Tuesday 8:45 p.m.
Once I saw this guy shouting at the teevee news and thought this amusing and quaint. I do it a lot now, usually when the BBC is boosting the monarchy, which they do almost every evening with all the obsequiousness of a million Indian waiters. Tonight they were advertising the Hewitt kid who's going to walk to the North Pole, or something. They're trying to knock him off, so they are. He'll probably get fed to the polar bears. Still, if his half brother gets killed by the moslems ... He'd make a much better king for the stupid Englanders. At least, he's English through and through.
I was once part of a photo opportunity for the Horsey One. She was visiting this exhibition in the Fruit Gallery and when I heard she was coming to be filmed for the news speaking to some kids, I tried to leave and the security wouldn't let me. We, including a very pregnant woman with two kids, were held hostage for several hours. She showed up and walked about for ten minutes so she could get on the news and then left. I was completely outraged.
This boy on the teevee last night (great having BBC Four on freeview!) said if our sun was represented by a grain of sand, then there wouldn't be enough grains of sand in all the beaches of the world to represent the number of stars in the universe. So what's happening with the royalty on the teevee maybe isn't really that important. But I just find it disgraceful to be reigned over by anyone, to be a subject and not a citizen.
The vote against the monarchy has got to go to the SNP. Only by being independent have we any bloody chance of getting rid of them. A lot of the little Englanders 'love' the monarchy. Even some Scottishy folk, but mainly the evil protestant bourgeois, and some other stupid people. The tims never liked them.
I got distracted in the hut this evening by thinking about my kidbook called Light in the Dark. It's a lousy title. I was thinking of changing it to The Demon Masters, then I thought I'd change it to The Land of the Demon Masters. What do you think? Do you think that's an improvement? Almost anything would be. You could have a map as well, if you had someone to draw one.
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Sunday 27 March 2011
Fragments!
Sunday 10:25 p.m.
Before I started drinking home brew this evening, I sat in the lobby for an hour and a half, and tried to observe the arisings and abidings and declinings of whatever, and a great amount of it involved huge amounts of the bliss in its extended forms, and it went beyond anything before, and I wondered what was the point of that if you couldn't just be nice.
My head is full of Micky Ward. There is is bit in the Gatti ninth round when he gets hit by a body shot, and takes a deep breath, and tries to go on. Breathe, lift your shoulders, soldier on. It's been an inspiration watching that. So it's not about sitting quietly doing nothing and being a flatheid or not. Adjusting to circumstances.
I'm not a nice person, at least, not as nice as some people. Of course, I am a much nicer person that most of the flatheided, evil bourgeois who land on this bloggy, but they are such a poor representative sample of the human beings that they can almost be discounted.
The woman who gave her kidney to her son phoned up tonight. She's home. She's fine. So far so good is the beneficiary of her spontaneous kindness. Ask most of the folk who land on this bloggy to spit on you if you were on fire and see how far you get!
I went past the allotmenteer at the gate, the one who is young and with the fabulous, truly fabulous butt. I'd been meditating for some time on the edge of my allotment, preparing for the brilliant meditations I was going to have before I started on the home brew, and I would have edged past her if I could have, but I had to stop and stammer and be inchoate in her presence for a time. We talked about pujas, and visualisations, and such things as that, but I was not holding my own very well.and being less articulate than I should have been because I was really dying to bang her brains out. This is totally uncool! This is not the way to face the world.
They gather for some kind of Green Tara puja every month. I'm allowed to go as well. Bugger all idea what that's all about. But I will go sometime. It's like a Graham Greene seance or something. The allotmenteer has just got her Ph.D in botanical things. She's American. She'd like to get a field trip thing organised to pick up plants abroad and identify them.
Could you be of help to her, Hotboy? I could certainly hump her to death, and I'm sure that would be a big help and a surprise to her, and make her realise something about old men like moi ... but I would like to just be friendly, kind of friendly.
I assume in ten years time this is not going to be an issue, but I assumed that ten years ago. I would just like to be as nice as the folk I meet.
Attraction and repulsion. Ignorance, then what you want and what you don't want. Greed and hate. Dearie, dearie me!
I did the jumpings, and prostrations, and shadow boxings (as Micky Ward) tonight before I got to this blogginess and drinking home brew like a poor person.. I'm sixty years old. Very fit for that, so I am. And a fortunate creature to boot!
Next Morning!
Sometimes it's a bit of a surprise to come back here next day and see what you've written. I think I should retitle this blog The Drunken Yowlings of a Dirty Old Man. But I get paid tomorrow and the drunkenness shall cease for a little while. Hurrah!
Before I started drinking home brew this evening, I sat in the lobby for an hour and a half, and tried to observe the arisings and abidings and declinings of whatever, and a great amount of it involved huge amounts of the bliss in its extended forms, and it went beyond anything before, and I wondered what was the point of that if you couldn't just be nice.
My head is full of Micky Ward. There is is bit in the Gatti ninth round when he gets hit by a body shot, and takes a deep breath, and tries to go on. Breathe, lift your shoulders, soldier on. It's been an inspiration watching that. So it's not about sitting quietly doing nothing and being a flatheid or not. Adjusting to circumstances.
I'm not a nice person, at least, not as nice as some people. Of course, I am a much nicer person that most of the flatheided, evil bourgeois who land on this bloggy, but they are such a poor representative sample of the human beings that they can almost be discounted.
The woman who gave her kidney to her son phoned up tonight. She's home. She's fine. So far so good is the beneficiary of her spontaneous kindness. Ask most of the folk who land on this bloggy to spit on you if you were on fire and see how far you get!
I went past the allotmenteer at the gate, the one who is young and with the fabulous, truly fabulous butt. I'd been meditating for some time on the edge of my allotment, preparing for the brilliant meditations I was going to have before I started on the home brew, and I would have edged past her if I could have, but I had to stop and stammer and be inchoate in her presence for a time. We talked about pujas, and visualisations, and such things as that, but I was not holding my own very well.and being less articulate than I should have been because I was really dying to bang her brains out. This is totally uncool! This is not the way to face the world.
They gather for some kind of Green Tara puja every month. I'm allowed to go as well. Bugger all idea what that's all about. But I will go sometime. It's like a Graham Greene seance or something. The allotmenteer has just got her Ph.D in botanical things. She's American. She'd like to get a field trip thing organised to pick up plants abroad and identify them.
Could you be of help to her, Hotboy? I could certainly hump her to death, and I'm sure that would be a big help and a surprise to her, and make her realise something about old men like moi ... but I would like to just be friendly, kind of friendly.
I assume in ten years time this is not going to be an issue, but I assumed that ten years ago. I would just like to be as nice as the folk I meet.
Attraction and repulsion. Ignorance, then what you want and what you don't want. Greed and hate. Dearie, dearie me!
I did the jumpings, and prostrations, and shadow boxings (as Micky Ward) tonight before I got to this blogginess and drinking home brew like a poor person.. I'm sixty years old. Very fit for that, so I am. And a fortunate creature to boot!
Next Morning!
Sometimes it's a bit of a surprise to come back here next day and see what you've written. I think I should retitle this blog The Drunken Yowlings of a Dirty Old Man. But I get paid tomorrow and the drunkenness shall cease for a little while. Hurrah!
The tattie are in!!
I can't believe the tatties are planted already! Four bags of King Edwards and one of Rocket. And the sun has some heat in it, and the flowers are all coming out! Hurrah!
The sensei and reverend has just put two of his books on Kindle. I haven't read the Blue Eyed boy one yet, but Of Darkness and Light is great. I'm going to start re-reading it tonight since I found a copy of it when the flat got turned upside down. If you've got a Kindle, go and buy them here.http://dogobarrygraham.blogspot.com/2011/03/my-kindle-store-is-open.html
Saturday 26 March 2011
Since last summer.
Saturday 11:50 p.m.
I went down to the Samye Ling to see the root guru last summer, and I hadn't spoken to him for about six years before that. One doesn't know if this joe even knows who one is, but he had been kind of looking in my direction whenever he did look at me throughout this time, and he didn't smile. He wasn't scowling, but he wasn't smiling either. Sometimes he'd be leading this monky nunny pack around the pond first thing in the morning, before breakfast, and Teresa would look over and smile at me as I was doing the tai chi set in front of the stupa, and he wouldn't.
I've been a disappointment to a few folk, but I hope I haven't been a disappointment to him, but I probably have.
Could you have tried harder, Hotboy? Everyone who has tried to teach me anything knows that I could have tried harder, Jack.
Since he spoke to me last summer, I have not posted here about the bliss all that much, and I have not said anything about the vase breathing, and whatnot. This is, I think, not so bad since almost nobody who comes to this bloggy, and very few of them who do, meditate. So they are flatheids, and there is no point in telling flatheids about the bliss. Once I thought it was bound to make a difference, but unfortunately this is not so.
It is not all about the bliss. Sometimes, when the accumulations and purifications are working out the way they should, it can seem to be all about the bliss, but sometimes you've just got to dig in. This is not really about the sweeties. You get sweeties, but it is about perseverance and effort as well. So I should not go on about the bliss, when I'm not going to describe the effort.
You can make life easy for yourself. So you could. You could blow your brains out. I enjoy trying to do the bliss, but I do not enjoy most of the rest of the human being stuff. What must it be like sometimes if you can't even do the bliss?
I felt exhausted last night, but didn't sleep when I went to bed, so I sat up and meditated till three. I was up at eight, but never quite right throughout the day, feeling tired if not exhausted, but I didn't see anyone all day and ate little, meditated a lot. But I won't tell you about the bliss. Then the consigliere came and saw me and he was in great form, which was fantastic, and then he went away, and I started meditating again.
If you do it all the time, it's easy. The interruptions to speak to the flatheids are what kill. you. It's difficult to explain this to the monkey folk who only look out.
But I am such a fortunate creature! Tomorrow I will go up to the diggings and do the last of the tattie plantings, and pour Growmore into the voids above the seed potatoes, and wait and be happy.
I would like to engage in lots of sex and take some really good drugs, but that was in another country and, besides, the wench is dead. Shakespeare, Jack. Nobody reads it, Jack. But it was kind of Shakespeare, so it was.
I went down to the Samye Ling to see the root guru last summer, and I hadn't spoken to him for about six years before that. One doesn't know if this joe even knows who one is, but he had been kind of looking in my direction whenever he did look at me throughout this time, and he didn't smile. He wasn't scowling, but he wasn't smiling either. Sometimes he'd be leading this monky nunny pack around the pond first thing in the morning, before breakfast, and Teresa would look over and smile at me as I was doing the tai chi set in front of the stupa, and he wouldn't.
I've been a disappointment to a few folk, but I hope I haven't been a disappointment to him, but I probably have.
Could you have tried harder, Hotboy? Everyone who has tried to teach me anything knows that I could have tried harder, Jack.
Since he spoke to me last summer, I have not posted here about the bliss all that much, and I have not said anything about the vase breathing, and whatnot. This is, I think, not so bad since almost nobody who comes to this bloggy, and very few of them who do, meditate. So they are flatheids, and there is no point in telling flatheids about the bliss. Once I thought it was bound to make a difference, but unfortunately this is not so.
It is not all about the bliss. Sometimes, when the accumulations and purifications are working out the way they should, it can seem to be all about the bliss, but sometimes you've just got to dig in. This is not really about the sweeties. You get sweeties, but it is about perseverance and effort as well. So I should not go on about the bliss, when I'm not going to describe the effort.
You can make life easy for yourself. So you could. You could blow your brains out. I enjoy trying to do the bliss, but I do not enjoy most of the rest of the human being stuff. What must it be like sometimes if you can't even do the bliss?
I felt exhausted last night, but didn't sleep when I went to bed, so I sat up and meditated till three. I was up at eight, but never quite right throughout the day, feeling tired if not exhausted, but I didn't see anyone all day and ate little, meditated a lot. But I won't tell you about the bliss. Then the consigliere came and saw me and he was in great form, which was fantastic, and then he went away, and I started meditating again.
If you do it all the time, it's easy. The interruptions to speak to the flatheids are what kill. you. It's difficult to explain this to the monkey folk who only look out.
But I am such a fortunate creature! Tomorrow I will go up to the diggings and do the last of the tattie plantings, and pour Growmore into the voids above the seed potatoes, and wait and be happy.
I would like to engage in lots of sex and take some really good drugs, but that was in another country and, besides, the wench is dead. Shakespeare, Jack. Nobody reads it, Jack. But it was kind of Shakespeare, so it was.
Thursday 24 March 2011
In the Summertime!
Midnight!
It was a beautiful day today. It really was. You can try to be positive around about Novembertime and say that candlelight looks better in the wintertime, but today was like the summertime and it was wonderful. The sap arises. I looked up for the sweatings and diggings and saw this old doll bent over and thought I could have had a bit of that any day. Baby, can I follow you down!?
We had some words earlier. She said she'd been grannying all day, and missed the wonderful weather. Never heard that before. Grannying. Once she said this joe had a wren's nest and a something else nest in his hut, and was thrilled skinny. Thrilled skinny. The wummin is a poet! Some folk are just so much smarter than some other folk, and that wummin is far smarter than me. I asked her what the carnaptious, basturn joe was called who had her plot before (I was howeing with a howe he'd given me the year before he croaked and disappeared, and so I was thinking about him before she bent over). Is a howe spelt ho, or is that just in gangsta rap? How do you spell the garden implement?
I meditated for more than six hours today, which is not a lot. The wren's nest had been added to. The wren was giving it laldy in the buglia bush just outside after peeking into the hut. Come into me, babes! They make different noises, the wrens, at different times. It is a language of sorts, maybe without grammar, but it does convey. You would have thought the harsh winter had killed them all, but it hasn't. Didn't get me either. It will sometime.
It was a beautiful day today. It really was. You can try to be positive around about Novembertime and say that candlelight looks better in the wintertime, but today was like the summertime and it was wonderful. The sap arises. I looked up for the sweatings and diggings and saw this old doll bent over and thought I could have had a bit of that any day. Baby, can I follow you down!?
We had some words earlier. She said she'd been grannying all day, and missed the wonderful weather. Never heard that before. Grannying. Once she said this joe had a wren's nest and a something else nest in his hut, and was thrilled skinny. Thrilled skinny. The wummin is a poet! Some folk are just so much smarter than some other folk, and that wummin is far smarter than me. I asked her what the carnaptious, basturn joe was called who had her plot before (I was howeing with a howe he'd given me the year before he croaked and disappeared, and so I was thinking about him before she bent over). Is a howe spelt ho, or is that just in gangsta rap? How do you spell the garden implement?
I meditated for more than six hours today, which is not a lot. The wren's nest had been added to. The wren was giving it laldy in the buglia bush just outside after peeking into the hut. Come into me, babes! They make different noises, the wrens, at different times. It is a language of sorts, maybe without grammar, but it does convey. You would have thought the harsh winter had killed them all, but it hasn't. Didn't get me either. It will sometime.
Tuesday 22 March 2011
The Dafs Are Coming Out!!
So pleased to see the daffodils starting to bloom this evening, the ones beside the hut. Hurrah! It's been great the last two nights being able to go up to the diggings for a bit and then sit in the hut for an hour or so as it grows darker and darker.
People usually land on my old blogs looking for stuff about vase breathing. One or two people have now and again landed there looking for information about agents from my agent search from the long ago.
Once this agent sent me a very snippy email basically telling me to fung off after I'd ribbed her about the books she'd agreed to enter into a competition with mine ... I was going to get the new first years coming into school that August to judge between her clients' books and my two. Anyway, I read her clients' books and knew they didn't stand a chance, told her and she told me to fung off.
So I blogged about that and sometimes folk landed on the blog looking for information about her. I thought I'd delete it, but then I thought it was fair enough comment. I really was surprised that she took the spur.
Anyway, I noticed on the statcounter thingy that folk had been landing looking for info about her again and tracked back, and the poor woman has died. About the same age as me as well.
That always happens, doesn't it, Hotboy? Yes, Jack, when folk fall out with me they always seem to die. At least, before me. Let's hope she had a good death and stays dead.
Aye, them that stays deid when they're deid are the lucky ones! You wouldn't want to be a flatheid if there's an afterlife! Certainly not!! Horrorshow! Red hot pokers up your bum would be the least of it!!
Today started with me feeling great and totally positive. Maybe it's the springtime and this self publishing lark that's doing it! Onwards and upwards. Only a half day at the jobbie to go!!
Monday 21 March 2011
Good Day Monday!
I was really cheered up today reading about self publishing on Kindle and such like. There was this boy refusing to accept a publishing deal because he could make more doing it himself. He also said that twenty seven out of the top hundred on the New York Times bestseller list were self published, which I found a bit amazing. The boy also said you'd sell more the more books you had self published and I've got ten, including the two I have had published by regular publishers.
And it looks as if regular publishers are just about to disappear. And I suppose with them agents with disappear, and I would not weep if either of these things were to happen.
I started off writing with the desire to write different kinds of books. Like, I wanted to write a cowboy book, a travel book, and so on. Publishers seemed to want you to write the same kind of book over and over again. Anyway, as I was reading this stuff today, which was a dialogue between two authors who were making pots from self publishing, I felt as if everything was going to be alright. I might well make some money from this if I just put my head down and do the clicky stuff. No point in hating it and turning my back. I can't afford to do that since I don't have any money.
The first thing the consigliere and I have decided to do is get the two books I have had published scanned. I haven't got a scanner and neither has anyone else I know, but I'll buy one if it comes to that. Also, he thinks we should put the kidbooks on Kindle first of all while we're waiting for the scanning. I wouldn't mind just sticking everything we've got in digital form on Kindle and putting on the nice covers and whatnot as time goes by.
But I felt most encouraged by that today!!
I guess there won't be hardly any paper books in ten years time, Jack. Well, Hotboy, that's progress for you!! Digital books won't go out of print.
I took the photies coming home from the diggings last night. You can see what they did to our walls. They got plastered today. If you've read the previous post, you'll know that I got plastered last night. Today I thought I just might not have to go to the jobbie for another five years. That would be wonderful!! I won't have an excuse for getting pissed on Sunday nights then. Hurrah!!
Sunday 20 March 2011
The thoughts!
Sunday, 11:10 p.m.
I found a greater understanding of the thoughts and the understanding of such this evening when someone asked me what was the fung matter with me recently.
It's the drink and drugs, Jack! The pollutions and the accumulations, the things that happen when you are not expecting them because you thought you were just you, and not merely an effect of the pollutions and accumulations, and all the other bits. Everybody thinks they are somebody; that their thoughts have a validity and truth. But they don't, Jack! They fung don't. What they have is superficial surface ... valid presence ... but if you behave badly, you get bad thoughts. Kalu Rinpoche, who was banging the driver along with his pal on his tour across Europe ... and thus might not have been so far apart from the rest of us, as we might like to elevate such joes, because we are fascists, especially the stupid, evil bourgeois among us, said that Christianity wasn't very profound, but it had the help of telling you that if you did bad stuff, you went to hell! If you do good stuff, you go to heaven. Mindfulness and funging yourself up with anything tells you that this must be true.
Most folks, Hotboy, go to bed sober and straight, and do not have these problems, not the ones that you have. Veneer, Jack. It's just veneer.
Had I not been such a lazy basturn, and had I not hated the toadying up to the evil bourgeois, and the marching up and down in line ... def, dight, def, dight, def, dight, ... mayhap now I might have been able to retire and await the decline in some comfort. But it never was going to be like that for us, Jack, the noble working classes. What I have to do is get all my teeth pulled out. It's my fatal flaw. What do you mean, Hotboy? How can this be so?
If I retired in August, they'd give me £5,000 a year and £15,000 of a lump some. This is a fabulous amount of money, Hotboy. I know, Jack! I cannot believe it myself. It's like money for nothing, but ...I give the Domestic Bliss £300 a m0nth and that would leave me with £200 a month for myself, plus some of the £15,000 in the bank after you'd repaid you're overdraft.
What? They're offering you £15,000 to give up the jobbie, and you are not taking it?
Okay, I don't care. I need to get all my teeth pulled out, so I don't have to have dentist bill every fung six months. I get the teeth pulled out and then get a Hummingbird guitar, a truly wonderful thing. Then I get the knuckledusters and go an live on the street. I'd like to live in front of the National Art Gallery Museum Fascade on Princes Street. Just sit all day and night. You would get trouble. Eventually, you would get killed. Before that happened, you could collect all the teeth you'd knocked out with the knuckledusters ... I really would be scary with them, I really would! Folk who think they know me, don't even get near encapsulating that!!... I would collect the teeth I'd knocked out and make a necklace from them. The ultimate Fung Off Flatheid Necklace! That wouold be great. Solo. What a meditation that would be!
Also, I'd have moved from the national minimum wage, where I live right now, to the jobseekers allowance of fifty spots a week.
Vote for Moi! Vote for Moi! Nobody has ever tried to be more authentic!!
Still, tomorrow I have to go to the jobbie. There are some of other peoples children who love me and I love them too. There are some teachers. Actually, if I could just dismiss the pollutions, it would be a wonderful world. The first thing I'm going to do tomorrow is apologise to this poor flatheid who asked me something concerning the education of the working classes, and she was lucky I didn't kill her on the spot, which was what I wanted to do! Allah Akbar!
The Libyan war is all about creekit. The bullies throw the ball and the joe stands there hitting it back for as long as he can. Eventually, he will be out. Sometime the ex-public school boys will tire of this stupidity, and we will arise and kill all the sorry basturns, but it doesn't matter if we don't because they's all bound for hell anyway!! I hate being British! Fung hate it! I'm still one of Maggie Thatcher's taxpayer joes!!
Saturday 19 March 2011
The Wrens Might be Back!
Once upon a time the wrens regularly nested in the hut, but they haven't done so for a few years. The old nest eventually fell to pieces. Boo! Then I noticed the other day that it had been partially rebuilt. Hurrah! Then I touched it and it felt wet. There has been a lot of rain recently. No wrens came in while I was sitting and I assumed it had been abandoned again. But the next time I was sitting there a wee wren came in through the chicken wire and put a sprig of straw in it. Hurrah! Might be a fifty fifty chance of grooving with a hut full of wrens this summer!!
It's great that this blog isn't here for self advertising!! It's drab. The links will never work. The fonts are all the wrong size. So if you don't like it, or it annoys you, just fung off!!
I'm not long back from the diggings. The bit in the photies took me about two and a half hours nearly, including planting the seed potatoes. I'm now going to lounge in the bath and get into the bathtime bliss. Hurrah!!
Thursday 17 March 2011
Census
Thursday 7:45 p.m.
The old toothless one looked over at me kind of slyly at just after four and said: Are we going to start drinking? Would have been nice, but I've been hammering it since I stopped smoking and .... I got myself a bottle of collapso on the road home. I'm going to be good, but not just now. A little better perhaps.
I know how to put in hyperlinks now. If you do it with cut and paste, well, you can't. You need shortcuts.
I had a look at the first book I got published as I'd taken it down to the castle in Porty to maybe get scanned so I could have a digital copy and it had a prologue in it. I'd forgotten all about that!! I told the old toothless one that I'd have been a great success if I'd died at forty five! Anyway, he fixed my writer's blog, but his scanner didn't have character recognition software....
Beef McDuck has been flown out of Bahrain. A nephew of mine was in a towerblocko in Tokyo when it turned to jello. He's flying to New Caledonia. His old man told him not to believe anything the government said about the nuclear reactor. They can't say: We're all funged! Run for your lives!
We got census forms today. The woman at the door asked how many folk stayed here. I said four, no three, no two, no three really. The form asked about my religion. I said I was a Roman Catholic and a Buddhist and a Jedi Knight. I wanted to tick the box for being a Hindu was well, but they don't let you into their temples maybe, and I think you might have to be born a Hindu, it being a pretty cultural thing and all.
What caste would you belong to, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I think I might be avoiding the clicky clicky caste. Night soil collector, failed.
The old toothless one looked over at me kind of slyly at just after four and said: Are we going to start drinking? Would have been nice, but I've been hammering it since I stopped smoking and .... I got myself a bottle of collapso on the road home. I'm going to be good, but not just now. A little better perhaps.
I know how to put in hyperlinks now. If you do it with cut and paste, well, you can't. You need shortcuts.
I had a look at the first book I got published as I'd taken it down to the castle in Porty to maybe get scanned so I could have a digital copy and it had a prologue in it. I'd forgotten all about that!! I told the old toothless one that I'd have been a great success if I'd died at forty five! Anyway, he fixed my writer's blog, but his scanner didn't have character recognition software....
Beef McDuck has been flown out of Bahrain. A nephew of mine was in a towerblocko in Tokyo when it turned to jello. He's flying to New Caledonia. His old man told him not to believe anything the government said about the nuclear reactor. They can't say: We're all funged! Run for your lives!
We got census forms today. The woman at the door asked how many folk stayed here. I said four, no three, no two, no three really. The form asked about my religion. I said I was a Roman Catholic and a Buddhist and a Jedi Knight. I wanted to tick the box for being a Hindu was well, but they don't let you into their temples maybe, and I think you might have to be born a Hindu, it being a pretty cultural thing and all.
What caste would you belong to, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I think I might be avoiding the clicky clicky caste. Night soil collector, failed.
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Photies
Wednesday 6:00 p.m.
The flowers photie was taken up the allotment this afternoon. I was avoiding the flat. I'll have to avoid the flat all day tomorrow as well, but since I am not going to work till Monday and have no fung appointments apart from the auld maw, I've nothing to be crabbit about. Hurrah!
Beef McDuck is holed up in his flat in Bahrain. He has pasta and tuna and two crates of beer, so he should be okay. It's a times like this that I wish I led a more exciting life. My brother Popeye was on the last plane out if Iran during the fall of the Shah.
The Gable End
Wednesday
We had to move things six feet away from the walls at the end of the flat so the men could come and stick pins in the wall and stop the building falling down. Six feet? You wouldn't think that was a lot.
When they are all dead, I will live in a place with space. Not space to fill, just space. The minimum. Hoarders live with me now. I took some photies of the flat, but I can't get to the wee thing you fit the other wee thing into to get free photies on the computery thing because everything is piled up on top of everything else and it looks a bit like Japan.
I won't be able to stay in the flat tomorrow when I'm off work. The toilet will be out of order when I get home this afternoon.
All I want is a room somewhere. Far away from the cold night air.
After five nights on the home brew, I wakened this morning in a very good mood and heard the words that reminded me of a Charles Bukowski poem. Somehow it made me stop bothering about getting on in this world.
Yesterday I wasted some time on the clicky clicky trying to advertise the book I have on Kindle. Today I can see the folly of all this. I was born to die poor. I'm going to stick all my ten books on Kindle and just leave them there. Somebody will read them sometime or they won't. I will pay as little attention to my writer's blog as possible.
I want to meditate and I want to write. All the rest is just a load of old intermittent re-enforcement and that's for pigeons.
We had to move things six feet away from the walls at the end of the flat so the men could come and stick pins in the wall and stop the building falling down. Six feet? You wouldn't think that was a lot.
When they are all dead, I will live in a place with space. Not space to fill, just space. The minimum. Hoarders live with me now. I took some photies of the flat, but I can't get to the wee thing you fit the other wee thing into to get free photies on the computery thing because everything is piled up on top of everything else and it looks a bit like Japan.
I won't be able to stay in the flat tomorrow when I'm off work. The toilet will be out of order when I get home this afternoon.
All I want is a room somewhere. Far away from the cold night air.
After five nights on the home brew, I wakened this morning in a very good mood and heard the words that reminded me of a Charles Bukowski poem. Somehow it made me stop bothering about getting on in this world.
Yesterday I wasted some time on the clicky clicky trying to advertise the book I have on Kindle. Today I can see the folly of all this. I was born to die poor. I'm going to stick all my ten books on Kindle and just leave them there. Somebody will read them sometime or they won't. I will pay as little attention to my writer's blog as possible.
I want to meditate and I want to write. All the rest is just a load of old intermittent re-enforcement and that's for pigeons.
Monday 14 March 2011
Tell me why ... I don't like Mondays!
Monday
All I want is a room somewhere,
Far away from the cold night air,
With one enormous chair.
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
The too dumb to meditate are a menace to everyone else. People shouldn't be allowed to mix with other people unless they meditate. There is nothing you can do with the too dumb to meditate. The best thing you can do is keep away from them. Right away. Far away.
The time from last Wednesday till now has been horrible. I am trying to wipe it from my memory and proceed to better times.
All I want is a room somewhere,
Far away from the cold night air,
With one enormous chair.
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
The too dumb to meditate are a menace to everyone else. People shouldn't be allowed to mix with other people unless they meditate. There is nothing you can do with the too dumb to meditate. The best thing you can do is keep away from them. Right away. Far away.
The time from last Wednesday till now has been horrible. I am trying to wipe it from my memory and proceed to better times.
Saturday 12 March 2011
This week!
Saturday 3:15 p.m.
I wasn't a happy bunny on Wednesday morning as I contemplated my long weekend. I wonder why. Well, before I got home, I visited the hospital to see our friend with the MS. The rest of the day was very good. Then everything was very good on Thursday until I got my tooth extracted. I did not like that. Then on Friday I went to see the auld maw. I could have meditated a bit more last night, but the kiddo and her boyfriend showed up and I got pissed instead.
The best bit was the post I wrote last night when I was pissed. It was all about the gorgeous dental assistant who dreams about me every night and would just love get me on a slow boat to China, but, alas,. my troth is pledged to another, and she'll have to join the queue. I deleted the post this morning since the subtext was somewhat obscene.
I'm just back from visiting our friend with the MS. I didn't stay long. She was slipping into and out of sleep. The nurse spoke to me for a bit and said there was a marked change from the last time she was in for respite. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy, neither you would.
Tonight we're going to Strathaven to see our friend before she goes into hospital to give a kidney to her son, who does need one that works. Then tomorrow morning we'll go to see the mother in law on the way back and I won't get home again till about seven, if I'm lucky.
This is no fun. When I was young, I could do what I liked. I didn't have to, have to, have to do anything really. Dearie me. You can't meditate, not for the long periods of time it takes, and I haven't got the time to write, and there are flatheids wherever you look. If it wasn't for the bliss, I'd blow my brains out, so I would!
I wasn't a happy bunny on Wednesday morning as I contemplated my long weekend. I wonder why. Well, before I got home, I visited the hospital to see our friend with the MS. The rest of the day was very good. Then everything was very good on Thursday until I got my tooth extracted. I did not like that. Then on Friday I went to see the auld maw. I could have meditated a bit more last night, but the kiddo and her boyfriend showed up and I got pissed instead.
The best bit was the post I wrote last night when I was pissed. It was all about the gorgeous dental assistant who dreams about me every night and would just love get me on a slow boat to China, but, alas,. my troth is pledged to another, and she'll have to join the queue. I deleted the post this morning since the subtext was somewhat obscene.
I'm just back from visiting our friend with the MS. I didn't stay long. She was slipping into and out of sleep. The nurse spoke to me for a bit and said there was a marked change from the last time she was in for respite. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy, neither you would.
Tonight we're going to Strathaven to see our friend before she goes into hospital to give a kidney to her son, who does need one that works. Then tomorrow morning we'll go to see the mother in law on the way back and I won't get home again till about seven, if I'm lucky.
This is no fun. When I was young, I could do what I liked. I didn't have to, have to, have to do anything really. Dearie me. You can't meditate, not for the long periods of time it takes, and I haven't got the time to write, and there are flatheids wherever you look. If it wasn't for the bliss, I'd blow my brains out, so I would!
Wednesday 9 March 2011
Kurt and Moi!
Wednesday 10:15 p.m.
Bad view starting the day. Couldn't get up to meditate at six and the whole shebang went downwards thereafter until I arrived at the hospital. I bused there from the jobbie. Our friend with the MS was singularly revived! I asked her if she wanted to go to the pub and she said yes, and for some medical reason we couldn't do that.
My mind has been funged up by tobacco and cannybliss, but I will arise from this, so I will!
I finished Slaughterhouse 5 this evening. What a wonderful book! Maybe the reason why I used to read a lot of books was because there were lots of wonderful books to read. Maybe there are less wonderful books to read right now, but I suppose not. I bet there are lots of wonderful modern books to read. I lost the terrier like interest somewhere down the line.
I read Oranges are Not the Only Fruit before I wrote Cyclists, or On Becoming a Man, Reflections on Sex and Violence, or, ... Cyclists? (Even that is reproduced in the front of Slaughterhouse 5) and I thought: Anybody can write in wee bits; writing wonderfully coherently shaped chapters is hard to do; and this is shown by how few chapters are like that, but if this person can get away with wee bits, well, I could do that.
But it's Kurt Vonnegurt. It's not Jeanette Winterson (?)
Everyone has to build on what has gone before. You stand there with your hippy hat on thinking you're an individual, but you're really just a bit of a wave, or an eddy in a wave, or Thomas Edison, waving.
I heard from two other people who have downloaded my kindle book. I think that takes the sales up to five! However, tonight I changed my view. Instead of everything being crap, everything is now fabuloso, and I will attend to my writer's blog with some amusement and enjoy doing it.
It's all about energy. You have to have it. For doing stuff.
Bad view starting the day. Couldn't get up to meditate at six and the whole shebang went downwards thereafter until I arrived at the hospital. I bused there from the jobbie. Our friend with the MS was singularly revived! I asked her if she wanted to go to the pub and she said yes, and for some medical reason we couldn't do that.
My mind has been funged up by tobacco and cannybliss, but I will arise from this, so I will!
I finished Slaughterhouse 5 this evening. What a wonderful book! Maybe the reason why I used to read a lot of books was because there were lots of wonderful books to read. Maybe there are less wonderful books to read right now, but I suppose not. I bet there are lots of wonderful modern books to read. I lost the terrier like interest somewhere down the line.
I read Oranges are Not the Only Fruit before I wrote Cyclists, or On Becoming a Man, Reflections on Sex and Violence, or, ... Cyclists? (Even that is reproduced in the front of Slaughterhouse 5) and I thought: Anybody can write in wee bits; writing wonderfully coherently shaped chapters is hard to do; and this is shown by how few chapters are like that, but if this person can get away with wee bits, well, I could do that.
But it's Kurt Vonnegurt. It's not Jeanette Winterson (?)
Everyone has to build on what has gone before. You stand there with your hippy hat on thinking you're an individual, but you're really just a bit of a wave, or an eddy in a wave, or Thomas Edison, waving.
I heard from two other people who have downloaded my kindle book. I think that takes the sales up to five! However, tonight I changed my view. Instead of everything being crap, everything is now fabuloso, and I will attend to my writer's blog with some amusement and enjoy doing it.
It's all about energy. You have to have it. For doing stuff.
A Consolation!
Wednesday
I read Slaughterhouse 5 as part of a history course I was doing when I was about twenty one. I hadn't read many novels and I don't remember too much about it, except that I liked it.
Around this time I saw the movie, which was premiered in Edinburgh at the festival, and a little later I accidentally was at a meeting in a wee room in the William Robertson Building with Kurt Vonnegut. He's dead now. So it goes.
Thereafter, I read a lot of Kurt Vonnegut and really liked his stuff, but that was a long time ago. But just a couple of days ago, I picked up Slaughter House 5 and started re-reading it. I never re-read books. But I didn't realise how much I'd forgotten and I really loved the book again.
I realised I could go and re-read lots of books I've loved before, and maybe I'll love them all again and even more this time now that I know more about writing and such.
The next book I'm going to re-read is Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. I loved this book when I first read it, and I recommend it a lot to pupils, but I can't remember a damn thing about it. Hurrah!!
I read Slaughterhouse 5 as part of a history course I was doing when I was about twenty one. I hadn't read many novels and I don't remember too much about it, except that I liked it.
Around this time I saw the movie, which was premiered in Edinburgh at the festival, and a little later I accidentally was at a meeting in a wee room in the William Robertson Building with Kurt Vonnegut. He's dead now. So it goes.
Thereafter, I read a lot of Kurt Vonnegut and really liked his stuff, but that was a long time ago. But just a couple of days ago, I picked up Slaughter House 5 and started re-reading it. I never re-read books. But I didn't realise how much I'd forgotten and I really loved the book again.
I realised I could go and re-read lots of books I've loved before, and maybe I'll love them all again and even more this time now that I know more about writing and such.
The next book I'm going to re-read is Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. I loved this book when I first read it, and I recommend it a lot to pupils, but I can't remember a damn thing about it. Hurrah!!
Grim view!
Wednesday.
Didn't get up and meditate before work. Disasterous. Didn't shower. Too cold. Couldn't help but count the appointments before I go back to work again on Monday. Today I have to go to the hospital. Tomorrow I have to get another tooth pulled. On Friday I have to go to see the auld maw. On Saturday afternoon I have to go to the hospital again and then go to visit some friends in Lanarkshire before they go to the hospital (for something else). Then on Sunday I won't get back to Edinburgh before seven because we'll go and see the Domestic Bliss's mother.
I'd rather blow my brains out, Jack! Flatheid, after flatheid, after flatheid!!
That's what happens if you don't meditate in the morning. Nothing but flatheids!!
Didn't get up and meditate before work. Disasterous. Didn't shower. Too cold. Couldn't help but count the appointments before I go back to work again on Monday. Today I have to go to the hospital. Tomorrow I have to get another tooth pulled. On Friday I have to go to see the auld maw. On Saturday afternoon I have to go to the hospital again and then go to visit some friends in Lanarkshire before they go to the hospital (for something else). Then on Sunday I won't get back to Edinburgh before seven because we'll go and see the Domestic Bliss's mother.
I'd rather blow my brains out, Jack! Flatheid, after flatheid, after flatheid!!
That's what happens if you don't meditate in the morning. Nothing but flatheids!!
Tuesday 8 March 2011
The telly!
So the boy says that at the end of the universe, way after all the stars have gone out, there will be permanence and changlessness as whatever is left approaches absolute zero. No arrow of time. No forwards with time. Nothing changes and nothing to measure really, not by time.
All compounded things are subject to dissolution. G.S.
The flat was empty last night, a rare enough event these days. I had two wonderful meditations. One of them was really just a kind of glow. Amazing sense of satiation, serenity, contentment. Made me think everything was going to be alright. But you really need peace and quiet to get anywhere near this. With flatheids buzzing all over the shop, what chance have you got?
Somebody with a kindle contacted me! That'll be four books sold then! Rich! Rich, I tell you!! Riches beyond your wildest dreams!!
And Tuesday is always way better than Monday!!
I bought the seed potatoes and onion sets on Sunday. The other photies were taken at the bus stop.
Saturday 5 March 2011
Dismal, so it is!
Saturday 9:45 p.m.
It seems if you write a writer's blog, the main thing you have to do is pull the wool over the eyes of the punters, the folk who might one day give you some money, or something.
I've got a wee jobbie, Jack. You don't need that stuff, Hotboy. It's definitely for people trying to become something, and trying in that way, and good luck to them for this is the way of the world. It's dishonest, but I will do it, with minimum, minuscule effort because I have to end up dying a rich and famous novelist.
Why do you have to die rich and famous, Hotboy? Well, Jack, when I was in my early twenties, sometimes people my now age used to ask me what I was going to become, and I always said, I'm going to become a rich and famous novelist ... because you were supposed to be sensible and get a proper jobbie so you could aspire to the stone clad houses of the evil bourgeois, and not be a bum wearing funny clothes and being dead cool.
So it would be better if I became rich and famous before I died. This might not happen of course, especially since I'm not sure about the writer's blog. A first step.
What about the wonderful writings, Jack? Well, Hotboy, let's face it, with all these billions of writers scribbling all over the world, and given your admission that you've never had an original thought in your life, what's so funging wonderful about them?
It's a picture of a life so far, Jack. It is personal; it is personal to me. Even although I haven't read them for years and years, I still wrote them, and it's kind of time stopped for me when I read them, or see them. They are more expressive than the diaries. All hot standing stones of remembrance every one.
So I meditated all morning then went to the hospital to visit with our friend with the MS. There's a three bed room. One bed is vacant for now. There's a fat woman with staring eyes lying fat and flat on the bed to the right as you go in the door. She's fat and flat. You say hullo in passing ... this is the way the Alexandrian armies passed the left behind, everyone on the way to ... and find our friend with the MS in the other occupied bed.
On the way there, I had to get on a free bus. Flatheids can't experience this, but when I get on a bus, if I shut my eyes, I fall into amazing amounts of bliss these days. So you're holding that and doing the juju on the way down from the North Bridge; it's a straight line for ages.
I was looking at our friend and thinking she does not look so hot. Telling her stuff. Some response. The fat wummin in the other bed is still staring. When I saw her staring on the way in, I wondered if her eyes were dead or terrified. You just walk on by. You have not practiced the perfect response.
She's going to die, isn't she, Jack. We're all going to die, Hotboy.
So after meditating all morning and such, I closed my eyes on the buses going to the hospital. Tons of bliss. When I got there, I was trying to be quieter than my usual nervousness, and at one point just paused and closed by eyes. Then I'm sitting on her bed in a half lotus, and just stalled for a bit and fell into the bliss. I opened my eyes and there was still the fat, staring wummin, and our friend who was looking more than pale and interesting.
And you cannot give them the bliss, can you, Jack? No, Hotboy, you cannot give them the bliss.
Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... disillusionment, disappointment and despair ... suffering in this life ... for the too dumb to meditate. And even then ...
It seems if you write a writer's blog, the main thing you have to do is pull the wool over the eyes of the punters, the folk who might one day give you some money, or something.
I've got a wee jobbie, Jack. You don't need that stuff, Hotboy. It's definitely for people trying to become something, and trying in that way, and good luck to them for this is the way of the world. It's dishonest, but I will do it, with minimum, minuscule effort because I have to end up dying a rich and famous novelist.
Why do you have to die rich and famous, Hotboy? Well, Jack, when I was in my early twenties, sometimes people my now age used to ask me what I was going to become, and I always said, I'm going to become a rich and famous novelist ... because you were supposed to be sensible and get a proper jobbie so you could aspire to the stone clad houses of the evil bourgeois, and not be a bum wearing funny clothes and being dead cool.
So it would be better if I became rich and famous before I died. This might not happen of course, especially since I'm not sure about the writer's blog. A first step.
What about the wonderful writings, Jack? Well, Hotboy, let's face it, with all these billions of writers scribbling all over the world, and given your admission that you've never had an original thought in your life, what's so funging wonderful about them?
It's a picture of a life so far, Jack. It is personal; it is personal to me. Even although I haven't read them for years and years, I still wrote them, and it's kind of time stopped for me when I read them, or see them. They are more expressive than the diaries. All hot standing stones of remembrance every one.
So I meditated all morning then went to the hospital to visit with our friend with the MS. There's a three bed room. One bed is vacant for now. There's a fat woman with staring eyes lying fat and flat on the bed to the right as you go in the door. She's fat and flat. You say hullo in passing ... this is the way the Alexandrian armies passed the left behind, everyone on the way to ... and find our friend with the MS in the other occupied bed.
On the way there, I had to get on a free bus. Flatheids can't experience this, but when I get on a bus, if I shut my eyes, I fall into amazing amounts of bliss these days. So you're holding that and doing the juju on the way down from the North Bridge; it's a straight line for ages.
I was looking at our friend and thinking she does not look so hot. Telling her stuff. Some response. The fat wummin in the other bed is still staring. When I saw her staring on the way in, I wondered if her eyes were dead or terrified. You just walk on by. You have not practiced the perfect response.
She's going to die, isn't she, Jack. We're all going to die, Hotboy.
So after meditating all morning and such, I closed my eyes on the buses going to the hospital. Tons of bliss. When I got there, I was trying to be quieter than my usual nervousness, and at one point just paused and closed by eyes. Then I'm sitting on her bed in a half lotus, and just stalled for a bit and fell into the bliss. I opened my eyes and there was still the fat, staring wummin, and our friend who was looking more than pale and interesting.
And you cannot give them the bliss, can you, Jack? No, Hotboy, you cannot give them the bliss.
Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... disillusionment, disappointment and despair ... suffering in this life ... for the too dumb to meditate. And even then ...
Friday 4 March 2011
The New Blog is up!
Hi Everyone! Blogger had my name available, so I've started a new blog there. I'll only be writing about writing in it and it's going to be very boring, but I suppose I'll have to go down this road. At least, make a minimum effort. So it's a myname.blogspot.com.
Thursday 3 March 2011
Bliss diary!
Thursday 11:45 a.m.
It's hard to settle today since I have an appointment this afternoon. If I didn't have that appointment, I'd be going to hospital to see our friend with the MS. Some conditions aren't going to last forever. You wish they would and somehow you wish they wouldn't as well. I heard of a sixty four year old guy who died in his sleep from a massive stroke last week. It's like winning the pools, so it is!
No worries with the bliss this morning. Fabuloso! I know I'm "unleashing forces", but the amount of bliss coming with them makes me think that this must be the way to go. We'll see.
If God made man in his own image and likeness, what kind of gnashers does he have?
3:40 p.m.
The extraction ... before he sawed my bridge into bits and pulled that molar ... he said he'd need to extract another one next week since the root was fractured. Once he'd extracted today's one, I told him it was the best extraction I'd ever had and was looking forward to the next one.
Smoked some anesthetics beforehand and was in the bliss for almost all the time I was sitting in his chair. If you can conjure up any of the bliss, it's got to be a big help!!
Now, I'm going onto wordpress to set up the new, boring and dull, self serving waste of time and energy blog. I'll be using my real name, so if you know my real name you should be able to find it. I don't think I'm allowed by the iron laws of commerce to insult anyone on this blog, or go on about ra bliss, or ... this is like having to do homework when you'd rather go out and play football with all the thick people.
4:20 p.m.
I was told by the old, toothless one that I should use wordpress. New usernames, new passwords ... I couldn't use my own name either ... it's a stupid game for wee boys all that clicky clicky crap ...and I managed to post the first post and it was just three photies of my book jackets and the whole thing is thoroughly depressing and not a fit activity for a proper blissheid like moi! Who wants to be bothered with all that crap?
The wish that it be made known that I was the author is the thought of a man not yet adult ... or one who would like to make some money!!
It's hard to settle today since I have an appointment this afternoon. If I didn't have that appointment, I'd be going to hospital to see our friend with the MS. Some conditions aren't going to last forever. You wish they would and somehow you wish they wouldn't as well. I heard of a sixty four year old guy who died in his sleep from a massive stroke last week. It's like winning the pools, so it is!
No worries with the bliss this morning. Fabuloso! I know I'm "unleashing forces", but the amount of bliss coming with them makes me think that this must be the way to go. We'll see.
If God made man in his own image and likeness, what kind of gnashers does he have?
3:40 p.m.
The extraction ... before he sawed my bridge into bits and pulled that molar ... he said he'd need to extract another one next week since the root was fractured. Once he'd extracted today's one, I told him it was the best extraction I'd ever had and was looking forward to the next one.
Smoked some anesthetics beforehand and was in the bliss for almost all the time I was sitting in his chair. If you can conjure up any of the bliss, it's got to be a big help!!
Now, I'm going onto wordpress to set up the new, boring and dull, self serving waste of time and energy blog. I'll be using my real name, so if you know my real name you should be able to find it. I don't think I'm allowed by the iron laws of commerce to insult anyone on this blog, or go on about ra bliss, or ... this is like having to do homework when you'd rather go out and play football with all the thick people.
4:20 p.m.
I was told by the old, toothless one that I should use wordpress. New usernames, new passwords ... I couldn't use my own name either ... it's a stupid game for wee boys all that clicky clicky crap ...and I managed to post the first post and it was just three photies of my book jackets and the whole thing is thoroughly depressing and not a fit activity for a proper blissheid like moi! Who wants to be bothered with all that crap?
The wish that it be made known that I was the author is the thought of a man not yet adult ... or one who would like to make some money!!
Wednesday 2 March 2011
The springtime!!
When the Springtime will come, Oh, won't we have fun! We'll get out of jail and we'll go on the bum!
Couldn't get up the allotment at the weekend, so this was the first I saw of the crocuses. Wonderful to see them! Makes you realise how very drear the Scottish winter is!
I haven't got round to setting up my new blog yet. I think this evening I'll just watch the telly and investigate the bliss and leave the blog thing till after I've had my molar wrenched from my jaw tomorrow afternoon.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
New Blog!
I referred to the return of the prodigal daughter to the panderosa after she had spent four years at art college, and the truly enormous number of boxes of priceless treasure she returned with. We had to move some of this priceless treasure from the outside walls in her room, and some of these photies show what a cataclysm this produced in our lobby and living room. I mean, we are not houseproud folk, the Domestic Bliss and I, but when you've got to have crampons and climbing gear just to get down the lobby ....
It's now quite different that there is light in the morning when you're going to your work and light at night when you are coming back. I'll have to start getting rich so that I can spend some of next winter not in Chilly Jockoland!!
To help me make my fortune, I decided to start a proper blog at last, one with my name on it, and all about ebooks, books and making pots of money. I've been told by the old, toothless one that I'll have to start twittering, but who'd got the time for all that malarkey?
I'll keep this blog for posting photies, and insulting flatheids, and having fun when I'm getting drunk.
The photies were for free. The buses are for free. What a wonderful country!!
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