Rat Sense of Freedom!
Wednesday 12:50 p.m.
What joy to be cycling away from work today, knowing I've got all this free time in front of me with hardly any flatheids in it at all! The Domestic Bliss is not due back from the Mediterranean rat town till Sunday. I'll go to see the aged parent one day. That's it. The rest is all mine. And I've just poured what was left in the home brew barrel down the sink! Oh, what a fortunate creature I am!
Meditation and Buddhism have always been about happiness to me. People who meditate smile more. After a while, you can't help it. Buddhism goes on about suffering because you don't need to suffer so much. If you persue realizations of emptiness, you cannot fail to become happier.
I've been a bad boy over the last couple of evening, but now I'm going to try and be good. Oh, what joy there will be! And what bliss! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
7:40 p.m.
It was very windy up at the allotment. When I first came to Edinburgh, I used to think of it as a windy city. Whatever happened to that? Anyway, I brought home a marrow. The Domestic Bliss grew a marrow. What for? What's a marrow for? What do you do with it?
Rejections don't make me happy. A bit immature that, to say the least! Anyway, I was thinking of just giving up trying to get anything published. But I remembered that when I'm meditating on images of my list of gurus, when I get to the 17th Karmapa, I often say: See you in Rumtek!
I should try to make some money! From next week, I'll try to get a package of something sent out every week. A three chapter message in a bottle. The only problem with this is that I should really read Bomber and Ancient Futures again to reassure myself that this is not a complete waste of time. Dearie me! Even the thought. Bugger it! I'm going to read The Varieties of Religious Experience.
10:00 p.m.
I got Are You Boys Cyclists accepted by Serpent's Tail. I told them I was called Alison Main. How different life would have been had I gotten this dirty book about boxing and writing published as Alison Main! You've got to lose yourself. Now I think Let's Kill Fatboy! should be authored by Adolf Shicklegruber The Second. He's got a much better back story than me and is at this moment living with Rosa Luxemburg The Second (how things change!) in Berlin and brushing up on his goosestepping. As long as he refuses to leave the Unheard of Island when the book gets accepted and agrees to only speak in German, we'll clean up!
Getting him an agent will be far easier than getting one for moi! Heard some good news yesterday that Robert Dudley, the agent from the Elizabethan era, had asked to see more than the usual three chapters from the sensei and reverend. God knows who Robert Dudley is, but that's very encouraging. If he decides to take it on and can sell it, less fat Tennesseans will disappear into the cooking pot and the sensei might get out of Chattanooga before the cops shooty shooty him and bury him in the woods. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
What joy to be cycling away from work today, knowing I've got all this free time in front of me with hardly any flatheids in it at all! The Domestic Bliss is not due back from the Mediterranean rat town till Sunday. I'll go to see the aged parent one day. That's it. The rest is all mine. And I've just poured what was left in the home brew barrel down the sink! Oh, what a fortunate creature I am!
Meditation and Buddhism have always been about happiness to me. People who meditate smile more. After a while, you can't help it. Buddhism goes on about suffering because you don't need to suffer so much. If you persue realizations of emptiness, you cannot fail to become happier.
I've been a bad boy over the last couple of evening, but now I'm going to try and be good. Oh, what joy there will be! And what bliss! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
7:40 p.m.
It was very windy up at the allotment. When I first came to Edinburgh, I used to think of it as a windy city. Whatever happened to that? Anyway, I brought home a marrow. The Domestic Bliss grew a marrow. What for? What's a marrow for? What do you do with it?
Rejections don't make me happy. A bit immature that, to say the least! Anyway, I was thinking of just giving up trying to get anything published. But I remembered that when I'm meditating on images of my list of gurus, when I get to the 17th Karmapa, I often say: See you in Rumtek!
I should try to make some money! From next week, I'll try to get a package of something sent out every week. A three chapter message in a bottle. The only problem with this is that I should really read Bomber and Ancient Futures again to reassure myself that this is not a complete waste of time. Dearie me! Even the thought. Bugger it! I'm going to read The Varieties of Religious Experience.
10:00 p.m.
I got Are You Boys Cyclists accepted by Serpent's Tail. I told them I was called Alison Main. How different life would have been had I gotten this dirty book about boxing and writing published as Alison Main! You've got to lose yourself. Now I think Let's Kill Fatboy! should be authored by Adolf Shicklegruber The Second. He's got a much better back story than me and is at this moment living with Rosa Luxemburg The Second (how things change!) in Berlin and brushing up on his goosestepping. As long as he refuses to leave the Unheard of Island when the book gets accepted and agrees to only speak in German, we'll clean up!
Getting him an agent will be far easier than getting one for moi! Heard some good news yesterday that Robert Dudley, the agent from the Elizabethan era, had asked to see more than the usual three chapters from the sensei and reverend. God knows who Robert Dudley is, but that's very encouraging. If he decides to take it on and can sell it, less fat Tennesseans will disappear into the cooking pot and the sensei might get out of Chattanooga before the cops shooty shooty him and bury him in the woods. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
posted by Hotboy at 12:55 PM
8 Comments:
What's with the cold turkey approach to the beer? Throwing out the baby with the beer dregs?
BTW - if my boss was drop-dead gorgeous, would I have walked away? She's what you'd call a very nice person. She has some weird idea that I'm an honourable man. If she ever saw my blog and some of its visitors ...
Adolf! Heil! With the beer... if it was around, I might think ...hmmm? Also, one is hardly an oil painting oneself, is one? You look like a bit of a dog to me! Hope this helps! Hotboy
Sandy! How nice to hear from you! I shall go to your bloggy tout suite to see the marrows. I don't think subsistence agriculture and marrows are compatible somehow, but what do I know? You stuff them with ... all I want to know is can you put them in the soup? The soup this evening was nummy! It was! Hotboy
I detect a hint of envy of my aristocratic fine features.
Is there anything you can't put in soup?
Hotboy, I had the same problem last week- a marrow donated by a friend. I was advised of a South American homebrew technique. You cut the top off the marrow, hollow out the seeds then fill the hole with sugar. Then you suspend the beast in a pair of tights from a nail, and out the bottom will drip a potent alcoholic brew. On the other hand if you tossed the homebrew because of temptation, maybe not...
ion: Thanks a lot for that! Sounds like an interesting idea! I'll ask the owner when she gets back on Sunday. Hotboy
The owner of the tights?
Surely it wouldn't be the first time you asked to put your marrow in her tights?
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