Thursday, 24 September 2026

Sometimes a gentle touch speaks volumes................................


The phone rang.
 Herbie Hancock, barely out of music school,
answered.
-Hello?
-It's Miles, a husky and soft voice answered.
Herbie laughed and said: -Yeah, man, sure you are!
-You're the young piano player that's been
gigging around, yeah?
-Well, yeah. You're really Miles? Miles Davis?
-I like your touch man. Can you make
rehearsal tomorrow? I've got some new stuff
I wanna try out. 
Herbie made a mental note of where and when
but before he could thank Miles for asking him
to join the band, Miles had hang up.
As in a daze Herbie put the receiver back
in its cradle.
''You have a nice touch'' Miles had said 
and repeating those words to himself
he could feel himself 
smiling all the way from deep inside
to the outside of his being.

(This is just my interpretation of a story I've been told.)

Strangely as it may perhaps seem, touch is a very
important and highly individual aspect of being
a professional pianist.
Touch, come to think of it, I have come to realize
as discussions and news about AI pops up
here, there and everywhere may perhaps be
 fundamentally more important for us humans than 
we have given it credit for.
Touch, those in the know say is of vital importance
to us and belong among those of our most basic
needs. But as we seem determined to rush ''headless''
once again(atom bomb) towards a technology
that could potentially end up exterminating us, (rogue AI)
........ it may behoove us to just spend a little more time
 donning our black thinking caps/hats (= potentially negative
 outcomes) just in case our excitement of how
brilliant and technologically ingenious we are
manages to blind us.

In 1965, Harlow's Monkey Experiments strongly
suggested that touch is a primal need that applies
to both humans and monkeys.
Experiments/research have also been carried out that
show that the absence of touch more often than not 
lead to poor physical as well as mental health.
(Unless a person suffers with an illness which
includes touching as problematic.)

Touch comes in different ''flavours'' methinks.
For instance: a touch can be light, heavy, warm,
cold, on purpose, accidental, nice, creepy,
loving, bullying, etc. etc. etc.
People who grow up in environments in which
touching of any kind is not encouraged or done, 
may I suggest often tend to find touching or being
touched by others uncomfortable at times.
And vice versa....some of us are happy to
hug and touch others, to high fiving and 
bump fists.
Science says that touching(the nice kind)
 regulates our nervous systems,
brings down our stress levels and helps us
to build/form/create deep and meaningful 
emotional connections.

Basically, perhaps one may say that though
words are very important for us in order to be able
to connect and create social bonds with each other,
so are physical actions such as handshakes,
high fives and sincere hugs.
We may even become so pre-occupied with
words that we underestimate just how
necessary and comforting a light touch
on a shoulder or hand can be for
someone who may need a little sign
of validation and appreciation.

How we touch each other physically
is in my view a fundamental choice
anchored in personal boundaries, respect,
consent and mindfulness of the other person's
cultural aspects/traditions. 

''Sometimes a gentle touch
speaks volumes.''
(Citizen Z)


''After all, touch is the first language
we speak.''
(Stephen Gaskin)



about the image: ink on paper

Friday, 18 September 2026

What I feel is sadness but what I do is pretend that all is okay...............


What I want to do is scream,
but I don't.
What I want to do is cry,
but I don't.
What I want to do is run away,
but I don't.
What I want to do is tell you
how much your words hurt me,
but I don't.

What I feel is sadness,
but what I do
is pretend that all is okay.
What I feel is anger,
but what I do
is pretend that I'm okay.
What I feel is confusion,
but what I do 
is pretend that that's okay.

Why is it that to be openly sad
 is by others so often deemed ''bad''?

Why are we often judged as being ''weak''
when of our pain we openly speak?

Why are we told to subdue our cries
when hurt brings tears to our eyes?
(Citizen Z)


For a number of days I have had severe pain
in my neck and shoulders. Mind you, I always
have pain there(bursitis) but for some reason that I'm 
oblivious of, it has now reached new heights.(levels)
I have methods of dealing with it, but none so far
has worked. 

What's needed is a remedial massage. 
By the time I'm sitting in a chair at the massage
 place, the pain has spread and is now pounding
away in my lower and upper jaw bones.
I'm feeling quite nauseous but is lucky enough 
to be fitted in for a treatment immediately.
A designated massage therapist arrives and softly 
asks me how much pressure I want her to use.
''A lot,'' I answer.  It hurts like heck but I know 
that it will get better and eventually the pain 
will subside. Which it does.
Walking to the car, some thoughts wafts through
my consciousness; -I just don't get all the excitement
over AIs. We are flawed, this is true, but science
proved a long time ago that being touched by other
human beings is paramount for our very existence.
Thank goodness for human massage therapists.

''There are five traits that AI genuinely can not
replicate: empathy, presence, judgement, 
creativity and hope.''
(Shorts on AI limitations)


about the image: pen and ink on water colour paper

Sunday, 6 September 2026

Not only people can be good listeners..........................

''I think I'm gonna take the dog for a walk"

She took a deep breath.
Although the door was closed, she could
her them arguing. Again. Always about
the same stuff......... money and who was
to be blamed for not bringing in enough.
Should she really go inside and by doing
so having to deal with the chaos?

Just as she had decided to turn around
and walk away, the door flung open
and her dad rushed past her.
Screaming at the top of his lungs:
-Yeah, blame me, it's always my fault!
and off he went in their tired old car
leaving a trail of black, foul smelling
smoke behind.

As she dropped her school bag on the
floor and sat down to untie her boots,
her mother yelled: -Lisa? Is that you?
Come to the kitchen and help me
peel the potatoes and also, check that
your brother is okay. 
As she walked to her bedroom to
get changed out of her uniform,
she could see her brother sitting on
the floor in the living room and
playing some computer game.

Changed into a pair of jeans and her
favorite hoodie, she walked into the
kitchen and sat down at the table.
She didn't feel much like talking, besides, 
what was the point, her mum didn't
listen anyway. All she wanted to do
was to complain about her dad. 
Armed with their potato peeler
she grabbed a large potato and
quietly started to peel it.

-What's wrong with you Lisa? Why are 
you so quiet? asked her mother.
Though tempted to tell her mum 
about the incident that she had 
experienced earlier that day, she
knew it was futile. With the radio on,
the noises from the game her brother
was playing and her mum's complaining,
there just wasn't any space for her to inject 
any of her thoughts or experiences.

-Nothing's wrong mum, she said and kept
peeling.
-Okay then. Listen, when you've finished
the peeling go out and get the clothes
off the line. I think it's gonna rain.
Lisa confirmed the request by nodding.
A few minutes later she grabbed the washing
basket and walked out the back door
to the washing line.

As she put the basket on the ground,
Snoopy, their always effervescent little
mutt came darting as out of nowhere
and ran circles around her.
-Hey, Snoopy, having a good day today?
she said and lifted him off the ground
and into her arms.
Snoopy answered by licking her face
and looking her straight in the eyes.
As he kept licking her and looking deep
in to her eyes, she started to ponder
if perhaps he could be a good listener.
Maybe she could tell him about the
incident?

She brought in the washing basket
and put it on the floor in the living room
next to her mother's ironing board.
-Set the table please, Lisa, her mother
bellowed from the kitchen.
-For how many? Lisa asked.
-Three, your father has gone out.
She wanted to ask her mum where
her dad went when he went ''out'' but
she knew that that would lead to all sorts
of trouble and she had already had enough
of that.

The three of them ate their food
with a minimum of words being
exchanged.
Nor was there much talking when they
cleared the table or did the dishes.
Her brother went back to his game,
her mother started to do the ironing
and Lisa decided to take Snoopy
for a walk.

She put Snoopy on a leash, herself
in a jacket and then called out to
her mum: -I think I'm gonna take
the dog for a walk.
-Okay, Lisa.
-Let's take the nice walk through the
woods, Snoopy, she said as they started
to walk.

When they reached the start of the woods
she undid Snoopy's leash and let him go.
Snoopy excitedly ran in circles, sniffed
everything in his way and just oozed joy.
Watching her dog's joy was infectious
and Lisa felt herself catching the 
''infection''.

In the middle of the woods somebody
had placed a sort of wooden bench.
She decided to sit down for a moment
and just enjoy the stillness, the fragrances,
the beauty of the light making its way through
the trees but especially, to enjoy the company of
 her very faithful and joyful companion; Snoopy.

After running back and forth, here and
there, Snoopy suddenly stopped and
jumped up on the bench next to her
and put his head in her lap.
Stroking Snoopy gently on his head
she decided to tell him about the incident.
She had been right. 
He was a very good listener.

''No one appreciates the very special genius
of your conversation as the dog does.''
(Christopher Morley)

about the image: acrylic on large landscape
shaped canvas