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!