12:05 a.m.
Things that might happen this year.
1) I might finally be able to stop blogging. I was advised to start blogging when I did start to attract attention to my webpage with free books on it, which was to attract a literary agent. This did not work. But I did get a literary agent nonetheless. Now I think I have some connections through this thing and ... well, do I have connections through this thing? Yes, I do. Jeannie looks at it.
2) I might stop blogging this year. I might stop blogging if I stop drinking. I might stop blogging if I get told to by people who might give me money to stop, or say that I might get less money if I go on. If I got books published in some form, I might be told that writing this crap isn't helping. With my profile.
3) I might stop blogging and start writing. I was casting my mind back recently to the dissolving of sentences and the construction of sentences, and I really liked doing that kind of hard graft with the writing thing once. Maybe it's because I don't write anymore really. Maybe I would like to have a go at that again. Breaking things down and building them up. As soon as you get any kind of success, you might stop doing that. And just whore away.
The shape of life ... the moment by moment (are you enjoying this?) and the shape of your life are kind of two different things. If you can get your mind to go to the bliss, in a moment by moment view, you might be reassured. If you can die in the bliss, you get both. Unfortunately, though personnally that might be alright for you, the flatheids don't get the moment by moment bliss and joy, neither do they get the good stuff in the shape at the end. I know I'm not much better, but watching them wriggling and struggling, and staggering about with their heads up their bums ...
There will be no flatheids in this year. I love flatheids. Well, they are usually alright when they are young. Over thirty, you should impale themselves. But I'm giving up on the too dumb to meditate this year. There are no sentient beings. If there are any, fung them! I'd like to die, but I'd like all of them to die first. Twisted and screaming as they do. Unless I can achieve some compassion for them in this new year, I suppose I'll be funged as well. But not as funged at them! How could you be as funged up as that?
6 comments:
I read a health statistic in the paper today here. If you can reach 60, then you can expect another 23 years. Obviously that's for New South Caledonians, but it probably has some applicability to the less fortunate. So if you can somehow stagger to your next birthday, you should be all set after that.
Albert? Do I count the time running out on my fingers? Only another year to go till I get to be 83? Dearie me! Why don't you just get yourself a nice girl? Advertise for one if you don't know any. Nice, plump girl with plaits and lederhosen. Like that big farmer wummin you had before! This is much better than death! Hotboy
Of course there are sentient beings, trees. They just consider us too dumb to communicate with.
Might is the same kind of excuse word as try. Either of them give you an out if you really don't want to do the work it takes to have what you want.
Also, be careful what you wish for. Fame isn't always a good thing. Look at Gerry Rafferty.
Marie! Shame Gerry Rafferty didn't seem like a happy man! Still, if he drank that much, living to 63 was pretty good! Hotboy p.s. It's not as cold here.
All? Speaking of drinking too much ... I should mark posts like this one somehow to indicate the lack of sobriety! Hotboy
While you're at it, mark your comments too.
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