaza 1987

Nino Rodruigez
lies on the camp bed
white tea shirt, olive green pants
black boots
South American Indian
jet black eyes in his
olive skinned smooth
round moon face
closed now
to shut out the other
smelly sweating presences
and be alone
with the voice of Sting
coming through the walkman headphones:
Cueca Solo
a hot dusty wind
blows through the tent flap
which dances
Ellas Danzan Solas
where are you now ?

you gave me your blessing then
the blessing of a pure orphan heart
on several occasions
and now I long to return the favour
I search for you on the internet
but find no trace
and remain indebted
though you may not have thought on me for years
though you may have left this realm

how I wish to be present
when all the joy and peace
that hides amongst the stars
brings us together again

I was on the beach
on Australia day
playing cricket with the family
and some other young men
were playing cricket as well
and a ball came flying
and thwacked my wife on the head
“please be careful guys” I smiled, tossing them back the ball,
not wanting any trouble, any trouble at all
why don’t yous piss off back to where you came from mate
said one, and his mates hooted and jeered.
so the next day I sold our house
took my kids out of school
packed our bags
and went back to South Africa
for eighty years
and from there to Lithuania, Latvia, England and Russia
for four hundred years
and from there to Poland and Germany and from
there to Alsace and Babylon
and from there to Israel and Judah
and from there to Mesopotamia
and from there we went back to sperm and egg
and from there to amoeba and algae
and from there to the centre of the big bang
forever and ever
not wanting any trouble, any trouble
at all

(boy o boy was I surprised)

start your day with poetry
modeh ani lefanecha
the courage to put myself out there
a strange wounded creature
or a shining light of perfect imperfection?

Boycott Allah

From mon 24

The words are like pebbles
In a desert
Cool and smooth
Giving the dry mouth
The memory (and meaning)
Of water

Making my piece
With my minor talent
And having no constituency
So to speak of

My dad always told me before starting something new
Its usually helpful to make a poo
(like a new job or going into battle)

Confessions upon my death bed

O i have peed in swimming pools
And looked through keyholes to see my sisters changing
i have laughed when someone tripped and fell clumsily
And asked the gardener to cut down high branches that i was afraid to
Oh i have startled people without meaning to
And without wanting to be been startled
Oh I have written poetry
when I “should have” been earning money
oh I have eaten a burger in secret
and lectured my wife about being a vegetarian
oh I have been most fully fully human
a bundle of thoughts and contradictions
and conditioning

Am i to blame for the universe?

I have two mistresses/lovers i crave
One is balance
And the other is creativity
And these mistresses
Do not always get on with each other
Creativity does not care a fig for balance

a crowd of 14 or 15 year old
roaming from room to room
in a small flat
(the parent not there)
their hands on their genitals
rubbing and coaxing
having pooled their money
and poured over the Star classifieds
enough money for the taxi and fee
several phone calls made
(in themselves hugely exciting)
til' someone agreed to come or send someone
female with breasts and hair down below
uncomprehending and blissfully unashamed
egging each other on
with imprecise descriptions of sexual feats
soon to come
for forty minutes
til it became clear they weren't coming
huge disapointment and secret relief
no on told us
how to be
or what to do with that energy
and no one has told me still


Cultural aquiesence at Emanuel School

Things we've never thought about

Anus al pi hadibur hapnimi
Zerem hamachshavot haayn sofi
Haolim veyordim kegalim bekirbi
Ve ani omed al hachof vetzofeh bahem
legamrei chofshi

I am a mystic masturbator

Hakol min jah
Ki jah hoo hakol

Stralia is a sea of con-sumption
Come on baby i want some want some
leave those electric lights on, lights on

Spring song

The whole world is bursting into song
The cows are lowing for their bobby cows
And even the torturer whistles on his way to work
The news reader smiles with witened teeth
And $200 an hour bonhomie

Have a good christmas
He tells me
And tired of explaining
I dont celebrate christmas
(and weary of pointless reactive debates that swirl round and deplete )
I nod and pass on
Feeling their stong need
To homogonise the world
And distance the other
From the lazy-boy arm chair
Of their universe

Just the right number of australians
Are like cloned programmed robots
Eating their oportos
Dutifully buying their valentines day trinkets
Watching their footy
Getting tipsy at the races
Debriefing with "So i said to her"

Its hard to write poems
About fundamentalist Islam
(should I write that with a capital I or risk having my head cut off?)

As far as the eye can see
As far as the ear can hear
Trapped in the prison of the senses
The world of duality
A friend and threat to me

As far as the eye can see
Trees blossoming
A plastic bag
As far as the ear can hear
Birds chirping
Mosquitoes high pitched drone / whining?

What joy
When i finally accepted
I will never have that
Or that
Or that
And that i never
Needed them

I'd like to have another child
to make the world less inimical
by one