Monday!

Tuesday 8:00 p.m.
I youtubed Heart Attack and Vine by Screaming Jay Hawkins and got ready to leave the jobbie.

I bet she's still a virgin, but it's only twenty five to nine. You can see a million of them down on Heart Attack and Vine. Tom Waites.

It was blowy, wet and horrible when I met the pizzaman at the school gates. There is an irony there somewhere. Felt great doing the exchange in the bus shelter. I would like to be played in the movie by Marlon Brando like he was in On The Waterfront. I love scoring. There always something wonderful about it. So happy days are here again!

I took the photie of the hut on Sunday. The shelf where the rat was waiting was full of stuff when I was sitting there with the rat behind me. I was amazed at how big it was.

The open daffodils are in Inverleith Park. The half shut ones were outside the hut.

So yesterday I got in from the jobbie, had something to eat, and lay down on the couch with my magic towel over me. I love these wee sleeps. Then I got up and meditated for a wee bit over an hour. Then I read Denis Lehane for an hour. Then I meditated while watching teevee with the noise blockers on and the eyes shut. Then a wee chat, and more teevee watching except not. By the end of all this I must say I did feel quite warm, but not in a localised way at all. Because I can't do the visualisations. But it's like glowing a wee bit; and all over warmth. It never happens they way you think it's going to happen.

The weather was bad yesterday for those walking about, but this evening it's just diabolical. I'm not going out in it. I think I'll try turning into a porridge oats advert and wait for the cannybliss to come on.

Night before Payday!

Sunday 9:15 p.m.
Since last Sunday I've been sober and straight on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and tonight. On Wednesday I drank a bottle of plonko collapso (£3:99 from Scotmid); on Friday I drank two bottles of German lager and two bottles of Erdinger; on Saturday I drank five bottles of Erdinger (from Asda in Newmains and over 50p cheaper than Peckhams in Stockbridge).

No nicotine this week, of course!

I ran the Ravelstone Dykes run on Wednesday and did the five hills run on Thursday and Saturday. I did the six threes shadow boxing session in the Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle tonight and felt quite fit and light on my feet, considering I'm eleven and a half stone.

I've got a disease, Jack. What kind of disease, Hotboy? It's called the scabby, cracked and peeling lips disease and I've had it for about two years and a couple of months now. It comes and goes. I shaved my wee beard off to get rid of it and started taking cod liver oil pills ... I thought I might be missing something in my diet through not eating fish or dead tortured animals ... but to no avail. I've always had a wee problem with dry skin and dandruff.

So I googled it today. Obviously, it's not even much of a nuisance or I would have done that kind of thing sooner. Apart from schoolgirls, no one is much interested in kissing me anyway!!

A vitamin B2 deficiency gives you cracked and peeling lips. I've got a wee predispostion anyway, but it can be the result of a vegetarian diet sort of , heavy exercise and being a pisshead. Anyway, the Domestic Bliss got me some Vitamin B Complex pills tonight and I've started taking them.

I'm going to do a meditation now. I've been meditating at least six hours a day since I stopped working on Wednesday. That's all that really matters right now.

Ram Bahadur Bomjon and the 3 Step Juju!

Friday 11:20 p.m.
The first step is the flatheid. That's just about everyone. Not a fung clue. Thinks everything is real. Has his/her head jammed well up their bum and accepts perceptions as ... anyway, lives in the impossible way of being and questions it not one little bit. This is the moron, the Prehensile Tail, The Evolutionary Tail, the pondlife idiot. Your normal human being.

(Am I allowed a comment from the class war here, Jack? Why not, Hotboy. Go ahead.

Given the neurotic parenting .. and the never being able to come home with your shoes dirty .. and always having to keep your room tidy .. and the marching up and down ... def, dight, def, dight, def dight .. you are geared to be in middle management ... always crawling up the arse of your superiors and always vicious to your inferiors like a proper little fascist ... well, you might as well blow your brains out since you are never going to get by the first step, which is being a flatheid. You're only hope is to just stop everything right now. You're just never going to get anything anyway better. Just blow your brains out. There is no past, no future and you are just a fung danger to everyone else in the present. A planet guzzling, sweetie eating, petite bourgeois worm.)

The second step is to emanate as a deity. Becoming a deity. Convince yourself of this and you might have a good laugh about it, you and I. Instead of being a flatheid, you are ... compassion and altruism, loving kindness, bliss and joy, heat and healing. Delve into the channels that you have invented and open them up. This is a very strange land to live in.

I'm havering on the second step a little because I cannot do this properly yet. Trying to combine the method and the wisdom in this maybe takes a bit more time and effort than I've got to give it right now, but ... it's a tool. You're not a deity, just as you're not really a flatheid. You just think you are.

We're in the skillful means here. The Kagyu Karma juju masters say they have the skillful means, and I think they might be right.

The third step involves surely the fantastic bliss that blows the first two steps away. It might be called the narvi ...navrilkapla samadhi ... wiki it ... it's probably called samadhi anyway ... it's what maybe the buddha boy is doing.

What is the buddha boy doing, Hotboy? I don't know, Jack. But his guru is a tibetan monastic and they're into raising the inner heat. But he's passed that.

I've never seen any monastics at the Samye Ling taking a deep breath. I've watched the abbot there sometimes for an hour at a stretch and I've never seen him taking a vase breath. I think they're all beyond that. I think there is maybe a bit you get when you close your eyes (you have to have been a good boy for this to have occurred, I think) and you get the openings and the totally exotic bliss, and you don't really need the deity bit in between.

"When we can see straightforwardly and non-conceptually the nature of your clear light mind and be able to become fully absorbed in that nature without ever having to regress from that, we have become a buddha." Dalai Lama.

That maybe what the buddha boy is doing, whatever method he's using. You could maybe just sit there and wait and not use any method at all and get there, but it might be a bit harder.

That'll be tenpercent off the top, please.

Credit Card Basturns!

Friday 6:30 p.m.
Mastercard Bank of Scotland, may yous all burn in hell!

So I got the statement this evening and checked it out. There was an overlimit charge of £12 on it. This was bit of a puzzle since I've been good this month. As far as I know, I gave them £100 and only used the card for a fiver's worth of plonko collapso on Wednesday night. Feeling quite virtuous, I was. I thought maybe they'd charged me the £12 because the cheque for the £100 had arrived late. So I phoned them up.

Press 1. What's your birthday? Press 2. How many husbands did your granny have? Press 3. Now wait ten minutes and listen to some fung musak from hell. Hello, Mr Hotboy.

Last month the basturns decided to reduce my limit from £2400 pounds to £1300 without telling me. Well, I got a letter nearly a week after the card was refused in Scotmid. The reduced the limit on the 19th of February. On the 19th of February, they charged me £26 interest on my debt, which put me £26 over the limit they'd just arbitarily set. Then they charged me £12 for being over the limit.

I'm not making this up, Jack. Thank god the usurious basturns are all going to hell. After twenty minutes of my precious lifetime hanging on, pressing buttons and listening to horrible musak noises, they agreed not to charge me the £12. Why can't I charge them money for wasting my time?? Basturns and currants the lot of them!!

The Nazi Papa and Moi!

Friday 10 a.m.
As the sole member and single representative of the Disbelieving Congregation ...
We embrace our ignorance
We don't believe in any things
Especially thoughts ...
I don't like criticising other church leaders, but I am also a non-practising member of the Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church...having been through the sacrament of confirmation. My confirmation name is Peter.

The question of which takes precedence: canon law or state law was settled by the formation of nation states, the reformation and the development of so-called democratic government We are all supposed to be equal under the law in this and other so-called democracies.

In the Disbelieving Congregation motivation is everything. What was the Nazi Papa's motivation in ignoring the letters from the archbishop (don't tell me he didn't see them. They were from an archbishop for Christ's sake!) concerning defrocking the priest who'd sexually abused over two hundred deaf kids? Which Christian principles was he actually trying to uphold at that point?

Anybody who let off priests for abusing kids, moved them elsewhere, and didn't inform the police is surely guilty of being accessories to any abuse that took place thereafter. Why aren't they getting arrested for this?

The Disbelieving Congregation is now proposing the admit disgusted tims for membership.

I'd like to join, Hotboy. Will you give me all your money, Jack? I haven't got any money, Hotboy. I'm a spam robot. Fung off then!

Thursday

Thursday 7:35 p.m.
I meditated all morning and for most of the afternoon. Then I braved the haar and smirr and did the five hills run around half four. I've given the Domestic Bliss the credit card and whatever cash I have left to take with her to the singing and dancing so I don't break cover and make a dash for the beer shop around nine tonight.

Despite the meditations moving on, it's been hard pounding today somehow. Not too much joyousness. The weather has been woeful, foggy and damp. No point in going up to fight the rat for hut space really.

Apart from eating and dozing twice, I've been at it since before six this morning with only The Times to read. I bought that so I didn't have to read The Mystic River. Didn't want any strong images lingering through the meditations. I'll be okay once the Dom Bliss leaves the flat and I can settle into an evening of sitting quietly doing nothing.

Education, Education, Education!

Wednesday 3:40 p.m.
A second year kid was trying to sell me a ticket to a school concert this morning. Smart enough kid. It's only three pounds, he says. Sorry, says I. I've only got ten quid to do me till Monday. Ten quid probably seems like quite a lot to some kids. Come on, he says. Naw, says I. I've only got ten quid. But it's only three pounds for a ticket. If you buy a ticket, you'll have six quid left, he says. So three from ten is now six. Hmmm?

After the next election, I expect to become Dictator of Chilly Jockoland by spontaneous acclaim. My first act will be to get all the heads of all the primary schools, line them up against the wall, and shoot the fung lot of them.

A British Admiral once didn't attack and sink a French fleet like he should have, and he was put in front of a firing squad "Pour encourager les autres", as Voltaire said. There was no messing with the British navy after that.

I'm going out to do the Ravelstone Dykes run just now. The old, toothless one seems to have injured himself, so I'll be on my ownio.

You shall go to the ball!

Wednesday 10:15 a.m.
I was at a wedding the last time I wore a pair of leather shoes, proper shoes. I hadn't had anything but trainers on my feet for about twenty years and the shoes I had on were ones I'd worn then. Clark shoes; none of your crap. Not long after the knot got tied, they fell apart and I had to go home and put on some trainers.

Once I stayed next door to this old man who'd recently retired. Since he had no hobbies and little to do but watch the cricket on the telly, he soon went gaga. You could hear the wife screaming at him through the walls. When he passed away, she knocked my door and offerred me some of his clothes and some shoes. I did wear some of the clothes, but remember drawing a line at the shoes. I'm not walking about in dead man's shoes, I thought.

Yesterday I bought a pair of black shoes from the Shelter shop downstairs. I suppose someone took them off the guy before they nailed down the box. The wedding is a week on Saturday.

I'm giving up lots of things these days!
1) I'm giving up buying newspapers. I must about £400 a year on newspapers. Now, I just read the Metro, which is free on the bus around here.
2) I'm giving up getting the No. 12 to work. They way the buses work, I had to wait too long in the cold this winter to get the No. 12, which is a better bus to meditate on, so now I get the more frequent and more crowded No. 22.
3) I'm trying to give up putting photies on this bloggy. It cost me about £120 last year to do that since I put a tenner on my mobile phone every month and never ring anyone up on it.

Of course, I'm trying to keep down my contact with flatheids and give up the usual poisons. This has been going quite well this week since I am broke till Monday. Hurrah!

Monday Night

Monday 9:15 p.m.
It's a week till I get paid. I've got ten quid left at the end of my overdraft limit, but won't spend it till Friday. So happy to be sober and straight tonight. Would love to keep that up all week and not succumb to the credit card temptations!

Are these your dog food years, Hotboy? Certainly not, Jack! I have the soup and breid and a bus pass. Less means more as far as the bliss is concerned. What a fortunate creature I am, I am. What a fortunate creature I am!

Tuesday 10:00 a.m.
Couldn't find my bus pass this morning. Strangely dislocating effect. Had to withdraw the tenner. Dearie me!

This has led to a new, cunning plan. The clocks change this weekend and I'll be able to run in the light at night then. Run, lie in the bath. That's cheap! Make home brew. Half the outlay on the bob hope. Be happier!

The Bomber book

Monday 2:45 p.m.
Found out today that my agent has contacted Ursula, The Queen of the World, who now runs Little Brown ... she used to be my agent thirty years ago ... and Ursula gave him an editor to contact about the bomber book.

You can't do any better than that, Jack! All an agent can do is get the book in front of someone who can make a decision on it. Even if Little Brown don't want it - and I don't expect that they will - that's quite cheered me up. Makes taking another look at it before Christmas not a waste of time after all. Good!

Yoga Nidra

Monday 9:30 a.m.
Last night I had a lousy sleep. This is normal on a Sunday night, the night before going back to the jobbie. Not sleeping well used to be awful. You're awake at three in the morning, tossing and turning and wanting to be unconscious. Not a good state of mind this.

This is where being able to do Yoga Nidra is a great benefit. This is really just an extended version of the corpse pose, savasana.

Last night I seemed to hit new levels of relaxation. You're lying there with your eyes closed and being like a blissed out white log. Not many thoughts arising for ages at all. This is very nice indeed. Being able to induce the bliss when you're lying flat out has been a great benefit to me.

I believe some yogis don't sleep at all. Some don't even lie down. But if you have to lie down and you can do yoga nidra ... that really can be something very good indeed!

Books

Sunday 9:00 p.m.
I finished a novel a couple of days ago called City of Thieves by David Benioff. Excellent book. Set around the siege of Leningrad during the Second World War. I think at the end of the Second World War, Joe Stalin suggested that the allies execute the top 50,000 Germans. Read this book and you might realise this was not such a bad idea.

I'm having trouble thinking about executing a rat, Jack. A dead rat! Ah, what company that would be! (Sam the Man)

I started reading Mystic River by Dennis Lehane today. I think it was recommended by the sensei and reverend as one of the top crime books. Even after only thirty pages, I know it's going to be fung brilliant!

Thank God I've given up trying to be a writer! There are far too many brilliant writers out there. It used to be just such stellar joes as Hemingway and Steinbeck, but now there are tons of brilliant writers I've never even heard about.

For some reason I've started reading books again. I haven't been reading books for years. So much so that I couldn't understand how I ever found the time to read so many books before. I thought it was because there weren't computers in those days, or I used to read books while I was smoking dope. I think I stopped reading novels because I was meditating all the time.

This was not a great day for meditating, but I put in about five hours anyway. That's what I can do. Meditate. I don't know why. Someone told me once that Belgians made great cyclists because they were dumb fungers and cycling for eight hours a day was what they could do because of this. Plodding persistence.

I think I'll start trying to write again. I might re-jig the crime book and put it into the first person because I find that easy. Try this time to write something amusing. Maybe have some first person and some third person stuff. First person is too facile. Pick your personality.

When I wakened up on Saturday morning, I felt totally re-assured about the flatheids, my deep dear friends. We have come to this planet in the best of possible times. Nobody had to go to war. You could get the dole. If you were sick, you got doctors for nothing. Heaven on earth really. Then I thought of all the folk I knew who were given the black spot and how well they all had handled it, at least in front of me. Happy times to be alive!

So I put this passed the Domestic Bliss. It seems she does not feel as if she's living the wonderful life, although it seems to me that she does. Poisonous went through our deep, dear friends and asked who was happy. Well, that was a bit disconcerting. They aren't sitting by a river in the Bongo Bongo as babies with worms eating out their eyes, but they are still not happy bunnies. So that's what I thought until I had the wee epiphany on Saturday morning when I thought they were all doing okay, and living in the best of possible worlds.

Anyway, if the flatheids are miserable even in the best of possible worlds, what can I do about that? Nothing. The too dumb to meditate are not happy people. Even if they are all nowadays richer than anyone from hundreds of years ago. Much better off. I don't care. I'm going to be happy anyway. No point in being miserable just because moi is surrounded by the too dumb to meditate. If they can't be happy with all they have, when can they be happy?

Maybe I'll resume my trying to be writer stuff and read books and meditate and be happier than anyone I know.

Anyone can get access to the bliss, Jack. The emptiness might be a bit trickier, but anyone can get access to the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Animal Magic.

Sunday 10:25 a.m.
So I went into the hut yesterday afternoon and the shoe box, which had been sitting on the ledge half full of tatties, was lying on the ground. The tatties were supposed to be chitting on the ledge; waiting to start sprouting. Where had the tatties gone? Had something eaten most of them for there were only three or four on the ground near the box. Hmmm?

I sat down with my back to the ledge and the shelf behind me is just below shoulder height. It's an old kitchen unit. Was feeling a little uneasy somehow. Closed my eyes. A wee while later, I thought I'd heard something and got up to have a look, feeling a bit stupid since there was probably nothing going on. It's hard to see all the stuff on the shelf since I'd just shoved things in there. I pulled a piece of cloth and a huge rat came jumping out. It looked as big as a ... a fung big one anyway. It jumped down onto where I'd been sitting and disappeared pronto round the back and, assumedly, out of a hole round there and under the hut. The only way it had of escaping while I was sitting there was by jumping over my shoulder. Heart attack stuff that!

I pried away some stuff from the shelf and found all the missing tatties. The rat had knocked the box onto the floor and then picked up the tatties and put then into the back of the shelf space. This is about nine inches off the ground. How did it do that?

I tried to convince Poisonous yesterday that his cat needed a holiday in my hut, but he was having none of it. What should I do? I need to dissuade the rats somehow.

Falling down!

10:35 p.m.
I fell down on the way home. What a shock! Still, no bones broken. You're lying there on the road through the colonies and you're wondering if you've had it. Nee Naw, Nee Naw! Here come the polis! But you get up and check yourself out. Sore knee. Sore elbow. Why have I not broke my collar bone? Close to that though.

I haven't got any money, but me and the Poisonous are spending his money in this bar talking about happiness. He doesn't give a shit about happiness. I love the Poisonous. I really do.

I'll tell yous about the rat that nearly ate my ear off tomorrow.

Saturday

Saturday 8:05 a.m.
I had a bit of an epiphany shortly after waking up this morning. The things I really think about life, my life and the people I know traipsed through my mind as I lay in bed. This stuff was very positive, so I won't go on about it here since this bloggy is really for drunken ramblings and ventings and is only regularly read by sad basturns, apart from Mary Queen of Scots and Jack the Spam Robot. Anyway, it's overcast and grey out there today as I'm just about to start my first meditation.

What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

12:15 p.m.
That's three hours meditating done this morning. When I was about nineteen I realised there was no point really in talking to folk about LSD who'd never taken it. You don't have an analogous experience. Anyway, the last meditation took everything a bit further down the line. Such amazing bliss! Now for luncho and off to the diggings!

The way to do it!

Friday 10:10 p.m.
Sober and straight! Hurrah! The off-license is shut now. I've been meditating since just before seven with one short break for a headstand. Very good indeed!

Excellent meditations as well, Jack! Excellent! Hurrah!

Friday

Friday 3:45 p.m.
Last week I didn't go to Bellshill since the auld maw was attending a special mass for the old and sick. She was telling me today she only recognised two folk there. All her generation are gone now. The "old people" were all my brother Silvest's age, around seventy. She had a fall last week and has a bruise on her forearm the like of which I've only seen once before, when a friend of mine fell of a horse and landed on his elbow. Thankfully, she didn't break a bone.

I got the new express to Central Station that goes through Bellshill. Take a half hour off the journey easy.

The meditations are going great. Everything else is still crap. This is boredom you can afford! And I don't get paid till a week on Monday. Dearie me!

Thursday

10:40 p.m.
The recorded delivery occurred early doors, so I could have my luncho and fall asleep on the couch, then go to the diggings. I hate everything now. The usual humiliations occurred. Dig, dig, dig. Silence. You can't even hear the birds sing. I have not found one worm in the half diggings of one side of the allotment. Not one living creature in the dug to death ground. I started planting ... some second earlies. Estima. This means you can get some wee tatties out of the ground from July through to September when you should get the main crop. Maris Piper and some other death begotten thing.

I was only digging for about an hour. Destroyed, I was, as usual. Also, after four or five days spitting in the face of the Nicotine Dragon, suddenly I was dead crabbit. I want to stab the basturns through the eyes. I want some decent drugs. I want a proper jobbie where I can spend the weekend spending money on some decent drugs, stabbing the basturns through the eyes ... and conversation. The basturns are so ossified they can't hold a decent conversation anymore. Just a lot of moi, moi,moi.

It'd like to become a criminal, except I can't be arsed.

What about ra bliss, Hotboy? Fung ra bliss, Jack! The one thing the evil bourgeois have going for them is their stupidity. We could do with some more of that around here!

Also speaking to a funny person. One who could talk to you and be amusing. Also,with a large bosom!

The Cosmologicals!

10:20 a.m.
Just finished the first meditation session of the day. An hour and a half. Prospects look very good today.

Before meditating, I had a look at the sensei and reverend's blog. Very good post about rebirth, non-self really. Non-self and emptiness, which is what I am supposed to be trying to realise, is quite logical and rational. Understanding it is easy; realising it is not. Well, not for moi anyway!

I was reminded of a tape I used to listen to by the Dalai Lama. The buddha didn't tell the same thing to everyone. Some things aren't a help to some people. The Dalai Lama said he told someone they hadn't a soul once - i.e. that there is no unchanging substance to folk anywhere - and the joe or josephine started shivering with fear. Telling this person they hadn't a soul wasn't really much of a help to them. As far as I can see, there is no truth, so you can believe what you like as long as it makes you happier and doesn't fung up anyone else.

Great Horizon programme on last week about the Standard Model for Cosmology. Regressing from the present, they'd got great equations for the big bang and whatnot. Excellent equations, but looking around they didn't fit the actuality. The evenness of temperature in the universe was wrong. So they invented Inflation to explain that. Then the galaxies weren't behaving properly. They needed more gravity, so they invented Dark Matter. This means there has to be something else there, but they haven't a clue really what it is. Then there's something funny about what's happening in the space between galaxies and they invent Dark Energy. This means if you take away all the matter particles and all the light particles, there's still something there. No nothing. You can't get nothing. Then this boy checked out the data in the background radiation and says the anomalies mean there has to be Dark Flow. Dark Flow means that Inflation probably occurred at different places and there is more than one universe to contend with. This is still controversial, but will probably be in the Standard Model as soon as some other joe gets round to crunching the numbers.

I love stuff like this!

So there's no soul. Fair enough. There's maybe just one thing. It certainly looks like that if you have a wee realisation of emptiness. But we still have to deal with misapprehension i.e. ignorance. The gross body is not the end of the matter. If what is reborn is habitual tendencies, it is very hard to see how even that could operate. But if the Dalai Lama keeps dying and then popping up again, there's something weird going on here. The vajrayana juju makes it evident that there's more to us than meets the eye. We're not just flesh and blood. Whatever it is doesn't seem to be unchanging, but there is something else there.

That's my half hour break up. I was anticipating staying in all day and awaiting a recorded delivery, but it's just been delivered. If it doesn't rain, I'll dig this afternoon.

Allotment

Wednesday 7:50 p.m.
I got off the couch before three and went to the diggings. Today was the first time I'd sat out at the side of the allotment since before the snows. It was obvious that the meditations had progressed since then.

I think it's probably about fifteen months since I started moving the awareness up the chakra symbols. And things really got a boost around last summer when the lama went into the dark for seven weeks.I don't know what to expect from these meditations and that's all part of the adventure. It is a kind of adventure doing this juju. It really is.

One photie is the log I sit on outside. One of the others shows how much I've dug so far. It's about a third of one side. The tatties planted are Duke of York and Epicure, both first earlies. A wee bit of a mistake there, Jack, since I don't really like first earlies. They're too wee!

I don't think the flowers are crocuses. The wummin whose allotment they were growing in wasn't sure. She said the leaves were like tulips. Anybody know what they are? Any guesses even?

Charles Bukowski Eat Your Heart Out!

Monday 9:50 p.m.
Last night I drank two bottles of this collapso you can buy at half price from Scotmid, called Murdo Di Vino. £3:99. I think the name must mean Murder Yourself with This Collapso. However, apart from wakening up at half three in the morning, I felt really okay today. Well, hardly a hundred percent, but I'm used to feeling crap on a Monday when back at the jobbie. On Friday I drank two bottles of weissbier and a bottle of red, and felt crap the next day. The first person I had sex with was telling me about injecting whisky ... no, we don't want to go there! But why can't they put alcohol in a pill?

I got off the couch at twenty to six and went up to the hut. This is wonderful. This longer day stuff. Last month you couldn't have done that. Then I meditated when I got back here. And then I meditated again. On the way back from the hut, I felt so impressed by the Murder Yourself with This Collapso that I bought another bottle, but only one.

You can look down your long nose, you blissless moron, and think how superior you are that you don't have to do things like buy bottles of plonko collapso to help you battle with the Nicotine Dragon, but you don't get ra bliss either, do you?

The meditations in the hut and back here before I started quaffing the plonko were superbo. I feel more and more empathy with the boy who drank himself to death and bonked everything on nights like this. These are two different things, connected by your ability to concentrate. If you cannot concentrate, and you won't be able to when you're drinking or really hung over, you cannot do ra bliss. But there seems to be a dichotomy with the subtle and the gross. How wonderful!

Of course, pouring poisons into yourself has no part in Higher Yoga Tantra ... but I will not buy fags, and I have no money for bob hope. Tomorrow I'll be sober and straight.

There's something funny going on which I cannot quite put my finger on. Changes. I'm don't seem to be feeling the hangover effects from drinking so much these days, or as one would normally feel. There seems to be a difference from what there was. Funged if I know what it is!

Does anyone know what kind of flower that is? Christmas present!

Changes.

Sunday 8:45 p.m.
Tree photies of the end of the winter really. Life will spring forwards soon. In your face.

No tobacco today. Lots of wine to compensate. A middle way, Jack! We have to find the middle way!

My £100 computer stack in the bedroom has been collapsed for a month or so. So I've been reading books since you have to do something when you go in there to smoke joints. I've read The White Tiger, which won a Booker prize. Not brilliantly written, but a very good and interesting subject. All about how the evil bourgeois in India are a lot of complete basturns, even as bad as the ones in Afghanistan viz a viz the Kite Runner. I was expecting to like Vernon Little God Vernon, or whatever, another Booker winner, but it's not good enough. I'm reading David Beniof's City of Thieves just now, which I'm sure will be very worth the while....

What is the point of all this writing, Jack? No point, Hotboy. Even Jesus will soon be out of print. You should have tried to make some money, son, got a nice house and a motor car, and made the poor basturns whose loins you sprung from proud.

Would it have made them proud? I think not. You only get your hand shaken when you've taken on a mortgage if you are sprung from the evil bourgeois, who can only mark their passage through the times with such insubstantiality since they can never get over the toilet training and do not know about ra bliss.

However, I now have £35 in the overdraft to do me until I get paid at the end of the month and I should have paid more attention to that.

What about the bliss, Hotboy? There are basturns who would bite your arms off for £35! How is the bliss getting on?

Well, Jack, if I could forget about the adults in the jobbie and just talk about other folks' kiddos, then we'd be getting somewhere. The blissheid surfer on the oceans of bliss, with more than £35 to his bank's name and just relaxing and doing the bliss.

I have to become a criminal, Jack. Or write about criminals and stealing money and doing the bliss. Since I was off two weeks ago, I cannot not go to the jobbie even although I'm getting pissed. No freedom! No freedom! Fung them! I sure I could write a book at least as insubstantial than either of the three books I've read recently. You could tell looking at them that these writers did not know anything about the bliss, or really much else. Patterns of words. Anybody should be able to do patterns of words about how the evil bourgeois are awful. We all bloody well know that. Ugly basturns as well! Give me a gun and I'll shooty shooty the lot of them!

So far!

Saturday 11:40 p.m.
Seems a long time since I was at work. Not going to see the auld maw this week made the time stretch out somehow. I think if I wasn't going to Bellshill, I'd start writing again. Bags of time.

I had to socialise last night and was a bit fashed and bashed today, so the went for a walk to the Botanic Gardens. Had a brilliant meditation there. Took some photies. Then the old, toothless one and I did the five hills run. That felt better.

The Domestic Bliss is a pal of the agent's wife. She liked the blissbook; said it was enjoyable and funny. Good! I haven't read it since I sent it to the secret agent and don't intend to. Just made me annoyed.

Tomorrow there will be much blissing and much digging. It seems that you can get pissed, smoke bob hope and generally make an arse of yourself, but still the meditations progress. Had a stunner this evening.

I'm skint again and just about finished the bob hope. The Nicotine Dragon and I will have words tomorrow. I'll try to be good for the rest of the month. Allah Akbar.

Blossoms were coming out in some kind of tree in the Botties. The flower was in the park, in the wee special bit. Any idea what that might be called?

Tatties!

Saturday 11:40 a.m.
I've only got a tottie bit of bob hope left. I'm saving it for this evening and doing the nicotine withdrawals today. Hmmm? If anyone is needing a dead body buried, this is the best time of year for it. A shallow grave would fit in nicely beside the tatties. Planted them yesterday. The trees are all in Inverleith Park.

My Thursday

9:30 a.m.
Just finished the first meditation of the day. What a wonderful day this is going to be!

As far as Tibetan culture is concerned, you could forgo the gong bashing, the funny hats and all, but these meditations are a fantastic gift to the world. It's unbelievable until it's happening.

11:25 a.m.
Another skin came off the onion there!

It's about six years since I went part time at the jobbie, which allowed me to meditate for most of Thursday. This wasn't an easy thing to do then. Just like getting up at six in the morning to meditate before going to work. It's better now, Jack! Much better!

"Let no man think lightly of ra bliss, saying in his heart: it will not come nigh me. By the falling of water drops is a pot filled. The wise man becomes full of ra bliss, though he gather it little by little." G.S. and moi.

1:20 p.m.
Just finished the last meditation of the morning. I wish every day could be like this!

7:00 p.m.
I slept for two hours this afternoon. Great sleeps these! Going to sleep in the bliss and waking up in the bliss. Then I went up to the diggings, but mercifully it started drizzling, so I sat meditating in the hut for an hour and half. It turns out the auld maw has cancelled my visit for tomorrow, so I'll get on with the diggings then maybe.

No daffodils out yet!

10:45 p.m.
This evening I did the shadow boxings. Six threes, but no plastic bags encompassing. I felt really quite fit. If you do a lot of yin, you do get a lot of yang. I meditated again after nine, but have now succumbed to the plonko collapso, which is very good indeed. At Scotmid it was half price at 3:99 and is called Montepulciano D'Abruzzo. It's red. Does anyone know what that means?

I felt really good during the shadow boxing. I might be entering the days when you only feel good doing physical jerks, and the rest of the time you feel funged. Weighed out at eleven and a half stone. That's my weight at the moment. Would like to see it at eleven.

Anyway, good day!

Wednesday 10:25 p.m.
The old, toothless one and moi ran from Stockbridge, along Hamilton Place, down MacDonald Road .... round Arthur's Seat through the Meadows.... and everywhere. This is the beautiful, wonderful city at its best! Clear and cold in the sunshine. The folk who have left these shores have failed to understand the subtleties of joy you can get around these parts. When you are not getting hammered, everything looks fantastico.

It knocked the seven shades of crap out of me, so it did. The old, toothless one is on the monkey glands so it's okay for him. I'm running on old. But I'm still running. Or jogging. More like padding.

I should not be doing this. Such is the bliss. I should just be doing the bliss.

The usual photie of from the bus stop in Princes Street. And a tree for my friend in the north. And I found another message from The Alien Creatures from Outer Space. They are waiting for moi behind the moon. The message says: Don't worry about abandoning the flatheids.

You are let off for now. The too dumb to meditate will always be too dumb to meditate. That's just the way they are. They will never experience the bliss.

Does it make you cry, Hotboy? It does a bit, Jack. But what can you say? I'm a bit of a flatheid myself. Oh, they'll never get the bliss. They'll never get the bliss! Ee Aye Adio, they'll never get the bliss!

Beneficence. Why is there bliss there? What the fung is it?

The anatomical description doesn't match the experience. We need a different description of what we are.

The Diggings!

Sunday 9:10 p.m.
I was the first customer at the allotment shop. It's a container and this was the first day of opening. Springtime! I got six bags of seed potatoes, six bags of onion sets, and a packet of onion and celery seeds for just under £20.

One of the photies is of the allotment from the hut. I usually dig it all at this time of year. One of the photies is of the back of Brian Wilson's castle in Porty where you can get pissed and eat disgusting things in the totally baltic if you've temporarily lost a screw.

One of the photies is of the bit I dug today. It's about a sixth of one side. A biggish bit as well. I was counting the worms, grubs and other creepy crawly things in the soil I turned over. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. None. Twice a year I've been digging it all. I've dug the basturn to death!

I don't think this can be right, Jack. The old people who stole the dirt are probably stealing your worms, Hotboy. I'll get a gun, Jack! I'll get a gun!

Surf's still up in the oceans of bliss. Ain't that something!

The Bliss!

Saturday 9:25 p.m.
I'd meditated for about four hours before the old, toothless one and I did the regular Ravelstone Dykes run. About ten days since I'd been running. New shoes. Clumsy fat basturn! Didn't enjoy much of it until I slumped into the bliss bath. I knew I might be onto quite an evening from then on in.

The flat's been empty all day and will be until late on. Hurrah! Sometimes it takes till Saturday ...

After some more meditating, I went out for fags. Smoked a joint sitting on the bed with the bedside telly on. It's a show about how we're eating up all the fish. I was thinking I might start eating fish again due to my skin drying up and blowing away, but there's these shots of fisherman with big knives setting about all these giant tuna fish contained in the net. Blood and guts all over the shop! So I just closed my eyes and such an amount of bliss immediately.

The tobacco returns you to normal. I'd been crabbit today alright. But that's what addictions do. Get some nicotine in you and you feel normal again. So if I could just get rid of all the nicotine thoughts, I could succumb to the bliss in a more certain fashion. Without continually shadow boxing with the Nicotine Dragon.

We know all that, Hotboy! Tell us about the bliss! Okay, Jack ...

So it just come on right there as I'm sitting with the telly on. It's open, if whatever it is opens, and you're just immersed in the most wonderful sensations. These sensations are incomparable. The only sensations that could be better than these sensations are the sensations I will get as these meditations progress. So I went and sat in the lobby for an hour ... it is just so amazing to experience such bliss.

The better your concentration, the more amazing the bliss. Focus back and whoa! Excellent re-inforcement mechanism.

What does all this bliss mean? What is it for? What is it indicating? How come it comes with the air as well? I won't go on about the bliss because I know most of you are flatheids who do not meditate and, therefore, will never get the bliss. And it's not about the bliss anyway, is it, Jack? No, Hotboy, cognizing emptiness is what it is about. But if you have to get zapped with the bliss on the way to cognizing the emptiness, so be it! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

I'll go and have another joint and then vase breathe during the footie! What a great day I'm having!

Michael Foot Quote!

Friday 11:58 p.m.
Here's a wee bit of Michael Foot. I got it from a link to the sensei and reverend's blog.


"We are not here in this world to find elegant solutions, pregnant with initiative, or to serve the ways and modes of profitable progress. No, we are here to provide for all those who are weaker and hungrier, more battered and crippled than ourselves," Foot said during the 1983 campaign.
"That is our only certain good and great purpose on Earth, and if you ask me about those insoluble economic problems that may arise if the top is deprived of their initiative, I would answer 'To hell with them.' The top is greedy and mean and will always find a way to take care of themselves. They always do."

Porty!

Friday 9:20 a.m.
Drank beer, smoked, ate disgusting dead tortured animals and had to walk to Leith before I could pick up a taxi. That's enough socialising for me this month!

To Bliss or Not to Bliss?

Thursday 8:55 a.m.
Started meditating today at just after seven. Great potential today.

I haven't had any tobacco for the last two nights. Fell in with bad boys three nights ago, but no tobacco for a week before that really. I've got bob hope and this is the first time in probably a year that I've had bob hope and not bought fags for joints. Trying to get back onto the cannybliss yogurts.

The meditation so far has been very good, but what I'd really like to do is get out to the paper shop and buy fags, and then try to get Brian Wilson to come out to play this afternoon. Boozings, carousings and cavortings.

And what would that result in, Hotboy? Jack, that would result in grief, sorrow, lamentations .... delusions, disappointments and despair ... suffering in this life! We'll see.

10:30 a.m.
It's only on the second meditation that I get into the part where you concentrate on the navel symbol. This is the essence of this juju of course. Much less aggravation from the Nicotine Dragon now.

12:20 p.m.
So that's a wee bit over four hours meditating this morning. Every one better than the one before. Now, I have to do some housework, eat, doze, and get to the allotment before any temptations are succumbed to!

The glass portrait was done by the kiddo recently. The other is this morning's line-up on the floor.

Wednesday

Wednesday 7:00 p.m.
Michael Foot died today. The 1983 manifesto the Labour Party fought on stood for unilateral nuclear disarmament. No wonder they lost by a landslide! What kind of idiot would want to vote to get rid of weapons that could destroy practically everybody?

The building in one of the tree photies is a school. Do you know what it's called? Here's a few clues. You can see it out of the window in this room. To go there your parents need to cough up about £24,000 a year. You may become Prime Minister if you go there, which is better than Michael Foot ever did. You could join in invading a foreign country and kill hundreds of thousands of its citizens so you could get their oil for practically bugger all, and still consider yourself to be a pretty good bloke.

Michael Foot was a founder member of CND and a peacemonger. Whatever happened to the Labour Party? I suppose they got elected. I guess the Englanders won't vote left wing parties in.


The 1983 election was the first time I voted for a party other than Labour. It was obvious that they were going to lose. I voted SNP. The leader of the SNP hasn't voted for any oil wars yet. And the SNP want nuclear weapons out of Scotland. Even if Gordon Brown looks like winning, I might vote for the SNP anyway.

The second time I didn't vote for the Labour Party at a General Election was after they voted to invade Iraq. Basturns!

Crocuses!

Wednesday 6:55 p.m.
They weren't there a couple of days ago, but there was a whole bank of them at Inverleith Park today. Hurrah! Hurrah! The crocuses are back!

Yesterday's trees

Tuesday 3:30 p.m.