Ra End Might Be Nigh!

Friday 10:00 a.m.
THIS IS FOR WHOMSOEVER PUT THE LINK FROM MY PLACE OF WORK TO THIS BLOG.

We are made up of a great many diverse complexes, and we are in combination. We are Legion. The HotboyMadyamikaS.O.B. who is the author of this blog is a fictional character. You must know me from my place of work. If I'd wanted to write as that person who goes to work, I would have done so. My real name is all over my webpage. I am an author of fictional works and have nothing to hide. This blog was trying to do something a little different.

I have been unable to meditate properly for the last two hours due to the perturbations caused by your actions. At the start of this six week period, this is particularly unforgiveable. I assume what you did by placing that link to here, you did with malicious intent.

Some people are no more than they appear to be. If you knew me, you would not fung with me. I will return you malice to you a hundred, a thousand, a million fold. The only vow I've taken is the vow not to kill. Well, I don't want you to die. Certainly not! I want you to suffer. Instead of having difficulty meditating, I shall instead concentrate my meditations on you. I will curse you. Your body doesn't have a mind; your mind has a body. Your suffering will start with a thought. You're having that thought now. Thoughts are like that. You can't stop them.

It's impossible to continue this blog if it's going to have schoolkids swarming all over it. I've set the settings to make the blog unavailable to anyone who hasn't permission, but this probably won't work.

Albert? Are you there? Could you
1) Try to get the link off Wiki, or tell me how to.
2) Advise me how I can save this blog to a webpage or something, so I don't have to delete it all.Or if it's faster, use the passwords to do that and sent me an email telling me so.If you do this, I will dedicate four hours of meditations to a subject of your choice.

If you regularly come to this bloggy (hello Jack the Spam Robot!), but are not a pederast ... if there are no entries after this, contact me by email and I'll tell you about the new blog, which will have a limited readership, if such a thing is possible.

As for the evil basturn who has done this to me ... as long as the link stays on that site, I'll give you two hours a day. It'll start with a slightly queasy feeling ...

Ah, this evil is a wonderful thing. Oh, at last to embrace it!

6:10 p.m.
I sent an email asking Wiki to get the link off then discovered the at the wonderful Ion had edited out the link. What a nice thing to do!

I've spent the last two hours before coming to the computer performing a rite from the Secret Magic of Abramelin the Mage. Aleister Crowley once spent a while trying to get this juju to work, but he was a flatheid! And I'm not a one trick pony!

What does that mean, Hotboy? It means you shouldn't fung around with tantric adepts, Jack! What, Hotboy? It means it's going to be sore, Jack. Awful sore.

Well, now that the malice has come among us here at RaBlissBlog, I guess it's time to get the hut onto the rowing boat and head off for uninhabited islands far away. I'll leave comments on folks blogs when I've set up a new blog and anyone I miss out can email me from my webpage. Okay, Jack, let's load up and go! Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream! Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream! And it's bye bye from RaBlissBlog!!

Ra Last Time I Got Arrested!

Thursday 9:30 p.m.
I got arrested tomorrow. It was while I was doing my boxing training routine. Sometimes your thoughts drift into the murderous maelstrom of menace. Kind of puts you in character. The routine involves dancing about to Waiting for the Man and throwing about 1500 punches in 18 minutes. You'll moida da bum, Hotboy. He doesn't stand a chance, Jack. And I was feeling very fit tonight. Really fit. I've been doing stuff like this several times a week now for thirty years.

Wouldn't it be great to be in solitary confinement! Wouldn't that just be brilliant! You wouldn't have to worry about going out then, or leaving your seat. This is a common volitional problem for prospective hotboys. Bang me up! Three meals a day and they could throw away the key!

You could put fifty pence pieces between your fingers, put a bit of scotch tape round your knuckles, the put on those big black gloves.

So I backtracked from the statscounter thing and someone has put a link to here from my work's site on Wikipedia. What do you think, Jack? Take a limb, Hotboy. Take a limb.

This morning I started my meditations in the hut at eight and came down the road just as the one o clock gun went off. I had a break to eat a piece and read a wee bit of The Book Of The Three Inspirations, and weeded once for quarter of an hour. This morning was very good indeed! Bodes well.

I spoke to the agent, that man of great taste and perspicacity, Mr Adrian Weston today on the phone. We talked about The Real McCoy. It's about integrating parts of your life. The boy in The Real McCoy spends six years in a cave and starts floating about like St Joseph of Cupertino. I can count sitting in the hut as research, which it is anyway. Since yesterday I've become dead keen to re-write this book. Just the perfect time for it. I'll re-write it seventeen times and make sure it's good.

We're going to be rich! We're going to be rich, Jack!

Well, you'd better not go to jail then, Hotboy. What about the Wikipedia thing? Bugger all to do with me, Jack. I'm not liable to hear from the hut the fevered cries of teenage girls shouting: We want Mr Hotboy! am I, Jack? Only in your dreams, Hotboy. Only in your dreams.

I had a wee lie down on the couch this afternoon and went into ra bliss. I really like doing this these days. So you go into ra bliss and fall asleep. Somehow it seems as if you haven't fallen asleep because almost seemlessly you come awake and are still in ra bliss. These are very nice sensations indeed. You shouldn't really expect anything of course, but I could easily have the best time of my life over the next six weeks. It's just a matter of calming down really.

Ra Wonderful, Wonderful Day!

Wednesday 8:25 p.m.
A great bountifulness seemed to be heaped on oneself today! My holidays started. Hallelujah! I got paid so I can spend your actual money for a couple of days! Hallelujah! The Domestic Bliss returned from Spango and Froggyland! Hallelujah! The meditation I was having when she rang the doorbell was so bloody wonderful that I knew I was going to have a truly wonderful six weeks in the hut or nut. Oh, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Once, when I used to drink alcohol, me and Brian Wilson met a really nice joe called Ian Sclater and because of this he published a bit out of The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf in his magazine called Instant. .

Sometimes, he has to send out emails to everyone he's ever used before to get copy, such is the world of magazine deadlines. The last time I got one of these was when I'd just finished my new book. Right then are there I emailed the book to him and said I'd go fifty fifty until he made a million pounds if he'd hustle it for me. No reply. I don't think some people take me seriously, Jack, and they're all going to be sorry when these Hotboy books sell boatloads.

This time I told him he should stick some of it in his magazine and he was going to be sorry for not reading it the first time. So he said he has read it. Hmmm? And no reply? He's really going to be sorry! Anyway, he says he might publish a 1,000 word chunk if I send him a couple to choose from.

That means I'll have to read it. I've not wanted to do that since I finished it. I used to get really annoyed reading and writing that book, Jack. That was a first! I'll skim it!

And I got a great idea! I'm going to re-write The Real McCoy. The great idea was knowing what to do with it. It's the second time I've had this great idea. It just came thundering back in whilst I was investigating ra bliss in the lobby, before the doorbell went and the Domestic Bliss came home.

And ROME is coming on the teevee in five minutes. I can't remember enjoying anything on the television so much. Maybe I CLAUDIUS. I'm maybe just a sucker for the sand and sandals epic. Tonight Cleopatra comes to Rome to bonk Mark Antony.

Ra Next Day!

Tuesday 10:20 p.m.
By about noon tomorrow I shall be leaving the jobbie and will be looking ahead to really six and and a half weeks of not having to go to work. All that stuff that you do on a Sunday as you mentally prepare to go once more back into the horror of trying to communicate with the evil bourgeois, the flatheids ... well, it won't be there for a while, Jack. You really get three weeks in the middle when you are free.

So many times I've been in peoples' houses when they were setting off for the Sunday nightshift. There's nothing worse. You have the comfort and you know the cost because of the slightly wired and poised joe (and it was always a joe) getting ready to go out there and pay for it. The jobbie in the factory where it is so loud that to stay there for years makes you deaf, etc. Well, we engaged with the evil bourgeois sufficiently so that we didn't have to pay that price, Jack. And we have six weeks of holiday in front of moi.

Jesus Christ spent forty days fasting in the desert. There's fasting and there's fasting. He might have been eating wasps and other nourishing stuff! Locusts are a perfectly balanced diet. Locusts and honey. Is that what it takes?

So, Hotboy, six weeks is forty two days. The six weeks really starts next Monday. Maybe if you just meditated for about nine hours a day and didn't drink, Hotboy. Wouldn't that be an improvement? Wouldn't that be enough?

The kiddo is my fault. None of the rest of the flatheids are in the same category. They're not my fault. She is. I could make her come to give me things in the hut. Otherwise, I'd just have the eating of the allotment. Why do men do things? To impress women.

You have to work up a real scunner to go and want to sit in the hut for ages. Why do you want to do that again, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I wish to develope equanimity. Don't the normal people have that, Hotboy? Jack, the normal people ... don't start me on flatheids again, Jack.

The last week, while the kiddo and the Dom Bliss have been visiting the Mediterranean rat towns, has been crap! The disease was crap. Samsaric shit! The fact that you can be okay with it and tell yourself that it's okay, is also crap. Being good humoured is crap! Tomorrow, I'll have to say to anyone that it's alright. Well, it isn't alright, Jack! It's samsara, Jack. Get me to the hut! Chain me down! Don't let me leave. Next year I could have the black spot and then I don't want to think about all the chances I didn't take!

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. It will be nice to see them. Then bye bye. If I wasn't an asshole, I'd have the money to go to the Samye Ling for six weeks. Hmmm? Credit cards? They accept credit cards!

Ra new friend!

Monday 11:24 p.m.
I got an email from someone who wanted to be my friend. What a wonderful sentiment! I got a MySpace thingy so I could stalk this gorgeous writer (who was female. At least, that's normal!)and then somebody sends me an email saying they want to be my friend. Unfortunately, my normal username and password don't seem to work on this MySpace thing. My passwords are not a secret. I would be obliged if any of my putative Hut Management Team would deal with this and get back to me. I know you enjoy this kind of identity perversion. There is only one thing. You are allowed to pretend to be moi!

I wasn't anything like as hung over as I should have been today what with the six bottles of 6% alc/vol., but I was a wee bit underpar of course. Oddly enough, just slightly knocked off. The network is down. What a boring day! Then this very nice girl is standing and asking for my attention.

But she's standing there at the desk with her two pals, and they are having a wonderful time. You should stay forever young! She can't stop laughing. She's giggling at me. She says would I mind speaking to her for a while so she doesn't have to go back to her teacher? I say no way and bugger off. Three other gurls were falling off the seats laughing so much just a wee bit later. Neither stoned nor drunk, just totally exuberant.

Are you trying to tell me something here, Hotboy? No, Jack. Just don't get old.

Ra Broon!

Monday 6:50 p.m.
Though we don't normally do politics here on RaBlissBlog, I'm so pleased that Gordon Brown has got the job as Prime Minister! I'm twelve days older than him. He did history at Edinburgh University, but was two years in front of me because of his giant brain. But he'd have read the same books I as did. He'd know who Proudhon was. He'd know who Bakunin was and who Kropotkin was. He'd remember that Plekhanov was the joe who translated Marx into Russian. Politics is the art of the possible, of course, but he's from the left and he's one of us!

There's an account of life at Edinburgh Universtiy at this time on my web page. It's called Alma Mater.In fact, there might be a story about trying to vote in a student election in 1973 whilst out of one's face on downers ... which he was probably running in, or his pal Jonathan Wills was.

Now that the boy who told lies and got us involved in the killing zone that is Iraq has gone, I can now vote Labour again, at least in Westminster elections. Well done to the boy, eh?!

What'll I hae for my tea the nicht?
A herrin', or maybe a haddie?
Has Gran'ma gotten electric licht?
Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?

Ra Last Post!

Monday
I blame it all on Peckhams. They were selling Kronenburg's Premier Cru (at 6% alc/vol)as buy one get one free. Very good beer. Usually retails at £1:99 a bottle. The catch is you cannot use your credit card for under a fiver, so I had to buy 6 bottles. Dearie me! Fortunately, I felt good today and not the way you'd expect after drinking inferior brews!

But I was quite surprised by the last post today! What's all that nonsense about angels?

A couple of angels came to see Lott once according to the Old Testament. When the other folk heard that angels were in Lott's house, a crowd gathered outside and started chanting something like: We want to hump the angels! We want to hump the angels!

Being on my own has been a wee bit of a trial, especially with the swamp fever and the binge drinkers giveaway at Peckhams. Couldn't go to the allotment for the bloody rain, far less stay in the hut!

Despite my shocking lack of self-discipline, the meditations have once again appreciably kicked on. But even with the swamp, I was putting in eight hours most days anyway on the cushion. It's not been easy, Jack! Yesterday wasn't easy. Still, I am getting there.

Ra Summation!

Sunday 22:34 p.m.
So, there you were in this big flat in Edinburgh, and there was no one else there. It's almost like being conjoined with the evil bourgeois. There were no other sentient beings there, Jack. Old people do this all the time. Be on their own.

After the several days of being on your own, have you reached any conclusions, Hotboy? Yes, Jack. You should not be on your own. You should sit beside the angels. They should perform adult sexual favours for you, and, they should find this amusing.

What if they do not want to perform these sexual favours on you, Hotboy, and they are not amused by this. Well, then they cannot be angels then, Jack.

After fighting off these diseases, tomorrow I shall return to the wherewithall. I don't need a gun. Or a knife. I'll just kill the fungers with my bare hands and send them off to Hades!

Was there anything good about the hours and hours of sitting quietly doing juju over these days since Wednesday, Hotboy? Even with the disease? I had it today, Jack. I knew I had it, but because I can't do the yamas (the way you are supposed to live!), well, there was no contentment ... though ra bliss was mighty!

If you do the yamas, you must engage with the wonderful stillness, and not have these idiotic, stupid, aggravating thoughts arising!

I'm far too old for this now, Jack. I want to go to the formeless zones, where there are no thoughts, and no forms, and no microwave ovens because in the formless zones there are no things, and no thoughts, and no aggravations.

Hotboy, go forth! Try to smile and be nice and helpful. There are some 12 year old spotty people, and they love you, Hotboy, so go out there and do your stuff! And be nice. And also dead cool.

Can you do ra bliss, Hotboy? Yes, Jack, I can. Can you get out of your face on air, Hotboy? Yes, I can, Jack. Well, get out there and try to be nice to the joes and josephines who canny do that then! What else are you supposed to do!

Ra Lonesome Cowboy!

3:01 p.m.
I haven't had a conversation with anyone - except two wee ones on the phone - since the Domestic Bliss left last Wednesday morning. And the weather has been truly manky, so no great desire to go out in the rain. Only having to deal with the residues of the swamp fever, so I should be okay for work tomorrow. Only two and a half days to go, Jack, and then the next six weeks are all mine! Yippee!

Ra Three Bodies, Or Two!

Sunday 00:34 a.m.
Have you been oogling the naked manniquinns in the shop windows, Hotboy? No, it never gets that bad, Jack. I don't get out much.

So, say you just stayed in and sat, and gazed, or stared. After a while inexplicable things may occur. The creepy uppy thing might start holding you up. Eventually, you may find yourself sometimes sitting in the midst of the light sword. What can we say about this, Jack? You can say: There's two of us, Hotboy! There's the miserable funger and there is the enjoyment body. What? There is the Enjoyment Body, Jack. Let's give a nomenclature, a conceptualisation. We'll call it The Enjoyment Body. It's the sheath that arises, wherein ra blis and enjoyment occurs.

What about the other one, Hotboy? Ra basis. Well, we do not know about ra basis, but we do know about Ra Enjoyment Body. It sounds enjoyable. We should stick with that one for a while.

It's coloured Lapiz Lasuli, Jack! If you could separate the Lapiz Lasuli joe from the other greetin' faced basturn, boy!, wouldn't you have a time!

The thoughts arising are your own fault. That's why you should be nice and behave yourself, and not be a bad boy like me!

Ra Half Pissed Bliss!

Friday 1:00 p.m.
To cure the swamp fever I took some of the magic medicine given to me when I was empowered to do the Medicine Buddha juju. But only a couple of grains ... in case I floated off or anything. You have to be careful with the magic medicine, Jack. And, lo!, after blasting in some of ra heat, by yesterday evening I felt much better than expected, and could sally forth into another open grave up at the Traverse.

And there was free beer! At last, free beer for the workers! I had five wee bottles of Fosters, finished re-reading the Introduction to the Book of the Three Inspirations, spoke to not a soul, and came home.

Last year it seemed somewhat unfair that the dusk around here doesn't check in till ten at night these days. The heat, bliss and everything else does seem to start working better around the twilight time. But by ten o clock at night, if you were going to do any recreationals, you'd have started by then. Why can't it get dark every night about half seven. That would be perfect. That might be Australia.

I watered down the barrel about a week ago. That means that after a pint of this beer you can still count to ten. I had about four pints in the course of the evening after being at the Traverse. Instead of just going to bed around midnight, I sat in the lobby ....Jack, it was just fung amazing! It's hard enough to find words to describe to flatheids what these meditations could feel like, or what a human being could feel like, but the heat and ra bliss.... Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Half pissed, he took to ra bliss! Never happened before.

Where does the air go, Jack? Old Empedocles didn't know what a can of worms he was opening when he discovered air. You take a breath and usually you can hold it easily for about 40 seconds, or a minute if you're trying. You can feel a lot of air in you and it wants to get out quite soon after you've trapped it. Then, lo!, there comes a time when you can hardly feel it inside you at all. Then it seems far, far easier to hold your breath because it seems to have stopped pressing back somehow. How can this be, Jack?

Hmmm? The air is still there. The sensation has changed. I think it might be because there is an anaesthesic effect in the kundalini. Gopi Khrisna mentions this in Living with Kundalini, and he should know. But it's not just that. You seem to need less air. Hmmm? Mysteries on mysteries!

What's supposed to be happening with this juju is that you are supposed to be withdrawing the "winds" and "airs" into the central channel ... and this is what is supposed to happen when you die. You definitely go breathless when you die. Supposedly, some yogis think they are dying when this first happens to them.

So are you supposed to be, somehow, mimicing, or taking control of the death process? I think you are.

What if when you die, you just die, Hotboy? Well, that's alright because whilst I am engaging with ra bliss, ra rapture and ra multivarious ecstasies as I emanate as a deity, the flatheids will be hanging on in there, the moaning and groaning growing ever louder as they plunge into the grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! Flatheids just don't get ra bliss!

This is a win win situation here, Jack! This isn't pie in the sky when you die. This is RaBlissBlog and here comes ra heat!!!

6:30 p.m.
Sometimes folk come to this bloggy looking for stuff on agents. Well, today I got word back from Andrew Lownie. What a good interaction! He didn't want the sensei and reverend's book, but he really only deals with non-fiction, and he gave me the name of another agent who might be more suitable. First time that's ever happened! Also, as regards my own situation, he says it sometimes takes a year to place a book, so don't despair. Obviousl, a good bloke!