Rem Good Resolutions!
Sunday 1:10p.m.
In the pub on Friday and Saturday. Dearie, dearie me. Bad, bad boy! Well, today it's all stopping. Everything out of a can or bottle anyway. This morning I found a message from the Samye Ling on the computer. It said, Hotboy, get off the piss and get into ra bliss!
I meditated practically all day on Thursday. Well, from nine till nine at night. Yesterday, I sat in the hut from eleven till four. Then I had to get in my rowing boat and go to Australia to collect a consolation prize for an Awful Writing Competition. The first prize was a set of zoobies that shine like Sean Connery's, which I'll have to get when I get rich.
That might not be right away. Julia Churchill of Darley Anderson didn't get in contact with me last week about Light in the Dark. So that's not looking promising. If she'd wanted the business, I think I'd have heard. Of course, it is difficult to tell the difference between good and bad fortune. So I'll just go out for a walk.
3:30 p.m.
I was speaking to Brian Wilson recently. He's scared of going gaga and then dying. I reassured him. He might not live long enough to go gaga. He could drop dead at any time. What a state to be in! The boy's got angst. No point in going on to me about your angst, pal. Fear of personal annihilation upon death is the fate of the flatheids. Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life. Of course, now that I've given everything up again, I'll probably live long enough to have a changed my cells several times over, and be walking around with an almost completely new set of molecules. And people will think I'm the same joe! Flatheids don't get any of ra bliss at all. All neuroses and no bliss! Dearie, dearie me!
Habit is a great deadener. Samuel Beckett. The wall.
Giving everything up for nearly a whole day really worked. I can get to the heat zone now. The light is a nice add-on. Ra bliss, of course, is ... well, ra bliss. Blissy. The heat is going to be bizarre. But the sensations are fabulous. Rippling and pulsing upwards in this sheathy kind of thing. And there are extra special doses of ra bliss in the ripples of heat. And you just feel great.
The heat seems definitely to be better (hotter) at night. Seems to be switched off late afternoon as the lama said in his book. I think the fire element becomes more dominant at night. But what does that mean? It means it gets hotter at night, stupid. But why? Questions, questions, questions.
I'm going to start re-writing my book tomorrow. I'm very optimistic about this book. It's all about ra bliss. I could divide my evenings into one and a half hour sections. Bliss, write, bliss, write. Try to write on Thursday afternoons and the afternoons of the weekend. You've got a book in a year.
I won't have much time for the telly. The boy on telly tonight said that God told Abraham to be perfect. I'll settle for staying off the piss and getting into the freaky heat gig, and seeing how I get on. A bit of a middle way really.
In the pub on Friday and Saturday. Dearie, dearie me. Bad, bad boy! Well, today it's all stopping. Everything out of a can or bottle anyway. This morning I found a message from the Samye Ling on the computer. It said, Hotboy, get off the piss and get into ra bliss!
I meditated practically all day on Thursday. Well, from nine till nine at night. Yesterday, I sat in the hut from eleven till four. Then I had to get in my rowing boat and go to Australia to collect a consolation prize for an Awful Writing Competition. The first prize was a set of zoobies that shine like Sean Connery's, which I'll have to get when I get rich.
That might not be right away. Julia Churchill of Darley Anderson didn't get in contact with me last week about Light in the Dark. So that's not looking promising. If she'd wanted the business, I think I'd have heard. Of course, it is difficult to tell the difference between good and bad fortune. So I'll just go out for a walk.
3:30 p.m.
I was speaking to Brian Wilson recently. He's scared of going gaga and then dying. I reassured him. He might not live long enough to go gaga. He could drop dead at any time. What a state to be in! The boy's got angst. No point in going on to me about your angst, pal. Fear of personal annihilation upon death is the fate of the flatheids. Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life. Of course, now that I've given everything up again, I'll probably live long enough to have a changed my cells several times over, and be walking around with an almost completely new set of molecules. And people will think I'm the same joe! Flatheids don't get any of ra bliss at all. All neuroses and no bliss! Dearie, dearie me!
Habit is a great deadener. Samuel Beckett. The wall.
Giving everything up for nearly a whole day really worked. I can get to the heat zone now. The light is a nice add-on. Ra bliss, of course, is ... well, ra bliss. Blissy. The heat is going to be bizarre. But the sensations are fabulous. Rippling and pulsing upwards in this sheathy kind of thing. And there are extra special doses of ra bliss in the ripples of heat. And you just feel great.
The heat seems definitely to be better (hotter) at night. Seems to be switched off late afternoon as the lama said in his book. I think the fire element becomes more dominant at night. But what does that mean? It means it gets hotter at night, stupid. But why? Questions, questions, questions.
I'm going to start re-writing my book tomorrow. I'm very optimistic about this book. It's all about ra bliss. I could divide my evenings into one and a half hour sections. Bliss, write, bliss, write. Try to write on Thursday afternoons and the afternoons of the weekend. You've got a book in a year.
I won't have much time for the telly. The boy on telly tonight said that God told Abraham to be perfect. I'll settle for staying off the piss and getting into the freaky heat gig, and seeing how I get on. A bit of a middle way really.
posted by Hotboy at 1:07 PM
2 Comments:
Hotboy, I have to congratulate you on a consolation prize for the Awful Writing Competiion. I feel bad that I was tagged and did not enter. I just couldn't come up with anything!
Come to the castle and tell me what is "in your name"!
Ahoy! What is a zoobie?
Those photies at the award ceremony - you should wear the hat, it takes years off you, and it might change your luck with the agents. It could only help.
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