Ra absence of ra bliss!
Thursday 9:21 p.m.
This weekend will be the last of my six week holidays. I haven't mentioned much about ra bliss for a while. This is partly because everyone I know is a flatheid and I wouldn't want them to think I was gloating. Well, I can get ra bliss and they're still walking around with their heads stuck up their bottoms .... but that's not gloating. That's just the way it is. Flatheids are too dumb to meditate and will never get ra bliss!
I'll have a wee meditate here and then tell you a wee bit about progression with ra bliss!
You just close your eyes .... there are aspects of your physicality which you have no access to because you're a flatheid ... just close your eyes ..... the balloon like sphere, inside you and outside you, might be one of the sheaths the hindus talk about, but I don't know. Sometimes I think of it like a half filled hot air balloon. Just close your eyes and it's there, filling and expanding and rather bright. Put a wee vase breath in there. A gentle throbbing of warmth and bliss! And that's just the very beginning! Ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
I won't go on. I have to assume that I am unusual. It's an awful thing to say, but I don't think anyone I know is ever going to get near experiencing these wonderments. What a real waste of the humanbeingness that is!
Henry Adam, who wrote Petrol Jesus Nightmare, which the kiddo and I saw last Wednesday, and loved, came back to RaBlissBlog, so I checked up his reviews on the web. They weren't bad, but the production didn't get the plaudits it deserved. The Guardian gave it 2 out of 5, which is outrageous, and the Times gave it 3 out of 5, which you can live with. The Independent was okay and the Scotsman gave it 4. The Scotsman is an Edinburgh paper and anything even half as good at the Traverse normally gets a five from them.
You can write the best play in the world and still get duff reviews. People don't judge a play on how it's written. They judge it on what they can see. Mainly, that's acting and directing. I love acting. There's nothing like it. For performances you've just got to be there. The acting in that play was brilliant by all the actors. Someone mentioned a duff performance from one of the players. Someone applauded the same performance. That happened twice in the reviews.
In my experience, reviews are dead important to actors. Actors can't see themselves. They are in a very vulnerable position. Also, they're performing some one else's work and sometimes the writing is not very good, or the part doesn't suit them.
Most reviewers work freelance. Most of them don't know anything about anything. With really established reviewers, the ones you've read for years, you get to know the kind of stuff they're going to like and the kind of stuff they maybe won't. So they're useful... Owen Dudley Edwards, an old tutor of mine, used to write (maybe still does!) fringe reviews for the Scotsman. His reviews were fantastically generous. If I was a reviewer, I'd like to be like that. Then if you mentioned that maybe the piece wasn't perhaps quite worth transferring to Broadway straight off, folk would go and see it because it was so awful it would be worth seeing!
It's ten years since I tried to write a script. When this novel is finished, I'll maybe go back to writing dialogue for a while if I keep writing. No, I haven't worked very hard on my novel during this holiday, but I will finish it before Christmas.
I was in Bellshill today, but not for long. I got taken to the Carfin Grotto. The last time I was in the Carfin Grotto was when I was in primary school. I have this lasting memory of processing round the paths in the wonderful sunny summer's day and thinking how wonderful it was. The Carfin Grotto is a kind of catholic theme park. It's a park with a glass church in it, statues, plaques, etc. Very nice indeed. You can walk around, but it's much bigger when you're a kid. They have a sound system ( a good one!) and hymns and such sound out. There is a statue to the patron saint of cancer. I think he was depicted with a sore leg. I was standing there looking at this with my big sister. She told me she'd read this blog, all of it, up to two weeks ago. What? Who's got the time? I told her I was pissed when I wrote some of it and she said she knew that.
My instincts to keep away from the flatheids if I want to be truly happy are correct. Maybe I just need more retreats. Why do I think they're a problem? I'm the problem. Flatheids are just flatheids. You construe flatheids how you like!
This weekend will be the last of my six week holidays. I haven't mentioned much about ra bliss for a while. This is partly because everyone I know is a flatheid and I wouldn't want them to think I was gloating. Well, I can get ra bliss and they're still walking around with their heads stuck up their bottoms .... but that's not gloating. That's just the way it is. Flatheids are too dumb to meditate and will never get ra bliss!
I'll have a wee meditate here and then tell you a wee bit about progression with ra bliss!
You just close your eyes .... there are aspects of your physicality which you have no access to because you're a flatheid ... just close your eyes ..... the balloon like sphere, inside you and outside you, might be one of the sheaths the hindus talk about, but I don't know. Sometimes I think of it like a half filled hot air balloon. Just close your eyes and it's there, filling and expanding and rather bright. Put a wee vase breath in there. A gentle throbbing of warmth and bliss! And that's just the very beginning! Ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
I won't go on. I have to assume that I am unusual. It's an awful thing to say, but I don't think anyone I know is ever going to get near experiencing these wonderments. What a real waste of the humanbeingness that is!
Henry Adam, who wrote Petrol Jesus Nightmare, which the kiddo and I saw last Wednesday, and loved, came back to RaBlissBlog, so I checked up his reviews on the web. They weren't bad, but the production didn't get the plaudits it deserved. The Guardian gave it 2 out of 5, which is outrageous, and the Times gave it 3 out of 5, which you can live with. The Independent was okay and the Scotsman gave it 4. The Scotsman is an Edinburgh paper and anything even half as good at the Traverse normally gets a five from them.
You can write the best play in the world and still get duff reviews. People don't judge a play on how it's written. They judge it on what they can see. Mainly, that's acting and directing. I love acting. There's nothing like it. For performances you've just got to be there. The acting in that play was brilliant by all the actors. Someone mentioned a duff performance from one of the players. Someone applauded the same performance. That happened twice in the reviews.
In my experience, reviews are dead important to actors. Actors can't see themselves. They are in a very vulnerable position. Also, they're performing some one else's work and sometimes the writing is not very good, or the part doesn't suit them.
Most reviewers work freelance. Most of them don't know anything about anything. With really established reviewers, the ones you've read for years, you get to know the kind of stuff they're going to like and the kind of stuff they maybe won't. So they're useful... Owen Dudley Edwards, an old tutor of mine, used to write (maybe still does!) fringe reviews for the Scotsman. His reviews were fantastically generous. If I was a reviewer, I'd like to be like that. Then if you mentioned that maybe the piece wasn't perhaps quite worth transferring to Broadway straight off, folk would go and see it because it was so awful it would be worth seeing!
It's ten years since I tried to write a script. When this novel is finished, I'll maybe go back to writing dialogue for a while if I keep writing. No, I haven't worked very hard on my novel during this holiday, but I will finish it before Christmas.
I was in Bellshill today, but not for long. I got taken to the Carfin Grotto. The last time I was in the Carfin Grotto was when I was in primary school. I have this lasting memory of processing round the paths in the wonderful sunny summer's day and thinking how wonderful it was. The Carfin Grotto is a kind of catholic theme park. It's a park with a glass church in it, statues, plaques, etc. Very nice indeed. You can walk around, but it's much bigger when you're a kid. They have a sound system ( a good one!) and hymns and such sound out. There is a statue to the patron saint of cancer. I think he was depicted with a sore leg. I was standing there looking at this with my big sister. She told me she'd read this blog, all of it, up to two weeks ago. What? Who's got the time? I told her I was pissed when I wrote some of it and she said she knew that.
My instincts to keep away from the flatheids if I want to be truly happy are correct. Maybe I just need more retreats. Why do I think they're a problem? I'm the problem. Flatheids are just flatheids. You construe flatheids how you like!
posted by Hotboy at 9:29 PM
1 Comments:
HB - I too have read every post. Were you really sometimes blogging sober?
Whatever you do, don't visit Lee Ann's separate HNT blog, it'll do things to you that will block your meditations for a week. Don't say I didn't warn you!
You really know all about vulnerable positions, what with the public headstands, the eyerolling etc, so thanks for explaining the shameful plight of actors. As if the NPD wasn't bad enough! But you didn't say whether middle-class actors deserve our sympathy too.
Post a Comment
<< Home