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!