When I mention Mr Lacan (yesterday) it did remind me of brief foray into psychology. I go to see him because of certain trouble memory from war, etc, and in waiting room I sit opposite old woman with baby goat on lap.
‘This is goat?’ I ask her, not so much in surprise as from general interest. After war many thing were not so strange as would seem. People carry animal, household thing such as sofa or suitcase of money about as routine.
‘Yes is goat she say.’
I ask her: ‘Is special goat?’.
She say: ‘Yes is very special magic goat’. This interest me. I wonder, for example, if she joke or if she mad.
‘Magic goat?’ I ask.
Yes,’ she say. ‘What kind of magic does goat perform?’ I ask her. ‘My goat does not perform,’ she say. ‘She nervous magic goat.’
‘Nervous magic goat?’
‘Indeed. very nervous.’ And woman did turn head to one side. Immediately I recognise in profile her to be famous singer from before war, who name I now forget but famous. At same moment I did see goat turn head also. Woman and goat do same thing. How strange, I think.
‘Madam,’ I say to her, ‘Can I ask if you are famous singer?’
She stare at me her face containing anger and woe. ‘What it mean to you who I am?’ Her lip tremble.
‘Madam.’ I believe once you to be great singer who I did listen to with love and enjoyment in many theatre across Europe before this great trouble come upon us.’
‘Then for what it is worth, yes, I did once sing. But now I do not. All I have left is my goat.’
‘Magic goat?’
‘I expect you think me mad.’
‘No madam.’ And I did not think this, merely eccentric.
She sigh. ‘My goat is magic to me because she is all I have left. Even my voice has gone. And so has hers. She is silent.’
‘Silent?’ Indeed I had not noticed but this goat had not made sound the whole time we wait together. Ordinary goat would surely make fuss and bleat, climb on thing, and eat. Goat look at me with sad eye, as sad as woman. And without thinking, as is my nature (in youth I did commonly play giddy goat), I make bleating noise of goat. And goat did bleat back. Woman was astonish.
‘She sings!’ she say.
‘Indeed,’ I say. ‘Maybe she forget she is goat. How long since she see other goat?’ Of course goat would not now stop making bleat and did scramble as if on hills, bleat bleat bleat.
‘Not for many year. since little baby,’ she say.
I make another bleat, get on all fours and make around waiting room like goat. Goat was amaze at this and jump from woman lap onto floor, where she run with me, freely, as mountain goat.
At this point Mr Lacan appear. He look at me on floor with goat and say: ‘You are animal, sir?
I see fury and tell him ‘You are idiot, sir? Come join me on floor so maybe we lock horn.’ He did have cigar and look worry, like little mole who find daylight suddenly or relieve in trouser. Cigar fall out of mouth and he disappear quick back out of waiting room.
I did get up and dust down trouser because Lacan floor like farmyard. ‘Madam,’ I say. ‘This goat did forget how to be goat.’
‘Woman look full of joy. ‘ She laugh.
And I think something, which I say to her. ‘Maybe, I wonder, madam, if you forget to be singer?’
Woman face fall. ‘Sir, you have cure my goat, but I cannot sing. I have not sung in many year. I am now old woman, poor, alone, but for goat.
This was untrue. She look little shabby from neglect but was still beautiful character, powerful face, lovely eye and firm, attractive body. ‘Madam I cannot accept this. Please, I ask will you sing for me?’
Woman look shock. Goat go silent. ‘Sir,’ she say. ‘Nobody has ask me to sing for … so long.’
‘Please then, will you sing for me?’
She quiver in face, and shake head but only for moment. I take her hand, and she stand up. I sit down, attentive (give goat sharp look so it stay shut up). ‘Please?’ I say very soft.
She say nothing, but she sing. She sing beautiful, gorgeous, like river in mountain, in spring, and the like summer bird in evening, or star which shoot across sky at midnight, all beautiful. I realise of course now I love this woman. And she stop sing and she stand look powerful, majesty, Cleopatra.
Lacan appear and gawp like beggar. I toss him coin, small change. ‘Here, for you time, charlatan.’
Woman and I did leave, and so begin great love of my life which maybe I will say more of another time.
Since this time I have hear much of Mr Lacan, but I was not impress. This did let me think of something though, of goat mirror.

I did see something today which remind me of my old friend Serge Gainsbourg, who was singer. Close to my own house in London is little park (this is not house where Donald live next door, which is elsewhere in country close to animal sanctuary etc) where I take my lovely dog Anna Karenina V (the fifth) for walk when she feel restless and there I did see it.  Quite why this thing remind me of him I do not know. I think it make Anna think of something too as she did stop and look pensive as dog can, although it cannot be Serge, who she did not know.

One time Serge did drive me around Etoile in Paris as many times until we both were sick and car go down Metro stairs. We fall out of it and did go to club in Pigalle. What memories.

It is strange but I have forget this thing in park which remind me of Serge, although I know it was a good thing. Well, well.

Another idea for feature. Some are like clown, not idiot, for example university vice chancellor, various local counsellor, ombudsman and so on. I have never found clown funny.

Cat who remind me of Donald, on horse, from ancient manuscript, but not Donald (who is wary of horse or ass like OLD PIAGET, donkey at sanctuary nearby to where Donald live and go look for rat.)

A POEM:

Donald, you are so sweet as

Hen, or any other soft beast

Although if I hold you to my breast

It is like morning star arising.

Donald you are no cat

But my friend. A wisdom

A love, a journey afar

Although you live next door.

This morning it is very cold. It remind me of deep Polish winter of my youth, although only like duck is to egg. Each morning, my father, great military leader Stanislaw Czerniak would pen final comments for his newspaper item POLISH FIRE and then engage with me to run around stable yard for a half hour, to fill lungs with breath of life he say. On occasion, after heavy storm we would perhaps make but one circuit treading up to waists in freezing snow, until stable lad arrive and with cheery whistle clear all of snow before lunch. I remember one time snow was as deep as my head and my father give me spade. He say: tunnel, my boy. Make tunnel.

IDIOT!

I will sometimes have page exposing IDIOT across the world, and other categories for example, BASTARD and CLEVER. IDIOT is Nigel Farage, Ed Milliband. Not Cameron, who is BASTARD. And Natalie Bennett is CLEVER. She make feel shame for what I have done in the past, for instance love of motor car, profligate expense of party, flight and conspicuous consumption. Unfortunately I believe this also to be true of many others, that they will also feel shame and so GREEN PARTY is in pickle. I will however offer them my vote now I am citizen of this excellent country. (Note Nigel Farage, those who did live through Nazi regime will see you for sick dog you are). Enoch Powell.

I was thinking in dream last night, as so often happen when particular important thought is emerging and was given to conclude of certain feature I will apply to this newspaper. My father, Stanislaw, often prosecuted for the way he did denounce Prussian oppressors in regular column POLISH FIRE, in newspaper he begin for insurrection, was himself given to special feature such as NO! and NEVER IN MY LIFE! or NOT ONCE! or NO, NEVER! and so on.

I did see these as an infant from where I stood as he wrote – he like me to stand for inspiration for him, on picture of Prussian various government official, and to jump and stamp  on picture while he did play accordion or clap hand before he commence writing. I LIKE THIS he would shout, only in Polish, and slap me hard on back, although often I fall over.

Today I see it is usual for reader to LIKE thing on internet. I wonder, how, philosophically, one might denounce as my father did on internet? I see no NEVER or NOT IN MY LIFETIME button, for example. But this is aside.

My idea of special feature will be to have irregular but often piece such as IN THE NEWS or HOME CINEMA in addition to occasional musing.

I am getting hang of WordPress Internet service, rather like control of moon vehicle, or similar. However, this is unlike simple typing on typewriter also, of which I am expert following experiences where I type (secret activity).