Ra Crabbitness!

Thursday, September 27, 2007
Ra Crabbitness!
Thursday 00.08 a.m.
I gave someone a very bad time just before the summer began. It was at the jobbie. She came to see me, my superior, she might have thought. I think I told her to fung off, more or less. I think I left her with very little. This was a very bad thing to do. Massive ego. Don't fung with me! I don't care. Why don't you just go away? Are you not worse than useless? What a terrible thing to do to someone.

She showed up today, unexpectedly, just as moi was about to sail homeward, heading towards the Unheard Of islands. She's even more nervous than she was before. We talked about the woman who is getting cremated on Friday. There was nothing else I could talk to her about before I went away, very quickly, fung off, fung off, fung off.

Please sack me and I want to go to the hospital.

So the woman who is getting cremated on Friday did like her fags. But not so good at the end. What should you do that just gets you through it, from the beginning, through the middle and then to the end?

What do you think, Jack? I think, Hotboy, that what you've got to do is stay away from flatheids until you do not care.

But she did like her fags.

I try to get the Medicine Buddha to sit on top of my head. I say: Medicine Buddha, cure me of my addiction to ... or, just cure me of my addictions. Then, sometimes, ra bliss pours down from the Medicine Buddha, though he be only vaguely realised, and the feelings of ra bliss coursing through your body are just so fabuloso to be beyond description.

As soon as I tried to interact with anyone, I felt immediately tired and quite exhausted. And I was back, Jack! Buggeration!

Anyway, having been cured of my addictions, I felt so crabbit that I had to go out for five bottles of Budvar and, later on, a packet of fags since the pizzaman cameth, and I was really crabbit and even more tired (and emotional) by then.

So, after meditating for about four hours after work, I decided that what I should do is apologise, and we don't live long enough to contest with moi because moi is one heavy duty bastard if he just puts his mind to it. So I'll sit beside her in the crematorium and apologise.

The protestants don't know how to do death. It's completely baffling to them. The tim rituals are great. Three nights of rosaries round the coffin sitting in the living room. Out of the depths I have cried to thee, oh lord. Lord, hear my voice. The night before you go to the chapel and the body lies there overnight. Then the requiem mass. Kyria Eleison! Christe Eleison! And the wakes are always great! Wakes are great! Much better than Christmas.

I read a novel, and finished it last night. This is unusual. I reckon I must have been almost straight once, and read a lot of novels. No time for that malarkey now. It was Afloat by Jennifer McCartney. Fortunately, there was a lot of alcohol consumed in this book because I was pissed when I met her. That was in the bad old days before I became completely teetotal. I only kept reading it because I was sober and staight and the writing was excellent. Choice of words. You've got to think really hard to get that right. Poignant and written with such sensibility.

I remember reading Of Darkness and Light by the sensei and reverend a long time ago. That was a really good book.