Nos Calan Gaeaf and an interview with y Parch.

Well continuing our theme today - what was it Sioned? - Oh yes - was it? I'll dechrau eto. I see from the Gregorian clockwork calendar Phil the Rimmer kindly inventuallised for me that hasn't changed since this date last year that it is indeed today and half night Nos Calan Gaeaf, or as you cultural imperialist usurpers would have us say - All Halloween's evening. Tonight is the night the children of the gorsedd dress gaily and enskip the towns with a horse's skull astick beribboned Mari Lwyd. Or whatever it is they don't do anymore. I can't remember, but it was definitely better than the new things they do. And we had no sweets. There was a war on you know indeed don't you know isn't it? But is there more to this make-believe than pretend itself? Y Parch. Hosan Hir believes there very much is! He believes the Devil himself walks among us scaring drunks and devouring babies and the like. - What's that? - Yes he does Sioned! - He told me the other day! - He said if I were to say Diawl! Diawl! Diawl! the Devil himself would appear before me. - What? - Well it's 30 miles from Devil's Bridge so it should take half an.. - haha very funny. I've lost my thread now. Oh yes, Y Parch Hosan Hir is here with us heno to speak a little talk about the dangers of the occluded front.

REJ:- Parch! Ble wyt ti? Parch Hosan Hir! Sioned! Check the Talisker! Where's he gone now?

Sioned:- Beth? Speak up I'm in y gegin.

REJ:- I said WHERE'S THE BLOODY PARCH?! and CHECK THE TALISKER!

Sioned:- HE RAN OUT SCREAMING IN LATIN! and YES HE'S HAD IT AGAIN!

REJ:- Well boys bach what a twpsyn. Sioned! SIONED! check the....CHECK THE THERMOSTAT WOULD YOU LOVE? the hea...THE HEATING'S GONE FUNNY AGAIN!

Sioned:-IT LOOKS FINE TO ME! CHECK IT YOUR BLOODY SELF!

REJ:- Well I'm very sorry video-listeners....it seems tonight's interview is off - Wha - Wai - What! Mr Davies! Where did you come from? Owain Davies of Davies & Davies letting agents!

OD:- Hello Richard!

REJ:- er – Hello Owain. Um I seem to be in a bit of a fix if you know what I mean. I was going to talk about -

OD:- The dangers of the occult. The eternal battle between the profane and the sacred. The dark forces bey -

REJ:- the dark forces beyond the horizon of direct experience that control and enslave us -

OD:- You mean the English! Tee-hee! No I musn't stir things up, I really mustn't! But what a wit! You see how I had to say it don't you? Keep the fingers pointing the other way! Oh it really should be harder! - I couldn't do it on my own you know.

REJ:- er - yes. I'm sure you meant something. Now about this halloween stuff and nonsense isn't it. For some reason I suddenly think you have something to say on the mattress.

OD:- Tee-hee! Double-the-rent-keep-the-deposit-throw-the-kidsinthestreet! I can't stop these tics! Well yes Richard, I think it's all harmless fun really. I've never really got on with Y Parch. I heard he drinks too much - and there's not much worse than that is there?

REJ:- er - I suppose not now you tell me to think it. So all this evil walking amongst us nonsense is nonsense then is it?

OD:- Oh! Quite clearly! You've got it! I didn't realise you were so clever! tee-hee! monthinadvance-dontfixtheheating-mouldinthekidslungs-buytenmorehouses mmmnnnsk! tic! tic! Yes landlords and bankers are very poor Richard. I'm so glad you told me that! The government should give them more money I thought I heard you just say? Fifteen percent for me! tic! tic!

REJ:- Yes indeed Owain. Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes look a bit odd -

OD:- - We weren't looking this way were we Richard?!

REJ:- No indeed, please forgive me -

OD:- Tee-hee! - ask me something else! -

REJ:- I think I will indeed. But I'm having some trouble remembering. What was it - I had a point to make and it was so obvious -

OD:- Ignore the little voices Richard! Don't worry about -

REJ:- Ah yes! That was it! A lot of people say that when the Abercreuddun council estate was sold off and the 110 houses ended up owned by three people and the rents doubled and the families could be thrown on the streets with just three months notice -

OD:- Two I believe -

REJ:- With just two months notice - diolch - and the working poor families had in effect an extra 50% tax on their income but no security at all and the poorer poor families could be not even housed in the first place -

OD:- Or evicted! -

REJ:- And the three people got the money from the poor workers or from the government that once paid half as much and to itself instead of to the three people who did nothing -

OD:- they signed some papers! -

REJ:- they did nothing but sign some papers yes. And keep the money that could have gone to the Bronglais children's ward. Well a lot of people say that this is wrong.

OD:- Right!

REJ:- No, Wrong!

OD:- Yes Right! Wrong they are! We agree. A lot of people say that this is right. Things are much better for these worse off people. Do you watch the news Richard?

REJ:- er - I'm ashamed to say I don't have a TV at the moment -

OD:- Shame?! Well that's a start! - something to work on later! tic tic! I'm disappointed Richard! You see why you're confused don't you? I have some friends who make some super TV programmes! I'm sure you'd like to pay them -

REJ:- Would I? Is that what I was saying?

OD:- I'm sure it was! tee-hee! you see y Parch is one for telling scary stories to children isn't he? Evil is abroad indeed! tee-hee! I did a pun! A tripler! Evil is abroad! Richard listen! Would you like to kill someone you haven't met before?!

REJ:-What?! Have you gone loop-a-loop loopy?

OD:-Would you like to come with me hundreds of miles to kill someone you haven't met before?

REJ:- What? You're nuts! Sioned! Owain's here and he's gone nuts! Call the cops! CALL THE COPS!!!

OD:- Oh bollocks. I forgot. I must get you a present for Chri.....mnnnnnsk! xmas! tic tic! Have you got an aerial? What a funny dream you're having! I must be off now. What a funny dream!

Sioned:- Hello Owain! What's he shouting about now? Fallen asleep on the sofa again isn't it?

OD:- Why Hello Mrs Jones! I've been meaning to talk to you! Mortgage rates mean buy-to-let is a very prudent investment at the moment. And with little Ethan going to College in 12 years time....

Poem for the day

Well today's poem for the day has been brought into my attentions by young Emyr Penlan of Cwm duad. In fact he's going to read it out himself as it must be heard to be seen apparently. Two words for you Emyr:- recite it!

And when her eyes shine
All life's stars lose their radiance
As the moon and the stars when the sun brings the day
And when her smile fades
All my heart feels it's absence
As the close of the day brings the dark of the night
For a flower is more than the sum of it's petals
And love is the power eternally bright.

Well that was nice Emyr. No need for tears - I've heard worse. I don't think you can start a sentence with 'and' though can you boy? And you said stars twice, three times really - because the sun's a star too isn't it? But well done anyway. What was it about?

Poem for the day

Today's poem is a Satyr's pasty of the saucer-eyed opprobrium eater Samuel Tailless Coalbridge. That's according to my notes here. Bryn's writing is not very good. His handwriting I mean - Mae'n ddrwg gen i Bryn! God rest his soul! - his poem writing is unclassified. Bryn lived in a one-roomed bedsit above the mynach where for twenty-seven years he enjoyed shamelessly and without toil, the generous benificements of a modern western classless meritocracy. Mair the papers says he had two cars and she saw one once - parked half a mile away - and he got in the passenger side! Well, well, boys bach, if he could afford a chauffeur then I think 'hounding him to his death' was a bit strong wasn't it Mrs Bryn's mam isn't it? The lazy scrounging bugger! Indeed.

In Aberystwyth Major did
A stately DSS decree
Where poor and needy people ran
And queued times measureless to man
To pawn their dignity.
So twice nine chairs of cerulean
With numbers tolling from red screen
Enfolded carpets bolted to the floors
Where blossomed electronic gadgetry
And here were glass screens thick
And time-locked doors
That gave the Social their security

But oh! that damned deep dividing chasm
Twixt rich and poor the seeds unfairly sown
A savage place! as soulless and degrading
As e'er before a counter girl was haunted
By woman wailing for her crisis loan!

A drunkard on a bender
In the office once I saw
It was a man of aged years
That wondered amidst present peers
Who really won the war
The homeless boy that needs the rent
The cripple needs the bed
The junkie needs to pay the man
A price upon his head
The single mother without fare
Her children cannot feed
She prostitutes her self-esteem
The State buys souls that bleed

And all did frightened see him there
Affix on each a mile-long stare
And all did cry Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
The DSS refused him thrice
And all can see he's better dead
For he on Special Brew hath fed
And drunk all earthly paradise.



Mair the papers says that's Bryn in the last paragraph! Haha stupid bugger isn't it?!

Some complaints and an interview with God

Well diar diar! We've had a few complaints. Sioned says the electric text-phone is full to the sim-brim with helpful swearing and constructive death-threats. Duw, duw, beth sy wedi mynd yn wrong? Apparently a lot of you are owed money by Glyn the fags the radiographer, and you didn't think much of his poem, although it started off lovely and Tennyson. Also in extra, many persons have been overly upset by some misinterpretings of previous posts as being somehow ungodly and inblasphemous. There is only one way to make up for this, and I learnt it at the Pontypridd school of journalism. We must get the other side of the story so that balances are restored.

It is often said that one is closest to God in a morgue. The international embalming school of excellence award is no stranger to Abercreuddun. The funereal services parlour run and owned by Idris Williams - 'AberCadavers' has won the coveted title no less than three times, their closest rival being Andy Warhol who has the honorary title for achieving 100% chemical embalm-ment ten years prior to his death. Apprentice to the AberCadavers injector-general is a certain young Ethan Emmanuel Jones, aged 6. And Ethan has a special secret that only we all know:- He can talk to God! So now, in the balance of interest and fairyness, Ethan Emmanuel Jones asks the big G himself the questions we've all wanted to know, but were too afraid to ask. Or did ask but noone was in. Over to you Ethan bach!

EEJ:- Thanks Dad. Here's my report:-

We know what Richard Dawkins thinks of God, but what does God think of Richard Dawkins? In a rare interview via universal ether, I asked God what He thought about Life the Universe and Everything starting with His views on the celebrated atheist:-

'I find him impertinent and ungrateful in the extreme. I wish I hadn't made him like that in the first place. Inquisitive is one thing, but too many questions is just plain rude. At least that other fellow had the decency to grow a beard. But no, nothing's ever good enough for Dawkins - it's always 'badly designed this' and 'superfluous that'....well if Dawkins doesn't like his eyes wired back to front he can have some squid eyes I've got left over. Let's see him 'evolve' his way out of that.

Asked if Professor Hawking's work displeased Him, God replied 'Well he certainly doesn't help. That's another one who should stick to counting his blessings - think of the savings he's made on shoes alone. I can tell you he's laughably vague all the way back from the first nanoseconds to the absolute beginning. I'll put it this way - he's not getting up from that chair anytime soon'.

Of Adolf Hitler, God said 'Yes of course I've heard of him, I can speak German too you know. I'm God and I understand all languages, just like dogs'. Pressed further, He continued 'The lies, hate, genocide and the bit about eternal paradise were all a bit too familiar. That's plagiarism where I come from. We had words and eventually he changed the last bit to 'an empire that will last 1000 years' but I saw through that straightaway. He had to go - I had nowhere to put all the Jews. Thankfully someone else deals with the gays and gypsies' He added glancing downwards.

Asked why prayers never seemed to make any difference, God smiled and said 'I soon worked that one out. I get prayers all day and all night from all four corners of the world and overall they tend to pretty much cancel each other out. After a while I realised that if I stopped bothering and just ignored them, the net effect is much the same and I have more 'mysterious' time to myself'.

Finally, I asked the Almighty where He had come from and who had created Him. Here His mood swiftly changed. 'Listen sonny, that's one question too far. It's not my fault I made your brains too puny to work it out for yourselves. I've got a special place for people like you and you'll be there for a very long time. Eternity and then some. I'm God and I can be paradoxical if I want to.' With that He hung up.


God is author of 3 major books, the obscene cruelty of the natural world, and our planet's and universe's 'final solution'.

Poem for the day

Well heddiw we planned to have a more up-market poem from Glyn the fags the radiographer. And the best laid carpets of men and mice come to frenetic fruition in Llanfihangel-y-creuddun as in heaven, as Glyn the fags the radiographer enblesses us with a gem from his poetic jewellery box. Glyn says he is heavily influenced by both R.S. and Dylan Thomas. R.S. Thomas used to write his poetry in a state he described enigmatically as 'lucid orgasm'. Dylan Thomas used to drink a lot. Glyn spends many hours drinking in bed stimulating his creative juices. And as his nickname suggests, he can get you 450g of rolling radiography for £5.50 which is half the price it is in Wil's shop.

Hope

Look through the cloaked in misery
That die before mortality
The dreamers of the day see clear
And break the fix of present gaze
To seal their hope in future's glaze
Let not the dark that they may see
Hide dreams of all that which may be
Then turn emboldened, strong once more
To clean the vomit off the floor.

REJ:- Sioned! Are you sure you got the ending right? Where's Glyn wedi mynd?

Sioned:- He's wedi mynd adref. Back to bed he said. Working on an epic isn't it?

REJ:- Diawl Twp! He'll be red-raw rigid! I asked for inspirational! Iesu Mawr!

Culture in Abermawddach

Every nation has it's own uplifting phrases that help define the national character. The French have a term 'Joie de vivre'. The Welsh have a term 'Hwyl' .The English have a term 'Mustn't grumble'. There may be other nations too. Phil the Rimmer is a dream-weaving inventuallist and five-pint thespian Englandian who sought to bring culture to Abermawddach through the medium of Doris Stokes. Since she unfortunately passed over without the 256 character wireless encryption code, Phil switched to a different medium - that of the theatre. He has directed many successful productions over the years despite initial scepticism from the locals - mainly my father - who was also a big Hemingway fan, but had doubts about the upstart Rimmer's modern ideas such as representing every thought with an actor, all on stage at the same time. 'I don't think he can make it work!' said Emmanuel Jones senior to anyone who would listen. But the citizens of Abermawddach were in for a real treat, a performance that has rightly passed into legendhood. The reviewer in the 'Abermawddach advertiser' proclaimed:- 'I think it can be safely said that noone who was there will ever forget the look of at first surprise, then appreciative acceptance on the face of Emmanuel Jones Snr when in spite of his protestations Phil triumphantly pulled off 'The old man and the sea' - men ran everywhere - covering the whole stage to wild applause and everyone could see that Phil the Rimmer had also arrived on the scene.'

REJ:- Phil, I see the recollection of that newspaper article still brings a smile to your face -

PR:- I'm crying inside.

REJ:- Very funny! So Phil when you pulled off -

PR:- Pulled off the old man. Yes I get it. I whacked off your father in front of the whole village. It's still fresh after 37 years.

REJ:- Is it? I thought it died in 48 hours unless -

PR:- I'm a serious inventor. You've had your joke, the whole fucking town's had it's joke. For 37 years. It's the name of a book by Hemingway. I brought an original production to Abermawddach. I thought I could shine a light in the dark lives of the culturally bestarved. I was wrong -

REJ:- Because everybody only remembers -

PR:- Watch it! A man can only take so much...

REJ:- Yes I saw those films too. Was that a body double?

PR:- The dunces are in confederacy against me. That is the nature of genius.

REJ:- Indeed, indeed! Now before you go back to the ward, could you tell us about your latest inventuallistic conception, the clockwork wireless goat tickler.

PR:- I've been saving up the pills....I think now's the time.

REJ:- Sioned! Some water for the man!

Sioned:- Who is it?

REJ:- Phil the Rimmer - the one

Sioned:- the one who pulled off your old man!!! hahahahaha!

PR:- Right that's it! That's the last time I'll be hearing that. Down the hatch! Nos fucking Da!

Poem for the day

Well, well. We forgot to have a poem for the day yesterday and so to make up for this undersight we shall have one today instead. Today's rhymesmith is a young biglot from St. Harmon, Sara Jenkins. Sara says that English is a crude and sterile language, the bastard child of Angles and Germanians, and that it should not be on signposts. That's what happens if you send your children to the Welsh primary school, Mrs Jenkins. Sara claims her poems always sound much better in Welsh and I think there might be a touch of bias in her translations. Either that or she's rubbish.

The theist finds the heathen tragic:-
'You're all machine, but I am magic!'
The heathen smiles and says 'Let's see
Who first finds imm-or-tal-it-y.'

I don't know why she puts the dashes in - annoying isn't it? I think tomorrow we'd better have one from Glyn the fags the radiographer. Raise the bar a bit isn't it?

The Parch. and the fine-tuner

The tumescent priapic minds of Dr. Oyster Elgaroy (Norwegian spruce historical skyropractor) and Dr. Steve Zara-pearl (behatted polygenetomathic homosexuellist) float precariously within semi-permeable prophylactic head-bones. Rubbing together like a Venn Diagram mindgasm they ejaculate solutions to the mysteries of the universe:-

http://zarbi.livejournal.com/215901.html#cutid1

Y Parch. Owen hosan hir tells me they are both going to hell for eternity, Zara a bit longer - because - you know.

REJ:- Well Parch., very kind of you to come.. May I ask what is your opinion of this most splendid docuscription?

OHH:- My opinion is that I haven't read it.

REJ:- Neither have I. But what do you think about what it says?

OHH:- Ah! In this I am assuredly certain. It is twice wrong. Once in fact and once in sin. And I'm afraid two wrongs don't make a right. Jesus said that.

REJ:- Yes he did. So we are quite clear then, the universe is fine-tuned for life, and there is therefore a fine-tuner. Probably God.

OHH:- Well yes! Certainly God! That follows logically. Emmanuel Jones......I know that name from somewhere....

REJ:- It's mine.

OHH:- Is it? Duw! you were older when I buried you.

REJ:- That was my father. Now Parch. Owen, please explain for the benefit of the heathen hell-bound just how we know the universe is fine-tuned.

OHH:- Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunch!

REJ:- I beg your pardon me?

OHH:- Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunch. You see there is a certain number of calories required for living a live life. And that number is not known exactly, but it certainly is a number. Or one of a few numbers. Are you with me?

REJ:- I can hear the cries of the heathens already.

OHH:- True wisdom resides in one who can see the Almighty in one of Mrs Hosan hir's Sunday lunches. The pork chop, the potatoes, the peas, the gravy, the -

REJ:- Yes I can read the stains on your vestments -

OHH:- Now Emmanuel Jones bach! What do you think of this? What if each of those delicious bitements was in fact one of the fundamental constants of the universe! Eh?! What about that then?!

You see why I'm dribbling now don't you?!

REJ:- I see the dribble...

OHH:- Imagine if Rabbi Goldberg's pork crackling was the cosmological constant! You see it now don't you?!

REJ:- I see you're crackling.

OHH:- Concentrate Emmanuel Jones bach! Concentrate! The Almighty is about to reveal himself! On your knees boy! The Almighty is about to reveal himself through I, Parch Hosan hir! Imagine if Rabbi Goldberg's pork crackling was but 1 fourskinth of a mm less! Just 1 fourskinth!!! Do the equation boy! The total calories of the lunch would be different! And possibly not suitable for living a live life! You see it now boy! You see it now don't you! Iesu Mawr! Hallelujah! Gott in Himmel! I have proved God! I, Owen Hosan Hir! -

REJ:- Quick! Sioned! His medicine!

Sioned:- He's drunk it all and the offy's closed!

REJ:- Aw Dammo! He'll eat the goldfish again! Sioned! You try talking to him! I'll get the heddlu.

OHH:- I'm Coming Jesus! Rwy'n caru tu! Just 1 fourskinth! Hallelujah! I've done it! Haha hell-bound heathens! And the baptists! -

Sioned:- Parch! Sense now Chwarae teg! What if there were more peas instead? That would compensate for the fourskinth of crackling surely?

OHH:- Sioned. Fuck off.

Poem for the day

Well indeed we are blessed today with a choice of poems. The Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun eisteddfod harmonised the village in united hatrocity towards the philistines of Cnwch-y-craig. Sioned is womanning the electric text-phone and your votes have been counted in advance. Judging at an eisteddfod is of course subjective, and much influenced by mead. Perhaps this explains the success of Abercreuddun's two and lonely Parch. Owen hosan hir/God tag-team with his religiositepic entitled 'PSSSSSSST!'. Sioned says she won't type the title out twice. You'll have to imagine it. He's written it in English again, and it really doesn't suit him does it?

PSSSSSSSSST! (oooh diolch Sioned nice baps)

I'm omnipotent God, it was me! me who made
All Creation wherever you look
I just wanted to say, in an impotent way
Could you help me in writing this book?

For I'm tired now it's done, and in need of a rest
And your writing's much neater than mine
And I'm sure all the world will be greatly impressed
In a mere few millennia's time.

Please make haste! for there's millions hell-bound unsaved
And the brimstone is bad for the health
Oh if only telepathy charges were waived
I would tell them directly myself.

I omnisciently know - and that's knowing a lot -
I could tell them and not touch free will
But utility funds go on keeping hell hot
And not my telepathy bill.

My mysterious ways and the evil at large
Keep philosophers ever obsessed
But the truth is I'm broke - a celestial joke
And I don't want my clouds reposessed.

The Pwll Crwn and the giant-insect park.

Three miles north of Aberwristwatch-on-sea, just east of blaennanerch, up a bit no too far back to me stop yes that's it, the Pwll Crwn is a sandless woodland oasis of Douglas Fir and East Anglican Pine, a waterless reservoir of peace and haven to the enstraggled, and the perfect site for a hyperoxygenated giant-insect dome park if Dr. Emrys Williams is to be believed. Emrys Williams' mother tragically died very young - about six years before his birth. It was a difficult labour and people say he never really recovered.

Dr EW:- Thankyou for that most generous introspection.

REJ:- Croeso. Let me help you with that Methadone drip. There we are. Now then, Dr. Williams, first let me thank you for the goat.

Dr EW:- Not at all! It was my mother's idea -

REJ:- um....yes indeed.....and may I take this opportunity to ask once more that you refrain from interfering with Mrs. Jones' laundry -

Dr EW:- You may. My mother wears it you see. For the Sunday best isn't it?

REJ:- She must have enough knickers by now? I mean....let's forget your mother for the moment...

Dr EW:- Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Mam! Mam! I'll never forget you! Emrys loves you! Emrys loves you forever! Mam! Mam!

REJ:- Aw dammo. Not again. Sioned! stop typing! This is not going in the transcripulation!

DrEW:- Mam! Mam! I'm coming Mam! Emrys is here! Emrys loves you! Don't go without me Mam! Don't leave me Mam!

REJ:- Aw shit.

Poem for the day

Last night I dreamt I could play the neigh-piano with my teeth and when I woke up I had eaten a zebra!

Today's poem is a grook. We are all familiar with the genius and great Dane, Piet Hein. Mari Llwyd-Evans is not a genius, but she is from the lowlands of Cnwch-y-craig. She is today's guest poet. I'm sure she could do better were it not for the womb-hysteria, poor dab has been under the doctor for years. This is what passes for profound in Cnwch-y-craig! Duw, duw, ble mae'r defaid?!

Sometimes I ponder in despair
Why can't I make my daughter share?
The toys upon her little shelf
Are only half her total wealth.

An interview.

The short walk from Gwastedyn to Cwm Duad enshrouds the standing stone of Myrddin ap prytherch, third of the ap prytherch wizards, favourite colour green. Here etched upon a cedarn cover indent the words of Waldo Williams, poet, bard and rhymesmith.

Un funud fach cyn elo'r haul o'r wybren

Un funud fwyn cyn delo'r hwyr i'w hynt,

I gofio am y pethau anghofiedig

Ar goll yn awr yn llwch yr amser gynt.

Beautiful words indeed, but what do they mean? We don't know, for he has written in a strange and ancient tongue. One man does know however, and he's with me now. From the flat above Daisy's chip shop it's Llanfihangel-y-Creuddun's very own and onely Prysor Davies.

REJ:- Good afternoon and welcome Prysor Davies and many thanks for coming. Did you have a pleasant journey?

PD:- Troed mas o'r drws yw hanner daith.

REJ:- Indeed. And a watched clock never boils twice a day. Now Waldo Williams, perhaps the greatest of the romantic poets never to take opium, wouldn't you agree?

PD:- Saesneg! Iaith y Diawl! Iesu Mawr!

REJ:- The devil speaks many languages Prysor, a bit harsh of you to single out English. Now Waldo was popular with the ladies of Preseli, if I can put it delicately....

PD:- Fe fydd y Tywysog Glyndwr yn dod nol i lladd pob Sais yng Nghymru. Siwr o fod.

REJ:- Well there might be some difficulties with that approach. I have friends on the Abercreuddun council and in my honest opinion they would take quite a dim view of zombie princes killing our english friends. Even in Machynlleth. Back to Waldo Williams. It is often said of his poem 'Y Tangnefeddwyr' that he was seeking to express a yearning for the reestablishment of paradise lost through his Christ-like archetypes reminiscent of Twm and Marged in 'Yr hen allt'. What is your opinion on this perhaps contraversial claim?

PD:- Ffwrch y Diawl yffern!!! Rwy'n mynd adref!!! Nos da!!!

REJ:- Well...I....er....yes...goodnight to you too Mr Davies.

Poem for the day

Today's poem is a person. And you know who you are Bronwen Williams. Some people fall in love quickly. Some people never fall in love. Dai Penrallt once fell in love with a hole in a tree on the way to Chapel. But Bronwen Williams.....ah my Bronwen......my blodyn bach.....easy under the apple bough I tried her for sighs. Indeed.

I read her like a blind man
The bluebells turned their heads
The river chuckled knowingly
The skies swirled blues and reds
And climbing now the stickward stairs
My bed's no longer heaven
For fifty years ago the tart
Fucked off with Jim from Devon.

Beautiful.

A trip to Capel Abercreuddun

The sunday before sunday last week I ventured north on the B473 up hillwards in the footsteps of my ancestors previously before me to the jewel in the coren of mynydd Brychanycawr. I don't need to tell you my fanwys that Capel Abercreuddun stands magnificent atop a hill of doubt and atheistic devillement. It was with such delight untold I tell you that Y Parch Owen Hosan hir delivered the sermon of all mothers to amongst others dai the milk the postman and glyn the fags the radiographer. The atheists howled in their stupidity as Y Parch Owen befored them spake the many super reasons to pretend in god:-

1) The Somethingfromnothing and the genocide handbook

It must be hard to bother to make something from nothing, especially when there are no laws of Physics to prevent it happening without you. -1+1 is a tricky sum requiring a supernatural magic mind beyond our comprehension. What then if your fingers were invisible? If you couldn't see your hands? Why then even a book would be difficult to make. Not that it wasn't a super idea, to make a book when you can speak directly into people's minds – the whole world at once! - to make a book when noone can read? It was a super idea, and you could have managed it, but dictator seemed more your natural role.

2) The miracle of Life

Life from non-life takes scientists many hours, yet you needed only 1 god-day to do it! And you made more than a mere cell, which doesn't count at all. You made all the beasts of the land and the fishes of the sea. Each one sub-optimal even within the laws of physics and improvable with a moment's thought, but nonetheless a super day's work. And fun too! You know – when the teeth go in the zebra! When the worm goes in the eye! 0.01% species success rate! Although so far everything's died.

3) Absolute Morality and Forgiveness

Imagine life without God's absolute morality standard that lets us say torturing children is right! Without the God-given logic and morality that tells us torturing children to death with gruesome incurable diseases is a good thing! Why we wouldn't know what to think! And the blessing of forgiveness. No sin can't be forgiven – with God all is permissable – retrospectively! How would the priests have forgiven themselves on the choirboys without God's blessing? And the bombers on the planes – how would they have forgiven themselves?

4) Pretending it real and the Hitler/Stalin/Mao

If we go through 'Mein Kampf' striking out 'God' and replacing it with 'Darwin' then that makes it real. But are silly ideas always silly? I don't know – I'm mutilating my children's genitals! Is too much critical thought and not enough blindly following holy orders a bad thing? What if I heard a voice telling me to sacrifice my son? Why without God I may as well just ignore it! If History teaches us anything it is surely that too much rational enquiry and not enough belief in silly ideas has been the problem. Hitler! Stalin! Mao! Pol Pot! The other one! Too much clear thinking and not enough faith! Too much rational enquiry and not enough dressing-up! Not enough belief that they were right in spite of the evidence! Pretending it real! This is surely what God wants us to teach children and people who can't think very well.

5) Heaven and hell

We all yearn to go to heaven and meet God. Perhaps you are the indoors type who likes harps and angels and dreary organ music, or perhaps you are the outdoors type who prefers fields and badly drawn tigers – like the Jehovah's Witnesses. There is something for everyone! Everything is perfect like it would be back home if His representatives had a bit more of the Earth-money God needs! And don't they do an efficient job? Hardly a penny left for palaces! But perhaps the most super reason of all the super reasons to pretend in God is our blessed deliverance from Earthly worries. War, famine, disease and suffering, death itself – these are difficult problems to face with reason alone. And though we might eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge and become as Gods attempt to solve these troubles, how much better to instead turn the other way and face upwards, wailing to an empty sky?

Poem for the day

Bore da. It is pronounced the same way as the Russian for beard. And yet it's meaning could not be more different. Unless Russian beards mean 'good morning', which they well might, we don't know for certain what Russian beards mean because they are generally very reticent and keep their thoughts to themselves. Which is what reticent means. But I digest. Here is today's poem for the day, told to me by a one-legged dryad from monmouthshire. He didn't say what it meant, he only wee'd on my shoe and giggled a lot. I forget the title, but it was written in mescaline.


As one and minus one from nought
Was born the stellar nation
And after birth of Physics brought
New laws against creation.

And then before, with Time began
The coil of Life unwinding
Through simple chains eternal sang
The living watches minding.

And man made God of holy thought
And labelled land and sea
With verbal pledges vainly sought
To bind eternity.

As minus one and one to nought
So purpose reason shatters
Save paradox that binds the light:-
To mind that nothing matters.

For sharper eyes cut through the dark
To mark emotion's core
Then hope again, and strive to live
A life worth dying for.