Ra Back to ra happy clappy!
Friday 4:40 p.m.
I got back on the bike today to go to work ... some overtime. On the way back I was feeling so exuberant that I decided to tackle The Big Hill. The big hill is called Clermiston Road and that's in Costorphine. I used to run up it quite a lot with Brian Wilson and the Big Jambo. No chance! Running up that hill is much easier than cycling it. But I'll have to do it now, won't I? Some day. Otherwise, I won't be able to look Lance Armstrong in the eye. Sandy is a proper cyclist. Can you cycle up yon hill, Sandy? Dearie me! I knew I was a wimp!
According to Adolf's blog, someone else has read Alma Mater! That might take the readership up to six people. I tried to find my page using google yesterday and couldn't without sticking in the page title. The readership of that book is liable to stay a very select group!
Weird week! The tea and muffins at the weekend must have given me brain damage. Three nights in a row I wakened up after vivid dreams. This morning I wakened at half two and was meditating most of the time till I usually get up.
In the second dream of this series, I was at a teenage dancehall in Craigmillar. Three psychos were menacing me about something I had done to one of their friends and I got out of the situation (after I realised I unable to hit them)(I've never hit anyone outside a boxing ring... well, once when I was 17, but I don't think I did any damage!) by apologising profusely. I really enjoyed the apolgising bit. I'm better at that than hitting folk!
Before I went to uni, I used to frequent teenage dancehalls in Bellshill. When the Marmalade played there, the girls launching themselves at the stage kept all the bouncers busy. Anyone who wasn't recognisably from Bellshill had a hard time that night. I well remember the tufts of hair with the bit of skin attached lying on the floor. The man at the back said everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz! They were never fed to fight in Craigmillar, as the auld maw used to say!
In the dream last night, I was dresssed for shadow boxing and was going to do some sparring with my wee brother. Not an unenjoyable dream either!
It's five to five and darkness is beginning to enfold the city. We just had a beautiful sunset over to my left. I can meditate now, and all tomorrow, and all Sunday. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!
Saturday 1:35 p.m.
During one week in February 2005, I was sitting in the Samye Ling when a thought suddenly came into my head. Pop! I thought that the American I'd most like to meet was Arthur Miller i.e. the American I most admired was Arthur Miller. (I don't have much admiration in me!) When I got back to civilisation, I discovered that he'd just died.
Last night I went to see All My Sons at the Lyceum en famille. It was Friday night, but the theatre wasn't full. The play was much better than I expected. When I read it a long time ago, I thought it was a bit so-so for Arthur Miller. Maybe Guernica was a bit so-so for Picasso! The kiddo loved it as well. If you'd ever tried to write a play, you'd take your hat off to Arthur Miller, so you would!
Shame about him not getting any of ra bliss, but that's flatheidedness for you!
I got back on the bike today to go to work ... some overtime. On the way back I was feeling so exuberant that I decided to tackle The Big Hill. The big hill is called Clermiston Road and that's in Costorphine. I used to run up it quite a lot with Brian Wilson and the Big Jambo. No chance! Running up that hill is much easier than cycling it. But I'll have to do it now, won't I? Some day. Otherwise, I won't be able to look Lance Armstrong in the eye. Sandy is a proper cyclist. Can you cycle up yon hill, Sandy? Dearie me! I knew I was a wimp!
According to Adolf's blog, someone else has read Alma Mater! That might take the readership up to six people. I tried to find my page using google yesterday and couldn't without sticking in the page title. The readership of that book is liable to stay a very select group!
Weird week! The tea and muffins at the weekend must have given me brain damage. Three nights in a row I wakened up after vivid dreams. This morning I wakened at half two and was meditating most of the time till I usually get up.
In the second dream of this series, I was at a teenage dancehall in Craigmillar. Three psychos were menacing me about something I had done to one of their friends and I got out of the situation (after I realised I unable to hit them)(I've never hit anyone outside a boxing ring... well, once when I was 17, but I don't think I did any damage!) by apologising profusely. I really enjoyed the apolgising bit. I'm better at that than hitting folk!
Before I went to uni, I used to frequent teenage dancehalls in Bellshill. When the Marmalade played there, the girls launching themselves at the stage kept all the bouncers busy. Anyone who wasn't recognisably from Bellshill had a hard time that night. I well remember the tufts of hair with the bit of skin attached lying on the floor. The man at the back said everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz! They were never fed to fight in Craigmillar, as the auld maw used to say!
In the dream last night, I was dresssed for shadow boxing and was going to do some sparring with my wee brother. Not an unenjoyable dream either!
It's five to five and darkness is beginning to enfold the city. We just had a beautiful sunset over to my left. I can meditate now, and all tomorrow, and all Sunday. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!
Saturday 1:35 p.m.
During one week in February 2005, I was sitting in the Samye Ling when a thought suddenly came into my head. Pop! I thought that the American I'd most like to meet was Arthur Miller i.e. the American I most admired was Arthur Miller. (I don't have much admiration in me!) When I got back to civilisation, I discovered that he'd just died.
Last night I went to see All My Sons at the Lyceum en famille. It was Friday night, but the theatre wasn't full. The play was much better than I expected. When I read it a long time ago, I thought it was a bit so-so for Arthur Miller. Maybe Guernica was a bit so-so for Picasso! The kiddo loved it as well. If you'd ever tried to write a play, you'd take your hat off to Arthur Miller, so you would!
Shame about him not getting any of ra bliss, but that's flatheidedness for you!
posted by Hotboy at 4:40 PM
3 Comments:
I say!
Following from the Comment on your blog from Just a toy, have you, Hotboy, considered the male escourt business as a money-making venture? You could simply accompany your partner of the evening to the chosen venue, sit there meditating, and get paid for it.
I'm sure this helps.
MM III
Mingin'! That guy is an inspiration! I've decided to make that my acceptance speech at the awards ceremony. The escort business is now open! They could take me out for £500 and all expenses paid. If they want to bounce up and down on me whileI sit in a lotus position afterwards, they'd need to bring along those wee blue pills and agree to the usual restraints. I think that's fair, don't you?
Your future is right there in your second dream! Apologising can be good for the spirit. Can you find a way to bliss it? Like the metta bhavana, only practising apology instead of love?
1. Apologising to yourself
2. Apologising to friends and benefactors
3. Apologising to “Neutral” people
4. Apologising to your enemies
5. Apologising to all sentient beings
That could be your schtick when you found your breakaway cult. 10% would be appropriate.
Post a Comment
<< Home