Room of 1000 ideas (New eyes)

It's really 1200

Doesn’t matter

The rooms been named

Full of life

City focused

12 unusual people

Brains buzzing

Latterly focused

A stew called

Love the city

Scouring the matrix

Identifying the gem

Hidden in the depths

Within view

Of our Citizen blindness

Thinking, through new eyes

Enabling us to look deeper

Under the ordinary

Of the rigid

For the flexible City

 

A reflection of my time with Designing Dublin and the room of a 1000 ideas.

JC-Dublin-A City defined by it's openess.

Thoughts of a blank mind

There’s nothing in my head, oh! the peacefulness of open spaces, a totally empty space.

Wait! A thought, where did that come from, out of thin air, from nowhere. No! It entered nowhere, my totally empty space, what an intrusion. Maybe the air isn’t so thin, it must have some body to support a thought, no matter how deep or shallow it is.

I can feel this thought unravel like a loosely knit Jumper, my mind is now full of loosely knit threads.

Another thought has just entered my empty space or is this one of the treads, ‘how many words in a thought’, at least sixty I would presume, maybe more.

Would that make it a big thought, possibly not as I can sense more words unravelling, this could be even bigger. I need to catch them, but how. Is there a big mesh somewhere for catching loose words as they escape the clutches of irresponsible thoughts? It is a bit careless of thoughts to allow random words to escape and run wild in a mind expecting to be empty. Where can an empty mind complain, when infected by irresponsible and uninvited thoughts?

What can an empty mind do, it has no power of influence or capacity to repel invaders, particularly if they are sneaky and disrespectful thoughts.

Minds need rest, just like bodies but even at night, thoughts get in dressed as dreams or when they are really ugly, as nightmares.

I have heard rumours of blank minds that have been invaded by nightmares, wait for it, during the daytime, un-thinkable.

Some minds have been invaded by dreams during the day, with dire consequences.  Imagine people buying shares in banks, to buy dreams of a life of affluence. We have seen the dire outcome of these sneaky dreams. People paying huge sums of money for small parcels of land to buy dreams and even worse, banks lending them billions of other people’s money, so as the bankers can satisfy the dream that sneaked up on them.

It’s a scary world that a blank mind has to live in. Unable to do anything, even garner its own thoughts.

Older blank minds have it even tougher. You would imagine or at least think, that thoughts would have some respect for older blank minds, I mean, where’s the challenge in invading an old tired blank space. Of course it could just be  the attraction of blank spaces and , I suspect, thoughts are capitalists in their demeanour and will let nothing stand in their way when it come to filling blank spaces. What we need are some social capitalist’s thoughts but that is for another day.

No! wild thoughts are thrown in, with wild abandon and no though given, on their part, for the consequences.

I personally suffer because of these reckless thoughts. My sore knees, sore back, in fact my sore everything, is a consequence of my weakness and lack of concentration leading to moments of unguarded blank mind.

A foreign type of dream seem to creep in and I think I am sixteen again, a superman with no bounds. This is what thoughts do to you, I run as fast as I can like a highly trained teenager, of course without the training. I lift weights beyond the norm of those not seduced by these Saxon dreams.    In fact, these dreams turn me into a delusional superman, whose six pack isn’t covered by layers of insulation. The worst dreams encourage me to write poetry and dance ballet as if a tu-tu would even fit.

I have on occasions created minor emergencies in my home city by attempting to sing pieces of opera, even though I can’t understand the story. Carmen, Aida, the Magic Flute, Cosi Fan Tutti amongst others. This is ok in the bath or shower amongst family and friends but I have been encouraged to sing these opera’s in the strangest places. Saint Marks Square in Venice, Royal Opera house, Covent Garden’s in London, on the 77 bus from Tallaght, very embarrassing,                           

But do thoughts care,

I suspect not. 

Dublin-A City defined by it's deep thinkers?

Spike

 Spike

                                      (A Tribute to the late Spike Milligan by JC )

Rilligan Dilligan

Silligal rhymitcal

Writical lyrical

Spikical  Millican

Write as you like

Poetical Bike

Symetrical Kite

Rhymetical Spike

Muckoon Puckoon

Potholes caught holes

Mythical Dittical

Crows anaylitical

Adolf Bittler

Hitler dittler

Partikil downfall

Humouresly writeilar

Spikical writeakil

Milligan Bisekil

Lyrical wittical

Poetical nonsenekil

 

Secrets

Secrets are to some extent the opposite to good communication, in fact, they undermine good communication, they, in fact, lack communication, they are about control and power. We are of course told there are good reasons for secrets and possibly there are, all about control, in some instances, but who decides.
In writing this I gave some thought to the different types of secrets that exist if that is the right phrase.
Do secrets exist or are they so hidden and out of our consciousness, that they fail to exist, but that's another story for another day.
The type of secrets that come to mind immediately are;
(1) The secret of Fatima, (Whoever she is)
(2) The secrecy of confession,
(3) Client confidentially,
(4) Business secrets, as opposed to secret business.
(5) War secrets.
(6) The secret of the mind a writer explores.
The end of a good book can be a secret until you work it out and the same goes for the crossword.
The ending of a good play can be a secret unless you have seen it a million times, ie; Uncle Vanya, Juno, and the Paycock, etc.
Government ministers always have secrets as do good spies.
Often secrets are shared amongst friends and then passed on, as a secret, again and again, and again, etc,  etc, becoming less and less of a secret as they are shared.

How many times have you heard the immortal words,                                                                        

 "Don't tell anyone"                                              

"Who me, ye know you can trust me, mums, the word". Of course, you can't, the secret is passed on and on and on, a bit like Chinese whispers. Maybe that's what secrets are, Chinese whispers.

There are a few people who feel they have been burdened with a secret when it is shared by a friend, particularly deep private ones. The agony of carrying this confidence can be monumental, but the real secret is what you don't know, isn't that what secrets are. Once shared, no longer a secret, just a burden.
Your friend has told many other friends and they are all inflicted with the worry gene, the burden of the secret and here you all are, unable to communicate, keeping it all in and your friend knows, that you all know' 'The Secret',,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, that's real power and control.

Sometimes secrecy is used to hide unlawful and immoral acts or activity under the guise of protecting business or individuals. We have seen this with bankers and the clergy in recent years, where secrecy is used to protect advantage and privilege.

Of course, secrets can be fun, like at Christmas,  Birthdays and other celebratory times.
Maybe it's not the secret that's fun, more the unravelling of the mystery, when the gift or present is opened, a secret no more.
The anticipation can be fun, the knowing, that the secret is finite and all will be revealed in time. In the case of Birthdays and Christmas, we are only too aware of the timeline.

Some of the most frustrating secrets for me are "What time will the bus arrive" or "How much will the €1 ticket from Ryanair really cost me.

Amongst the most beguiling of secrets are the ones in my head, as I try to write.
It's a journey I know that will bring me somewhere secret, a place or time I never envisaged when I started. The only way of unravelling this secret is to 'go with the flow and enjoy'.

Sometimes when I think I have arrived, the pen changes direction and away I go into a secret world with many chambers and crevices. Even when I arrive there, I'm not sure I have arrived, have I?

I like to think, that the real secrets are within myself and they challenge my creativity, to dig deep and even deeper trying to unravel them.

I'm not sure that I ever do?

JC-Dublin-A City defined by a sense of mystery?