Sunday 8:55 p.m.
The auld maw went to the high school for a day. It was run by nuns. It was called Elmwood, in Bothwell, a single sex school for the smart catholic girls from Lanarkshire. My two sisters were educated there. When my auld maw went there, during the first day the nuns lined them up and said that the kids who could not afford the uniforms, the gym kit, etc., should not bother coming back. So my auld maw only went for one day. Her old man paid for my eldest sister's uniform when she went ... some kind of restituting family business going on there maybe.
They're all going to hell, Jack! The evil bourgeois basturns are all going to hell!
The highlight of my weekend was listening to the Dhammapada with the auld maw. When I got there, she had the Old Firm game on the radio, but she put it off so she could put on the second of the three CDs. She lies on top of her bed, and I sit in a juju position on the floor with my back to the wardrobe thing. The auld maw is lying in the lion pose, which is the position the buddha died in, but she doesn't know that.
There are Pali words, wee bits of Sankrit, and the buddha is going on about skandas, and the twelve links of dependent origination on the second CD ... stuff that anyone is going to have difficulty getting their heads round ... and sometimes I wonder what the auld maw is making of all this, what with her elementary education and all that.
The second CD takes about an hour and a half. I'm right off the planet during most of it. When it finishes, the auld maw seems almost transformed. She's so lit up! She said she was expecting the hand that supported her head to go numb, but she said she felt such strength going through it, as if she could hit someone with it.
I suppose she was thinking about her arm and it filled up with chi. Hmmm?
Last night I had to go out partying with some flatheids the Domestic Bliss knows. So I got pissed. It feels like you might as well. This joe I've never met before told me he'd seen Busted performed at the Fringe. It was sixteen years ago, or thereabouts. A play what I wrote.
On Thursday, I got a letter from the Traverse Theatre asking if I wanted the two free tickets for the opening night of their new production on the 30th of October. I phoned up to say yes. The box office always say the same thing. You say: Yes, I'd like two guest tickets for the opening night. They say: Which organisation are you with? You say: None. They say: Which newspaper are you with? I usually say: None. They say: Are you with the media? I usually say: No, I'm just me. This time I said: I'm a friend of Philip's, although I am not. For the past ten years I've wanted to say: I was almost famous, "famous long ago for playing the electric violin on Desolation Row." Philip Howard, the artistic director, put me on some list ten or so years ago and I've got free tickets for opening nights ever since. This is his last production. The end of an era for me and the kiddo. Since she was fourteen, we've been there in the first or second row.
The agent said he'd see the boy from Legend Press in Frankfort about getting the book published. Frankfort is over. I've heard nothing. It's embarrassing that I am bothered about this. It shows how far I have to go.
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I'm trying to raise tummo, inner heat, the foundation for practising the Six Dharmas of Naropa. In this blog I'll be trying to log stuff about the bliss, rapture and ecstasy of engaging with vajrayana buddhism.
16 comments:
"I suppose she was thinking about her arm and it filled up with chi. Hmmm?" - I'd say yes, chi can get in everywhere if you let it. I too find that thinking certain thoughts causes an extremity to fill up.
Did you get the tickets?
Yeah, did you get the tickets?
Have a great week Hotboy!
~xo
Lee Ann
Albert? Lee Ann: Sorry! Yeah, I got the tickets! Hotboy
I say!
I've been doing some research about the Old Firm game, at which 11 men were given yellow cards, as I understand it.
I was listening to an Internet radio programme, rather in broad Scots dialect, but according to the discussion about the game, it was all because of the goalie Wudney Shookies-Hawn.
So I say Hotters, two questions:
1. Is Wudney related to the Shookies-Hawns of Maseru?
2. What did Wudney do which was so awful that so many yellow cards were issued?
MM III
Mingin'! Widney Shookies-Hawn refused to shake hands with the hun players because, he said, they'd spat at him. This is not very sporting! He might be related to some of the Shookies you know only if the Poles ever invaded Efrica! The reason the yellow cards were issued is because the referee's a hun! The spitting and the ref being a hun meant the best team lost! Hotboy
I think it is great that your mom is willing to try it. I've been trying to get my mom to look at the books.
She will occasionally ask a question about it. But she loves her negative ways.
I just love her and let her be.
I had an interesting thing happen this weekend when I managed to relax in a very noisy place and listen for the spaces between the sound.
I say!
How very unsporting. Are any of the players concerned aged 13 or over?
Why, in cricket, even offering one's opponent a jellybean is not done!
MM III
I say!
Fortunately, Zaheer Khan sought counseling after being offered the jellybean in question, and has not suffered any long-term adverse reactions.
MM III
I say!
The jellybean incident is reckoned to be the third most serious incident in the history of cricket.
MM III
I say!
Even the England captain had to make a formal apology for his team-mates having offered a member of the opposing team a jellybean. It's possible that England's defeat in the series was a direct result of the jellybean incident.
MM III
I say Hotters, I've been investigating the Widney incident a little more, and I found this image of a Rangers player running backwards whilst trying to gouge out his own eyes.
I ask you - is that the sort of game to encourage one's children to play?
MM III
Marie! The noisy incident sounds very encouraging! It wasn't noisy sheep, was it? Saw bits of Skye last night in a movie: Stardust. Hotboy
Mingin'! I support the huns when they play in Europe. The boy poking his eyes out is a very good player (he comes from near where I was brought up, like all the best players). Unfortunately, he's only clever from the knees down and that was him trying to make a rude gesture to Widney. The gesture in its original form comes from the Battle Of Agincourt, I believe. Is giving someone a jelly bean a homeopathic insult? Hotboy
I say Hotters!
As I understand it, Widney believed that someone spat at him, and as a result, he refused to shake the hand of a member of the opposing team. That member saw this snub as a loss of face in clear view of many members of his tribe, and proceeded to mulitate himself by gouging out his eyes.
This could result in an international incident, and I've been on the blower most of the day to Maseru.
The Ngosi of Maseru has in turn been in touch with the Shookies family, who are deeply troubled by the whole affair.
As I understand it, they are offering 6 bags of mealie and two goats in compensation for the loss of sight of the self-mulitator. For the more serious case of loss of face in front of other members of the Hun tribe, they are offering three cows in compensation.
Do you think the Huns might accept this offer?
Now I think of it, isn't Rob McJ a member of the Hun diaspora? Might he act as go-between?
I would appreciate your thoughts, as a matter of some urgency.
MM III
Hotters!
Self-mulitation as a reaction to loss of face used to be quite common amongst the tribes of Eastern Papua New Guinea. I thought it had died out, though.
MM III
are you boys takingthemichaelists?
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