Ra Summer Holidays!
Wednesday 10:00 p.m.
I don't have to go to work next Monday. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. or the Monday after that. I've got six weeks holiday and it started today. I was going to stop doing everything bad, but I wasn't feeling kind of on holiday, so I've just poured myself the first beer of the holidays!
Who's from Fort Wayne, Indiana? I can only waste time now looking at the statscounter thing and not the blogpatrol (they stopped letting me in for some reason!), but I do love reading the names of the American places. Rapid Falls. Americans have place names like that. It says it all. Anyway, someone from Fort Wayne, Indiana, visits this blog quite a lot. Is there a spam robot, a Masai Warrior, or a Martian from Fort Wayne? Why should someone from Fort Wayne come to my blog?
Fort William is a place I stayed in once in Scotland for a few months. Great place, nice folk. Fort William is called after a king, I think. But calling a fort after John Wayne is just brilliant! A lot of folk here didn't like John Wayne because he was a Republican, but I loved John Wayne. Him and Robert Mitchum were my favourite film stars for ages. If you can't help me, get outta ma way! Who Shot Liberty Valance? was a great movie.
This blog seems to be getting hit around twenty times a day these days. More than half are spam robots who've been here before. Remember when I wrote about the joe in Bellshill who stabbed his mammy nine times? Well, he got six years for attempted murder. The judge said he'd have given him ten, but he pleaded guilty. His mum is a friend of the family. Seems she did seven years for killing her husband when the son was a wee one. I didn't know that until I read it in the papers. Anyway, men are pigs and you should get off for stabbing the basturns. Beef McDuck, my nephew got stabbed through the heart, but survived. One of the guys I hung around with when I first went to uni ... well, his mum got axed to death by his brother when my pal was seven. At least, his brother was crazy and not drunk.
It wasn't my fault, Lord. It was the drink. This is a perfectly valid excuse. The boy who stabbed Beef said he had no recollection of the events and after two bottles of vodka ..., well, who knows who's stabbing who?
In chilly Jockoland, you can't smoke in pubs now. Apparently, more folk want to go to pubs here now that they don't have to breathe in the fumes. Here is my bevvying schedule...
After six months almost alcohol free (apart from those times when you think: Fung, surrounded by flatheids! What am I doing here? I hate this. I'll have a drink. That should work!), I started on the beer again last August when I had to go on holiday from ra bliss, yoga, writing, and all the things I actually like doing. The year before that I was drinking beer. The year before that I didn't drink at all. I think I've managed three straight years without beers at all. I need another one. Tension and stress leads to beer. I'd like to give alcohol up forever. I'd like to stay in a monastery and just do ra bliss; no beers; no compensations; no frivolous chatter; no writing books; just doing ra bliss. Calmness. Focussing.
I wrote a letter to Teresa today saying that I would be down to the Samye Ling with my wee tent for a week come Friday.
This is all part of the culmination and coalescence. I finished the second draft of my novel yesterday. When it's finished, it won't matter if it gets published if I can live on £750 a month. That's when I'll be happy with what I've got. That's where I've got to be. Not wanting anything.
I ate some raspberries in the allotment today. I ate a turnip, a wee one. I ate two strawberries. The finches have fledged and gone already. I'll be there a lot. I will. Yogi Joe, sometimes coming out of his hut to eat his way down through the things growing out of the dirt! Have to go! The kiddo needs taken to the bus stop!
Midnight. Four beers in!
This is a Scottish Haiku. I don't know what a haiku is. I think it's a Japanese poem thing and has got three lines. So this is my Scottish Haiku for Lee Ann, who has a blog I always visit and who maybe isn't getting much bliss right now. It's a traditional Scottish Haiku, composed by anon, as the best things are!
Gowps means it pulses hurtfully.
Beels means it is red and it's hurtful.
A pluke is a spot. Not quite a boil, but what disfigures your handsome visoge when you are a teenager.
Are you ready then for this, Jack?
Haiku for a Pluke.
It Gowps and it Beels
It hurts when it heals
And it leaves a wee mark when it's better.
That's the best I can do, Lee Ann.
I don't have to go to work next Monday. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. Or the Monday after that. or the Monday after that. I've got six weeks holiday and it started today. I was going to stop doing everything bad, but I wasn't feeling kind of on holiday, so I've just poured myself the first beer of the holidays!
Who's from Fort Wayne, Indiana? I can only waste time now looking at the statscounter thing and not the blogpatrol (they stopped letting me in for some reason!), but I do love reading the names of the American places. Rapid Falls. Americans have place names like that. It says it all. Anyway, someone from Fort Wayne, Indiana, visits this blog quite a lot. Is there a spam robot, a Masai Warrior, or a Martian from Fort Wayne? Why should someone from Fort Wayne come to my blog?
Fort William is a place I stayed in once in Scotland for a few months. Great place, nice folk. Fort William is called after a king, I think. But calling a fort after John Wayne is just brilliant! A lot of folk here didn't like John Wayne because he was a Republican, but I loved John Wayne. Him and Robert Mitchum were my favourite film stars for ages. If you can't help me, get outta ma way! Who Shot Liberty Valance? was a great movie.
This blog seems to be getting hit around twenty times a day these days. More than half are spam robots who've been here before. Remember when I wrote about the joe in Bellshill who stabbed his mammy nine times? Well, he got six years for attempted murder. The judge said he'd have given him ten, but he pleaded guilty. His mum is a friend of the family. Seems she did seven years for killing her husband when the son was a wee one. I didn't know that until I read it in the papers. Anyway, men are pigs and you should get off for stabbing the basturns. Beef McDuck, my nephew got stabbed through the heart, but survived. One of the guys I hung around with when I first went to uni ... well, his mum got axed to death by his brother when my pal was seven. At least, his brother was crazy and not drunk.
It wasn't my fault, Lord. It was the drink. This is a perfectly valid excuse. The boy who stabbed Beef said he had no recollection of the events and after two bottles of vodka ..., well, who knows who's stabbing who?
In chilly Jockoland, you can't smoke in pubs now. Apparently, more folk want to go to pubs here now that they don't have to breathe in the fumes. Here is my bevvying schedule...
After six months almost alcohol free (apart from those times when you think: Fung, surrounded by flatheids! What am I doing here? I hate this. I'll have a drink. That should work!), I started on the beer again last August when I had to go on holiday from ra bliss, yoga, writing, and all the things I actually like doing. The year before that I was drinking beer. The year before that I didn't drink at all. I think I've managed three straight years without beers at all. I need another one. Tension and stress leads to beer. I'd like to give alcohol up forever. I'd like to stay in a monastery and just do ra bliss; no beers; no compensations; no frivolous chatter; no writing books; just doing ra bliss. Calmness. Focussing.
I wrote a letter to Teresa today saying that I would be down to the Samye Ling with my wee tent for a week come Friday.
This is all part of the culmination and coalescence. I finished the second draft of my novel yesterday. When it's finished, it won't matter if it gets published if I can live on £750 a month. That's when I'll be happy with what I've got. That's where I've got to be. Not wanting anything.
I ate some raspberries in the allotment today. I ate a turnip, a wee one. I ate two strawberries. The finches have fledged and gone already. I'll be there a lot. I will. Yogi Joe, sometimes coming out of his hut to eat his way down through the things growing out of the dirt! Have to go! The kiddo needs taken to the bus stop!
Midnight. Four beers in!
This is a Scottish Haiku. I don't know what a haiku is. I think it's a Japanese poem thing and has got three lines. So this is my Scottish Haiku for Lee Ann, who has a blog I always visit and who maybe isn't getting much bliss right now. It's a traditional Scottish Haiku, composed by anon, as the best things are!
Gowps means it pulses hurtfully.
Beels means it is red and it's hurtful.
A pluke is a spot. Not quite a boil, but what disfigures your handsome visoge when you are a teenager.
Are you ready then for this, Jack?
Haiku for a Pluke.
It Gowps and it Beels
It hurts when it heals
And it leaves a wee mark when it's better.
That's the best I can do, Lee Ann.
posted by Hotboy at 10:05 PM
6 Comments:
First, I am amazed at how many people you know that have been stabbed or axed to death.
I hope you have a wonderful summer full of fresh fruits.
Thank you Hotboy, it is true, I am in need of some bliss.
You and Rob are very special to me.
Thank you.
~xo
I am from Fort Wayne, and I can honestly say that I haven't the faintest idea why anyone from here or anywhere else would visit your crazy blog. I'll link you anyway though, just because I like the way you ramble on and on without restraint. Just my style, when I'm drunk.
I was going to say what Lee Ann said about the stabbings and axings...but she's already said it, so I won't. The Haiku is charming!! Can I have one?
We have discovered currant bushes in our wood! A the summer develops we are finding more and more beautiful things growing and blooming...it's marvellous!
Lelly: Not quite a haiku, I suppose. Not mine either.
Taken to the woods:he's living with an ape.
Is it a female ape?
Of course! There's nothing odd about Carruthers!
I think I could tolerate being a nice person if I had a whole wood! Hotboy
I say Hotboy!
I take it that the violence happened some time ago, and that you are now surrounded by those of a sounder disposition?
MM III
Mingin! They're deep and dark, unlike your sweet self. Us nice folk canny understand the psychos! Hotboy
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