Resume

Wednesday 11:12 p.m.
The Domestic Bliss should be back tomorrow around nine or ten in the morning, so I should sum up.

I try and try and try and end up a bit disappointed. Being at heart a democrat, and not believing in anything, I think I should be able to do anything that anyone can do, given the usual caveats i.e. I can't run as fast as the 100 metres champ because I have only one leg. However, if the mind game is about concentration and such, you think you should be able to do it. But I can't do it. I'll never be able to walk on water, or float. Loss of self, liberation and ultimate happiness is not going to happen for moi. But I do have some access to the bliss and I can stand on my head at 58 years old, so if you believed in rebirth (for some other joe obviously) then I'm about a million shots off it.

So what should I do, Jack? What should I concentrate my efforts on? Hotboy, you should write. Find a way to write and how to make some money from that so you can give it away.

As a member of a death cult, I have to say that everyone I know who has not been a member of a death cult has died very well. They really have. So why should I worry about that. Cormac McCarthy had a kid, who calls him Papa, when he was 69. I may have to live for a long time. My great granny lived till she was over a hundred. But I hate samsara. I really fung hate it. I think I'll have to start doing stuff in it again so I can enjoy some of it anyway.

I've got to find a way to think it would be better to be dead. When I was pre-pubescent, I remember once lying in bed and thinking that if when I was about to die, if I could think that here comes a whole new adventure then my life would have worked out. As the friends start to fall off their perches all around, I have to say that I am not there yet, Jack.

I'm up to page 90 in the re-write. Half way.

Two gorgeous black girls stood close to moi today. One was from Sierra Leone and one was from Zimbabwe. Fourteen, maybe fifteen years old. Wonderful kids, just a wee bit uncertain. Not been here long, a year or some months. I might be able to help such as those by not being a complete currant. And I should try to write. Because I enjoy doing that and sometimes it makes me laugh. Of course, I have access to ra bliss as well. Just get it down to four hours a day. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Allah Akbar!

The old, toothless one and moi ran up the hill in the photies this evening, which I took last Friday when walking home from Waverley Station. It does not look like a steep hill in these photies, but it is when you get started on it. But it's not the steepest hill in Edinburgh. Kirk Brae is pretty steep and the one in Costorphine is mindbogglingly steep.

At the top of the hill is the Scott Monument. You cannot see it well in the photies because that's the kind of camera it is. But it is a monument to a writer, unfortunately a Tory, but a writer nevertheless.

The Dom Bliss bought me the gloves for shadow boxing. They're not training mitts really. 14 ounces.