Scanning Whitelight

Tuesday 9:25 p.m.
                            I started scanning the Whitelight book on Sunday. This is for Kindle. I don't have a digital copy. So I started scanning by failing to get the bloody thing to work. I thought it would be easy since I scanned all the other books on this scanner about six years ago and all it seemed to need was a new cable, which the consigliere got for me, and .... I couldn't get it to work. Day one of the nicotine withdrawals as well. After an hour and a half of trying to get the scanner to scan, I did get it to work, and spent some time scanning the first eighty pages.
                            I did the word processing on most of these pages over the last two days and went back to scan the rest of the book, but the scanner isn't working. There's a different reason for it not working just now. Before I didn't know what to do with the type of scan I was making (it took an hour and a half to realise I should be copying the text and pasting it!!), but this time it's not scanning at all.
                            It took a while to realise when the Domestic Bliss moved it (why?), it had become unconnected to the mains!!! Then it just wouldn't scan. So I uninstalled it and re-installed it and it still isn't working.
                            I started scanning about an hour and a half ago, and have scanned bugger all!
                            I hate machinery. I don't have a car. I never want to have a car. The Whitelight book was written on a manual typewriter. Wonderful, wonderful pieces of engineering are manual typewriters.

                            What did you think of the book, Hotboy? Well, that's the first time I've had to read it for some time, Jack. Lots and lots of adjectives. And suddenlys. I wrote it after writing two books and my chummies told me I should be writing something with a plot, so it was an attempt to do that, write something with pace that makes you want to keep reading it. Well, it does that. Actually, it was quite successful for me really. Hardback and paperback and I adapted it for a Monday Night Theatre on Radio 4. I just wish I could get the bloody scanner to work!
                            By Thursday night I would have been able to give it to the consigliere to upload onto Kindle and then I wouldn't have had to look at it ever again.
                            Normally, I haven't been attending to the writing business, and that's been fine. I want to spend as much time meditating as I can. I'm retired from the writing business as soon as I get all these books onto Kindle. I hate having all this crap on my mind.
                           Take me to the hut, Jack! Take me to the hut!
                          

The Hard Man

Monday 8:55 p.m.
                            We went to see The Hard Man at the Kings on Friday. Brilliant production! Fab acting! It was better than when I saw it in 1976, but there was an almost empty theatre, which was a shame. I hate going out on Fridays. I don't like going out, but I still go out quite a bit. So at least in the theatre there is a straight back, and I'm sometimes closing my eyes and falling into the bliss, and sometimes attending to the play.
                             Very evocative, it was. I visited Jimmy Boyle in the Special Unit in Barlinnie twice. The second time was for a meal. The first time I was there with my big brother. As I'm leaving his house in Riddrie, I stash the dope behind one of his pictures since I knew I'd be searched going into the jail. My brother asked me to carry a bottle of coke. When we got to the jail, I was searched, but my brother was not. In the cell he asked Jimmy if he wanted a drink, and Jimmy said no. So my brother and the Domestic Bliss tanned a half bottle of rum, of course with the coke. The second time we went there, the Domestic Bliss and I, I stashed the dope and smoked lots of it in the cell. Jimmy didn't smoke it.
                           Tom McGrath was standing at the end of a tunnel in the Little Lyceum. I was at the other end. I'm looking along at him and I think I should say hullo and thanks for getting me the three grand from the Scottish Arts Council, but I couldn't. All I had to do was walk up to him and say something. but I looked at him looking at the performance and I was stalled, and didn't. After his stroke, I sent him a letter saying thanks very much, but I don't know why I find it so difficult sometimes. Maybe it's because famous people could all be currants. But the famousy folk I've ever met have all been really nice.
                           One of the photies is of the new way to grow onions. Normally, you stick in the onion sets (wee onions) and they hardly grow at all. Last year I put some Growmore on top of them and that helped, but not much. The PHd botany wummin grew giant ones last year. She said fluffy compost base... blah, blah. Anyway, I've put every onion in a wee mound of compost and poured Growmore over them. This might not work, but the greater attention is because I work half time and have more money now; money to buy compost.

Attending to business!

Sunday 10:30 p.m.
                            It's a building yard. I got left in here with the nicotine withdrawals and the computery thing with the scanner attached, and there is no telly, and no radio, and no nothing really. We are always expecting some incoming.
                           So I sat here from five till nine and there was no nothing but me and the machine, and the dismembering of the first book I got published, and the scanning, and some reflections, and the machine not working ... and it wasn't to do with me, Jack ... suddenly it stopped scanning and started taking photies.
                           The war against the machines is coming, isn't it, Hotboy? I fung hope so, Jack! I'd have a problem killing human beings, but killing machines would be dead easy. They're only a couple of hundred years old. We've been here at least since Celtic won the European Cup, circa 1967.. then the machines immediately started taking over..
                            They were selling plonko collapso tonight in the Scotmid Coop place for £1:99. I have never seen a bottle of plonko for that ever. It's like it's for free, except nothing is for free when you're stretching to get steamboats at £1:99 a bottle. But it's half price compared to the usual. I couldn't believe it. I goes up to the boy and hands over the bottle. The till rings up £12:50. I says to the boy, Oh, no! Shurely shume mistake, and took away the bottle and got another bottle which rung up at $14:50. Well, I got them for  just under four pounds eventually, but nobody knew why. This is called alienation. I don't know the guys in the shop. They don't know what anything costs. We all shake our heads. Nobody knows: nobody cares; just so the boxes get ticked.
                          
                             The old, toothless one and I cycled towards the Cramond Inn yesterday. What fortunate creatures! He explained to me as we were heading that way about all the things I'd have to do to become rich from publishing my crap books on Kindle. All of this involved some time. Lots of clicky clickiness. But it is very hard for the flatheids to realise that I really don't want to do anything, and how could I since I don't believe in anything, and what I'd  really like to do is extend my patience in the sitting quietly doing nothing, and say fung off to everything else.
                           Fortunately, the ten books what I have wrote will all be parked on Kindle before the summertime. A sigh of relief. It's not about the money, Jack! Afterwards, I will be able to stop writing and trying and just do the bliss.
                          Is is all about you, Hotboy? It might be, Jack, but I do not think so. Still, first day off the tobacco this month. Just don't expect my personality to be my personality. It's been dead cool though. Maybe.
                          

Downsides!

Saturday 6:25 p.m.
                            The trouble with getting so much of the bliss, and contemplating the emptiness, is that you stop bothering about stuff. Like you just don't care as much. You might as well just go and do some more of the bliss.
                            For instance, if I could be bothered enough I could go and ask a medic about the  leprosy. But  I think that with the leprosy, as will all diseases, it will get better, or it will get worse, and it probably won't stay the same for very long at all. It's not stopping me meditating. It's not sore.
                            Nobody is going to want to kiss you if you're exhibiting symptoms of  leprosy, Hotboy. There wasn't that much of a queue beforehand, Jack.
                            I think if I ever get to be sans jobbie, I'll stop washing, and changing my clothes, and stuff like that. I might seem a bit neurotic to bother about such things. You can always do the bliss. Just stop whatever else you were doing and do the bliss instead. You might become so succumbed to the bliss that you can't do anything anyway. Lolling around, zonked in absorptions, detached from the everyday. You might think this is due to affluence, but you might be able to loll about in the gutter just as effectively, if you just got the hang of it.
6.50 p.m.
                             By the way, just to show I'm not a fatalist, I've decided to cure the leprosy by rubbing it; rubbing it in little circles would be best. Hmmm? I think I'd best leave it at that.
                        

Books and stuff!

Wednesday 6:15 p.m.
                                 There are now four full days from tomorrow before I go back to the jobbie. This is wonderful!
                                 The men were papering the wall so I had to go and sit in the hut. I would have went there this afternoon anyway, but it didn't feel like volunteering. Then I went a walk round the Botanics and took the snaps.
                                 The pile of books are the ones which had to be saved. We've got a cupboard which is used solely for storing old books and it's never opened. I wanted it and all the books thrown out. I put them in black plastic bags and didn't look at them. The Domestic Bliss went through them and this pile is what we have to save. I kept three books.
                                  One was The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. This might be the most boring history book ever written, but I read it to the Domestic Bliss during the heavy drug intermissions when she was in labour. I also set aside Cellini's Autobiography because I remember delighting in it so much. I can't remember what the last very important book was, but it might have been the Holy Bible. I wouldn't mind keeping the books if I could throw out the cupboard.

The Bliss!

Wednesday
                  I feel constrained about writing about the bliss because most of the regular visitors to this bloggy are too dumb to meditate and, I have found, that the too dumb to meditate do not like to hear about the bliss. It's like the elephant in the room that no one wants to address. It's the question hanging in the air, a question like: Why are you a moron?, or, What's the matter with you anyway?
                  On the other hand, there might be not much to say about the bliss, except it just keeps on getting better and better and better. The effects of meditating is the one thing for sure that in this life will not disappoint me.
                  Sometimes I feel terribly sorry for the flatheids, especially my contemporaries who are heading into the death zone with hardly a leg to stand on already.
                  But when I sit down and close my eyes .... you're in the bliss and tons of it right away. If you can keep you focus, it'll stay there. If you imagine deities over you head and feel the dripping down on bliss, it gets even blissier. If you do a vase breath, you go to the moon.
                 What I was very interested in this morning, was the lying down bliss. This occurs when you're in the bath and when you go to bed at night sober. This I sometimes think of as the yoga nidra bliss. Sometimes I can bring it on in the morning if I feel too tired to sit upright first thing. I did that this morning. Sat up, lay down again,  sat up.
                 I had the bliss when I was lying flat on my back and on my side this morning. This is because the bliss is getting much stronger now.
                 The bliss is my big pal. Sometime, and it won't be so long away really, I might find myself lying flat on my back and unable to move or do anything much due to being in my deathbed. If that happens ... just give me another year or so! ...  I think I'll be able to still do the bliss if I can stop my mind from wandering. Even maybe if my mind does wander. At least, sometimes.
                 So now I've got some free time and I think I'll just close my eyes and ....
                 I love meditating. I've enjoyed it so far and I'm bound to enjoy it even more in future. So if you want to be a flatheid, good luck to you!
                 It's not nice to gloat, is it, Jack? No, Hotboy, it is not nice to gloat. I'm gloating like hell, Jack! I'm gloating like hell!
                 When I don't drink, there's nothing much to blog about!!
             

Even Mare Bliss!

Saturday 6:00 p.m.
                            Contentment. There's just so much bliss anyway. You're immersed in the wonderful bliss and then it starts to seem that everything is happening the way it should be happening, and that everything is going to alright in the end. This makes you feel contentment in the time you are in because you have a certain certainty of wellbeing. But it doesn't feel like just wellbeing in moi. Of course, if you don't get the bliss and won't ever get it, life probably looks pretty horrible if you dared to look hard enough. Well, that's not my fault.
                            So the heat has slowly dissipated from the universe and there is  just a load of old photons left maybe, and they're heading towards absolute zero where nothing happens, and time stops going forward.
                             Or that's the way it looks as if it's happening. What about the bliss? Will the bliss still be there? This is very hard to say, but I do know that the bliss is there just now and it doesn't seem to be a reason for that in evolutionary terms. It doesn't give you an advantage, not in that way. But it seems to involve feelings and you'd think these might not exist outside the human body, but they don't exist in any human body the too dumb to meditate are every going to be aware of. It sometimes is not quite in the body and not quite out of it, is the bliss.
                           But if you can imagine the end of the universe with time no longer going forwards, maybe that's what the end result of calming meditations are like, except you'd have to wallop in a great big dose of the bliss, and when some other feelings arise, they are wonderful.
                          If it's wonderful, it's good, Jack! If it's wonderful, how can it be bad?