Meenakshi asked the following questions & I couldn't answer them on the board so here goes......




What's your thoughtful spot on Gaia?...................................my postings on Grapevines tend to be the most thoughtful


Where do you play on Gaia?.............................................. I play just about everywhere, it is both a best quality & a great failing


Where on Gaia do you do responsible work?............................. On the pods I cultivate &/or moderate


Where do you go on Gaia when you want to be by yourself? I either log off or go read the quotes


On Gaia where do you go to party? wherever the best party is happening


Where on Gaia do you discuss important issues?............................on replies to Q&R, pods like realising health/Surviving souls/ Many more pods


Where do you go on Gaia when you're restless along the beaten paths?...............................................................I go to friends pages/blogs etc.

Hi , Some of you have been wondering, my computer is still on the blink-to say the least, but me " I eat when I'm hungry, I drink when I'm dry and if good humour don't get me I'll live till I die" . Am continuing all my thearapies successfully and having an intense social life and a rich cultural life, And having lots of fun, as usual!

The following is a poem by Britain's first ever Woman poet lauriate, Salomé,
by Carol Anne Duffy :

Salome

 

I'd done it before

(and doubtless I'll do it again,

sooner or later)

woke up with a head on the pillow beside me -whose? -

what did it matter?

Good- looking, of course, dark hair, rather matted;

the reddish beard several shades lighter;

with very deep lines around the eyes,

from pain, I'd guess, maybe laughter;

and a beautiful crimson mouth that obviously knew

how to flatter...

which I kissed...

Colder than pewter.

Strange. What was his name? Peter?

 

Simon? Andrew? John? J knew I'd feel better

for tea, dry toast, no butter,

so rang for the maid.

And, indeed, her innocent clatter

of cups and plates,

her clearing of clutter,

her regional patter,

were just what needed -

hungover and wrecked as J was from a night on the batter.

 

Never again!

I needed to clean up my act,

get fitter,

cut out the booze and the fags and the sex.

Yes. And as for the latter,

it was time to turf out the blighter,

the beater or biter,

who'd come like a lamb to the slaughter

to Salome's bed.

 

In tile mirror, I saw my eyes glitter.

I flung back the sticky red sheets,

and there, like I said -and ain't life a bitch -

was his head on a platter.