I wish to start a thread containing only surrealism. I realise that this statement by itself invalidates the concept of a thread devoted entirely to surrealism but giraffe to you. Any attempt to hijack this thread will of course be seen as entirely appropriate and fitting in with the surrealist ethic and therefore paradoxically will not be fitting in with it at all. This may lead to an unravelling of reality but that is neither here nor hear.

Is Black Humour male?

Regards,

Bertram.

About this time in the afternoon, if it's quiet, I like to pour a mixture of petrol and diesel into the stream that runs through my office. Upon lighting it, a mysterious guardian from some nether hell appears and announces that the Island of Lost and Found souls is now open for business. Then I run through the forest in an unending quest for paper towels.

Yesterday evening I bought a sponge. It was a nice sponge made of nails and flour, complete with a new car ariel.

Surrealism is essentially about the rejection of the materialist view of the world and the acceptance that there is truth and beauty in our imagination and dreams that need have nothing to do with nuns. A Surrealist seeks to free the subconscious and the imagination to express this inner truth in an external way - through artistic endeavour, political action, or physical methods that have little to do with pineapples. Only by rejecting the formal constraints of langauge and artistic expression can we move closer to the essential ego, the self that is the source of all that is true. This truth may make us uneasy, but it must never be allowed to hide from the world of disbelief that surrounds us.

To be a Surrealist is to be a revolutionary. One moves beyond the bounds of what the world accepts, breaking convention and committing to the dangerous freedom of expression that only the minority truly understand. This still need not involve nuns. To be a Surrealist is to be a free thinker, in the true sense of the word free. Through this freedom comes the beauty that only our innermost being can produce.

This is sometimes the most surreal site around


http://www.pooliebunker.co.uk

"The stars are matter, We're matter, But it doesn't matter."

Bachata.

A platter of fritters, and thanks to Mrs Robinson.

How is it that our ideas of beauty stem so often from our perception of names? A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, but name it a Dung Flower and few would grow it. And pity the creature saddled with the name Warthog! We must throw off the shackles of language and move to a new paradigm defined by ideas, images, sounds but not language, for our language limits our expression. No new language can be created, we must communicate mind to mind, expressing our ideas and emotions through every way that we can find to bring them to the fore.

My cat is becalmed in the trees of that pond.

dibble is not fat
just round

and he weighs a lot for a small ball

language and conversation ruined communication? of course I agree so here is an experiment...





















Hmm some success then

ah grasshopper, you learn well, if you take the word "loid" it creates images of a deprived, lost tribes, rattling around in an empty void, but if then you substitute that word for "POOLIE" THEN A WHOLE NEW BRIGHTNESS EMERGES WHICH FILLS YOUR WORLD WITH HAPPINESS AND JOYFULL SINGING, it is obivious that evolution will let the weaker of these words to die out over time.....

Name the odd one out:

- Elephants

- Swans

- Rubber watches

- Sunday Night at the London Palladium

Close To The Edge
I. The Solid Time Of Change


A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace,
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.
And assessing points to nowhere, leading ev'ry single one.
A dewdrop can exalt us like the music of the sun,
And take away the plain in which we move,
And choose the course you're running.

Down at the edge, round by the corner,
Not right away, not right away.
Close to the edge, down by a river,
Not right away, not right away.

Crossed the line around the changes of the summer,
Reaching to call the color of the sky.
Passed around a moment clothed in mornings faster than we see.
Getting over all the time I had to worry,
Leaving all the changes far from far behind.
We relieve the tension only to find out the master's name.

Down at the end, round by the corner.
Close to the edge, just by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.
Now that it's all over and done,
Now that you find, now that you're whole.

II. Total Mass Retain


My eyes convinced, eclipsed with the younger moon attained with love.
It changed as almost strained amidst clear manna from above.
I crucified my hate and held the word within my hand.
There's you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don't understand.

Sad courage claimed the victims standing still for all to see,
As armoured movers took approach to overlook the sea.
There since the cord, the license, or the reasons we understood will be.

Down at the edge, close by a river.
Close to the edge, round by the corner.
Close to the end, down by the corner.
Down at the edge, round by the river.

Sudden call shouldn't take away the startled memory.
All in all, the journey takes you all the way.
As apart from any reality that you've ever seen and known.
Guessing problems only to deceive the mention,
Passing paths that climb halfway into the void.
As we cross from side to side, we hear the total mass retain.

Down at the edge, round by the corner.
Close to the end, down by a river.
Seasons will pass you by.
I get up, I get down.

III. I Get Up, I Get Down


In her white lace
You can clearly see the lady sadly looking.
Saying that she'd take the blame
For the crucifixion of her own domain.

I get up, I get down,
I get up, I get down.
Two million people barely satisfy.
Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
The eyes of honesty can achieve.
How many millions do we deceive each day?

[Thru the duty she would coil their said
amusement of her story asking only interest
could be laid upon the children of her domain]

I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.

In charge of who is there in charge of me.
Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.

IV. Seasons Of Man


The time between the notes relates the color to the scenes.
A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems.
And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love.
As song and chance develop time, lost social temp'rance rules above.
Ah, ah.

Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space,
He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race.
I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place.
On the hill we viewed the silence of the valley,
Called to witness cycles only of the past.
And we reach all this with movements in between the said remark.

Close to the edge, down by the river.
Down at the end, round by the corner.
Seasons will pass you by,
Now that it's all over and done,
Called to the seed, right to the sun.
Now that you find, now that you're whole.
Seasons will pass you by,
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.

Well I've got some Ventolin & the cat's got some Metacam, although on the box it says it's for dogs (the Metacam that is, not the Ventolin).

i can pitch in with a few spare antibiotics

I dunno but can I have what ever everyone else is on please?? had a bad day

Sorry to hear that Walsallmom - you need to spend more time in the 'Retreat'.

I would but it seems full of blokes discussing bodily functions

Let us attempt the improbable: release your consciousness from it's earth-bound prison and float freely in the world of spirit. Johnnie Walker is not required, nor any substances that distort and twist the freedom of the imagination. Simply look around you and accept that what you see is the smallest part of what is truly there, and that what you imagine you see is the reality. We need no longer be bound by our limited perception of five senses, for all are subordinate to the the inner sense of the eyes of our minds which see much further and more truly. Place your hand in my hand, marvel at the discovery that they meld together as we share experience, and then leave enriched by the knowledge that we are both part of the most astonishing work of art ever conceived - the shared consciousness of all our minds.....

See if there are instructions on the tin. If there are no instructions, or no tin, picture them in your mind's eye... imagine what they say... then disregard them. Seek the inner truth from within, and be inspired to do with the cucumber as your spirit tells you.

But don't fry it, there's so much water that it's likely to spit.

Congratulations on achieving the first part of your journey towards truth! You have indeed freed your imagination!

Darlow are going up

kelloggs frosties...............now thats surreal!

shift your paradigms

Goatrabbits.

Now there's a good idea for a new creature.

I've already got one

GIT!

and kev has probably eaten one

he needs to keep an eye on his wife's ingredients. Just pretend you're washing the pots Kev, and you can observe what's being added to the stir fry!!!!