The Word Cloud

What is the saddest and most emotional song that you have heard?? It may even be a song that holds a tight grip in your all time faves... I ask this because I recently discovered a song called Storm by a group called Lifehouse. It is not normally my cup of tea, but I lost my Grandad recently and he was very important in my life and since then I seem to like all the soppy stuff music has to offer.. Anyway another pointless question from me. :D

Pain is something that I have learned to accept, come to rely on in a morbid way. Without pain, I would not have survived this long.
Though my heart is fractured and un-repairable; it continues to echo out a dull repetitive thud. I hate the cruel pounding; often spending many lonely nights wishing it would cease to torture me with it's relentless rhythm.
A coward through and through; I would never have the guts to silence the beat myself.
Carrying the painful demons from my past within my impotent womb - like a pregnant woman  carries her unborn child - I trudge through life. The constant kicking and shoving me from within, reminding me of their cruel, perpetual presence. Forgiveness was supposed to come with time, but more pain arrived with each hour, day, month and year that passed. Deep lines beset my troubled brow, and lips that had once curled with joy at any opportunity now turned down, dragging rapidly aging features with them.
It's hard to believe that memories alone aged me so; my life's years were so few in number. Nightmares and continuous terrible experiences adding decades to my youthful soul and gentle features. Why could I not bury these feelings and emotions with those that had created them? Death taking them all far too quickly while I am forced to carry on. Lustful scars and marks etched upon the virgin canvass of my body; ever present reminders of my stolen childhood.
The pitiful creatures shackled before me now showed no signs of their sickening lust in their sorry faces. Fake innocence oozing with the sweat, from every pore.
Evil soul takers showing no remorse in their final moments; only selfishly begging for their lives and the lives of their families. They did not even give me chance to beg.
No remorse; no restraint. They would all be punished. Where the legal system had failed me, my own inner court would not.
"WHO ARE YOU?" She screamed.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?" He shouted, "Show us your face, you gutless bastard!"
Ha! Me gutless. You will not be shouting much longer you filthy pig!
Eight despicable, dirty pigs squealing for their lives; lives that would now be taken away as violently as they had taken mine. I took great pleasure butchering them one by one whilst the remaining living watched; terror etched upon their faces, knowing that this was soon be their own fate. They had enjoyed watching eachother a great deal whilst tearing away at my future, it was the least I could do; to return the favour. 
"Please. Please." The last living female thing whimpered between sobs.
"Please what?" I spat at her.
"Please don't kill me. Please. I'll do anything."
If I could have felt anything other than rage at that moment; bile would have crept up my throat and my stomach would be churning. Hatred rampaged through my body, tearing out from every limb.
"Oh I know you'll do anything you sick bitch!" I screamed as I sliced her throat. The blade slid through her flesh and muscle like  sharpened scissors through silk, but this was not enough to satisfy my thirst. The dark cloud of rage slowly dispersed as I stabbed the soulless piece of meat again and again; leaving only a wet mess where the evil creature had been.
Watching their life pour away - running down into a drain on the grime covered concrete floor - filled me with a deep satisfaction. Filth mixing with filth and running into a sewer; a fitting end for these dirty animals. At least they would never again take the innocence of some trusting and unsuspecting child.

Skip is recovering remarkably well.  Considering it's Sunday and his operation only happened Wednesday.

Most of the time he's behaving with the lampshade on, but occasionally he's getting grumpy and frustrated at not being able to remove it.  I'm hoping that the tenderness on the side of his head continues to prevent him from risking the removal of the lampshade.

It is a lovely lampshade collar it has to be said, it is padded on both edges and is a clip action so very easy to put on and take off.

It is funny to watch him scrape along the brick walls in the back garden then, when trying to pee at his usual plant pot places, flowers get caught in the lampshade and he gets a face full of labelia.

As soon as I get the photos of Skippy onto my computer I'll post them on here for all to see.

Thanks again for the well wishes.

love to everyone
Nibs
:o)

I'm relitavly new to the cloud, so please be kind to any work i post, thank's.

This is a poem that i wrote some time ago, which i have not got around to publishing yet, although plenty of places do have a copy of this poem, with my name underneath, including the NSPCC :) I would apsolutly love to get this poem properly published though. It would mean everything. I wrote it around the time that 'Baby P' was in the news.. incase you didn't know, he was an abused child.

I'd appreciate it if people read my work, and give me feedback on anything that might need thinking through, or replacing.
Here goes..

"You're hurting me,
please don't do this.
Please don't hurt me,
i thought you were better than this.

You can't understand me,
but you're causing me pain.
It would be nice if you told me,
what there is to gain.

You obviously don't know,
how much i can feel.
I don't think you can see,
that your making me ill.

You hurt me like you do,
as if it's a ritual.
Then you shout at me after,
and make such a big deal.

You hurt me for things,
and i don't know why.
You don't know i have emotions,
and that i can sit and cry.

You beat me up,
telling me i'm to blame,
for something i didn't do.
It is such a shame.

You were meant to look after me,
helping me learn and talk.
But after you've used me in this way,
i wont even be able to walk.

You were meant to kiss me,
hold my hand and help.
But now i've learnt the hard way,
you just care about yourself.

You were meant to say goodnight,
not throw me in my bed.
Then you should have turned off my light,
not punch me round the head.

You should have bought me things,
such as games clothes and toys.
But i have apsolutly nothing,
compared to other girls and boys.

You should quit you're smoking mummy,
because from TV i've learnt its bad.
You should put it out in an ash tray mummy,
instead of on my hand.

You need to get a job mummy,
instead of drinking and taking drugs.
It only makes you angry mummy,
and you cant tell when you've had enough.

You have to get rid of our dog mummy,
because it comes in my room at night.
It jumps on my bed and bites me mummy,
and i'm too scared to fight.

You have to stop calling me names mummy.
I don't want to hear bad words.
I'm only really young mummy,
and hearing the 'F' word hurts.

You wanted to kill me though didn't you mummy.
I knew that from day one.
You like knowing you're torturing me mummy,
to you it's all just fun.

I know this wont make a difference mummy,
but if i were alive today for you to see..
Would you say sorry to me mummy?
Because you were supposed to love me.."

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Thirteen years ago, my brother decided to divorce his family, for a reason that is/was unknown to all of us. We know that it was instigated by his 'nutty' wife, who threw my parents out of the home thay they had bought for them, and told them never to come back. They had two children, so my parents have two grandchildren and I have a neice and nephew that we have never met. He has robbed both us and them of an extended family and a close relationship.

This week, my great uncle, who was 94, died. My parents and my other brother went to the funeral. Nigel (the brother who divorced us) was there. My mum, who has been the worst affected in all this, opened her arms and they apparently hugged and cried. My dad said 'what is past is past' and then they hugged and cried. I called him many times to try and resolve what ever the issue was, but with little success. To cut a long story short, he did the dirty on me over some family money, so I stopped contacting him. My parents asked him to come up for dinner on Wednesday night, and apparently things went very well. He said he would call me, which he hasn't as yet, and try and explain things to the children in preparation of meeting them.

Those of you that know me, know how much I dote on my other nephew. I'm never going to be able to have that kind of relationship with them, but I'll be pleased to have ANY kind of relationship with them. So it would appear he has come back to the family. Here lies my quandry. I still love him, I always have and always will, he's my brother, but I'm finding it very hard to let go of the resentment I feel for him. Mainly because of all the pain he has caused my parents. My mum cried over him every day and would say things like, 'I'll never see him again before I die'. My other brother and I were the ones left to deal with all the repurcussions of his actions. I'm sure with time I will start to trust him again, but at the moment I feel very wary of him and full of resentment. I'll just bite my tongue and see how things pan out. Families, who'd have 'em!

Word Count: 920 Title: MY BRAVE DOG SKIPPY Author: By Gaynor Andrews The Adventures of Skippy the loveable Parsons Russell began with me 6 years ago last April. He was spotted huddled in a cage in Penarth Road dog pound looking very pitiful in his little cage, one of many that spanned the length of a wall and many of which were stacked 3 stories high. Such was the over crowding at that particular time. He was being treated for flea and tic infestation. He faced the wall with his back to the world and everyone in it. Everyone passed him by, except me. 6 years on we've been through a lot. We've taught each other many things. He's taught me tolerance, strength and how to take charge to become a good pack leader, while I like to think I've taught him manners, how to behave and lots of tricks besides. A couple of weeks ago, he began to show signs that he wasn't well. Very suddenly in July an enormous lump grew out of his ear, so large that it totally filled his ear like an over-sized earplug. Having made a few visits to the vet, he was then booked in for an operation to remove the growth. I dropped him at Cardiff Park Vets where they were far more equipped than their Pontypridd surgery early Wednesday morning and left him there while I made my way to work. 11am I received a phone call from the surgeon to explain the seriousness of the growth. That its root was far deeper than anticipated and removing it would be an enormous and tricky job. Remembering his age and where the growth is the surgeon explained to me that if she deemed it too much for him to cope with, she would call me while he was asleep on the table and ask if I wanted him woken up. Admittedly here, I was painfully slow on the uptake of what she was saying. The shock of what she was saying sunk in the moment the penny dropped. After which I said, yes, it's only his ear and I explained I have absolute faith in her, that she would do what was needed. But she was to wake him. Wednesday, I was in no-mans land and grateful for the lack of work on my desk. After that phone conversation I struggled to contain my emotions in front of work colleagues and so went out to my car and cried buckets. Later, sat at my desk… I knew the moment he'd gone into surgery. I knew because not even I had realised until then, how strong our bond is. My solar plexus went screwy and to prevent my panicking any further I immediately phoned the vets and enquired what was happening to Skippy. The receptionist, after leaving me waiting on the phone for just a short time, returned and informed me he was on the table and being operated on. In my head, I found myself at the operating table stood slightly over the surgeon as she worked. I visually watched her opening up his ear and expertly with the greatest of care cutting in to remove the growth. I watched as she found she needed to go even deeper than she first expected to. Eventually, she had cut part of the ear away. After a while, sat in the back room to my office doing my best to concentrate on marking off my engine packs against my list, I had a vision of Skippy running in and jumping around me as I was sat on my stool, and felt he was telling me in all his excitement, 'It's gone, It's gone. When you coming to get me?' So in my thoughts I told him I would be there soon, but he was to rest and sleep in the mean time. 2pm The moment I chose to use the landline phone to call the vets was the same moment they chose to phone my mobile and explain how well it had all gone. The surgeon was so pleased with how the operation had gone and how well he was when he came-to. Poor dab! When I collected him, I was a bit startled by the fluorescent pink bandage wrapped round his head. (That won't do his street cred' any favours I thought'). But he's come through it, he's alive and well on the grumpy road to recovery. I think he truly appreciated the cuddles and soft voice of my sister as she held him in her arms on the back seat of my car as I drove us home. 2 days later, Friday, we visited the vets in Pontypridd and they removed the pink bandage. The vet explained more thoroughly what they had done. Apparently the root of the growth was so solidly packed into his vertical ear canal that they had to remove that part of the canal itself. But, he will still be able to hear through the horizontal canal through a small hole at the side of his head. To look at it, I think it's an exceptionally fine piece of work and I was grateful for the opportunity to thank the surgeon for her good work. To end, this was a scary week in July for Skip and for me. I think he's such a brave little soul and everyone, not only me, loves him dearly. So much so, that by the time we arrived home Wednesday after his operation, he'd already received a get well card. Nibs

You.  Yes, you.  You were born of 2 biological parents.  Two people, a man and a woman, each had to supply a sperm and an egg; otherwise you could not possibly exist, regardless of whether they stuck around to raise you.  That’s 2 generations, you and your biological parents, and this opening wins the award for stating the bleedin’ obvious.

Each of your parents were born of 2 biological parents, your 4 grandparents (3 generations including you), and each of them had 2 parents, so that’s 8 great grand parents (4 generations).  Nothing tricky to follow, so far.

They all each had 2 parents, your 16 great, great grandparents (5 generations), and going back 6 generations there were 32 great, great, great grandparents that you and every single one of us must have had.

Generation              Number of Ancestors

1st Generation         1 Person (you)
2nd Generation        2 People (your parents)
3rd Generation         4 People (your grandparents)
4th Generation         8 People (your great grandparents)
5th Generation         16 People (your great, great grandparents)
6th Generation         32 People (your great, great, great grandparents)

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Now let’s put in some reasonable estimated dates going back.  The dates will have a different starting point for each of us, depending on when we were born, and there’ll be different age gaps between generations in different families going back.  But for the sake of setting a starting point and making the numbers easier to follow, imagine that now in 2010 you are 35 years old. 

You were born in 1975 and in 2000 you were, of course, 25 years old.  25 years is the average age we’re going to use for when each generation had children.  It may seem a little young in this day and age, but going back through the generations, 21-22 years old is closer to the true average, so we’re being conservative here, if anything.

Generation  -  Number of Ancestors  -  Rough Date of 25th Birthday

1                            1                                      2000
2                            2                                     1975
3                            4                                     1950
4                            8                                     1925
5                            16                                    1900
6                            32                                    1875

So, shortly after Abraham Lincoln had a bad night at the theatre, there were 32 people who had to successfully couple up in order for you to be alive and reading this today.  Now, this is where it starts to get interesting… let’s go back further.

Generation  -  Number of Ancestors  -  Rough Date of 25th Birthday

6                            32                                1875
7                            64                                1850       
8                            128                              1825
9                            256                              1800
10                          512                              1775
11                         1,024                             1750

So, going back to the 11th generation, it was 1750, the Germans were developing a taste for ruling England – King George II at that point – and a thousand people were pairing off in your favour.

12                          2,048                         1725
13                          4,096                         1700
14                          8,192                          1675
15                          16,384                        1650
16                          32,768                        1625
17                          65,536                        1600
18                          131,072                      1575
19                          262,144                      1550
20                          524,288                      1525
21                         1,048,576                    1500

Around the year 1500, Christopher Columbus was still fannying about well off the coast of America and 1 million people of that generation, who were your direct ancestors, need to have been doubling up together.

Go back to your 31st generation, to around 1250 AD, and it’s about a billion people.

At 41 generations and about 1000 AD, it’s roughly a trillion people.

At 81 generations and 0 AD, when people had no idea what to call the period before that point, the number of people is over one billion trillion.  That’s a 1 with 24 zeros after it, and a number far bigger than any of us can even begin to comprehend.  And it is very clearly a number far greater than the total number of all the people who have ever lived.

So, what does this mean?

Well, firstly it means that the numbers are mind-bogglingly big, and it doesn’t matter where you start or how you calculate it, the size of the figures are inescapable.  And, these are just the numbers for you, plus any biological brothers and sisters you might have.

It also means that each of us owe our existence to a staggering amount of forebears, all fortunate enough to live long enough to reproduce, remain healthy enough to do so, and attractive enough to find a mate (probably by outrageous chance), who they also happened to fancy the pants off.  Well, at least a bit.  Not one of your ancestors deviated from the path that perpetuated the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result, astoundingly and, if I may say, rather jolly well, in you.

What it really means is that with so many millions of ancestors, there would have to have been multiple occasions when someone from, let’s say, your father’s side of the family procreated with a very distant cousin from your mother’s side.  There has to have been a phenomenal amount of incest taking place, albeit at an unrecognised and removed generational level.  Mostly.  Moreover, you, I and everyone else must share a great deal of the same ancestors, and to put it in the precise words of a renowned and great author, “In the most literal and fundamental sense, we are all family.”  Thank you, William.

Can anybody help me over this?
My aged scanner has ceased to be!  It was an HP model and  I use  it mainly for OCR.
I  went down to my local Curry/PC World  to buy a new scanner. Few were on display, and I believe the reason to be that this facility is now provided by printers.  My printer cannot scan.
 Canon  Lide 100 or 200 seem to be the preferred model  and these were the only models on offer.     I asked about the provision of OCR as the packaging made no mention of this.  (Opening the box and looking at the instruction manual provided no clue either)
I returned home and, trying the 'Internet' it seems the Lide200 scanner has very limited OCR.
I have an Apple lap- top and rang Apple's Regent Street branch, but the advisor I was put in touch with had no idea either.   (The Canon Lide200 is the flatbed scanner this store sells - as does the Apple UK  'on-line' store)
The only other store  use is  John Lewis in Oxford Street but they don't sell any scanners at all.
Has anybody used the Lide200?  Can anybody suggest a substitute?   OCR software costs more than the scanner!  Is this my only option?
Mike

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