Ra Mentally ill!

Friday 12:45 p.m.
Hello, Jack the Spam Robot, the Masai Warriors, and the Alien Creatures from Outer Space who may happen upon this bloggie! This is RaBadBoyBlissheid, here to tell you about developments with ra bliss!

I haven't been to Bellshill today since I had to wait in for a mattress to be delivered. So I've been able to concentrate on meditating for two days in a row. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! No flatheids apart from the one who lives here. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

I've been meditating all morning till just now and it's been bloody wonderful. During an interval, I went into a headstand from the straight leg position, and it's a while since I could do that. It's kind of surprising when you legs just go WHEE, and up they go! What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!

But it has come to my remembrance that meditation might not be suitable for everyone. The people who go schizophrenic from smoking dope should probably not meditate for one thing. Some people have very fragile minds.

As far as I'm concerned the stronger the dope the better. If it's really strong, you don't have to smoke much of it. One toke of a pipe in Morocco circa 1974 and you were in California already.

Anyway, people who are really fragile should stick to the fruit gums and if they tried to lose their false sense of self ... well, they're hanging onto any sense of self they can manage, these poor unfortunate creatures.

We know who you are. It starts with the severities of the calvinist toilet training regimes employed in the closed door homes of the evil bourgeois. If that's not bad enough, these poor children are then subjected to years of rigourous cleaning up regimes; they all have to have shiny shoes at all times; and are not allowed to get the slightest bit dirty, or messy, or anything like that. Before they are even adolescent, they are forced into uniforms and told to march up and down. Dearie me! These unfortunate creatures are mostly distinguished by their fantastic sense of smell, a direct result of the severities inflicted on them whilst still in nappies.

There is no point in telling these folk about ra bliss because as soon as they started to meditate, they'd burst into tears, and cry, and cry, and cry. Their only hope is to train as hut managers. The Amazing Bloggy Church of the BadBoyBlissheid may be on the look out for a hut manager next week once the Frankfort Book Fair is over. On the other hand, it may not.

We're not scared about going schizophrenic, are we, Jack? Certainly not, Hotboy! We're looking forward to being a lot madder than we are just now! Time for lunch!