I am a person of moods, not only in listening to music, which might be Mozart or Bob Dylan or Acker Bilk or ECM music or Indian Raga or The Shadows or Mahler or Berg or The Grateful Dead…but I could go on for ever.

It is the same writing poetry, it depends what mood I am in. Today felt in a bitter mood, thus I wrote a Tiffy (Short for Tiffany, though I wrote once that’s her real name is Taffy!) Witherington poem that managed to get the word Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll llantysilogogogoch into it.

Might make Tiffy my next LordPineapple feature, though equally deserving is “blackie fortuna” my black personae which gets little of a look-in today as in a way I’ve outgrown him. It’s best to update my own-poetry blog perhaps once a week rather than the poem a day, I have no real time or health for the latter.

Some lady on Xanga is trying to get her claws around me, silly woman, I can’t even screw anymore!

Uploading stacks of pics on this and sending as many to my eMail waiting for the hopeful turn over to broadband.

The Three-Headed Sarahs’ site will be next. I have a lot of fun with the Three_Headed_Sarahs . I love writing for them, trying to stress the boundaries of sense to fit their surrealism. After all a three-headed alien bird that eats cats has got to be different.

Just read a blogspot that sneers at Xanga, says we are some bunch of sad people. What would you prefer? Friendly funny Xanga or soul-less blogspot? My blogspot sites NEVER get any comments from other blogspot users, talk about charmless.

Meanwhile on Xanga http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=museheart sneers that no one has heard of Xanga. I wrote that writers are inovators not followers of fashion. I did not join Xanga to be heard of, I joined it to hear. Xanga will rise and fall by it’s writers, us, it’s up to us to shout XANGA and make it heard, not wait for some boring old fart to shout for us.

Put “Xanga” and “poetry” in Google, second one up was lordpineapple!!!! 

PS The Louis Wain card is from my own postcard collection, and that one card alone is worth about 100 pounds stirling!

A lot of us on Xanga have our nemisis, people in the background who treat us like shit. I have a no-good work-shy son. My daughter looks after my surviving dvd’s because Alex has stolen most of them to buy his drugs. And I can’t keep any food in the house, and of course he lives here rent free, with his girl-friend and her dog here most weekends, all getting on the neighbours nerves by playing loud music.

Ever wonder why my poetry is more often depressive? Why the “happy” personea like Sophie Lucy Morgan and “Empty Chairs” don’t nearly “compose” as much as my manic-depressive personea? I am sure my Sarahs’ blog would be updated more often if I felt in their surreal mood more often.

Today I escaped with my brother and his wife and four young Japanese students to the “EMail Restaurant” a Chinese place where you can have all you can eat for seven pounds. Another (nicer son) did a Homer Simpson in their one day and nearly bankcrupted the place.

I am not keen on eating there myself, I am more of a fish and chip man, and much of the stuff is indigestible to me.

Getting together a collection of SLM poems for the next LordPineapple blog. And I am trying to get together a few bits for my Three_Headed_Sarahs blog.

Ok, I received grumbles cos I closed the comment box last time, I’ll leave it open, but comments will be replied from the other two blogs.

8th October: Last night read some of my poems in the college GCR, including the two Sarahs poems (Margaret O’Malley and Ada Warwick) and the one on this site re: the drunken students poem. Term has started to fit into shape and the newcomers are beginning to meet the college eccentrics like myself.

Fish & chips & peas are Friday dinner at work, but the fish they cook is total crap, it’s cheap and nasty. My perenual joke is “I bet these fish contain more water now than when they swam into the sea.” Not that they are fish, just fish-’meat’ battered for quick fying, ie fish-fingers in fish-form. Horrible.

Waiting for the bus home, there was a bagpipe player busking, one that offended everyone, those who don’t like bagpipe music AND those that do. I love this music like I love everything Scottish, which is why I write in the Wee Duncan D. Personae. Portia said the poems were not in full Scots, but few Scottish people speak in full Scots. In any case if I wrote like that the poems would be imcomprehensible to most Scottish people let alone, say, American!

Likewise, few Yorkshire people speak in full Yorkshire tykeness. Which takes me neatly to the true story about seven Austrian GP’s that were recuited to South Yorkshire to meet a local shortfall. They all spoke perfect English, but sadly for them, not all their patients did. “thou” (pronounced “tha’”) and “Ay up!” and so on were bad enough but body functions and parts are up there lad, were a rather stange kettle o’ fish. For example “Rotherham are at home” means menstruating, and “winkle-ing means a male unable to urinate. “Mardy gob oil” is mouth problems and and “sad snoz” is a broken nose. Now someone has brought out a glossary of Yorkshire medical terms which is royt champion!

ps: As I write this more police sirens are going, I wish they’ll shut the eff up! I know they mean well, but living almost opposite a police station is a noisy affair!

To save confusing everyone, any comments can be left on my LordPineapple site.

A new intake of students at our college inspired me to write this. (note: JCR is the Junior Common Room, “mess” if you like)

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I am not sure my college would be pleased at me posting that up, but it’s sadly true.

ps weekend those who have commented here but not on LP’s site, I will visit you from there.