These Wonderful Holidays!

Tuesday 11:00 a.m.
Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

These holidays have been so, so much better than I could have possibly imagined!

First of all, I didn't have to take any of my annual leave since the big days of carousing all occur at the end of the week. This means I get to come into the jobbie at the start of the week, like today, and there's nobody here. Hurrah! A semblance of normality.

I spent about two precious hours of my life out shopping among the christmas santy basturns, and then there was just the meal and a couple of hours of the good bit.

I haven't been drinking much, so Mr Hyde has been kept in check. The nicotine dragon has been once more unleashed, but I'll get the lance out after the Hogmanay. Dr Jekyll has been having a truly wonderful succession of meditations. You'll realise by this time that it's impossible to explain to a flatheid what this might be like, but the wonderments just increase and increase!

I'm hoping Dr Jekyll comes closer to delivering the knock-out blow to Mr Hyde in the New Year. Such may be the increase in the bliss that there will be no point in finding succour elsewhere. Already I know it's far better to do the bliss than eat the cannybliss yogurt in the evening. I've just got to remember what I'm trying to do and go for the peace and quiet and tell the flatheids to please fung off.

Tomorrow evening I expect to be in the company of some of my deep dear friends, folk I've known for nearly forty years, since I came to this beautiful, wonderful city in 1969. Unfortunately, they are all completely funged. Where did all the time go that they spent eating sweeties and wasting this precious human existence? It went down the plug hole, Jack. Just the way they're going. Facing the retributions of grief, sorrow, lamentations .... delusions, disappointments and despair ... suffering in this life. Thank God I spent some time meditating!! Here comes the joy, contentment, satiation and serenity!

Of course, some connections of the progeny of the progeny of the evil bourgeois may show up, half falling out of their dresses and tottering around in high heels. Hmmmm? What would you talk to them about, Hotboy? After a brief resume about why they shouldn't turn into their parents who turned into their parents, I might get onto the subject of schoolgirls and what President Clinton said about a lewinsky not being sex. Oh no! I'll be stuck with the old people!!

Miscellany!

Saturday 11:40 p.m.
After meditating for most of the day, I've just finished watching a movie with the kiddo. No Dom Bliss in attendance so I kept the noise blockers off. Just great bliss arising anyway. It's that time at night again and I wasn't drinking beer. It's so wonderful the way it just came in with the wriggly bit. I should really sit up tonight and crack on.

I love getting a present at this time of year from the kiddo. This time I got a poster/calender with all kinds of photies of the Samye Ling on it and me as well, sitting in the back temple. What a wonderful present! Kind of laminated by some computery firm. I was so pleased. She'll start meditating some day, so she will!

The Dom Bliss got me many things, including a mobile phone. This would require reading some instructions .... hmmm ... and they give you cancer. I heated a cup of coffee in the microwave oven last week. That's quite enough technology for one year. I'll keep it for when I'm holed up in the hut and it turns into Fort Apache, and I have to get beamed up.

I decided that if I didn't get a positive from the secret agent about xxTheRealMcCoyxxx before Christmas, then it wasn't going to happen. By now he'll have had about eight rejections and that's more than I would have stuck with it for. Anyway, I got another idea for the crime book. A plot development! I think I might have a storyline here.

Because the kiddo has got the disease, we couldn't go visiting today. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! This has been a great Christmas. I've hardly noticed it.

Congratulations!

Saturday 27th December, 2008. 12:53 p.m.
Crabbit as hell, I'm not inclined to post, but I thought I should mark the wedding of the sensei and reverend, who is getting hitched today. So congratulations to the happy couple! I'm open to offers .... Hotboy is willing! Only the filthy rich need apply of course.

Hotboy, how would you like to spend Hogmanay at Flatheid Castle, where you will be able to drink and smoke fags, but not take any decent drugs; where you will be surrounded constantly by folk who don't get the bliss, the too dumb to meditate; and where you will not be able to escape from these unfortunate, learning difficulty, stupid basturns for days and days at a time? No thanks!

I was only out of the house for about seven hours on Christmas Day. It's like being a wee mouse in a glass bowl surrounded by horrible, slavering, cat monstrous basturns, and trying to become as invisible as possible. The only safe place is the hut. To the hut! To the hut!

It Was Christmas Eve, Babes ..

Wednesday 10:22 p.m.
I never met anyone who had trouble with their parents until I started mixing with the progeny of the evil bourgeois, when I went to college for the experimentations. Half the folk I met then had trouble with their parents. Maybe it was because they were all from these pretend families where there were only one or two kids, which seemed to be pretend families because obviously they didn't like children or they would have had proper families of at least five or six. The good thing about being from a big family, my sister says, is that you realise you are not that important. Anyway, nobody was on my case. There were a lot of other cases to deal with.

I was fortunate with the parent thing. I know that I am more fortunate than some people in this regard who read this bloggy, and I am sorry about that, especially since I didn't do anything to have such luck.

My old man passed away on Christmas Eve in 1965, I reckon. He was one of the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists. My old man was a far better person than I'm ever going to be, so here's to the old man! I'm already five years older than he ever was.

In the two days before his heart gave out, my old man sat in the living room all night because he couldn't get a breath. He heaved for air. I walked in and saw him when I got up for school on these two occasions. So I shouldn't smoke. I know what it looks like to die from lack of breath and it is an effort.

This is the best run up to Christmas for ages! I haven't seen anyone for days and days. I've made great progress, or it has made great progress, over this time. I will try to purify my mind. God knows how wonderful it will be if I could just stop doing the really stupid things, like drinking and smoking and the cannybliss yogurts. If I'm out of my face at night, I'll never be able to do dream yoga, Jack. I know, Hotboy. Wouldn't lucid dreaming be something else!

By the way, I remembered today, and it made me feel positive, that I'm the first Hotboy that I know of in my family to ever get the bliss. Or to ever be born in a country where the dharma is taught. What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Approach to Xmas

Monday 12:28 p.m.
I was surprised I never got a bit further yesterday, but I didn't do any beers or fags last night. Putting any mind altering stuff into an undisciplined mind can't help. Purification is the name of the game! It's as if it was all piled up and waiting to go first thing this morning.

Fabulous meditations today. You know there's heat in there now alright.Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous!

I can't remember feeling as good as this in the run up to Christmas before. Then again, apart from family members, I haven't seen a flatheid since last Wednesday. Peace and quiet with moderate purifications ... well, it's all got to help, Jack.

There's nobody on the jobbie except me and the janny and someone in the office, but the janny wants me out at quarter to two. What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Medicine Buddha Meditations!

Sunday 11:18 a.m.
It was thinly overcast, without much wind, so it was not too cold when I sat down yesterday at the edge of the allotment, on the section of log covered with a newspaper. It was about three o clock. I fixed my eyes on a white mark in the middle distance. As it became dark, I fixed my eyes on a little yellow glow from a streetlight in Arboretum Place. There was no problem sitting there for a hour and a half.

I think that was maybe what was in the post that was here and disappeared somehow.

I'll take a spanking for my bad habits, but I'll get some rewards for my good habits. The good thing about buddhism is that these things don't balance up. You get retributions for both. Here are some of my good habits.

1) I meditate a lot. I probably did about seven hours yesterday and was well into the wobbly weirdly weirdly zone.
2) I do a lot of vase breathing. These days more and more. Vase breathing is supposed to be extremely good for your health and prospects of a long life.
3) I really enjoy keeping fit. For the last thirty years I've usually been the fittest person I know.

I try hard. It is very windy today so I may just stay in the lobby. The Domestic Bliss is out today. I'll come back here after I stop a session and describe it if I can.

1:19 p.m.
That, the first meditation of the day, took about an hour and twenty minutes. If you're too dumb to meditate, the rest of this post won't be of interest.

I take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. The Great Buddha Lama Yeshe Losal is my guru. May I gain enlightenment, etc.

Then I go through my list of gurus, visualising them in front of me and then over my head, going into a light beam and dissolving that through me, asking for purification and wisdom.

Lama Yeshe Losal, Dr Akong Tulku Rinpoche, Ringu Tulku, Teresa, the Dalai Lama, Kalu Rinpoche, Lama Thubten Yeshe, The Sixteenth Karmapa (do purification lights onto symbols with him), The Seventeenth Karmapa, Lama Yeshe Losal. Finish with Jesus Christ from the Turin Shroud.

Visualise all the folk I know, relatives, friends and one or two complete basturns, who are now snuffed.

Then dedicate the merit to whoever is getting it these days. At the end of this I've been practising a bit of tonglen with Peter Ballock, whose photie is on the web. Peter Ballock has been very good for me.

First of all, I don't know him, but I got the last bit of dope he was going to get. As I ate and smoked it, I thought this was at least some kind of karmic link. Also, it is very good for your aspirations to think about dying a lot. Unless you're very fortunate and just drop dead, you're going to get handed the black spot at some point. So you might be sick for quite some time.

I don't think at my stage of the mind game that I'd be able to access the bliss if I was going through a terminal illness. When you're dying what you need is the realisations of emptiness. At the moment, I'd die just like Peter Ballock and I don't want to die a flatheid. I want to die happy, joyous. I want to think that a whole new adventure might be opening up for moi. So Peter Ballock is being a big help.

Then, after thinking about the dedication, I go through the after death process and try to arise and the Medicine Buddha, placing the channels and symbols first of all. So you visualise yourself as the Medicine Buddha and then with the Medicine Buddha before you. Basically, I busk my way through the generational stage of the juju.

This was all done with my eyes shut and in various degrees of bliss almost as soon as my eyes closed. Soon, I'll go back to the lobby and carry on.

3:11 p.m.
Did the second session with my eyes open. The Dalai Lama says you should keep your eyes open, or, in my case, gazing down at the Medicine Buddha postcard. I get more bliss with my eyes closed, but I think you get more emptiness with them open.

The second session was mainly completion stage juju where you're going up and down the central channel, visualision symbols, vase breathing, etc. With my eyes open, I was still getting terrific amounts of bliss.

Did a bit of the analytical meditations there as well. Lots of bliss and some little intimations of emptiness ... how can nothing exist outside your own mind? ... but not much heat at all. This is probably the wrong time of day to expect much, but I started late today.

Now I'll have a break before the night starts to close in.

6:04 p.m.
The last meditation started at five past four and finished at ten to six. The Dom BLiss's sister gave me an opaque glass ball which has a red light under it for my Christmas a couple of years ago. It's good for gazing at. So I fixed on that and tried to do what I think the lama calls mahamudra meditations. You don't use an object to concentrate on, but just observe the thoughts and let them go. When I had to move into the easy posture due to the aching legs, I closed my eyes and did the vase breathing using the channels and symbols. Tons of bliss, especially towards the end, and some heat but not much.

Just when you're getting it to really work, you have to take a break!

9:00 p.m.
Did some physical jerks, had a bath, and started the last meditation at quarter to eight and finished at half past. Tons of the bliss, but, funnily enough, not much heat. More heat but still not much.

I ate a cannybliss yogurt about half an hour ago, but today and yesterday have been nicotine free. Tommorrow nicotine thoughts should not arise.

When I raise my head from gazing at the Medicine Buddha postcard, I'm facing a photie of the lama. (I look at these photies quite a lot. I've got two, mirror images, which is quite cool somehow!)

Sometimes the smile seems to be really beaming out of the photie. Sometimes it doesn't seem to beam out so much. There seem to be variations in the smile. Common sense tells us that this is not true. The smile doesn't change on the photie. So there must be some kind of projection working here.

I know the magic soup and the toast and banana can't taste as delicious as I think it sometimes tastes.

I'm not being nihilistic here. I know there's stuff out there though I'm definitely not sure what kind of stuff it is.

'The world, as so understood, contradicts itself and is, therefore, appearance and not reality.' F.H. Bradley. The wall.

How much projection would it take to make everything you ate and drank taste like ambrosia and nectar? Maybe it would be the same amount, only you'd have changed your view.

Samsara and Nirvana are the same reality
In the state of ultimate awareness. (If I remember right!) Milarepa.

The lama told me I'd get everything from calming meditation. If you just do that without trying anything else, maybe that's all you really need.

I've much enjoyed having this bloggy today! Someone has just come in.

The Bad Habits!

Friday 10:47 p.m.
Whilst sampling the new home brew ... cut down on the sugar from the last one, but still a potent brew. Now on my third bottle. Oh well!

Not so much at the moment, but the bad habits make various kinds of thoughts arise. Drunken thoughts, or stoned thoughts. We are not so interested in thoughts, are we, Jack? No, Hotboy, we are interested more in the bit between the thougts, or, at least, mental calming.

It said that Gampopa was at the stage where he only had one breath a day and had no need to sleep. Are we aspirational, or not? It is hard to see how you could get to that condition whilst cavorting with the flatheids. And indulging in your bad habits... by which you are characterised and by which your chummies know you. So, what is required is purification, if you are aspirational, if you'd like to take this juju seriously. Enlightenment in this very body is all that matters.

You just go mad for a bit. It always stabilises after a while. It's getting through that first bit. Always the tricky phase. If I could get every cell in my body to be bursting with the bliss and when I see flatheids, take a deep breath and roll my eyes to the top of my head, and wobble about and then fall down zonked by the bliss, then I may be able to give up bad habits. It's not good enough to be given the keys to the kingdom and not turn the lock.

Experimenting!

Thursday 7:36 p.m.
The Domestic Bliss has just gone out to the singing and dancing and I'm going to have my first joint since Sunday. I know this is stupid and I have no excuse.

I've meditated today for about six hours so far, but I wasn't quite settled somehow ... maybe lingering nicotine thingies!

I watched Jon Stewart on the Daily Show last night interviewing Mike Huckerbee (?), the conservative republican, who seemed like a nice man. But Jon Stewart gave the best defense of gay marriage that I've ever heard. The only gay person I know is Albert. I think Jon Stewart should be President after the Bammer.

Well done to the boy who threw the shoe at Bushy. Well done for Bushy for ducking it. Brian Close eat your heart out! Bushy should have played creekit. Without a hat!

I'll have another joint then spend a couple of hours in the lobby. Boom, Shiva!

10:26 p.m.
That session was almost as good as it gets. Got better when I straightened up. Wonderful intimations of emptiness ... I got that doing these meditations last week as well ... really feel very nice indeed. I think I'm supposed to be trying to combine bliss and emptiness. It felt as if I was getting a wee bit closer to that tonight.

I'd like to give up all my bad habits in the new year and spend all evening meditating. Anything else isn't as good.

The Bammer and Moi!

Thursday 7:11 p.m.
I read in the paper today that the Bammer spends an hour a day in the gym and has a heartbeat which is an 'impressive' sixty beats a minute at rest.

Bugger all impressive about that heart beat! My heart runs at 60 beats a minute when at rest and I'm a fat, drunken basturn, a good ten years older than the Bammer. Also, I'll take practically any kind of drugs as long as they're given to me for free.

It said in college he used to 'experiment' with drugs. When I was at college I also experimented with drugs, Jack, and so did practically everyone I knew. When we all left college, we experimented even more because we got jobs and had more money to spend on experimenting.

This has left me with a lot of bad habits. Even although I can get out of my face on air, I still experiment with drugs. I wonder if the Bammer still experiments. Probably still takes a toke. Let's hope he stays off the crack pipe. Adolf Hitler did smack and speed and look at what happened to him.

I'm not long out of the bliss bath after doing six threes. I felt actually quite fit tonight. Do you think you could take the Bammer in a square go, Hotboy? I'd moida da bum! Basketball does not prepare one for the fisticuffs. Also, if you want to be racist about it, there are no more murderous basturns than the Scots, apart from the Scots Irish, and moi is a mixture of these. Just as well I not going to be President. I'd nuke the lot of them, Jack. There are no sentient beings. Fung them!

The Best of Possible Worlds!

Dearie me, 00:25 a.m.
A couple of days ago I told myself that what was happening to me through the great vajrayana, the juju of jujus, was the best thing that could ever possibly happen to anyone, anywhere, at any time.

But things change, and you have to go to the jobbie, and why oh why does it have to be like this .. the grief, sorrow, lamentations ... delusions, disappointment and despair ... suffering in this life!?

I have not had any tobacco this evening. I spit in the eye of the nicotine dragon and hope for better, more purified, times.

The Vase Breathing News!

Monday 3:09 p.m.
I knew the bliss had jumped the gate and raced off over the hill again last night. I was doing some vase breathing in the kitchen. The after-effect of the outbreath were just so bloody amazing! Felt quite transcended, I did. Lots of heat and fire, but it was as if something new had been added to and changed the wonderful symphony of sensations already present when the vase breathing is at its best. It just carried on this morning and today. Let's hope I get a chance to practise tonight!

In under an hour this afternoon, I think I've worked out a plotline for The Revenge of the Traffic Wardens. It's quite promising. Lot of blind trails, deception and treachery!

I was so impressed by the Cormac McCarthy book I'm going to read another one called All the Pretty Horses.

The Food Store!

Sunday 3:32 p.m.
Whilst dripping in the full Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle ...

I haven't been doing much in the line of physical jerks recently due to the disease. And I had on my grumpy face today, probably due to the nicotine dragon making a reappearance, but to help compensate I've just finished trashing myself prior to collapsing in the bath. Did 20 of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, ten minutes skipping, and six three minute rounds of shadow boxing. You feel the repercussions in about an hour. About then, I'll be hardly able to move!

I've been eating the magic soup since the start of August. I'm still eating it. Today I brought back a bag of tatties from the allotment. There are about two hundred tatties left up there yet and I have enough cabbage in the freezer, and onions, to make the magic soup into the New Year. This is far better than usual. Hurrah!

I brought a wee Christmas tree down from the allotment as well. And I'd like everyone to know that I'm really looking forward to Christmas and the Santy Christmas basturns are NOT going to get on my wick this year!

Off to the bath! I'm saving the cannybliss yogurt for later!

The Poisonous!

Saturday 00:20 a.m.
He said I should tell people about the bliss in a way that it was easy to understand.

You have a mind. To train your mind you should have something to concentrate on. If you pick a sound, it might stop your internal monologue. This lying basturn. The sound you should pick is MUMBO JUMBO. This is a perfect sound. It encapsulates the whole of the juju. It is everything you need to or have to believe in. Nothing else is required.

If you are old and have no access to the bliss, it is your own fault. But being a flatheid, you won't even know that. Flatheids, unfortunately, don't get the bliss. What is the point of being a flatheid?

Embarking!

Thursday 1:44 a.m.
I was very unstressed today as I left the jobbie. There was ice islands in Inverleith Park pond and the sun had gone down as I passed there about half three. The sky was kind of yellow around the horizon where the sun had just gone down.

Sometimes when life has been, or is being, so wonderfully good to you, you would like to express thanks. At such times, the Disbelieving Congregation relaxes its atheism and heads full blast towards the whole patriarchal bit.

Thank you, God! Thank you, God! I'm sorry about the stupid flatheids who do not meditate and will never get the bliss! But it is okay for me! Yes, it's okay for me, at least right at this moment! Oh, God! It's so okay for me I can't believe it!

Post-Disease!

Wednesday 10:23 p.m.
Whilst the Mr Hyde grumbled with the disease, Dr Jekyll developed apace. I wonder if the juju would just go on maturing if I did nothing else.

Then how would you notice it, Hotboy? Well, if you weren't meditating, you might feel it massaging about inside your body as you sat typing, for instance. Whatever that is, that wriggling thingy. It's easily imagined as a snake thing. It massages you're upper body. I wonder what it is.

It could be called Chi or kundalini or prana maybe, but I wonder what it is.

It seems if you gather all this chi up to the top of your head, you can then hit yourself over the top of your head with an iron bar, and smile, so I don't see how the wriggly thing can be chi.

Why don't martial artists ever talk about the bliss? Don't they meditate a lot?

Although I do not understand anything, I am more than prepared to soldier on. The great juju of jujus has filled my life with wonder and joy and hope. Not to mention surfing the oceans of bliss. And as soon as the disease cleared, I knew it had somehow moved on again.

A bath with bliss is one of the most wonderful things! Since I cannot really describe the bliss and you probably being a flatheid will never experience the bliss, it is well nigh impossible for you to grasp even a very small part of the totality of wonderfulness which is the bath with bliss. Don the Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle and lose a few pounds of sweat beforehand ... nothing like it. When I realised once that the bliss would come on while I lay in the bath, well, I knew I was on a winner!

I think I'd like to be in a place where you sat in a balmy climate under trees, meditatiing all day, eating fruit and salads with chips, and mayonnaise. Maybe you have to suck on a chillum now and again (Boom, Shiva!) just to get into the spirit of the thing. But everyone around you is meditating all the time and everybody knows about the bliss and there are no flatheids anywhere. Shame about the amoebic dysentery, Jack. Fung shame, so it is, Hotboy.

The Revenge of the Traffic Wardens!

Tuesday
I've started working on my next blockbuster. Nothing about schools or schoolgirls. I'm going back to the crime book idea I had a year ago last spring, the one that starts with the massacre in the pub with the nutter/killer disguised as a traffic warden.

I'm more interested in working on an idea like that since it'll be very plot based, and a story where everything the reader is first told is a lie. I think this is a normal way to write crime books and goes all the way back to Dashmell Hammet, the boy who wrote the Maltese Falcon.

This is one time I might start a book and not finish it. Well, I'll get the plotline written anyway.

Cavortings!

Saturday 6:40 p.m.
Brian Wilson should be here within the hour, the pig's face hanging from his nether lip half chewed, a fag up each nostril. You just know he can't wait for that time in the bar when he takes out his false teeth and puts his bottom lip over his nose. Always a show stopper.

Tomorrow I might have to crawl over to the hospital and pretend to be a train wreck. Bye bye the higher meditative states!

Act 2 of the book called Love Me Tender, Love Me Sweet (The Story of a Forbidden Love) starts on a night like this. Our hero, the intrepid school librarian is stumblebumming about somewhere in the beautiful, wonderful city when he comes upon the schooolgirl, who is having a fag on the pavement outside a club, half falling out of a cocktail dress and tottering about on high heels. Of course, in the book I'm a younger, more successful writer with a motor car. Got to have a motor car. Vital for the plot.

So the babes is standing shivering on the pavement when she sees our intrepid hero,laughs and says .... well, what does she say, Jack? Hold me. You've got the job, Jack.


Spent all afternoon in the lobby. The bliss has once more moved on. The bliss doesn't give a shit about the disease.

The Scotthishness and Disease!

Saturday 1:54 a.m.
John Muir wrote an autobiography. He invented National Parks, in America particularly. Of course, he was one of the wonderful Scottishy people and came from Dunbar, I think. Anyway, he said the Scottishy people in them days didn't lie in bed when they were sick. He remembered falling head first, passing out, into the hayricks as he was labouring away there, confounding the disease. Where did these calvinist crabbit basturns all go?

As soon as I got a little sniffle, I dropped everything. Changed my life completely. Slept for hours, watched DVDs, starting thinking about the writings. Also, still having recourse to the bliss and enjoying the vagueness of concentration.

Even diseased, I am so fortunate.

Characters!

Friday 1:44 p.m.
I was lying in bed today thinking about the writings. This is why I thought I should pack it in, the writings, I mean. I'm supposed to be lying in bed thinking about emptiness.

You have characters in books. I have a wee problem with human beings having characters. I know you can describe people as being virtuous or being right rotten basturns, but there's something solidly independent and autonomous about describing characters somehow. I didn't have this problem before being convinced that there are, at the end of the day, no sentient beings. Perhaps I'd like to see everything simultaneously arising, abiding and declining in mind. In any case, I think I'm supposed to be moving my view from the concrete towards insubstantiality.....

'yet living beings collect karmic seeds, experience the results, and take rebirths according to their previously collected karmic seeds and the presence of spiritual distortions within themselves.' Tsongkhapa. The Wall.

So you must be able to write about the progress and development of 'characters'. Thank god for that!

I might be hard at this stage of the mind game to write fifty thousand words and not mention once that the entire group of characters are going around with their heads stuck up their backsides, and would have no worries and loads of the bliss if they weren't just too dumb to meditate.

What I'll have to remember is that whatever I'm going to write has bugger all to do with real life, or only a tenuous connection; that it is really just an alphabet on a contrasting background, and you can do with that what you bloody well like as long as you don't expect anyone to buy it off you.

I should start writing something just now because by next summer my secret agent will have no one left to reject the current proposition, and then it might be nice to have something else on the go.

So not only will I have chapters, paragraphs, full stops and commas, but also characters.

Be easy to write something about a character who thought there were no sentient beings really; that flatheids were a waste of human beingness and would be endlessly reborn anyway; that human emotions were ridiculous ... at least, I could empathise with that multiple murderer. And even if I don't know anything about bullet wounds and guns and stuff, I do know about digging holes up the allotment. Also, you can murder folk using spades and scythes and that.

The Writings Again!

Thursday 6:15 p.m.
Sitting here with my jacket and hat on, but it's not that cold really. Obviously still diseased, but it has been companionable since the Domestic Bliss also has the disease.

The book my secret agent in trying to flog at the moment, the one about the boy who wants to be the new Christ, started off as a cowboy book in 1977. I think it was the fourth novel I'd had a go at. The reason why I wanted to write a cowboy book was because I'd never written one before. You don't want to keep writing the same kind of book unless someone offers you money to do that, and even then, if you had some other way of getting money ...

I read The Moon In The Gutter by David Goodis about a fortnight ago. I really like David Goodis. I didn't like this one as much as I liked Shoot the Piano Player, which is a great read, but there is something charming about The Moon In The Gutter. He does the failed artistic type wonderfully!

Just now I'm finishing No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy (?). He's given up on commas, so there's only full stops, and indentations for the dialogue, which is brilliantly written. The book is a succession of shooty shooty and you could only write such a book if you knew about guns and bullet wounds and such like, which I do not.

I've already written a book with folk shooting each other and blowing stuff up, and I don't really want to write a crime book because the sensei's crime book has still not found an agent, and that kind of puts you off. I'd like to write a page turner.

Are you going to have any chapters this time, Hotboy? This time I'm going to try my best to have chapters and paragraphs and commas and full stops. But I'd like to bury a dead body in the allotment, so there will have to be crimes in it.

The writings!

Thursday 00:48 p.m.
I once thought that what you had to do was hypnotise people so that they couldn't stop reading; so that their thoughts would co-mingle with the words that they read to such an extent that they would lose themselves and be in the transparency of what you were trying to say.

Then once I thought that I would have to be able to write far, far better than anyone else because I was not connected with the people and places where you just got the shoo-in. I imagined there was a shoo-in. I don't think there is. Anyway, that didn't work.

I think I've just had a stupid attitude for most of the time. Also, nobody is interested in the bliss.

I decided today that I should start writing again, after a lay off of about six months. Then I thought: why bother? Nobody else tries to write. But I like writing. I think I'll write a book about falling in love with a schoolgirl. This will be someone of seventeen years old.

We've already got the first act. The emails, the schoolgirls bouncing off the glass box, the punishment, the public embarrassment. The second act is basically about the commencement of the funging. It turns into Carmen. Can you see the chickita arising from this? And the third act is the end of the matter, which could be any of many ways. The sack. The sack as the other novel rakes in the cash, the Domestic Bliss cursing me to hell, suicide, grief, sorrow, lamentations ... delusions, disappointments and despair ... suffering in this life. In fact, the usual from wanting the wrong things. However, if you were going to write a book, that might be the one to write.

So you think it might be a good idea to write a book about shagging schoolgirls, Hotboy? Well, Jack, hold me. You make me feel all warm inside. Love me tender, love me sweet, and never let me go! Elvis has just left the building!

Another disease!

Tuesday 8:27 p.m.
When you've stopped meditating, you're back into having a disease again; with the coughings and snufflings and shiverings. The disease will effect the meditations alright, but if it's not too bad, or is just coming on, then you can almost get away from the disease for a short while. And rest in the bliss. It's just like the magic bliss mild hangover cure. If you can get into the bliss, there isn't any hangover in there, or disease. And tonight I tried to put some heat into the part of my chest which should soon be the site of the searing wracking cough, and I think that worked. Well, it got hotter there. The disease won't give a shit.

Due to being diseased and off work a week ago, I can't get another disease so soon, so I will be at my post tomorrow.

Schoolgirls!

Monday
First thing this morning I see some bosses. Three six year girls were implicated in the obscene email, but the one who was most at fault ... well, her parents are coming up to the school to see the headmaster. How embarrassing! I had a letter of apology from her and her dad waiting for me this morning. I bet you he is not a happy bunny today! What a total embarrassment! Dearie me!

The Beautiful Wonderful City!

Sunday 00:11 a.m.
I don't feel that the beautiful, wonderful city is mine, but the kiddo was born in this city. We walked from the castle today. There is a castle in the main street. I walked down bits of the city I'd never been in before. I have attention deficit disorder when it comes to remembering places, but the kiddo is spatially aware. There are barges in this city.

I think I've got to tell the kiddo about the bliss. Every time I see her I've got to remind her about the bliss. There is the bliss. So I told her about Saint Peter waiting at the pearly gates with a memory that only lasts as long as the next human being that comes up to him. He's like a goldfish in this respect, only remembering the last joe or josephine who came by. He's always really pleased to see another human being and he always says the same thing: He says: What did you think of the bliss? Of course, the flatheid knows nothing about the bliss and has never experienced it. Then he says: What did you think about getting out of your face on air? Wasn't that something? Of course, the flatheid, being a moron, does not know anything about getting out of his or her face on air? Dearie me! This is a far bigger disgrace than I am. This is like missing the whole point of being a human being.

Telling them about the bliss does not seem to have any effect on the flatheids. This is a great shame. Grief, sorrow, lamentations .... delusions, disappoints and despair ... suffering in this life! Fung that!

The Magic Beer!

Saturday 00:36 a.m.
It says on the malt spray packet that you can use it to replace the white sugar in the home brew recipe. Hmmmm? They recommend that you use two pounds of sugar per brew. Hmmmm? So what happens when you put in the two pounds of sugar and add another two pounds of sugar, and then add the spray malt stuff as well .... pure heaven, Jack. This is the beer at the end of the universe.

Apologies!

Friday 1:21 a.m.
I would like to apologise to all the flatheids out there, and that's just about everyone. I'm sorry for all the rotten things I've said about yous. I really am.

But if you had started doing this meditation stuff when this bloggy started, about four years ago, you would probably be engaging with the bliss by this time. But you don't meditate and you have no access to the bliss. You are a flatheid. Oh well. Dearie me. I mean, you only get one shot at this. Come on.

Free at last!

Wednesday 6:10 p.m.
There's a circle of light. It comes from the flickering candle flame at the bottom of the tin cone holding the wax. There's just the circle of light with everything else around it pitch black. It sounds as if you could be at sea. The branches of the bush scrape, blown by the wind, along the hut wall. The hut groans and moans in the wintertime weather.

Over the last few days I've been thinking to myself that I'm actually able to get this juju to work. Nothing like drying off sheets or anything like that yet, but there is fantastic bliss in the vase breaths and something feels open. They say you've got to open the channels. Then the winds enter and stablise and dissolve. The latter bit might never happen, but something feels as if it's opened and it seems to be filling with mega bliss.

It's as if there are two people now. There's the joe who walks about with his head stuck up his backside, and the meditating joe. The latter seems rather different. With eyes shut, it's a bliss beast, and all the thoughts of the walking about joe seem ridiculous and absurdly stupid. Thank god I don't have to put up with much of that crap when I'm meditating.

Things have so improved over the last few days!

I got a baldy at the barber's on Monday so I could look more evil going to work. On Tuesday afternoon I got another email from a disguised account. I know it's from the sixth year girl who sent the first two. Gone was the romance of 'hold me' and 'you make me feel all warm inside.' She's gone hardcore. It said: put ur willie in ma mouth.

The descent of Scottish education at the hands of the stupid schoolteachers is all there. No capitalisation, no punctuation, no bugger all. They say they don't want to teach that kind of thing in primary school anymore because it stops the creative flow. I'm not kidding you!

I've told everyone who needs to know about these emails. The bosses. Anyone out there who read xxxRaBLissBookxxx will know what a bunch of useless merchant .... anyway, no more of that nonsense till Monday. Apart from going to see our friend doing respite care on Thursday and Sunday, I have no appointments. Hurrah!

Reminders!

Tuesday 22:52 p.m.
When I wakened up on Monday morning, it was far too wet and dark and cold outside. So I had to have a day off. Too many people. Just an awful lot of people, and when I saw that it was dangerous to go out in the cold and dark and wet, I knew there would be no people around in the lobby that day. Hurrah. Let's do the bliss. A whole day with nobody there, but only investigations of the bliss to deal with. What a fortunate creature, I am, I am. What a fortunate creature I am!

I think I may be falling into different bits. I think this may be of interest to the Alien Creatures From Outer Space. I should try to do a serious post next time about the different bits I may be falling into. Hmmm?

Balance

Sunday 8:36 p.m.
Some of the comments on the bloggy over the last few posts have been quite helpful. Your inner child is playing with matches was a good one. The advice from the dyslexic spango yogini about not standing on your head kind of made me realise what I was doing wrong in a roundabout kind of way. And it has got to balance up somehow.

Serenity, equanimity, contentment and peace are maybe what you should hope will result from doing this juju. So these contrary forces have to balance up somehow. You have to trust yourself with this judgement. It's like playing the violin. You can't learn it from a book or just stick to what the book says. If it's not sounding right, it's not sounding right.

When people used to talk about energy in your body, forces, etc., I was most sceptical. Most of the folk who use this language haven't actually experienced these energies and forces, of course, but I'm experiencing something alright. And I can't keep it focused at the navel symbol because it's doing my head in and I need to let it come up.

But you haven't got the three channels properly visualised, Hotboy. Tsongkhapa says you're bound for hell. He was only joking, Jack.

I think the progression should be from the joe to the deity to clear light mind. The diety yoga juju is just a technique. It's the thoughtless voids of bliss you must be heading for.

So I'm going for the magnificent risings up to the middle of your brain and great bliss, dissolving into the bliss.

Then when you get distracted or lose your bliss, you just go back to being the deity juju and crank the bliss up again. Aye, it's a hard life, so it is. I have to go back to St Trinian's tomorrow.

I realise that a lot of folk reading this bloggy do not seem to be as fortunate as moi. And I'm very sorry about that because I didn't really do anything to warrant such a fortunate life. And I know that almost no one who reads this bloggy will ever get the bliss. Not even a little, teeny weeny experience of it. It's bloody awful, so it is!

But sometimes it's like being in primary school and teacher asks who, when they grew up, would like to investigate the bliss, and only moi, only moi put his hand up. It if wasn't for the grief, sorrow, lamentations ... delusions, disappointments and despair ... suffering in this life, it wouldn't really matter. Bugger that for a game of soldiers! I'd much rather just go off to the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Yins

Saturday 8:40 p.m.
Apart from a big yin and a wee yin calling round with resupplyings, I've just been meditating today so far.

What wonderous meditations! What oceans of bliss to surf on! It's always the same with this juju. Every time you seem to be encountering obstacles, you just keep meditating and it soon sorts itself out! What amazing effects I've been getting from the symbol in the middle of the brain! Bloomings of bliss! The meditations are getting better and better so fast just now.

"I'm leaving on a jet plane! Don't know when I'll be back again!"

One of the best things about being a dad was when the kiddo (about 12years old) watched Armageddon and said: Bruce Willis is just like my dad. No, I'm not making it up, Jack!

00:42 a.m.
I meditated on up to about half eleven. What meditations! You go from being the joe, to becoming dead and then try to arise as the light being. Lift the awareness up the chakras and leave at the brain one. This is a mega blissful ride. Then get rid of the light being and just be there in the bliss. This is an attempt to meditate without an object. When you lose attention, you can go back to visualising the channels and bring the awareness up again with the vase breathing. This feels absolutely fantastic. It's easy to meditate all evening with this going on.

Did your cunning plan work then, Hotboy? I think so, Jack. If I'd had someone to ask about this .... I might be having to work this juju out myself a wee bit. If you were with like minded others, you wouldn't be prone to these mistakes in technique so much. I'll just have to be weird on my own, Jack.

Going to bed sober, if not quite straight. Hurrah!

Elephants is it?

Friday 5:47 p.m.
" The bull elephant at the time of rut, with the musk running down his temples, is hard to restrain." G.S. The Dhammapada.

I think I should refrain from engaging in this kind of speculation after this post.

Although a lot of eastern stuff is about balancing up forces, male and female, yin and yang, I don't think this can somehow apply if you're doing the great juju of jujus. You can't get any more yin than sitting quietly doing nothing. The more yin stuff you do, the more yang you must build up. I assume the "drop" in your navel centre is masculine (not much doubt about that around here, Jack!) and it's supposed to eventually get hot. You're supposed to move this up to your head. The movement is supposed to be up, not down.

This is why the anonymous spango yogini in the last comment said I should stop standing on my head. The energy will be rising back to your navel. That's more yang.

A key component in the vase breath is the upward lifting of your pelvic floor muscles. This is to put the force upwards.

I've known since about June or July that the meditation sequence when your raise your consciousness up the symbols has been producing mega bliss in the head chakras, but I've not been doing too much of that because my visualisaitons of the channels and chakras is still poor. But I think my inner joe is telling me that this is the way to go. Follow the bliss for a bit and maybe if you're concentrating higher up, the thoughts may become more elevated also. I need to get into raising the heat gradually. Holding your concentration on the navel chakra might not be what the doctor ordered right now.

I want to be a woman next time, Jack! None of this having to avoid ejaculation nonsense, which is bound to drive you off your head. Stop complaining and just get on with it, Hotboy. There's worse things than feeling like a randy old goat!

Cyclists!

Thursday 22:20 p.m.
I stumblebummed along the pavements after the bus emptied at Elm Row, feeling very, very stoned. Shocked I was. I'd only had four pints of Guiness, a mere aperitif. But carrying home what was left of the almost quarter of the wonderful cannybliss. It's almost like having a social life, so it is.

I wonder what regulates the warmth of your body. An autonomic nervous system? If you get warm for no reason with the special kind of warmth, you must be over-riding that system somehow, or activating another system, surely. You'd think if you were getting warmer you must be burning calories. Scientists should be able to measure that.

Sitting like a cobra tonight for a while in the great thoughtless voids of bliss.

I read the Cyclists book for the first time in a long time yesterday. Right through. I'd forgotten lots of it. I think I used to do a lot more cycling in them days. Not the slightest bit obscene of course. Only one German sheperd dog and that one was imaginary. Dearie me. The boxing bits are the best.

We've got the cannybliss so now we're off the piss!

Monday Night Snapshot!

Monday 10:04 p.m.
Got an email today from my secret agent. I'm trying to be cool, so I don't email him first. Since the Frankfort Book Fair, they have now had four rejections. I got to read two today, both from major players. One of them last year had books that won the Booker, the Orange, the Whitbread, and one other I can't remember. It's like one grand slam after the other. So what does he know? Also, he knocked back the Book of Pi, which had great bits and poor bits ... so I've got some time for this joe because that's what I thought as well.

Did this make us downhearted, Hotboy? We get what we deserve, Jack. Why should we have money and the bliss as well?

It's not just about the money, is it, Hotboy? No, Jack, it's about validation and vindication and aspiration, and the bolstering of the false view of self.

"The wish that it may be made known that 'I was the author' is the thought of a man not yet adult." The Dhammapada. The wall.

Also, fung them!

After the meditation with the nun tonight (another joe showed up! Hurrah!), she said we have to come up with the donations, due to the hiring of the room and the building up of the generosity. Hmmmm? Being a buddhist and a hindu and a sikh and a kafflick and ... have I got £3 a week for this sitting quietly doing nothing with this josephine? I do different kind of meditations, or try to, when I go there ... nope! If I had a full time jobbie, obviously there would be no problem with this.

Today, I found out that the two lascivious emails and the one who showed me the text message (I'd like to fung you all night long) originate from the same josephine.

Is she cute, Hotboy?

She was just seventeen, if you know what I mean. And the way she looked was way beyond compare ... Jack!

Tell me, Jack, do you think forty years is too much of an age difference to have a relationship with someone?

No, Hotboy, not if the relationship only lasts for an hour, or in your current state, only a few minutes, if that. Normally, at your age you'd have to go on holiday to Thailand and pay substantial monies, which you do not have, to have such a relationship.

The library was shut to six year girls today. What will you say when next you see her, Hotboy? You might in jest, because banter is allowed, say: Hold me, or, You make me feel all warm inside. You are not allowed to say: I would like to fung you all night long.

Send your daughters to engage with moi! Like water off a duck's back! I'm ready for them, the wee bissums!

The Bliss

Sunday 3:12 p.m.
I realised once again while sitting in the hut this morning that there is a wonderful beneficence at the heart of the matter. It's as if this universe is working perfectly, that it will be alright in the end no matter how it sometimes looks. The problem is in the internal monologue, the stupid lying thoughts, and the moods and emotions which attach to these thoughts. If you can dispense with all that, and be between the arising, abiding and declining of thought, there is great bliss. Sometime there will be great ecstasy. It's wonderful that it's there.

We embrace our ignorance
We don't believe in any things
Especially thoughts.

The Craving!

Saturday 10:55 p.m.
Some days it's just not so good. The meditations were fine. The bits in between were not so fine. It's not as if anything has happened. Nobody has turned any more terminal than they were already. Everything has been fine. It's just been the meditating and the allotment and the setting fire to stuff, and more meditating, etc.

I was listening to the dharmapada, or whatever it's called, at the auld maw's, and this is really very hard, this juju. When you are surfing the oceans of bliss, you can be up on it, you can be exuberant, but sometimes there are some wants and cravings and clingings and a little bit of despairings.

What do you really want, Hotboy? Some nice people might inadvertantly come to this bloggy, Jack, so I wouldn't like to say. I think I've got to be happy drinking tea and talking to folk. Even if you know not to believe in thoughts ... longings, longings!

All I want is really some soapbar to eat! What is the fung matter with this country!? Why is there alcohol available on every street corner and the stupid basturns won't let you buy any decent drugs? A wee bit of Afghani in the cannybliss yogurt! Is that too much to fung ask of this civilisation? Dearie me! What is happening out there in Wester Hailes? Why can't I just buy this in a fung shop?

Dealing with cravings is alright as long as you've got everything you want or need. Stop doing everything and you're bound to go mad!

6:25 a.m.
I've been up meditating since the back of four. That was not a good frame of mind to fall into last night. Bad boy! Very unusual for me these days to get so pissed off. I was bored. I don't get bored. My friend with the MS is going into respite care today. What the fung have I got to complain about?

The Next Day!

12:20 p.m.
I just finished my fabulous morning in the lobby! What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!

Last night I ended up having LESS homebrew than usual and it looks like no one is coming out to play this evening. Brian Wilson is still on dialysis after the last time he went out drinking with me and I suspect Ion might be in the Borders doing good works. Oh well! I'll try for sober and straight this evening then.

I realised this morning that I'm getting far less visions of the old ultra violence these days. More erotic preoccupations perhaps, but humping has got to be better than thumping, eh, Jack? Just remember, Hotboy, that even in this degenerate age, it is possible to be cool!

I'm off to the hut apres luncho!

Pennies from Heaven!

Friday 8:47 p.m.
My auntie Kathy, who lives with the auld maw, has never been married and always worked in low paid jobs, so she's never had much money. She's eighty two. Gordon Brown sent her £400 to help with fuel bills over the winter and she gave me £40 of it today. There was no possibility of refusing this money. She was spreading her luck around, the kind of thing you do if you win on the horses, or get some lottery money.

Of course, the evil bourgeois never talk about money. It's kind of impolite. They never go on about how much they make. They wouldn't spit on your if you were on fire either. They're mean as sin and going to hell! Hurrah! I'm glad I got that in!

I was sober and straight on Monday and Tuesday, but on the home brew Wednesday and Thursday. I'm hoping to go to bed sober and straight tonight, and I would really like to blow the £40 on Guinness tomorrow night. If Brian Wilson and Ion want to come out to play tomorrow night, we could meet up in Leslie's Bar, a famous pub if I remember right, and half way between here and Porty.

I was getting really quite unusually warm today on the train to Bellshill. I had to take my jumper off and open the window. It was the same thing while sitting at the foot of the auld maw's bed. Kind of slightly beaming.

It was a kind of all over the body warmth, a bit like a porridge oats advert. Warm. Odd. The last time I spoke to the lama was about four or five years ago now. I asked him what I should do if I got really hot. He said: Lots of prostrations. I'm not really hot yet, but I may well become so. This isn't heat going up the central channel from vase breathing, or something really weird like that. It's just being unusually warm.

There's not really much point that I can see in getting hot, but I suppose it's unavoidable, like the bliss. What about the libidinousness, Hotboy? Yes, Jack, I've been reading over the bloggy and recently there has been a slight undercurrent of libidinousness, it seems. A fung tidal wave, Hotboy. A tsunami more like. That's why it's better to have Brian Wilson around, Jack. Women who've never met him instinctively know to stay away from him. Unlike moi, of course. I've now grown a luxurious beard and I've got hair on my head, a total babe magnet in fact!

The Tipping Point?

Thursday 11:24 a.m.
Once you sit down and become so quickly enveloped by the bliss, it's as if you didn't have a drink the night before at all. This is in itself a wonderment.

Then, with the first breath, I realised that everything had leapt forward once more. I felt as if I had burnt my boats. I had crossed the Rubicon. This is the buddha in one lifetime juju.

Since the foundations were never properly established, Hotboy, do you not fear that you will crash and burn? Jack, my catholic confirmation name, which I picked myself, is Peter because of: Thou art Peter. And upon this rock I will build my church. The lama gave me my Tibetan buddhist name, Karma Dorje. I am Indestructible. No doubt there will be problems and obstacles. I know that good and bad things can happen, but you've just got to march on and let go.

I'm dedicating the merit just now to P.K, F's sister, L's dad and Peter Ballox. Let the I become the I and I. The I and I will see you through. May all sentient beings be happy!

Humping the Nun!

Thursday 00:14 p.m.
Onto the fourth pint from the barrel. This is a strong brew, but I can still type.

Me and the nun; who's been sent from the Samye Ling to get these Edinburgh joes and josephines organised. I am not a good candidate for joining in with anyone. But on Monday, I'm the only joe who shows up. There is the nun. She sings the lineage prayer juju and I try also. Then I get up and shut off the light. There is a wee back light and the tiny flame on the shrine I'm sitting right in front of.

Not many folk are smarter than moi. Some are. Some who come to this bloggy are, but this is an exclusive bloggy. There is a difference between having natural talent and trying and trying to accomplish stuff. Effort.

The nun has done the effort thing. The three year retreat. The more than that when she wasn't in such formal times. I'm sure.

The hours I spent tonight in the lobby weren't all full of bliss. Sometimes hard pounding. The three year retreat stuff isn't all about the bliss.

Would you like to hump the nun then, Hotboy?

I read once that you could tell the cats who had it from the cats who hadn't ... that is, the one who had emerged into the deity stuff ... because they didn't pick the pretty nuns to proposition for the kamamudra stuff. Like, you're having sex with a deity. It doesn't matter what they really look like.

This nun is a tough bitch. She does not emit any sexually attractive features at all. If you're able to see someone as a deity and they sit astride you ... well, it's all compassion from their side, isn't it, Jack? Well, it's got to be, Hotboy.

After these decades of monogamy, and the being an object of desire for the schoolgirls, are you going to proposition the nun next Monday, Hotboy? I'll try my best, Jack. Crawl over to me, babes. I won't move a muscle, except the obvious one. Allah Akbar! Lets make this sacramental!

So what does this all mean, Hotboy? Well, Jack, it means my head is done in. I'm dead old and I want to hump nuns? Old nuns as well! What is going on here? Even in this degenerate age, it is possible to be cool, even if you would like to bang someone's brains out, Hotboy.

There is no need to be celibate. We aren't catholics, Jack. If she asks me, I will find the duck tape and the blindfolds and the other restraints, and surrender!

8:22 a.m.
I wakened up this morning with that familiarly uneasy feeling, wondering what I'd written here when I was pissed last night. Hmmm? Anyway, I don't like editing these posts out. They tell you something. They certainly do. I've got a whole day of meditations in front of me anyway. What a fortunate creature!

Heart of Darkness.

Wednesday 9:34 p.m.
I've been going to bed sober and straight for five nights out of the last ten. This is not my fault, Jack. The pizzaman soapbar delivery service is still on the blink. Actually, I haven't had any soapbar for over a month now. Just a wee present from Cloggieland and one from Ionetics.

The Domestic Bliss is out this evening and I've just finished a four hour sitting session in the lobby. Now, I'm going to hit the beer barrel because I do not have to go to the jobbie tomorrow. Hurrah! I am also a bit tired since I was sitting up in bed meditating till two in the morning.

It's just struck me that the best looking schoolgirls are Africans. They don't draw penises on the tables or send you lascivious emails either. Very upright, nice kids. A very beautiful girl from Malawi asked me to show her how to do Tai Chi the other day. Hmmm? It's great life if you don't weaken, so it is. Anyway, the next few days should be something else!

Girls just want to have fun!

Tuesday 9:18 p.m.
A few years ago I sent an email to sixth year saying I would teach them to box if they wanted to. I had an immediate response and looked out the glass box at a very nice girl smiling shyly over at me from the computer suite. The response was: I would love to box with you, Mr Hotboy.

I got two messages today from a disguised email account. One said: hold me. The other one said: you make me feel all warm inside.

What chance would you have if you were unattached and working as a young teacher in a heathen school? Or, as the headmaster was reported to have told the probationer: If you don't stop smoking dope and screwing schoolgirls, Mr Peabody, I don't see much future for you in this profession.

But what did you reply today, Hotboy? Did you ask to meet her round the back of the bike shed? No, Jack, I maintained a noble silence. Even in this degenerate age, Jack, it is possible to be cool.

Maybe I could buy an old banger, Jack. That would be one old banger keeping somebody all warm inside another old banger, Hotboy. Dearie me. They'd get you the jail, so they would.

The Warmth

Monday 15:07
Just about the only good thing about having to come to this jobbie is that it gives you a chance to see how things have progressed. You can remember what it was like last Monday and compare.

There's a gorgeous feeling of warmth in my abdomen with each vase breath today. Every after-breath and a wave of wonderful blissiness ascends the body. It just beats all, Jack. So it does. Who knows where all this is going? But I'm so pleased I've gotten this far!

9:30 p.m.
There was only the nun and moi at the meditation tonight, so I had a wee word with her afterwards. Seemed odd to just go. I sent her an email about what I was up to a few weeks ago, but it seems she didn't get it.

Of course, she thought I should have followed the usual path, which is to have completed the 100,000 recitations of the 100 syllable mantra and so on. The purification and accumulation, setting a good foundation, etc. I half wished I hadn't opened my mouth. She was bound to say that of course. She thought The Bliss Of Inner Fire was a dangerous book to have out there among the public. I think she's probably right about that. Maybe if some folk got hold of it who weren't mentally stable ...

We're mentally stable, aren't we, Jack? Sound as a pound, Hotboy. Sound as a pound.

Diana from Belgium!

Sunday 10:03 p.m.
Diana from Belgium left me an email. She thought that maybe a lot of folk from abroad came to this bloggy, but that is not the case. The sensei lands from Arizona. I think my nephew comes from Finland. Onan the Bavarian lands here from New Caledonia. Someone appears to come from the Bongo Bongo. There is also someone from Spango (hello, to the yogini tim from Spango!), but apart from that, this is an exclusive bloggy, I think. I will not mention the occasion of sin.



I do not like hypocrisy. I am not any better than anybody else. I
behave much worse than most people. In fact, as I sit here on my fourth
pint of home brew, I'm as complete disgrace to thejuju.

So what the fung is going on, Jack? I think it must be grace, Hotboy.


What is grace, Jack? It might be something outside yourself giving you
a bit of a boost. This is not an explanation, but we don't really have
an explanation, do we, Jack? No, we don't have an explanation,Hotboy .
So you might as well call it grace, this something outside yourself,
this something which is overcoming your disgrace.

The
volitional impulse is to move. You have body and form, sense bases,
perceptions, mental formations which include volitional impulses,ideations, and conciousness
(es). I've moved a bit faster this weekend because I am impure. Or
because I like getting pissed, and taking drugs, etc., and this makes
you want something else, something stupid. Like drinking home brew.


Even although it was because of all the saints in heaven, the buddhas in the buddhalands, the spinning Sufis, the wonderful Sikh gurus, the millions and millions of hindu sadhus ... we, the spam robots, Hotboy, would like to hear about the bliss.

I cannot do justice to the bliss, Jack! It goes onward and upward. As moi continues the investigations, it's amazingness and wonderfulness increase exponentially. What can moi say about the bliss? It's like having three arms and two heads. Flatheids just don't get the bliss!

Previously, the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid segued effortlessly into the Disbelieving Congregation without having any members at all, apart from moi. As the sole representative and single exponent, I would like to welcome Onan the Bavarian into the fold. You are now a member whether you like it or not, Onan. There must be a karmic bonding somehow. I would not have started this bloggy if it had not been for you and Mingin'. Here come the bliss! Here comes the bliss!

Some cats!

Saturday 11:24 p.m.
You're lying drunk on this wonderful hammock in West Australia. You're lying there in the hammock and you tell yourself that this is not so lonesome, this being drunk on the Victoria Bitter and lying there in the hammock. There is the huge amount of Australian stars to look up to and it is a wonderfully constructed hammock from Mexico, kind of made of bits of spidery string. It catches you in mid-air, between two trees. But you try not to feel separate and lonesome lying there out in the back garden, or the yard, between the trees in the hammock.

Something glides under the small of your back and caresses you. Then it moves back again, and again, and again. As you are lying there falling asleep, or maybe passing out, you feel the wonderful massage on the small of your back, and you're not quite passed out yet, and you wonder if you have felt it at all. This happened quite a lot.

Sometimes I wondered if I was imagining it. The caressing was a puzzlement. Then once when I was not so drunk, but was in the hammock and the caressing began, I thought : This is not a shark passing underneath in a dream. This is really happening.

The cat was kind of feral and used to live in the hedge. After a while, and I did drink a lot of Victoria Bitter in West Australia, the cat would massage the small of my back and then jump up and sit on my belly as I looked up at the wonderful Australian stars. It was completion when I got the cat to do that. It was serenity. The cat was called George.

A hut with a cat flap! What a fortunate creature I would be then!

Those Evolutionary Tails!

Saturday 8:00 a.m.
I came upon Grizzly's new Alsatian tethered to the back fence at the auld maw's. Grizzly's last Alsatian was a psycho biting machine, so I went round to the front door instead.

The new dog (15 months old now) is a big sweetie. It doesn't seem to have a decent bite in it. Because of the pining it does for Grizzly, the dog was brought into the living room. It really is a beautiful looking animal.

Grizzly and I agreed that although it had a very soft nature, there was still a wolf in the dog alright.

I started thinking that the dog was perfect at being a dog and would have a wonderful doggie life as long as Grizzly didn't snuff it. It was going to be as happy as a dog could be.

Compared to the dog, all the human beings in the room were useless at being human beings, including moi. Partly no doubt due to consuming four pints of home brew the night before, I was just a wee bit crabbit perhaps.

Tibetan Buddhism talks of six classes of existence and they say that being born a human is very precious because it is the human beings who can pursue spiritual development. There's still an awful lot of monkey in human beings.

We are supposed to be using our willpower and brainpower. More than half of the folk in the room yesterday have complained about having a sore back. Too dumb to meditate! Too dumb to even teach themselves how to sit properly! Here comes the ... grief, sorrow, lamentations ...suffering in this life!


On the train to Bellshill yesterday, I was feeling a bit dozy, and for a while I was going from the bliss into sleep, then back out of sleep into the bliss again. This was quite nice.

You are supposed to have a glimpse of clear light mind, which is basis, I think, while dying, going to sleep, wakening, or having an orgasm. But you always miss it. Yesterday, on the train as it was coming into Shotts, I had a sudden whack of great, rigidifying bliss. Suddenly, I seemed to be in it; white and blazing. That was something else! It only lasted a wee while. I checked the breathing. Was I still breathing? I was then, like a little breeze.

There has been some glitch in the soapbar distribution network and last night I went to bed straight and sober, since you can't drink beer every night. There will be no one else in the flat till six o clock this evening at the earliest. Allah Akbar!

I had a dream!

Wednesday 11:28 p.m.
I was once a great fan of Ernest Hemingway. If I read any Ernest books just now, I'd still be a great fan. I think it might be in The Old Man and The Sea when he talks about how the old man had stopped dreaming about women, but dreamt now about lions on the shore. I would like to be there, but somehow not yet.

I wakened up this morning about half five and thought I could recall the erotic dream I had perfectly, but, of course, I couldn't. Usually, when I remember erotic dreams, it's because I've wakened up to some unpleasantness i.e. the dream was in the nightmare end of dreams. But when I wakened up this morning, I thought the dream had been so well remembered and pleasant that I should write a book about it. Sometimes this happens to me. In remembering the dream, I remember that I'm supposed to be a writing person and think I should relate the dream. Where do you get your ideas from, Hotboy?

The humpings were fairly joyous and it was only when I thought of various aspects later ... like the clitoral thing seeming to grow penis-like .. that I thought this might be a bit weird. At the time... it was a very happy time. A fling. The schoolgirl and moi.

Then we came back to the clapboard house and my extended family were there, particularly one of my alive brothers, Grizzly. It is always good to have a dream about Grizzly because he is the best of us. Then I was going up the stairs with the schoolgirl ... she was a normal person, but a young person of consenting adult stage and way passed that ... when we met the Domestic Bliss. She was very happy but also somehow trying to be annoyed, and it was apparent that both these people looked alike, except the one I was taking up the stairs did not have such gravitas.

It said on the net today that Kundalini juju might be dealing with the libidinous thing. I think, according the Freudian analysis, the libidinous thing is something coming from the id.

What? Hotboy, do not fall for this psychoanalytical crap! Okay, Jack. Let's imagine that the ... let's not imagine anything.

The sixth year girl left a drawing on the table top, etched in, of a huge erection on a figure with breasts. In my glass box, I'm doing the juju as much as I can and trying to pay no attention to the noises off. I think she's a friend of the gurl who showed me her text thing: I would like to fung you all night long, from a week or so ago. Then I get an email of a rather suggestive poem, and ignore that. Then this schoolgirl comes into my glass box, where I spend most of my time staring at the postcard of the Medicine Buddha, and asks me for some sellotape. Sometime later, she hands back the sellotape, and turns away with a drawing of an erection and bollocks sellotaped to her back.

What would you do, Jack? As a spam robot, Hotboy, my advice to you is just to let it be. If you have to be an object of desire, then so be it.


So I shouldn't try to find a neutral locale where I could find a way to hump the schoolgirls? Absolutely not! Be cool. Even in this degenerate age, Hotboy, it is possible to be cool!

Obama

Monday 9:30 a.m.
I just had to mark the day!! The Civil Rights Movement was the first real experience of the USA I can remember watching on the news when I was a teenager. I think the satellite coverage was new then. You have to be my age or older to remember George Wallace trying to stop the black kids getting into school. Who would have believed then that in forty years there would be an Afro-American in the White House? Despite everything else, this says a lot for the American political system and the Democratic Party. If it wasn't going to be an Afro-American, it would have been a woman. This is a great day!

Hunger!

Sunday 9:24 p.m.
Most of yesterday was wasted. I couldn't watch Hunger, the movie I went to with the kiddo. It was full of flatheids being rotten to each other, but I did open my eyes and pay attention to the twenty minute scene with Bobby Sands and the priest. Brilliantly, brilliantly acted.

After the movie, I was talking to the kiddo and had to abruptly leave due to welling up. That hasn't happened before. But I went a walk round the block. As I walked, I was not playing a flute!

There's someone who perseveres with this bloggy and lives in Belgium. Diane, you're just not going to understand the flute reference!

I was bothered by the strength of commitment and the lack of bliss. I keep going on about going into solitary confinement. I know it would be hard, but for someone like me ... well, it would be worth it!

I was bothered by the strength of commitment. I'm not trying hard enough. I know we are supposed to be looking for the middle way, and that the buddha wasn't into severe asceticism, but Milarepa ... Milarepa...

Why don't the folk in solitary confinement get the bliss, Jack? Why does moi get the bliss and I don't know anyone else who gets it? There are wonderful descriptions in Alexander Berkman's book, The Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist, about the screaming of prisoners going mad in solitary confinement, the night time horrorshow.

Well, Hotboy, you have the method. These flatheids, even if they know the method, do not employ it. You also have some understanding of the wisdom and even although you have not realised it, you know what it is. So, it's okay for me, Jack. Yes, it's okay for you, Hotboy. Just remember that you are not guaranteed the time and you could be dead tomorrow. You cannot help the stupid flatheids in your current state. Find a way to do a longer retreat.

The lama asked the seventeenth Karmapa, who was a kid then, if he could go back, please, into solitary retreat. The Karmapa told him he had to stay put and help his brother. Just remember it's not all about moi, Hotboy!It's not all about moi!

The Bliss!

Saturday 12:48 p.m.
This is for the spam robots, not too dumb to meditate, but following the Disbelieving Congregation's Five Step Plan on How To Get Out of Your Face On Air. Hello, Jack!

Even for someone as fortunate as moi, someone who has experienced fabuloso, truly fabuloso amounts of the bliss, the last two hours spent in meditation have been beyond the beyond! The ball got whacked out the park and was last sighted heading for the stratosphere!

In an hour and a half (Oh,what an hour and a half that will be!), I will have to head off across the beautiful, wonderful city to meet the kiddo at the pictures. No one, not a single one travelling by bus, car, walking will be as fortunate as moi! Flatheids just don't get the bliss!

If you read this blog and don't meditate ... just give yourself a lollipop! Stop being pathetic and get into the bliss!

Lost People.

Friday 8:54 p.m.
It was cold, clear and sunny as I stood on the bridge across the railway line in Bellshill train station. You could see quite some way, but as Scottish views go, there really wasn't much to see. The church steeple at the cross, a few wee hills on the horizon, and one wind farm far away.

During one of the last conversations I had with my deid brother, he showed me a letter he'd received from Kenya. It was from a daughter he never knew he had. There was photo of her and her two wee boys, both of whom looked gorgeous, like young versions of Sugar Ray Leonard. There was no address and no signature. This daughter had traced him through army records. It seems he'd stayed with her mother for a week. All the deid brother said he could remember of the woman was her greetin and holding onto him as he was trying to go back to the Scots Guards. A soldier on leave, I suppose.

His daughter had managed to come to Britain and got to Bellshill station, but only took a look around and then went back to Africa. She must have stood on the bridge. I wonder what she made of the view.

When the brother died from injuries he received falling out of the loft, I contacted some Kenyan newspapers to try to find my African relatives, but with no result. I'll have to try that again someday.

Obama isn't black. He's black and white.

I managed to stand on my head tonight and go into a lotus, then curl down and land in a sitting position. It's a long while since I was able to do that. I'm back, Jack! I'm back!

Who Killed Andreas Baader?

Thursday 22:20 p.m.
If you come to this bloggy for the buddhism, this might not be the post for you! The kiddo just phoned me up ... I told her at the start of the month I could take her to a movie. We saw an advert for Hunger, about Bobby Sands, and I said I'd like to see that because it has a one take of a 23 minute scene, and you don't get that in movies. That's more like theatre. So I said I would go.

Setting the scene. I've had three pints of home brew, but there is no soapbar. If it wasn't for the beer, maybe I wouldn't have been set off.

First of all, I'd like to say that I don't kill flies. I don't kill the wee mothie things that have started flying about this room. Politically, I'm a libertarian socialist, which I reckon these days means that I don't mind folk getting filthy rich if they can't help it, so long as most of the money goes back into the kitty when they snuff it ... this is because I met a millionaire once and he couldn't do anything else to validate his existence. Also, I think if I want to do drugs that's my business unless I become a disgrace and dependant on other folk, or the state. I would like bus journeys to be almost free and I think human beings are wonderful and you should just let them get on with it.

Having drunk some home brew, the kiddo's phone call made me remember the time I wanted to wear a tee shirt saying: WHO KILLED ANDREAS BAADER?

I don't care if he was an idiot or an arsehole. My deid brother told me about the trial concerning the cages in Inverness where Jimmy Boyle, etc., were kept in solitary for ages and ages and ages. I think Jimmy Boyle told me he'd done 18 months at a stretch in solitary once. Actually, he told me the only funger about doing solitary was when the prison officers appeared. I think one of them lost an eye in an attack. Anyway, they had a trial in Glasgow about this before the Special Unit was set up in Barlinnie.

In these cells, which were continually searched, I think almost on a daily basis, they found all kinds of thing for breakouts, etc., etc. My brother told me all the evidence was fabricated by the ... what are they called ... authorities.

Germaine, Jack. Germaine? Germane? Anyway,. that's not what it said in the papers. Nobody got that story.

Ulrike Meinhoff hanged herself in private and managed to have semen stains on her clothes, if I remember right.

According to Wikipedia, other of these revolutionaries decided to shooty shooty themselves after the failure of an aeroplane hijacking. To get them out. They, if I remember right, committed suicide by taking guns out of the walls of their cells. These guns had been hidden in the walls of their cells by sympathisers. This was a brand new set of cells which had been built specially by the authorities, but somehow the Baader Meinhof gang managed to infiltrate the brickies ... It is beyond belief! I do not do conspiracy theories. Buddhas don't commit suicide. Neither do revolutionaries, no matter how funged up they are.

The Special Unit was a wonderful idea. They had folk in jail and they didn't have the death sentence. So some of these folk were uncontrollable. Poking folk's eyes out, etc.

My deid brother ... Oh, how I miss the contrary basturn!.. told me about a conference/seminar he attended where they were asked about the problems with such special units and how they had to watch out for brickies hiding guns in the walls!

There's a guy dying at the moment in Greenock Prison who is supposed to have been responsible for the Lockerbie plane bombing. He's got as much chance of being involved in that as me and you, Jack.

Just remember they're all going to hell, Hotboy. They're all going to hell, Jack!

Today ... what a day! ... I've been asking the Medicine Buddha (who is moi!) to help me with not wanting to get books published ... since it is not equaniminous, and not to ever think of the word ... fl*theid. But it's a shame about the unfortunate, stupid basturns, so it is, Jack!

The Thursday!

Thursday 9:50 a.m.
I found an email from my secret agent just then, and a little flutter of excitement arose. I try not to bother him with inquiries. Some day I might get a nice email from him about getting help out of the lonely financial zone. This email was about him changing telephone numbers. You can't have everything, Jack. Yes, you can, Hotboy. Yes, you can!

Sitting up in bed this morning, I started in on this Tonglen malarkey and realised that every time I take a deep breath when I'm sitting, I fill up with bliss. What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

The weather is quite filthy and horrible just now. Not in the lobby it isn't!

Wednesday Afternoon

Wednesday 3:50 p.m.
As I walked out from my jobbie this Wednesday at noon, I was hardly wound up at all, and could see before me just wonderful, wonderful opportunities over the next few days to investigate the bliss. I have to go out for a meal on Saturday night, but, apart from that, I have no appointments with any flatheids other than family members.

This is a fantastic time in my life, Jack! Who knows how far the juju may advance before I have to go back to the jobbie on Monday? But it will advance, Jack. It always seems to.

It's a shame you can't describe the bliss to the flatheids, Hotboy. So it is, Jack, but it wouldn't make any difference anyway. The flatheids are just too dumb to meditate and will have to make do with the .... grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! To hell with that for a game of soldiers. I'm off to the hut!

In The Post

Monday 20:47 p.m.
'The enjoyment is not the problem, the problem is the attachment'. Tilopa.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, from the Lebanon, I reckons, via Cloggieland, if the postmark be right (nothing was written inside the envelope),came a wee bit of something wonderful.

'Don't Bogart that joint, my friend, pass it over to me.' Canny remember who sang that. I might have ten minutes ago. I love getting stoned. I just love it.

I tried to do some of this Tonglen today which involves sucking lots of air in and blowing it out. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Straight connection between the breath and the bliss. No messing. It's creeping all over my back and deliciously up neck and round about my jaw just by sitting here. It's really quite nice, so it is! I'm on a bit of a roll here, Jack. It's really not believable what you get from staring at candles for most of a couple of days. And no rat piss home brew for me tonight. Hurrah!

Resume

Sunday 22:57 p.m.
The leaves seemed blasted and shredded on the raspberry stalks today. I ate a few, but there aren't many left. I heard it was a hard day for weather yesterday, but I spent most of it in the lobby and there are no windows or anything to the outside world, so what do I know?

I meditated for two hours in the hut. Everything opened up and I sat there in the bliss. This evening was wonderful as well in this regard. Warmth and bliss, but not so much heat, probably because I hadn't enough time spent on creating the three channels.

I had to give my time to the flatheids on Thursday and Friday because my beautiful, wonderful daughter was 21 at the end of the week. She was priceless on Friday when we went to see a preview performance of J.M. Barrie's play Mary Rose at the Lyceum. She has an Equity card. She spent two summers acting on kids programmes with the Comedy Unit of the BBC in Glasgow. I took her to first nights at the Traverse up until I fell off the freebie list when Philip Howard left. Her mother was in the theatre and had bought the tickets. Whenever her wonderful mother buys the tickets for any drama, I hope it will be so appallingly bad that it might be worth watching. I asked the kiddo what she thought of it play when it was finished and she said: "The reason why I don't want to try and write a play is because I'm worried that it might end up like that."

I'm a bit of a disgrace, Jack. What are the rest of them like, Hotboy? Hmmmm? I wouldn't like to say, Jack. I really wouldn't.

New post.

Sunday 1:40 a.m.
I've been trying hard today, now that I've got a chance. I've watched two candles burn down. You're not supposed to be lonely in your cave. You have a yidam and, I think, a dakini. I love you too, babes!

As usual, this is from the Glenn Mullin translations.


The consort Bhagavati Vajra Varahi is gazing intently at you, the Bhagavan. Her body is naked and red in colour. She has one face, three eyes, and two arms. Part of her hair is fixed in a knot on top of her head and the remainder falls loosely down over her shoulders. Her right arm is wrapped around your neck and holds a skull cap filled with the four maras and other evil forces. Her left hand holds a curved knife and shows a threatening mudra to all harmful beings of the ten directions. She blazes with a fire like that at the end of time and her two legs are wrapped round your waist in order to pull you into a sexual embrace with her. Her essence is great compassion manifest in the nature of supreme bliss. She is adorned with the five seals, has a crown of five dried human skulls, and wears a belt of fifty dried human skulls.....

I love you too, babes!

Of course, I can't do that either. But I did get a little kiss. I'll sit up tonight till I fall over.

Retreatless!

Saturday 12:51 p.m.
If I hadn't spent all my spare cash on drink and drugs, I could have spent a few days in the tent at the Samye Ling this week. I really miss not going there every time the school is on holiday. And sometimes it has felt as if the UnFortunate OneS were sucking the blood out of my veins, and removing good meditation time from what's left of this precious lifetime. The UFOs do not know what they are missing, but I do. I rested in the hope that today I would have the whole day in the flat on my own, and stayed sociable this morning on account of this, but events, dear boy, events ... the cold and wet and wind have altered arrangements. Let's look on the bright side!

I'm not carrying many injuries at the moment! Hurrah! I still cannot get my right shoulder into a reverse namaste, but otherwise the capsulitis isn't bothering me at all. Last week I started sitting in a full lotus sometimes and I haven't been doing that since my vein exploded in June. I did manage for the first time in ages in getting into a lotus while standing on my head. Also, there was a possibility of getting visit from Brian Wilson today and that's been cancelled due to the filthy weather.

I remember a dream I had a couple of days ago. I was in this, my room and I knew Brian Wilson and his wife were visiting because I recognised two of the bikes parked against mine. Then a man came through the door and went to look out the window. I asked him who he was and he turned out to be a friend of Brian Wilson's wife and he was here as the leader of a Christian fellowship who had come by a tour bus which was down in the street. The room filled up with a bus load of teenage Christian fungers. I was asking politely what they thought they were doing in my room. Then I was asking them not very politely. Insouciantly being ignored I was! I ended up holding the front door open and shouting out: WHY DON'T YOU FUNG OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE! Not a difficult dream to work out, I wouldn't think

All my plans are simple. Retreat, retreat!

2:57 p.m.
Just came in from the first sit in the lobby. This morning I did an hour and a half before anyone else was up. Then I did one tai chi set, one headstand and one backbend over a chair. That meditation session has completely revived my spirits. Tons of bliss when I wanted it. At one point I found myself inviting some dead people in the bardo to come and enjoy the meditation with me. It seemed appropriate somehow at the time, Jack. Remember you promised the lama you wouldn't go mad, Hotboy! I'll be back!

10:00 p.m.
I've been meditating up until ten minutes ago ... apart from the physical jerks and bathing. Just started on the home brew barrel, but I filled it up with water through the week so that it should now be small beer, I hope. A mild refreshment!Hmmm? Ratttled into the first one since I was pretty dehydrated. Well, the jerks tonight were five minutes skipping, twenty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, three threes and 49 knee bends (doyos to tai chi fans!).

Somebody asked me to do some juju for a friend of theirs who is dying of cancer. The joe apparently isn't too happy. I haven't really done much for still living people before, but I remember listening to the Lama Yeshe tape a wee while ago and he was saying you should practise Tonglen.

This means you breathe in someone's suffering and breathe out, well, bliss or happiness or not-suffering into them. I think you imagine taking on their suffering and ...

You can't do that, Hotboy! What, Jack? Take on other people's suffering. I know that, Jack, but the lama said you could do it if you were a buddha and you might be a buddha in a few aeons and then you'd be able to do it because you'd started practising now. This is forward planning, eh, Hotboy?

Jack, I can't do deity yoga, or dream yoga, or any of this juju, but it doesn't stop me practising it, does it? If I have to face dying from the black spot sometime, I don't suppose I'll be too happy either, Jack. Maybe if I do it for someone, somebody else will do it for me. But will that be any good to you, Hotboy? Maybe not, Jack, but it will do them some good.

It's not supposed to be all about moi! At the end of the day, there isn't supposed to be any moi.

I'm blogging about this because it is a positive development in my practise. This will be very good for me. This might not have happened if I hadn't gone on the piss with somebody last Sunday. This is very good indeed!

Pat Kavanagh

Wednesday 9:06 a.m.
The post I was writing just disappeared! Oh well!
I didn't know Pat Kavanagh, but she had a wee place in my heart from the amusing emails she sent me. I assumed from her client list she was the best. She didn't need to bother with someone like me. I mentioned that she obviously didn't need the money with a client list like hers, and she replied that she could have made a lot more money if she hadn't been bothered by the quality of the writing.
When I finished XXXRaBlissBookXXX, I sent her the usual three chapters. Here is her reply:
Dear Hotboy,
I like your tone of voice but, honestly, I just don't see that this is a novel and anything resembling one. It reads to me like autobiography infused with fantastical wish fulfilment and written while high on adrenalin. Speed? Dope?

I know you can write but I don't know whether you can be published. To my eye/ear this first isn't publishable.

I'm sorry about that: as I said, I like your voice.

With good wishes.

You've got to laugh! I put that letter on my wall. The next agent I sent the book to decided to represent it, but failed to get it published. So she got that one spot on!

From her treatment of me, I think she must have been an awful nice woman. Since no one I know personally has died recently, I'm going to dedicate the next seven weeks meditations to her.