Dumbed down by a migraine.
I wonder, while typing, how the words are ordered and why.
The wonder that is my class went down to the big kids classroom as I rode home to vomit some more. My pet misfit was a challenge to Sucih. I was glad to have someone else see what it is I am faced with. I am wondering if all those psyche books are genuine. The child is undernourished in love and affection. Mum's life comes first, dad is an inexperienced young man at his wits end, and I have the result. A South American boy of 8yr's with a shit load of attitude as the world continues to do him an injustice. He is getting better but it is drawing all I can give. I feel like I am experimenting with theory and watching it work. They say these kids just need a stack of love and understanding. As I watch him try and please me while anxious to be part of th group I can see he isn't really diffierent just a little torn from a difficult start. Can you imagine the slums of USA or South America and what they are pumping out. Does it take a ton of education and care to show a human being that violence and neglect are not viable options for progressive child rearing. Some animals do a better job than humans.
I trudge off with a head still reeling and a body still quacking from the fit like spasms that migraines bring on. Actually i ride off but I wonder how negotiating the mud paths will be as I experience my half stupor like life.
It's getting cooler and I wonder if I will have to submit to a synthetic jumper from Navadwipa. They are trully awful. Glitter, who thought of glitter in winter garb?
A devotee sends a letter about meat close ups. Meat eaters are not a fussy bunch so it is probably a waste of time. It did have a lead on to colon cleansing which had a series of photos of people with their excrement. Fascinating stuff for those that have bowel troubles. Of course Sucih, the great healthy plopper thinks I am mad but not as mad as the lady standing next to a photo of her poo in her kitchen colander.
Back to the 8 year old and h is bodily needs. Back to organising the grade 2 class room. Back to performing.
Where is that cup of green tea?
Friday, November 30, 2007
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Abstractions
Keeping a blog is some what like going to a confest and having qualms about having to swim starkers. I sat on the side of the river for hours contemplating wether I could get in naked. I didn't do it in the end. I don't think I went to the toilet for two days either. The naked thing is a bit much and so the blog thing is really a bit much. But now I am sure no one at all reads it I think I am feeling a little better. Like I'm back in my own room and feeling safe. Must conquer own mind.....in good time.
Well the 4,000 people from Mumbai have gone and a less large group of locals has descended. I imagine it has something to do with Jayapataka Maharaj. Last four days of Kartika; if you follow a fast of grains then it is the equivalant of having followed austerities of sorts for the whole month. Cool huh? So guess who takes advantage of that one.
So I say I am glad no one reads it and yet I speak as though to some one. There is probably medication for just such a disorder.
The patio in Mayapur is fantastic in winter. The sun warming and the trees all around. Harinams passing frequently and bhajans floating about all day. All the HMIE students are here.
School has been good but now some Aussie pilgrims are here distractions are mounting and will inevitably effect my class planning. To get a really creative flow it is an all or nothing affair for me.
Sucih is in Kolkata and the phone is flat, his driver is no where to be seen and I haven't any numbers for him. Hahah, teach him to rely too much on technology. Write the numbers on a piece of paper just for fun will you.
Baby pigeons flutter on the veranda figuring how to fly but thankfully gut out while always busy depositing excrement.
Kalki is adither moving here and there. Yonder he rides with his mates to Taranpur and back. He turns eight today and if I recall I had the same adventures as he. We rode our bikes for hours all over the place. Some inovative children are holding a play with a small feed after wards for the small price of 6 rupees per head. Too cute.
As strange as it is, there are now quite a lot of Chinese devotees here. Who would have guessed that China would come so far. It is such an oppresive place. They jail people for suspected religious acts.
A bus horn was so loud that it wrenched me from me deeply desired slumber.
A Chinese flute turns the house into something very pleasent with the added ambience of absent young son and his half dozen friends in perpetual tow.
Lalita resides in Australia while the soup simmers here. Nothing changes just the spices mix differently. If it isn't one tiresome episode it is another until it gets so that the episodes cease to be so tiresome and start to resemble entertainment. Then you know you are really detached. As long as the variables steer clear of the confines of the home.
Sun goes down on the Ganga and the flute calls out as if in memory of this place as once a village of Brahmin Vaisnavas. A city is manifesting and I am not sure how I feel about it. It is as if the footy crowd is now barricking for God. All well and good if you like the roar of thousands of human voices. In actuality it is a scary affair be it footy or God.
Must bake some bread but maybe I will just boil some rice and save the act of baking bread for a more pious moment. Hay maybe I won't bother cooking anything at all.
Kalki is back. Oh God, the mozzies.
Well the 4,000 people from Mumbai have gone and a less large group of locals has descended. I imagine it has something to do with Jayapataka Maharaj. Last four days of Kartika; if you follow a fast of grains then it is the equivalant of having followed austerities of sorts for the whole month. Cool huh? So guess who takes advantage of that one.
So I say I am glad no one reads it and yet I speak as though to some one. There is probably medication for just such a disorder.
The patio in Mayapur is fantastic in winter. The sun warming and the trees all around. Harinams passing frequently and bhajans floating about all day. All the HMIE students are here.
School has been good but now some Aussie pilgrims are here distractions are mounting and will inevitably effect my class planning. To get a really creative flow it is an all or nothing affair for me.
Sucih is in Kolkata and the phone is flat, his driver is no where to be seen and I haven't any numbers for him. Hahah, teach him to rely too much on technology. Write the numbers on a piece of paper just for fun will you.
Baby pigeons flutter on the veranda figuring how to fly but thankfully gut out while always busy depositing excrement.
Kalki is adither moving here and there. Yonder he rides with his mates to Taranpur and back. He turns eight today and if I recall I had the same adventures as he. We rode our bikes for hours all over the place. Some inovative children are holding a play with a small feed after wards for the small price of 6 rupees per head. Too cute.
As strange as it is, there are now quite a lot of Chinese devotees here. Who would have guessed that China would come so far. It is such an oppresive place. They jail people for suspected religious acts.
A bus horn was so loud that it wrenched me from me deeply desired slumber.
A Chinese flute turns the house into something very pleasent with the added ambience of absent young son and his half dozen friends in perpetual tow.
Lalita resides in Australia while the soup simmers here. Nothing changes just the spices mix differently. If it isn't one tiresome episode it is another until it gets so that the episodes cease to be so tiresome and start to resemble entertainment. Then you know you are really detached. As long as the variables steer clear of the confines of the home.
Sun goes down on the Ganga and the flute calls out as if in memory of this place as once a village of Brahmin Vaisnavas. A city is manifesting and I am not sure how I feel about it. It is as if the footy crowd is now barricking for God. All well and good if you like the roar of thousands of human voices. In actuality it is a scary affair be it footy or God.
Must bake some bread but maybe I will just boil some rice and save the act of baking bread for a more pious moment. Hay maybe I won't bother cooking anything at all.
Kalki is back. Oh God, the mozzies.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Rasa Rani Priya
Rasa Rani Priya got initiated today. Formally known as Rasa Rani, daughter of Sitala and Hari Sauri. It was a very intimate affair on one of the roof top gardens of Mayapur. The garden was lovely and many deities were brought by some of the guests. Ramadevi brought her little Govardhana sila. There were sila's galore inside Pralhada Nrsima's house. And last but not least a wonderful kitchen. [ An old house wife at heart.]
It is Gopastami today and we will all be off to the goshala for a few hours of cow petting, singing and stories. Poor Sucih has to go to a school board meeting.
It has been trying inspite of the prolific nectar. Be thankful for mercies. The modes are spinning round like tornados and I wonder that my head is still on. Dramas with another teacher who percieves me as a low life and a class that needs the utmost care and dedication in teaching. Lessons from within and without. I wondered if it was the moldovite but combine that with the dham and we have dynamite for kick starting a spiritual life that has been mostly on hold. How to fathom it all.
A good start is to get up fairly early. That entails going to bed early but no matter what I do there is always something or one to keep me up. A little seven year old son is probably the biggest hurdle in this regard.
The girls, Tara, Radha and Rasa in Vrndavan. Radha wants to take initiation next year. Hopefully all will work out in that regard.
You know, sometimes if I want a word it jumps into my head and often I don't even know what it means. I go look it up and sure enough it is the perfect word, like soliloquy. How is that?
It is Gopastami today and we will all be off to the goshala for a few hours of cow petting, singing and stories. Poor Sucih has to go to a school board meeting.
It has been trying inspite of the prolific nectar. Be thankful for mercies. The modes are spinning round like tornados and I wonder that my head is still on. Dramas with another teacher who percieves me as a low life and a class that needs the utmost care and dedication in teaching. Lessons from within and without. I wondered if it was the moldovite but combine that with the dham and we have dynamite for kick starting a spiritual life that has been mostly on hold. How to fathom it all.
A good start is to get up fairly early. That entails going to bed early but no matter what I do there is always something or one to keep me up. A little seven year old son is probably the biggest hurdle in this regard.
The girls, Tara, Radha and Rasa in Vrndavan. Radha wants to take initiation next year. Hopefully all will work out in that regard.
You know, sometimes if I want a word it jumps into my head and often I don't even know what it means. I go look it up and sure enough it is the perfect word, like soliloquy. How is that?
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Mud flats on the Ganga
We caught a boat on the Ganga to some mud flats to watch Nirguna's body get burnt.
He left at about 11 am today. The devotees sang really loud bhajans night and day. They had succeeded in turning his departure into a communal experience. I slept to the perpetual sinnging so that it haunted my dreams. It was nice and I am grateful at the communal aspects of life when things are surrenderd to the sublime.
His body was placed on the pyre and though there was a heap of wood his feet protruded. As his flesh burnt my stomach churned although it was empty, luckily for me. One of his legs fell off the pyre and a Bengali devotee picked it up and popped it back on the pyre. We left before his other leg dropped. Vrnda watched his head bake. Watched his eye balls pop and drip, his brains ooz. All up, it is enough to take the joy of any aesthetic attachment to the body right out of your head. Did I say head, let me rephrase that, mind.
I envy his freedom and I also felt the emptyness he has left though I never knew him. They go to a place beyond our reach and leave us melancholy knowing we can not see or hear it. We are disconected, out of touch, far away from it all. It is both consoling and sad.
Well that was a blow out for me. It is less strange now. A bit like the strangeness I felt when I first saw a mother feed a five year old child her breast milk. Now I consider it normal. I have come such a long way from urban aussie. Alternate third world resident traypsing off to Nepal every six months. Who would have bloody guessed. Not me when I slept in my bunk in Caroline Crescent, Bundoora, Melbourne. When I walked to school after feasting on Weat Bix and Milo. I escaped the packaging.
Speaking to Tridisa tonight about addiction to packaging. If it's in a package he is happy. Crazy world. Package me please and pickle my brain while you are it. Keep me from feeling all but what the telly allows.
Shit it is tragic and yet surrender we must to something or some one. I think I will surrender to knowing I must and be consoled that I surrendered to the more interesting God. The corporate god just doesn't cut it.
He left at about 11 am today. The devotees sang really loud bhajans night and day. They had succeeded in turning his departure into a communal experience. I slept to the perpetual sinnging so that it haunted my dreams. It was nice and I am grateful at the communal aspects of life when things are surrenderd to the sublime.
His body was placed on the pyre and though there was a heap of wood his feet protruded. As his flesh burnt my stomach churned although it was empty, luckily for me. One of his legs fell off the pyre and a Bengali devotee picked it up and popped it back on the pyre. We left before his other leg dropped. Vrnda watched his head bake. Watched his eye balls pop and drip, his brains ooz. All up, it is enough to take the joy of any aesthetic attachment to the body right out of your head. Did I say head, let me rephrase that, mind.
I envy his freedom and I also felt the emptyness he has left though I never knew him. They go to a place beyond our reach and leave us melancholy knowing we can not see or hear it. We are disconected, out of touch, far away from it all. It is both consoling and sad.
Well that was a blow out for me. It is less strange now. A bit like the strangeness I felt when I first saw a mother feed a five year old child her breast milk. Now I consider it normal. I have come such a long way from urban aussie. Alternate third world resident traypsing off to Nepal every six months. Who would have bloody guessed. Not me when I slept in my bunk in Caroline Crescent, Bundoora, Melbourne. When I walked to school after feasting on Weat Bix and Milo. I escaped the packaging.
Speaking to Tridisa tonight about addiction to packaging. If it's in a package he is happy. Crazy world. Package me please and pickle my brain while you are it. Keep me from feeling all but what the telly allows.
Shit it is tragic and yet surrender we must to something or some one. I think I will surrender to knowing I must and be consoled that I surrendered to the more interesting God. The corporate god just doesn't cut it.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
nothings
Kalki is still asleep.
The Australians are descending. Bhakta and Bhakti, they are still alive? How old will we get before we do some serious dying. We have only lost two of the Melbourne crew, Jayaprada and Ananyabuk. Both cancer and both suspected mobile phones.
The holidays are nearing the end. Oh dear oh dear. 'Friends' did nothing but shodd my brain with aimless adle. I should have known better than to try and get a hit from a screen with a doubtful script and paper thin characters. But they stick like the stench of the drain, up my nostrils and in my brain.
SO my script isn't too crash hot either, so be it.
Hari Bhakti leaves as fast as she came. A record four days. I envy her jet set ways.
The neighbour doesn't know how to shut her screaming kid up in the middle of the night. It was like some kind of communal torture. That kid wanted something if only sanity and mum just would not cough up. I lay, kidding myself that I could keep sleeping while studiously avoiding what I figure the gods had intended. Get up and out, breath that fresh 4 am morning air. Feel the grit and grind of existence, embrace it, enjoy it.........at 4 am. Then 9 pm starts to look really good.
Class plans for a year to be made. I figure if I just stop asking myself to be able to do this and just kid myself into winging it I will be a lot happier. I don't think I have realised fully, how many wingers there are in life.
Spousel displeasure as the whine of discontent precedes full blown displeasure at the prospect of naught but surrender to ideas. The idea of a better place where air fares don't cost $1500 including tax and passports never expire.
My licence will expire soon. Four thousand rupees to fix that one. Only a months wage in India. Yeehaa. I would drive in India but it takes more than I have. The psychic skill to intuit what the other non law abiding driver will do while heading straight for you on your side of the road.
My class room has been attacked by rodents and spiders have enjoyed the computers generous contours.
And the ever present squeek of the fly wire to let me know if some one is coming. The jingle of the ankle bells and Vrnda announces herself with furby intow. All of 14 years old. She stands and plucks one of my four grey hairs to prove to me that I am going grey.
Vrnda suffered massive hair loss due to the measles or some such thing and now sports many short lengths popping out of what remains of her hair. At least it is growing back. The thrill that is India.
The Australians are descending. Bhakta and Bhakti, they are still alive? How old will we get before we do some serious dying. We have only lost two of the Melbourne crew, Jayaprada and Ananyabuk. Both cancer and both suspected mobile phones.
The holidays are nearing the end. Oh dear oh dear. 'Friends' did nothing but shodd my brain with aimless adle. I should have known better than to try and get a hit from a screen with a doubtful script and paper thin characters. But they stick like the stench of the drain, up my nostrils and in my brain.
SO my script isn't too crash hot either, so be it.
Hari Bhakti leaves as fast as she came. A record four days. I envy her jet set ways.
The neighbour doesn't know how to shut her screaming kid up in the middle of the night. It was like some kind of communal torture. That kid wanted something if only sanity and mum just would not cough up. I lay, kidding myself that I could keep sleeping while studiously avoiding what I figure the gods had intended. Get up and out, breath that fresh 4 am morning air. Feel the grit and grind of existence, embrace it, enjoy it.........at 4 am. Then 9 pm starts to look really good.
Class plans for a year to be made. I figure if I just stop asking myself to be able to do this and just kid myself into winging it I will be a lot happier. I don't think I have realised fully, how many wingers there are in life.
Spousel displeasure as the whine of discontent precedes full blown displeasure at the prospect of naught but surrender to ideas. The idea of a better place where air fares don't cost $1500 including tax and passports never expire.
My licence will expire soon. Four thousand rupees to fix that one. Only a months wage in India. Yeehaa. I would drive in India but it takes more than I have. The psychic skill to intuit what the other non law abiding driver will do while heading straight for you on your side of the road.
My class room has been attacked by rodents and spiders have enjoyed the computers generous contours.
And the ever present squeek of the fly wire to let me know if some one is coming. The jingle of the ankle bells and Vrnda announces herself with furby intow. All of 14 years old. She stands and plucks one of my four grey hairs to prove to me that I am going grey.
Vrnda suffered massive hair loss due to the measles or some such thing and now sports many short lengths popping out of what remains of her hair. At least it is growing back. The thrill that is India.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
'Friends'.... watched
Ok, I'll admit it. I have been spacing out to videos of Friends. I have never watched the show before in my life bar half an episode in Kolkata. Kolkata can drive you to desperation. And I know it is not the activity of the self aware or self seeker. hahahahhhaha, nooooo it is not. I don't think it even has plot. I wonder if any one has done a thesis on it. Taking the tiny moments in life, the insignificant and utterly meaningless ones and making a telly show about them that has a god damned religious cult following. There are people who were born after the show closed watching this stuff as if it sustained them. [Vrindy?] Thank you for the loan. [and the finger prints are not mine]
Sucih is horrified at the malais that has spread through the house as Vishaka and I disappear to corners of the building and merge with the luminous screens of our laptops. Vishaka has declared she hates school now. She must think life is as easy as it looks on the telly show. They did one show on income inequity. I mentioned this show and noted to her that the haves in the show went to uni. Ho hum. Could that be a telly lie, in this case I am afraid not. Unless you are a goer chances are no school relates to little brown envelopes with change in them. They round down in the low income arena.
Sucih reckons Johnny Howard, the pig prime minister of Australia, will cause some major terrorist dilema or other such attraction to reel in the voters. I reckon Johnny is over the job and can see the very nasty writing on the wall. His government has brought disaster to the country as all liberal governments do. They feed off the hard work in policy developement of the labour party while watching it slowly disintergrate in the reign of liberal neglect. Just a guess, I really know nothing of it. just want some one to blame for the $8 couliflower on sale in Coles.
But who cares any way, I am in Bengal and my only dilema is how to conquer my desire to never leave the house and the lack of funds that presently prevent me from visiting my opa in Germany. He is in his 90s so it might be nice to see him before his end though he seems to be a bit of a stayer. He ended up in an old peoples home after the death of his much younger wife and Lo and behold he has found a new female friend. Girl friend is too seedy a term for that age group though I don't doubt that they will be trying to enjoy as much as they can inspite of the age. So off to Italy for a holiday with friends and relatives while I stay in Bengal waiting for the highlights. I like to live vicariously. Actually my whole life is a vicarious one.
Well how I feel inside. Kinda wierd as I am living the life of the letter. all my close friends, [well as close as you can get with this nature and at this age] and relatives [I can pretty strictly say no close relos either] all live in other countries. So I type a lot. I am becoming less dependant on the hand flay to express myself though i did enjoy unmeditated witty expressions that dropped from my mouth. Either that or I had generous friends who occasionally laughed at things I said. It is not quite the same on line.
Oh, and [redacted] the blog. How can i make my life seem so insanely fantastic. Dunno, I'm a bloody celibate in West Bengal. It's just not going to happen. It is all transience and transcendance, sweet breeses and devotional melodies. Ambient air and the yodelling of the pilgrims. No shortage of atmosphere but it isn't the world I was born into. So there is inevitable conflict due to the habitual nature of a recumbant, slightly stagnant aging middle aged mother of four, in the Hare Krsna's.
My cousin reckons my grand father no longer cares that I am a hare and is just stocked that I am still married with four kids to the one guy. Well that is a bloody miracle but quite frankly, I only did it to spite my mother. She wanted me to live true to myslef and do as she did. Now this is not a sordid sight so I will spare you the details. Oh, she had the kids but no sooner did they start breathing then she would start devising means of disposal. In a spasm of honesty she once admitted she would have been best situated as a concubine. I think her mother failed to give her any kind of moral training. Her mother was from Berlin and my mother was born during the war. Any guesses what that could mean? I think the term Bohemian comes from that district and I will grant you that is a rather tame expression for the actual life that these people lived. But if you like your morals to blow like the wind then Berlin is the place for you.
Back to the placebo life while waiting for death. Friends........ahhg i know it's lame but some credit for the honesty?
I do good things too, like wash, let me qualify that, I wash my body. I look at the sky, I even sat in the sun yesterday. Hey I was brought up to be a bum coming from a long line of bourgeois bums. Actually the bourgeois worked bloody hard to fake not working but the offspring got the wrong impression. That being me, and thought life was one big sailing ship and if i wanted to do nothing all day then i bloody well could if I wanted to. Wrong message for a kid to get. So I remain to this day, a culturally conflicted adult. Torn between aught to and want to. I guess it's nothing new.
Do I need a photo?
Sucih is horrified at the malais that has spread through the house as Vishaka and I disappear to corners of the building and merge with the luminous screens of our laptops. Vishaka has declared she hates school now. She must think life is as easy as it looks on the telly show. They did one show on income inequity. I mentioned this show and noted to her that the haves in the show went to uni. Ho hum. Could that be a telly lie, in this case I am afraid not. Unless you are a goer chances are no school relates to little brown envelopes with change in them. They round down in the low income arena.
Sucih reckons Johnny Howard, the pig prime minister of Australia, will cause some major terrorist dilema or other such attraction to reel in the voters. I reckon Johnny is over the job and can see the very nasty writing on the wall. His government has brought disaster to the country as all liberal governments do. They feed off the hard work in policy developement of the labour party while watching it slowly disintergrate in the reign of liberal neglect. Just a guess, I really know nothing of it. just want some one to blame for the $8 couliflower on sale in Coles.
But who cares any way, I am in Bengal and my only dilema is how to conquer my desire to never leave the house and the lack of funds that presently prevent me from visiting my opa in Germany. He is in his 90s so it might be nice to see him before his end though he seems to be a bit of a stayer. He ended up in an old peoples home after the death of his much younger wife and Lo and behold he has found a new female friend. Girl friend is too seedy a term for that age group though I don't doubt that they will be trying to enjoy as much as they can inspite of the age. So off to Italy for a holiday with friends and relatives while I stay in Bengal waiting for the highlights. I like to live vicariously. Actually my whole life is a vicarious one.
Well how I feel inside. Kinda wierd as I am living the life of the letter. all my close friends, [well as close as you can get with this nature and at this age] and relatives [I can pretty strictly say no close relos either] all live in other countries. So I type a lot. I am becoming less dependant on the hand flay to express myself though i did enjoy unmeditated witty expressions that dropped from my mouth. Either that or I had generous friends who occasionally laughed at things I said. It is not quite the same on line.
Oh, and [redacted] the blog. How can i make my life seem so insanely fantastic. Dunno, I'm a bloody celibate in West Bengal. It's just not going to happen. It is all transience and transcendance, sweet breeses and devotional melodies. Ambient air and the yodelling of the pilgrims. No shortage of atmosphere but it isn't the world I was born into. So there is inevitable conflict due to the habitual nature of a recumbant, slightly stagnant aging middle aged mother of four, in the Hare Krsna's.
My cousin reckons my grand father no longer cares that I am a hare and is just stocked that I am still married with four kids to the one guy. Well that is a bloody miracle but quite frankly, I only did it to spite my mother. She wanted me to live true to myslef and do as she did. Now this is not a sordid sight so I will spare you the details. Oh, she had the kids but no sooner did they start breathing then she would start devising means of disposal. In a spasm of honesty she once admitted she would have been best situated as a concubine. I think her mother failed to give her any kind of moral training. Her mother was from Berlin and my mother was born during the war. Any guesses what that could mean? I think the term Bohemian comes from that district and I will grant you that is a rather tame expression for the actual life that these people lived. But if you like your morals to blow like the wind then Berlin is the place for you.
Back to the placebo life while waiting for death. Friends........ahhg i know it's lame but some credit for the honesty?
I do good things too, like wash, let me qualify that, I wash my body. I look at the sky, I even sat in the sun yesterday. Hey I was brought up to be a bum coming from a long line of bourgeois bums. Actually the bourgeois worked bloody hard to fake not working but the offspring got the wrong impression. That being me, and thought life was one big sailing ship and if i wanted to do nothing all day then i bloody well could if I wanted to. Wrong message for a kid to get. So I remain to this day, a culturally conflicted adult. Torn between aught to and want to. I guess it's nothing new.
Do I need a photo?
Friday, October 19, 2007
Pig Headed Aliens
Well ‘[edacted]’ has shown me something. He is either an excellent fake or this guy is some kind of cyber superman. But like most supermen he hasn't a clue what to do with a woman. Makes me kinda smile and think, thank God. It would be otherwise too much to bare.
Radha left for Vrndavan with little fanfare from me. I suspect I have allowed her to become a predictably self obsessed adolescent. It seems being able to shop is a primary concern for young women of her caliber. Without it, what would be the point of getting out of bed? I know this from personal experience. Vrndavan with out some binging at Loy bazaar. Poor duffa, to think I have other priorities, like paying the power bill, sweet heart. Ahh well that little product of my loins will learn her lesson later than sooner I expect. if at all. What a bunch of slugs we are. Don’t get me wrong I like my kids but if they start resembling every other corrupted human on this planet then I take issue as I was hoping for more. Of course you may say what about me. Well I would say my personal path has been transferred to the off spring and I am now hoping one of them will be a better person. A better person? I guess we have lost touch with what a person is in the realm.
Vrnda wondered about the complex at one in the morning, seeking out her friends that were due to depart in the wee hours. She found non and fell asleep on the door step of Tara’s place. I’m not sure where we got Vrnda from but she is not your regular kid.
Shaka was on the roof last night and saw a …….yes……a ……UFO
Yes they are out there and if they are not some one out there has some seriously cool personal transport happening. I want one. Private silent and very very fast. Gees you have no idea how much I want one.
Dreamt so lucidly this morning I thought I might have been on an astral jaunt. I experienced colours and scenes that are a little wanting in this region. Everything is blurred here. As indistinct as an Indian head nod. It’s no wonder they had eons of spiritualism as their core feature. It is all you can do to figure out what one person is actually saying to another. SO you turn to God and hope he can reveal the **** is going on. The guy at the market has not the slightest inclination of letting you in on how it works. The only ones that may be inclined to help are the ones that are “colonized”. God I love a colonized Indian. We can meet half way. I too am colonized but only fractionally. They got to me in maturity. Can’t teach a old dog new tricks.
The old man is sick, consolation being squalor is his constant companion. Hahah
Can’t help sounding like a nasty piece of work. I just am.
Oh to be happily putrefying in my happiness and forever distracted from my ultimate demise.
One of my favourite stories is the guy in the well with the water below, a tiger waiting outside and a drop of honey coming his way. It’s all he can do to get that honey. Like a droplet of dew ready to fall from the leaf in the early morning. We too are waiting and in the mean time each day we find another inconsequential reason to get out of bed. Don’t tell me yours has consequence because it simply doesn’t if you hold it up against death.
Every time I read or watch anything contemporary they most often refer to sex as if it were the panacea of existence. I just think they might be deluding themselves and some are simply keeping the lie alive for want of company. Get to a crucial point in life……stop…..forget it and then happily fornicate as if some how it were a pill that would fix it all. Since when did that start happening? I mean some people are keeping relationships alive with sex alone…..[edacted] ?
I’m all for freedom but with some kind of purpose. If you wanted to bonk every time it got too hard to think then you might as well be a pigeon or even a pig, I hear they orgasm for a whole half hour. There you go guys [both genders covered in that term] go for it. Sounds like the right kind of birth for you. Life’s problems will be solved. Of course you will tend to desire a sordid diet of stool and assorted rotting odds and ends but I expect most of you are feasting on the rotting carcasses of, lets say, Pigs. Poor pigs, life cut short by those who do not know your true worth; the power to enjoy beyond any human beings dreams. Bring it on. Hey Michael Jackson, make your order. I’m sure pig law will refuse you nothing.
I better go now, even I feel it is a tad off.
Radha left for Vrndavan with little fanfare from me. I suspect I have allowed her to become a predictably self obsessed adolescent. It seems being able to shop is a primary concern for young women of her caliber. Without it, what would be the point of getting out of bed? I know this from personal experience. Vrndavan with out some binging at Loy bazaar. Poor duffa, to think I have other priorities, like paying the power bill, sweet heart. Ahh well that little product of my loins will learn her lesson later than sooner I expect. if at all. What a bunch of slugs we are. Don’t get me wrong I like my kids but if they start resembling every other corrupted human on this planet then I take issue as I was hoping for more. Of course you may say what about me. Well I would say my personal path has been transferred to the off spring and I am now hoping one of them will be a better person. A better person? I guess we have lost touch with what a person is in the realm.
Vrnda wondered about the complex at one in the morning, seeking out her friends that were due to depart in the wee hours. She found non and fell asleep on the door step of Tara’s place. I’m not sure where we got Vrnda from but she is not your regular kid.
Shaka was on the roof last night and saw a …….yes……a ……UFO
Yes they are out there and if they are not some one out there has some seriously cool personal transport happening. I want one. Private silent and very very fast. Gees you have no idea how much I want one.
Dreamt so lucidly this morning I thought I might have been on an astral jaunt. I experienced colours and scenes that are a little wanting in this region. Everything is blurred here. As indistinct as an Indian head nod. It’s no wonder they had eons of spiritualism as their core feature. It is all you can do to figure out what one person is actually saying to another. SO you turn to God and hope he can reveal the **** is going on. The guy at the market has not the slightest inclination of letting you in on how it works. The only ones that may be inclined to help are the ones that are “colonized”. God I love a colonized Indian. We can meet half way. I too am colonized but only fractionally. They got to me in maturity. Can’t teach a old dog new tricks.
The old man is sick, consolation being squalor is his constant companion. Hahah
Can’t help sounding like a nasty piece of work. I just am.
Oh to be happily putrefying in my happiness and forever distracted from my ultimate demise.
One of my favourite stories is the guy in the well with the water below, a tiger waiting outside and a drop of honey coming his way. It’s all he can do to get that honey. Like a droplet of dew ready to fall from the leaf in the early morning. We too are waiting and in the mean time each day we find another inconsequential reason to get out of bed. Don’t tell me yours has consequence because it simply doesn’t if you hold it up against death.
Every time I read or watch anything contemporary they most often refer to sex as if it were the panacea of existence. I just think they might be deluding themselves and some are simply keeping the lie alive for want of company. Get to a crucial point in life……stop…..forget it and then happily fornicate as if some how it were a pill that would fix it all. Since when did that start happening? I mean some people are keeping relationships alive with sex alone…..[edacted] ?
I’m all for freedom but with some kind of purpose. If you wanted to bonk every time it got too hard to think then you might as well be a pigeon or even a pig, I hear they orgasm for a whole half hour. There you go guys [both genders covered in that term] go for it. Sounds like the right kind of birth for you. Life’s problems will be solved. Of course you will tend to desire a sordid diet of stool and assorted rotting odds and ends but I expect most of you are feasting on the rotting carcasses of, lets say, Pigs. Poor pigs, life cut short by those who do not know your true worth; the power to enjoy beyond any human beings dreams. Bring it on. Hey Michael Jackson, make your order. I’m sure pig law will refuse you nothing.
I better go now, even I feel it is a tad off.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Vishaka informs of pending death or should we say departure?
Vishaka in 2006 Gaura purnima play about Lord Rama. She was the golden demon deer. Or was he infact a devotee. Never can figure it out.
One of the devotees is in the process of leaving his body across the way. The kids have been having kirtans every night. They say he will leave tonight. I don't get into stuff like that much. Gives me the heeby jeebies.
I wish him well and who knows what is going on in the air in the Holy Dhama. He was a steady book distributer. So the heaens will open up and gather him up, deliver in whole to the one that loves him. I should be so lucky. It is not my time but when it is I am hope i am in a good mood.
the moon rose early and they sing like muslims around here
So I speak to myself here.
The latin is because I like it. It is the parent of English and so maybe it has a story to to tell. I found this line in an online collection of latin expressions and though I may have it slightly out of context I liked what I thought it meant.
The picture belongs to some one else and i just wonder if it is real. Staggering if it is.
Up again all night and I hear the voices of those, nuts enough to be up at this time of day. My motivation to stand in a temple professing or displaying devotion is at an all time low. I don't lament it but it will become harder to negotiate in time in this community. Complete adherence is the order of the day or pay the price. I expect every political arrangement has its price.
Spiritual, well that is an entirely different thing.
It is 4 am and I wonder who's family could be so damned noisy.
Kalki goes to play practice with his father at 6.30 am. You have got to love some peoples idea of practical. He wants to be a monkey. What I know of human nature, communities and children is enough for me to worry that he doesn't get his little heart broken. Well at least his ego badly handled. When adults deal with children the children are often merely connections to other adults. If some one likes your paretns they may be kind. If you have no family connections, chances are you are fair and square at the bottom of the totem pole if on it at all. As a kid i did not take this issue seriously as i did believe in our new world but it appears the people of my age group suffer from this abheration as much as the last generation. Maybe it is just religion that does it to people. As a matter of fact I may be on to something there. Love God and spite those who look like they may not Love him as much as you do. Gee I reckon the muslims excell at that but then the Christians are good too. The Christians are more hung up about the more superficial aspects of devotion. It isn't really about God but what God can do for the Nation. Yes that's it. Christians at heart are Nationalists. Blugh
How about Hindu's what are they. I think they are the ultimate deal makers. Mafia men. Forever pledging gifts in the hope of a trade off.
Vaisnava's, well they were once prone to independance but now that some of them have been cooped up in an order of sorts they have become a little ........ for want of a better word, lacking. Where is the inspiration if your counting the slabs of marble as I think Bhatissidanta suggested. They are best going it alone if you look at the history of the greatest. It seems the really commited ones were always subject to heavy criticism and even isolation in their time. It makes me wonder if being part of the order is always to be desired. The order requires such a heavy toll.
I hate men waking up and coughing and rasping as if their gizzards were trying to escape. Man take a worm tablet. Who can that be? Change your diet, do something. You sound like you are choking on your own mucous and you do it every morning.
Another ambient Indian experiance.
I hear the Samadhi conch blow. Maybe i could go there instaed. Much less public.
Bitter pills drop from my mouth and still I can not convince my self that anything is wrong with it. I must have been accustomed to too much harshness as a child. If my mother heard a child cry she would mock and tease it in an attempt to reveal its own silly preoccupation with its petty needs. Hey , don't come to me for hugs, they'll do you no good at all in the long run and I suppose in the long run she was right. Thank you Mother. In all the apparent dishonesty you were in fact the most honest. Humans suck and best become acquainted with the fact as early as possible. Spares you a lot of time and certainly prevents dissapointment.
But what to do with these revelations? Why put them to work in the name of revelation. Well in the hope that I will chance upon at least one or two more before I die.
The revelation that non of it is true. That this body is infact a vehicle in which I stay for some time, a transition. Spend time tinkering too long and I merely hold up the journey. And real estate, the ultimate drug. A place to hide, an account to control, some cudos to be had. Thank you God. You simply refuse to let me be part of it and who knows, I may experience genuine gratitude consistantly one day. I do admit I am addicted to beauty but Nature will suffice.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Radha , don't frett
Ok, slightly sedated due to pain so type errors are to be expected.
Was thinking tonight though lately have enjoyed forgetting the thoughts.
Dilema at trying to bridge the secular with religious. Out of my league and so I concede that I aught to thrust myself into to given commiment and hope for the best. Can't help my addiction to secular language and will probably not drop that for a while but I will try harder to reconcile conflicts.
Porr Radha is flipping out with my bitter rhetoric. It makes her cry. She neednt take this drama queen too seriously. i have after all been locked up in my room for weeks now though I do venture out now that the maid is here. I will never be able to go back to the life of a house wife unless of course i do not have to work full time. How do women in the work force not get seriously cheesed off. Work all day and then clean up after selfish lazy butts. Not to say my kids don't pull their weight but it's the little things that get you down. The communal things that they just don't feel obliged to do.
How is it a person feels the need to read 4 books at one time. I almost feel shocked that I am monogomous.
Reading Bhaktivinoda Thakuras autobiography today. Wikipedia is good for something. I like him a lot as he went through the whole western paradigm before embracing vaisnavism so i figure he is qualified. I figure it takes passing through the two worlds to really be quailifed to share with a peron bought up by the secularists. It is a tragically hard nut to crack and takes mountains of empathy. He had that empathy and compassion. He embraced us when no others did. He was in the association of Rabindranath Thakura. Anyway I like that he knew all the western philosophers of the time as to me it legitimises his choice. So many people are so quick to call this a mindless and sentimental cult when in fact there is much profundity within it but it is not easy to extract or I should say waiting for the revelations can be disconcerting at times. It seems our primary occupation is becoming qualified to recieve the bequest of revelation.
It is much cooler now and almost feels like an Australian summer. Livable. I can cope with the heat here if i keep the right attitude. I tell myself sweating perpetually is good for the system.
I ranted to vitriolic venom today about my pain regarding the establishment. it is almost like resnting a parent. The themes always repeat themselves.
Losing my mind to meandering though I could crap on till the cows come home though they never get let of their pens around here. Imagine neve letting a cow graze, too cruel.
Tomorrow I may venture out. I have some type of agrophobia. Always the potential mantal case.
I wonder when Bhaktivinoda Thakura looked from his veranda if it was us he saw that night.
silence.
Was thinking tonight though lately have enjoyed forgetting the thoughts.
Dilema at trying to bridge the secular with religious. Out of my league and so I concede that I aught to thrust myself into to given commiment and hope for the best. Can't help my addiction to secular language and will probably not drop that for a while but I will try harder to reconcile conflicts.
Porr Radha is flipping out with my bitter rhetoric. It makes her cry. She neednt take this drama queen too seriously. i have after all been locked up in my room for weeks now though I do venture out now that the maid is here. I will never be able to go back to the life of a house wife unless of course i do not have to work full time. How do women in the work force not get seriously cheesed off. Work all day and then clean up after selfish lazy butts. Not to say my kids don't pull their weight but it's the little things that get you down. The communal things that they just don't feel obliged to do.
How is it a person feels the need to read 4 books at one time. I almost feel shocked that I am monogomous.
Reading Bhaktivinoda Thakuras autobiography today. Wikipedia is good for something. I like him a lot as he went through the whole western paradigm before embracing vaisnavism so i figure he is qualified. I figure it takes passing through the two worlds to really be quailifed to share with a peron bought up by the secularists. It is a tragically hard nut to crack and takes mountains of empathy. He had that empathy and compassion. He embraced us when no others did. He was in the association of Rabindranath Thakura. Anyway I like that he knew all the western philosophers of the time as to me it legitimises his choice. So many people are so quick to call this a mindless and sentimental cult when in fact there is much profundity within it but it is not easy to extract or I should say waiting for the revelations can be disconcerting at times. It seems our primary occupation is becoming qualified to recieve the bequest of revelation.
It is much cooler now and almost feels like an Australian summer. Livable. I can cope with the heat here if i keep the right attitude. I tell myself sweating perpetually is good for the system.
I ranted to vitriolic venom today about my pain regarding the establishment. it is almost like resnting a parent. The themes always repeat themselves.
Losing my mind to meandering though I could crap on till the cows come home though they never get let of their pens around here. Imagine neve letting a cow graze, too cruel.
Tomorrow I may venture out. I have some type of agrophobia. Always the potential mantal case.
I wonder when Bhaktivinoda Thakura looked from his veranda if it was us he saw that night.
silence.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Vrnda and Radha
Kalki at school.
Vishaka has been cleaning all day. She brought food to her disinterested mother as well. They asked me to come over but I can't bring myself to come to a place that needs perpetual cleaning. I figure if i have to fight to get help then I quit and they can do it all. As it happens Vrnda is sick and so is Radha. The other two people are in gender disabled bodies.
The water is taking forever to go down but I can't say I mind laying low. That is metaphoric and possibly very accurate.
It's rainig so the heat has finally given way to some breez.
Back to class plans and a real life instead of virtual.
Anything for some inspiration.
it's cool and raining. There is a God.
egress of spirit
That just keeps popping up on the screen every time I try and make a new post so I thought I would leave it for now.
Someone was a bit mean to shaka on her blog. I thought it was age related but it happens that we are not immunised from nastiness just because we get older. It actually gets worse, as more, is often at stake, but in the end nothing at all really is.
Speaking today about priviledged wealthy and for a moment felt a tad belittled by being so low on the pecking order. It took until this evening to reconcile myself with some semblence of worth beyond material facility and wealth. It was always my angle but it can get more challenging as we get older as some of the validating features of life disperse, such as youth maybe intelligence. I don't know, maybe I don't like to admit how sold out I was to buying the veneer sphere of reality. I like that, "vaneer sphere" good name for a coffe shop. Is that all I can come up with, a coffe shop?
I had hopes of a cultural centre not unlike the Universal Workshop in Melbourne, Fitzroy in the seventies but it seems no one else cares for such things so it wasn't to be.
Ironically enough it seems child care is all the rage when every one has ceased to breed. Maybe it is some kind of encouragement plan. Maybe we should all admit that life in an industrialised society is starting to resemble a kabutz.
I used to spend a lot of time to myself as a kid listening to music and reading. As I get older i now know why. I joined a religious group that has kept me away from the Whitlam sacking world and I find that whenever I do stick my head out I must quickly retrieve it before it gets chopped off. Prabhupada said chant and be happy, I reckon it aught to be chant and keep your head down. Not much of an activist eh? Arjuna go for it, it's all yours. I'll stay home and knit the socks and when it's over grieve the casualties.
Paradox, conclusion, all the while attempting to skirt delusion.
Well it is a flip flop temporary condition this state of affairs. The advice is never embrace happiness or distress too violently as it is merely an allocated bequest. So what remains in the middle is equipiosed sadnesss or madness as some might have you think. Must never tell too much.
Rubs close to a bone or makes opaque what aught to be clear, but never is because the chemicals are never quite right. Sucih said you would spend the whole of your life managing the PH in a pool and so it is. Keep that pool clear of the muck that might spoil the view to the bottom.
Hurt is always part of trust and trust is always part of foolishness.
It might pay to invest in the friends I gave birth to. Maybe that is the safe haven for committed breeders, one among them becomes a friend.
Is that it? Do we find our truths in allocated stories given us by the Gods?
Is mine in family?
I remembered my mother always hankering for some one to come and love her. A Knight was always on the horizen. I wonder if she still does hanker. I am blessed by her never to have fallen into that sorry plight. So many vulnerable women do. Maybe that's why she wanted me to believe I was loved even if it wasn't entirely true. I have been spared the relentless need to fill an unfillable whole.
It all seemed so silly to me as a kid. I knew then the guy was always a bastard and he would never really come. You had to crack a deal with life if you wanted to live in peace. A deal of sacrifice. No pedestals and no glory. How I chanced upon it is a miracle and a blessing. Oh God I sound like a Christian. They generally have a simplistic approach that irritates me. All happy, as if they were selling the product of life. It's like a bloody Coke add minus the extracarricular activities and then maybe some after all. They do, after all adhere to hard core consumption without remorse.
Action and reaction is quick around here. The relentless urge to purify me of my hipocrosy and mean hearted attitude. Well thank you. I need a knock on the head but it is always so bloody embarrasing knowing just how unaware I am.
That just keeps popping up on the screen every time I try and make a new post so I thought I would leave it for now.
Someone was a bit mean to shaka on her blog. I thought it was age related but it happens that we are not immunised from nastiness just because we get older. It actually gets worse, as more, is often at stake, but in the end nothing at all really is.
Speaking today about priviledged wealthy and for a moment felt a tad belittled by being so low on the pecking order. It took until this evening to reconcile myself with some semblence of worth beyond material facility and wealth. It was always my angle but it can get more challenging as we get older as some of the validating features of life disperse, such as youth maybe intelligence. I don't know, maybe I don't like to admit how sold out I was to buying the veneer sphere of reality. I like that, "vaneer sphere" good name for a coffe shop. Is that all I can come up with, a coffe shop?
I had hopes of a cultural centre not unlike the Universal Workshop in Melbourne, Fitzroy in the seventies but it seems no one else cares for such things so it wasn't to be.
Ironically enough it seems child care is all the rage when every one has ceased to breed. Maybe it is some kind of encouragement plan. Maybe we should all admit that life in an industrialised society is starting to resemble a kabutz.
I used to spend a lot of time to myself as a kid listening to music and reading. As I get older i now know why. I joined a religious group that has kept me away from the Whitlam sacking world and I find that whenever I do stick my head out I must quickly retrieve it before it gets chopped off. Prabhupada said chant and be happy, I reckon it aught to be chant and keep your head down. Not much of an activist eh? Arjuna go for it, it's all yours. I'll stay home and knit the socks and when it's over grieve the casualties.
Paradox, conclusion, all the while attempting to skirt delusion.
Well it is a flip flop temporary condition this state of affairs. The advice is never embrace happiness or distress too violently as it is merely an allocated bequest. So what remains in the middle is equipiosed sadnesss or madness as some might have you think. Must never tell too much.
Rubs close to a bone or makes opaque what aught to be clear, but never is because the chemicals are never quite right. Sucih said you would spend the whole of your life managing the PH in a pool and so it is. Keep that pool clear of the muck that might spoil the view to the bottom.
Hurt is always part of trust and trust is always part of foolishness.
It might pay to invest in the friends I gave birth to. Maybe that is the safe haven for committed breeders, one among them becomes a friend.
Is that it? Do we find our truths in allocated stories given us by the Gods?
Is mine in family?
I remembered my mother always hankering for some one to come and love her. A Knight was always on the horizen. I wonder if she still does hanker. I am blessed by her never to have fallen into that sorry plight. So many vulnerable women do. Maybe that's why she wanted me to believe I was loved even if it wasn't entirely true. I have been spared the relentless need to fill an unfillable whole.
It all seemed so silly to me as a kid. I knew then the guy was always a bastard and he would never really come. You had to crack a deal with life if you wanted to live in peace. A deal of sacrifice. No pedestals and no glory. How I chanced upon it is a miracle and a blessing. Oh God I sound like a Christian. They generally have a simplistic approach that irritates me. All happy, as if they were selling the product of life. It's like a bloody Coke add minus the extracarricular activities and then maybe some after all. They do, after all adhere to hard core consumption without remorse.
Action and reaction is quick around here. The relentless urge to purify me of my hipocrosy and mean hearted attitude. Well thank you. I need a knock on the head but it is always so bloody embarrasing knowing just how unaware I am.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Radha Ballabha
I joined under these deities, Sri Sri Radha Ballabah.
They are like a first love really. Nothing comes near them and I think it has something to do with the circumstances surounding our initial acquaintance. Unfortunately they are in Melbourne which is a social waste land but maybe the tide will change for Australia one day.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
smirch
Have you ever wondered why is it that we read from left to right or from top to bottom. If computers had been the first device we had written on it might have been very different. Or if we had been Chinese.
Shaka and the Man are back. Enough time in Kolkata and they knew what they had to come back and face. A smelly dog in the foyer and a floor that never lookes quite clean enough. I expect it is because we are home all day.
Kalki got over his vomiting quickly and I have decided adult education can wait till the kids are adults. I am sick of the half splintered life I attempt to live while allocating what is left of a calcified brain to obtuse thoughts and renderings.
With anyluck it will not result in Langosh sales at 50.
The chart says menial work so it would be silly to fight it if it was inevitable. Best not have brain filled with terribly important things itching to hatch only to land on the counter of a sales job. I should be so lucky at 50.
Despite all my efforts the dogs will come back. my neighbour is no help as she watches them break down my barriers.
It will take time to settle into new reality. Must not struggle to get ahead, to what i do not know. Must live the day. Haven't done it for a while. Driven by spouse who insists for reasons unknown to me to study and pursue, but what.
My only ambition was a cattage with a garden and he blew that one well and truly. Lines in the sand. Sand shifts of its own accord, we could just as easily have waited. It may have been better for the girls at this stage to be here. Gives them time to think instead of constantly preening though the holidays have left time for preening enough. Vrnda maybe the one to worry about, I don't know. She seems like a leaf in the wind at the moment and I wonder who is doing the blowing.
Got so tired of all the desperate pondering and mortal angst. Yes I am cheesed off with the institution but who isn't.
Take it slow and don't expect everything to reveal itself just yet. It is too late to change tunes and this one has been sung for so long I might as well figure out what the lyrics actually mean before I scuttle it entirely.
It's about relationships but in the end with what. We get older, harder, more suspicious after learning so much about our own ways. Then where does tender faith come into all of it. Almost seems obsurd at this age. I shall figure it out in time I expect and I think it aught to be my own time and not uni time. Though I am a bit slow.
Back to original identity , happy cult member, mother of 4 and home maker. Ok, presently working at school but it is close to home and filled with family members so it is more or less home. Have cooks and cleaners so all is well.
I am just not ready for big questions demanding all of me.
Here they come to get me............arrghhhh.
No the door shut again. They can leave me alone for another hour.
Think i will go back to reading a translation of The Idiot. I think it is Russian. Pretty interesting.
Shaka and the Man are back. Enough time in Kolkata and they knew what they had to come back and face. A smelly dog in the foyer and a floor that never lookes quite clean enough. I expect it is because we are home all day.
Kalki got over his vomiting quickly and I have decided adult education can wait till the kids are adults. I am sick of the half splintered life I attempt to live while allocating what is left of a calcified brain to obtuse thoughts and renderings.
With anyluck it will not result in Langosh sales at 50.
The chart says menial work so it would be silly to fight it if it was inevitable. Best not have brain filled with terribly important things itching to hatch only to land on the counter of a sales job. I should be so lucky at 50.
Despite all my efforts the dogs will come back. my neighbour is no help as she watches them break down my barriers.
It will take time to settle into new reality. Must not struggle to get ahead, to what i do not know. Must live the day. Haven't done it for a while. Driven by spouse who insists for reasons unknown to me to study and pursue, but what.
My only ambition was a cattage with a garden and he blew that one well and truly. Lines in the sand. Sand shifts of its own accord, we could just as easily have waited. It may have been better for the girls at this stage to be here. Gives them time to think instead of constantly preening though the holidays have left time for preening enough. Vrnda maybe the one to worry about, I don't know. She seems like a leaf in the wind at the moment and I wonder who is doing the blowing.
Got so tired of all the desperate pondering and mortal angst. Yes I am cheesed off with the institution but who isn't.
Take it slow and don't expect everything to reveal itself just yet. It is too late to change tunes and this one has been sung for so long I might as well figure out what the lyrics actually mean before I scuttle it entirely.
It's about relationships but in the end with what. We get older, harder, more suspicious after learning so much about our own ways. Then where does tender faith come into all of it. Almost seems obsurd at this age. I shall figure it out in time I expect and I think it aught to be my own time and not uni time. Though I am a bit slow.
Back to original identity , happy cult member, mother of 4 and home maker. Ok, presently working at school but it is close to home and filled with family members so it is more or less home. Have cooks and cleaners so all is well.
I am just not ready for big questions demanding all of me.
Here they come to get me............arrghhhh.
No the door shut again. They can leave me alone for another hour.
Think i will go back to reading a translation of The Idiot. I think it is Russian. Pretty interesting.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Gees Loise, cheer up will you
The series of displacements and endings have rendered me implacable, unable to comprehend consistency or continuity, servile only to fear and apprehension.
Its placement of myself in it as only a product to consume or produce its poultry offerings, drunk in stupor with hope. Rent of consciousness that anything more may come from existence bar the animal and left only with question,. No answer forthcoming except in death or in hope, if hope can be had against such odds.
As if Maya herself had decreed the rights of the soul in possession of a body were of little choice but to join the feast of personal destruction, to her great satisfaction.
Our friend and all those who spoke and yet, submitted to the hopelessness rendered by her strained devouring demands.
Sleep now and forever scold your loss of peace
Speak now or forever hold your peace
of mind if any left after all that will be done.
Its placement of myself in it as only a product to consume or produce its poultry offerings, drunk in stupor with hope. Rent of consciousness that anything more may come from existence bar the animal and left only with question,. No answer forthcoming except in death or in hope, if hope can be had against such odds.
As if Maya herself had decreed the rights of the soul in possession of a body were of little choice but to join the feast of personal destruction, to her great satisfaction.
Our friend and all those who spoke and yet, submitted to the hopelessness rendered by her strained devouring demands.
Sleep now and forever scold your loss of peace
Speak now or forever hold your peace
of mind if any left after all that will be done.
uni tangent
The nationhood thing is grotesque. I was sitting in a café in Murwillumbah one day when it happened that the Anzac day parade was passing by. I had been recently watching The Lenny Riefenstahl documentaries that had been made for Hitler and was struck with the profound similarities in the Anzac parade and the German parades of the 30s. I made a comment to my Australian friend who, though she be terribly new age and modern was irate that I could equate Australia with the dreaded nationalists of Germany. Ironically Germany was a fairly young country too when it decided to get an improved grip on its identity by emasculating itself with power and conviction.
We were associated with a small community school [private] that depends on government funding. The funding was to be cut short if the school did not get a flagpole up with an Australian flag waving in the wind. We were all disgusted but the school gets regularly checked. Compromised by the almighty dollar, ideologically bought.
My most treasured Australian experience was receiving a $600 check per child out of the blue, 3 months before the elections. Who said things have changed from the feudal period. And my worst Australian experience was having an elected prime minister sacked by the representative of England. Call that little episode in Nationhood an embarrassing farce.
We are all just visitors and our bodies made from recycled waste of the land. We are all Aboriginals fighting for a space, a place to call our own. Some oppression has been lost in forgotten history, some closer to the present. It hasn’t changed or stopped so how to express? Ahhhh, I see literature. Maybe. Film? Probably. The academy will train me to think, nicely of course and maybe I will become confidant and empowered enough go out and try to change the tide of human, dare I say destruction.
But I must first appease or condition my own heart. Figured that decades ago and still working on it but the academy is definitely helping me to get out of the house so to speak.
I hear it is compulsory for the business studies students to study at least one unit on ethics and Ecology.
What is left of the university in the university is helping. When they axe the indigenous department then I will know it is time to find a deep hole to escape cut backs for the sake of the Nation.
Well that said I feel pretty beastly. How is it that it takes a university outside of the enviorn of the so called devotees to give me confidence. I guess encouraging people is not what it is all about anymore. Just rule and real estate. keep the status quo going only "the state in which we live" has become almost unlivable. Can you see that. Or is catastrophy part of your daily menu.
Maybe it was never ever meant to be. I do not know but I know I am inspired else where and I am not sure if it reflects on me or my beloved institution, the one that was going to save us all.
Maybe I was being plain dumb going for that one. It was only ever offering dinghies and some had holes in them.
Some collect in the flotsam only to be seperated by the waves. Lose an oar and you are done for.
Lets see what could the metaphor for the oar be? Whatever you like, it's open slather these days.
We were associated with a small community school [private] that depends on government funding. The funding was to be cut short if the school did not get a flagpole up with an Australian flag waving in the wind. We were all disgusted but the school gets regularly checked. Compromised by the almighty dollar, ideologically bought.
My most treasured Australian experience was receiving a $600 check per child out of the blue, 3 months before the elections. Who said things have changed from the feudal period. And my worst Australian experience was having an elected prime minister sacked by the representative of England. Call that little episode in Nationhood an embarrassing farce.
We are all just visitors and our bodies made from recycled waste of the land. We are all Aboriginals fighting for a space, a place to call our own. Some oppression has been lost in forgotten history, some closer to the present. It hasn’t changed or stopped so how to express? Ahhhh, I see literature. Maybe. Film? Probably. The academy will train me to think, nicely of course and maybe I will become confidant and empowered enough go out and try to change the tide of human, dare I say destruction.
But I must first appease or condition my own heart. Figured that decades ago and still working on it but the academy is definitely helping me to get out of the house so to speak.
I hear it is compulsory for the business studies students to study at least one unit on ethics and Ecology.
What is left of the university in the university is helping. When they axe the indigenous department then I will know it is time to find a deep hole to escape cut backs for the sake of the Nation.
Well that said I feel pretty beastly. How is it that it takes a university outside of the enviorn of the so called devotees to give me confidence. I guess encouraging people is not what it is all about anymore. Just rule and real estate. keep the status quo going only "the state in which we live" has become almost unlivable. Can you see that. Or is catastrophy part of your daily menu.
Maybe it was never ever meant to be. I do not know but I know I am inspired else where and I am not sure if it reflects on me or my beloved institution, the one that was going to save us all.
Maybe I was being plain dumb going for that one. It was only ever offering dinghies and some had holes in them.
Some collect in the flotsam only to be seperated by the waves. Lose an oar and you are done for.
Lets see what could the metaphor for the oar be? Whatever you like, it's open slather these days.
Monday, October 1, 2007
What the Ganga in flood is doing to me
Well this is straight from the heart.
The stench of dog shit wafts up my nose as I sit in the only place I can get reception, the roof.
Four dogs now reside in our building because I am too gutless to beat them away. It’s not that I am scared of them it is just it is too mean an act.
I cracked a joke at the expense of the Stool goddess yesterday. Said I didn’t really have a relationship with her. The kids were telling me about class at the temple and they came up with details on the shit goddess. Well blow me down I didn’t know there was one. I guess I was being smart as sure enough I spent the night crapping my head off as well as puking at the same time. Not a desirable experience. I imagined how undignified death would be.
Tedious stuff. If those smells come from inside my body I just wonder how thick our skins must be to keep them enclosed but then maybe I am often on the nose and don’t know it.
Well there is my deep insight into my present plight.
Flood waters splash intermittently as people mindlessly dump their rubbish in it. Since when have we started imitating ignorant villagers? Seeing it rot on the porch might make us think twice about our approach to living.
Well my head throbs and I have succeeded in completing 3 paragraphs of terribly late essay. The worst that can happen is I fail. That won’t be a new experience.
I just want to know what these dogs are eating that they can pass so much stool.
Why can’t they hang in an empty building?
Ants in my lap top. Expect they will clean the crap from under the key board. But do they have a colony in it?
The Samadhi flares up with Prabhupada Bhajans which means the sun is going down. It used to be much louder but Sadbhuja had them turn it down. Bummer, I always like the loud Bhajans pumping through the place. Spares me from listening to my own my mind.
Kalki has been in the water for so long even he is sick of it.
And did you think those asrama girls could take responsibility for anything,, perhaps cleaning. Not on your life No siry. They eat and play and leave the house trashed.
Thank you girls. May you breed 6 exceedingly ungrateful wretches such as your selves.
I have always been a nasty piece of work. Now the stench of dog stool is forcing me off the roof. I wonder if I should try and redeem the 400-rupee mosquito net they have chosen to deposit on.
The stench of dog shit wafts up my nose as I sit in the only place I can get reception, the roof.
Four dogs now reside in our building because I am too gutless to beat them away. It’s not that I am scared of them it is just it is too mean an act.
I cracked a joke at the expense of the Stool goddess yesterday. Said I didn’t really have a relationship with her. The kids were telling me about class at the temple and they came up with details on the shit goddess. Well blow me down I didn’t know there was one. I guess I was being smart as sure enough I spent the night crapping my head off as well as puking at the same time. Not a desirable experience. I imagined how undignified death would be.
Tedious stuff. If those smells come from inside my body I just wonder how thick our skins must be to keep them enclosed but then maybe I am often on the nose and don’t know it.
Well there is my deep insight into my present plight.
Flood waters splash intermittently as people mindlessly dump their rubbish in it. Since when have we started imitating ignorant villagers? Seeing it rot on the porch might make us think twice about our approach to living.
Well my head throbs and I have succeeded in completing 3 paragraphs of terribly late essay. The worst that can happen is I fail. That won’t be a new experience.
I just want to know what these dogs are eating that they can pass so much stool.
Why can’t they hang in an empty building?
Ants in my lap top. Expect they will clean the crap from under the key board. But do they have a colony in it?
The Samadhi flares up with Prabhupada Bhajans which means the sun is going down. It used to be much louder but Sadbhuja had them turn it down. Bummer, I always like the loud Bhajans pumping through the place. Spares me from listening to my own my mind.
Kalki has been in the water for so long even he is sick of it.
And did you think those asrama girls could take responsibility for anything,, perhaps cleaning. Not on your life No siry. They eat and play and leave the house trashed.
Thank you girls. May you breed 6 exceedingly ungrateful wretches such as your selves.
I have always been a nasty piece of work. Now the stench of dog stool is forcing me off the roof. I wonder if I should try and redeem the 400-rupee mosquito net they have chosen to deposit on.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Too much of a weird thing?
Writing is like a psychic mirror. It can reflect what you did not know was there or at least make clear the thoughts that drift as if in a dream. Writing is an act of capture and release. In releasing you might encapsulate a disposition or a fault of comprehension.
It is not unlike hearing your own voice reverberate down through the ether on skype in the third world. You will hear your voice 3or 4 seconds later and feel them but even weirder, is knowing where they came from. There lies a hefty purport.
So honesty with myself is what it is I am aspiring for. I have been deceiving myself for so long it is a hard nut to crack. It seems I was born with bullshit mode turned on full. I am aware of it but not if ever able to control it. Part of the resolution is engagement and training for that engagement. I suppose that is the difference with being brought up instead of being dragged up. If having suffered the later one must figure out how to live effectively as the body grows out of the biological parents urge to care for it; if that should have been your plight.
I did think I would have been better off adopted, maybe I merely picked up my mothers dreams and inserted them as my own.
Told Nrs I would try to lighten up. Can’t be quippy just for the fun of it, makes no sense.
The kids are having fun splashing away from wretched snakes that are looking for shelter from the seething flood waters that are the Ganga.
I woke to the sun reflected from the waters hitting the ceiling. It was pleasant enough though my real joy was in knowing; today my home was my own. No maid or waller to invade upon it. Now I know what hiding in the suburbs really means. In the suburbs there is an unwritten law that thou shalt not visit unless absolutely necessary. I guess that was why farm life took its toll. Too many visitors and we had become the way farers stop over.
Well the Ganga has put a very definite stop to everything. Ironically it is the great big institution that is Iskcon that suffers the most from the flood.
Maybe the contradiction is fighting for static when in fact the soul or sense of self is in a constant state of flux seeking out its identity only to find it is in a state of flux forever. This flux, maybe a requisite to existence; maybe the fight against it is futile. New bodies, new identities, ever fresh, ever full of taste. Woops got duped into surety did we?
Long lusty summers of nothing but sucking in the indolence and warmth. I remember now as a gift. Those beaches and simple meals,the moon and the ever present sense of discovery that the evenings brought with them. We climbed a cliff only to throw an effigy soaked in illuminant chemicals. It was Elizabeth’s brother who came up with that one. Years later I heard he committed suicide. I heard he was a very talented mathematician; always a state of flux.
Her mother was forever in bed while her father made a small fortune with rubbish trucks. They had a darleck on the veranda, and a very good one it was too. I think Mark grew up to be a comedian. It was one of those huge Catholic families with kids stuck all over a rambling house that seemed always to be under some type of construction. The lives I was able to look on. Fell in love with her neighbour at the ripe old age of 12. His brother orchestrated it for a laugh and they all had one bar me. Always the sucker because I am so inebriated by myself. My punishment. What I’d give to be grounded and sane for more than a moment at a time. But then maybe I don’t want it after all. A lot of work. Why so averse to the work. Those indolent days by the sea have me drunk with waiting for it all to happen again. But it will never be the same as somehow the adult form brings with it a heavy weight as if dragging on the joy that might be. There is nothing quite like being young, even if only in hindsight. Always a trick.; she must get a tickle with her constant tricks. As if it were all a riddle and some of the really smart ones get to figure it out.
Read some of Jhanavi’s blog. Happy one. Having come in from the cold or the other side of the spectrum I feel there would be an inability to relate to the drivel that wanders from my brain. She makes it seem so simple and even captured the ecstasy. I can only focus on the struggle as if the snippets of ecstasy were some kind of side show or reference. Appeasing the heart but always stay wary of the trick tab. Happy and crying, sad and crying, lets look at why.
In the mean time Sucih is off to Kolkata in spite of the Ganga lapping at our necks. Nothing will stop that machine. What would I do with the equivalent amount of vigour. I think I would explode.
I fed the dog. I think I could actually see love in his eyes. See what a desperate wanker I am. Of course I get a rather harsh lecture from Giri abut the evils of feeding dogs and how Prabhupada said we were to declare war on them. Imagine what the burden must be when every word you ever spoke is taken as law for generations. Gees you wouldn’t be wanting to be too metaphoric there. Lets say you said, one day after a nasty feed, ‘these guys are poisoning me’. Then a generation later you got some fruit cake wanting to resurrect your interned body as evidence for or against poisoning. Shit I am in a movement of nut cases.
I guess it makes for suitable company given my own proclivities though not quite as stupid as those.
Nrsmadeva suggested we would return to Australia for holidays. What a bloody joke. As if our options had increased instead of decreased. Don’t mind me I will do the will of the lord thing but tempting me with a pool side pizza oven is a bit mean don’t you think? Given I rank indolence as a relevant human experience.
God I loved those mountain range cottages with views of the sea, no one to disturb you. Good company and dreams a plenty. On the verge and never cusping. How was it I gave up the option to choose? I met a guy that was dark. It got so dark I joined Iskcon for light but it has never really been clear since. It is as if I belong to something or someone. Not really wanting to be owned and especially on such tight terms. But I guess I was so lost there were no other options. Not to say there was nothing good from it but I would like to separate my sense of self from the group just a tad.
Spacing out in the lounge of a house with a mountain range banking against the veranda.
Sounds like Venu’s place and yet he sells not quite satisfied. What is the world coming to when there is so much confusion rife?
This place says, I want to engage you and I say in what. It responds with, knowing who you are, for now at least, in this body. Get cracking girl on with the work.
Way laying everything with the perplexed state that becomes a perpetual living thing, breathing its reason onto the wasted, lachrymose heart.
No I am not crackers Nrs, you're just happily ensconced in the realm of distraction. Hey I would revel too but imply my situation as perverse and it will linger.
Must have performed enough pious activities to keep me dry in the wet but no more than necessary. An astrologer informed me that this life of mine was strictly for spiritual development. Since when was there ever a question of that? Am I to take it and lump the inequities. They are not the subject, the subject is the object and the object is the exit and the exit is a phantom, it was here by your side all along.
And along came Doctor Quatum with uncle Leary to really run amuck with antiquated versions of scripts of old recited and tainted for so long that they ceased to reveal and started again to cover all that lay fresh and new. As if the barren mother had decided that no one else could ever give birth again.
An old acquaintance could not look at me when I was pregnant while she waited hopelessly to conceive her own. So much envy packed into so little flesh.
This flood could last a month. The dragonflies are everywhere and it keeps raining.
All the while the road is above water. Looking back, the cost of these continual floods is horrendous as compared to the cost incurred of raising the land. This is ludicrous because it is so isolated.
We need to get one of those long lovely black boats. Gliding elegantly along the water giving poetry instead of the dingy releasing abject comedy. Sucih tipped it over today with poor Vishaka in it..
It is not unlike hearing your own voice reverberate down through the ether on skype in the third world. You will hear your voice 3or 4 seconds later and feel them but even weirder, is knowing where they came from. There lies a hefty purport.
So honesty with myself is what it is I am aspiring for. I have been deceiving myself for so long it is a hard nut to crack. It seems I was born with bullshit mode turned on full. I am aware of it but not if ever able to control it. Part of the resolution is engagement and training for that engagement. I suppose that is the difference with being brought up instead of being dragged up. If having suffered the later one must figure out how to live effectively as the body grows out of the biological parents urge to care for it; if that should have been your plight.
I did think I would have been better off adopted, maybe I merely picked up my mothers dreams and inserted them as my own.
Told Nrs I would try to lighten up. Can’t be quippy just for the fun of it, makes no sense.
The kids are having fun splashing away from wretched snakes that are looking for shelter from the seething flood waters that are the Ganga.
I woke to the sun reflected from the waters hitting the ceiling. It was pleasant enough though my real joy was in knowing; today my home was my own. No maid or waller to invade upon it. Now I know what hiding in the suburbs really means. In the suburbs there is an unwritten law that thou shalt not visit unless absolutely necessary. I guess that was why farm life took its toll. Too many visitors and we had become the way farers stop over.
Well the Ganga has put a very definite stop to everything. Ironically it is the great big institution that is Iskcon that suffers the most from the flood.
Maybe the contradiction is fighting for static when in fact the soul or sense of self is in a constant state of flux seeking out its identity only to find it is in a state of flux forever. This flux, maybe a requisite to existence; maybe the fight against it is futile. New bodies, new identities, ever fresh, ever full of taste. Woops got duped into surety did we?
Long lusty summers of nothing but sucking in the indolence and warmth. I remember now as a gift. Those beaches and simple meals,the moon and the ever present sense of discovery that the evenings brought with them. We climbed a cliff only to throw an effigy soaked in illuminant chemicals. It was Elizabeth’s brother who came up with that one. Years later I heard he committed suicide. I heard he was a very talented mathematician; always a state of flux.
Her mother was forever in bed while her father made a small fortune with rubbish trucks. They had a darleck on the veranda, and a very good one it was too. I think Mark grew up to be a comedian. It was one of those huge Catholic families with kids stuck all over a rambling house that seemed always to be under some type of construction. The lives I was able to look on. Fell in love with her neighbour at the ripe old age of 12. His brother orchestrated it for a laugh and they all had one bar me. Always the sucker because I am so inebriated by myself. My punishment. What I’d give to be grounded and sane for more than a moment at a time. But then maybe I don’t want it after all. A lot of work. Why so averse to the work. Those indolent days by the sea have me drunk with waiting for it all to happen again. But it will never be the same as somehow the adult form brings with it a heavy weight as if dragging on the joy that might be. There is nothing quite like being young, even if only in hindsight. Always a trick.; she must get a tickle with her constant tricks. As if it were all a riddle and some of the really smart ones get to figure it out.
Read some of Jhanavi’s blog. Happy one. Having come in from the cold or the other side of the spectrum I feel there would be an inability to relate to the drivel that wanders from my brain. She makes it seem so simple and even captured the ecstasy. I can only focus on the struggle as if the snippets of ecstasy were some kind of side show or reference. Appeasing the heart but always stay wary of the trick tab. Happy and crying, sad and crying, lets look at why.
In the mean time Sucih is off to Kolkata in spite of the Ganga lapping at our necks. Nothing will stop that machine. What would I do with the equivalent amount of vigour. I think I would explode.
I fed the dog. I think I could actually see love in his eyes. See what a desperate wanker I am. Of course I get a rather harsh lecture from Giri abut the evils of feeding dogs and how Prabhupada said we were to declare war on them. Imagine what the burden must be when every word you ever spoke is taken as law for generations. Gees you wouldn’t be wanting to be too metaphoric there. Lets say you said, one day after a nasty feed, ‘these guys are poisoning me’. Then a generation later you got some fruit cake wanting to resurrect your interned body as evidence for or against poisoning. Shit I am in a movement of nut cases.
I guess it makes for suitable company given my own proclivities though not quite as stupid as those.
Nrsmadeva suggested we would return to Australia for holidays. What a bloody joke. As if our options had increased instead of decreased. Don’t mind me I will do the will of the lord thing but tempting me with a pool side pizza oven is a bit mean don’t you think? Given I rank indolence as a relevant human experience.
God I loved those mountain range cottages with views of the sea, no one to disturb you. Good company and dreams a plenty. On the verge and never cusping. How was it I gave up the option to choose? I met a guy that was dark. It got so dark I joined Iskcon for light but it has never really been clear since. It is as if I belong to something or someone. Not really wanting to be owned and especially on such tight terms. But I guess I was so lost there were no other options. Not to say there was nothing good from it but I would like to separate my sense of self from the group just a tad.
Spacing out in the lounge of a house with a mountain range banking against the veranda.
Sounds like Venu’s place and yet he sells not quite satisfied. What is the world coming to when there is so much confusion rife?
This place says, I want to engage you and I say in what. It responds with, knowing who you are, for now at least, in this body. Get cracking girl on with the work.
Way laying everything with the perplexed state that becomes a perpetual living thing, breathing its reason onto the wasted, lachrymose heart.
No I am not crackers Nrs, you're just happily ensconced in the realm of distraction. Hey I would revel too but imply my situation as perverse and it will linger.
Must have performed enough pious activities to keep me dry in the wet but no more than necessary. An astrologer informed me that this life of mine was strictly for spiritual development. Since when was there ever a question of that? Am I to take it and lump the inequities. They are not the subject, the subject is the object and the object is the exit and the exit is a phantom, it was here by your side all along.
And along came Doctor Quatum with uncle Leary to really run amuck with antiquated versions of scripts of old recited and tainted for so long that they ceased to reveal and started again to cover all that lay fresh and new. As if the barren mother had decided that no one else could ever give birth again.
An old acquaintance could not look at me when I was pregnant while she waited hopelessly to conceive her own. So much envy packed into so little flesh.
This flood could last a month. The dragonflies are everywhere and it keeps raining.
All the while the road is above water. Looking back, the cost of these continual floods is horrendous as compared to the cost incurred of raising the land. This is ludicrous because it is so isolated.
We need to get one of those long lovely black boats. Gliding elegantly along the water giving poetry instead of the dingy releasing abject comedy. Sucih tipped it over today with poor Vishaka in it..
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Ganga she falls Ganga she rises
Well, not a hope in hell of out doing that last whine so I will determine to try and avoid pondering and stick to pestilent.
Thoughts are skipping around so fast this morning they are like baby pike. Are baby pike sluggish? Ok baby salmon. I imagine they are fairly active as their parents are, aren’t they? See I really don’t know anything at all. I think Salmon swim up stream.
Now speaking of up stream, who is really swimming up stream, you …or ……me?
Choose your hell or imagined heaven.
The girls are back from their boat ride in the flood waters of the Ganga. They crave catastrophe as only the indulged and privileged can. Radha, the addicted to diversions kid, wants to stay with Rasa at the Conch building. I expect she wants a suite too. Profuse family of 6 is not in a position to live it up what to speak of the political connections it takes to get one of those rooms. I am afraid we burnt those bridges or should I celebrate? I can pretend it was ethics but when did ethics get you any where in a utilitarian world. As if you could call utilitarian an ethic. Unless ethic simply denotes mode of thought in which case 'Bobs your Uncle' and who cares. Hence our present position of "postmodern" fed by linguists who drank too much wine and lost the plot altogether.
The surrounding brown water has invoked a desire to withdraw as if on a cold winters day.
And my arm is going to start mutating from too much contact with this laptop. I can feel the prickly pulse as if something were creaking in there. Maybe hissing.
Kalki is in heaven trying to negotiate a dingy with one puny oar while Sharon’s daughter, lover of dogs, herds the beasties to my house. Raaagghhh. They will be shitting on my roof and she won’t be cleaning it up.
I have to make a mental marker for the water level. If it rises to just below our power box we will be ok. After that chances are, for the sake of voltage we will be shaked up at the Gada building with the seething mass that is Mayapur community.
So you think you can have fun at the 'Sugar Beat'; not half as much as we, with Langosh and all, though we are sparse on the fetta.
The milkman is wading through knee-deep water. No luxury to stop. No chance for peace, always they must work to justify their existence. I am assuming I will not face that struggle for existence again. I haven’t the heart to really commit. Just a lazy sod hiding under jabs at philosophy avoiding the inevitable humiliation that is existence. How is that for pride? Or is it lazy? 'he rolled over as the fire burnt and said, it’s getting hot in here’.
Marni is here and they all scream like banshees in excitement.
The maid rocked up thank God. She said she needed the money. In pidgon English it goes ‘money lagbe’ . I have a repertoire of 5 or 6 words and then I pray.
How could anyone think that Mayapur wouldn’t be interesting?
While it engages us it also frees us of the drain that is the west. Of course never underestimate addiction to misery and you have to consider the type of misery you choose but for now this is looking like an ivory tower only bricks and mortar.
The girls tried to sabotage the sand bag levy; not thinking the locals migth have issues with that.
So imagine the surrounds , Venice with redolent hints of Amazonian wilderness. Ok, so the snakes are not as big but the ants are.
According to Scott Adams the Dilbert comic guy, readers are not as wordy as one might think. He insists a person keep it simple. Well it don’t get simpler than some I know. According to Vishaka there is some one in our midst, over 40 years old who has never heard of Shakespeare. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It’s a bit like an Indian never having heard of Rama. Well Australian television has a lot to answer for.
I know suggest purging the screen or at least disconnecting the telly part.
Ahhh.... the sweet clatter of plates being washed by some one else.
This calls for a celebratory cup of tea to ensure I remain fixed in the need for some type sensory gratification. Have decided it cannot and will not be avoided so tea, all things considered, is the very last of our worries.
Then I have to get the desire up again to communicate something really very tangible to my tutor before it is very much too late.
Thoughts are skipping around so fast this morning they are like baby pike. Are baby pike sluggish? Ok baby salmon. I imagine they are fairly active as their parents are, aren’t they? See I really don’t know anything at all. I think Salmon swim up stream.
Now speaking of up stream, who is really swimming up stream, you …or ……me?
Choose your hell or imagined heaven.
The girls are back from their boat ride in the flood waters of the Ganga. They crave catastrophe as only the indulged and privileged can. Radha, the addicted to diversions kid, wants to stay with Rasa at the Conch building. I expect she wants a suite too. Profuse family of 6 is not in a position to live it up what to speak of the political connections it takes to get one of those rooms. I am afraid we burnt those bridges or should I celebrate? I can pretend it was ethics but when did ethics get you any where in a utilitarian world. As if you could call utilitarian an ethic. Unless ethic simply denotes mode of thought in which case 'Bobs your Uncle' and who cares. Hence our present position of "postmodern" fed by linguists who drank too much wine and lost the plot altogether.
The surrounding brown water has invoked a desire to withdraw as if on a cold winters day.
And my arm is going to start mutating from too much contact with this laptop. I can feel the prickly pulse as if something were creaking in there. Maybe hissing.
Kalki is in heaven trying to negotiate a dingy with one puny oar while Sharon’s daughter, lover of dogs, herds the beasties to my house. Raaagghhh. They will be shitting on my roof and she won’t be cleaning it up.
I have to make a mental marker for the water level. If it rises to just below our power box we will be ok. After that chances are, for the sake of voltage we will be shaked up at the Gada building with the seething mass that is Mayapur community.
So you think you can have fun at the 'Sugar Beat'; not half as much as we, with Langosh and all, though we are sparse on the fetta.
The milkman is wading through knee-deep water. No luxury to stop. No chance for peace, always they must work to justify their existence. I am assuming I will not face that struggle for existence again. I haven’t the heart to really commit. Just a lazy sod hiding under jabs at philosophy avoiding the inevitable humiliation that is existence. How is that for pride? Or is it lazy? 'he rolled over as the fire burnt and said, it’s getting hot in here’.
Marni is here and they all scream like banshees in excitement.
The maid rocked up thank God. She said she needed the money. In pidgon English it goes ‘money lagbe’ . I have a repertoire of 5 or 6 words and then I pray.
How could anyone think that Mayapur wouldn’t be interesting?
While it engages us it also frees us of the drain that is the west. Of course never underestimate addiction to misery and you have to consider the type of misery you choose but for now this is looking like an ivory tower only bricks and mortar.
The girls tried to sabotage the sand bag levy; not thinking the locals migth have issues with that.
So imagine the surrounds , Venice with redolent hints of Amazonian wilderness. Ok, so the snakes are not as big but the ants are.
According to Scott Adams the Dilbert comic guy, readers are not as wordy as one might think. He insists a person keep it simple. Well it don’t get simpler than some I know. According to Vishaka there is some one in our midst, over 40 years old who has never heard of Shakespeare. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. It’s a bit like an Indian never having heard of Rama. Well Australian television has a lot to answer for.
I know suggest purging the screen or at least disconnecting the telly part.
Ahhh.... the sweet clatter of plates being washed by some one else.
This calls for a celebratory cup of tea to ensure I remain fixed in the need for some type sensory gratification. Have decided it cannot and will not be avoided so tea, all things considered, is the very last of our worries.
Then I have to get the desire up again to communicate something really very tangible to my tutor before it is very much too late.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
impinging on life is death
This maintenance thing can get you down. No wonder some have tried to make a philosophy of the fatuous aspects of existence. Placing a thousand pieces of rice stained different colours in order to then go on and destroy it. Well at that point letting go is like bungy jumping. I can simply not see the logic, especially if your eyes fall out of their sockets.
I dunno Arjuna,, you musta really liked Krsna cos I sure as hell woudn’t have done it and their lies my tribulation. It never really was going to work if I couldn’t figure on the unmitigated surrender required. Incremental measure is what it is all about. And a lot of softening support along the way. But what if?…. what if ?…. what if? No tall dude standing in front of me reminding me of the shape of things. What if I got it wrong? Shit. What if I don’t get another crack at it for a while? Don’t talk to me about faith. Enough. Life has shown me none of it can be trusted so how could I trust the big one. He can’t trust me so I expect it will be mutual.
I should buy that the love goes beyond or as my mother calls it ‘unconditional’. Well seen a lot of that lately, eh? So if everything here is a reflection of there, then maybe the mirror needs a bit of cleaning because I really do not see definable unconditional love.
Each breath I breathe is a gesture and I should count myself lucky as the droplet is hanging off the leaf and the morning wind will blow it off soon enough. Still doesn’t count as unconditional to me. You breathe on condition that you die, thus ensuring you do it again and again and again. Sounds like a deal with the devil and I suppose that is the inference, but why would someone who loved you let that happen? If there was so much love why is there so much loss? Not getting any of it and I know I sound like a whining materialist but it wasn’t my intention. Can’t deny the reality of present plight. It doesn’t ever go away I just get distracted and if spiritual life is all about distraction then I need to be worried.
The support we gave to Dhami was conditional, conditional on his guaranteed death; the great result of our supportive love. I am not with you here and don’t tell me it is because I am too attached. I have given up plenty; it is not about being detached. It is about finding some sense in the act. What is the trade off? And that is the twilight, neither here nor there. No material light and no spiritual.
Must post note on fridge, willing to make deal with God or Devil. Whoever wants to deal first, the better hand? Haven’t figured on what it is that is my hearts true desire. Revelation withheld sadistically is a cruel plight. Then again it may be that I am so retarded as to be entirely unable to grasp the obvious, the nectar.
Instead I remain as a statue sentinel to my children
as a dream that was and should be
as yet to be identified
any place close by.
I never did experience more than a handful of moments that represented freedom. Those moments vaporized and left a mark, possibly immortal but why so few in such a long life.
In the mean time I pick to pieces what is left after the act of tasting something that apparently remains on offer still. I have run out of shillings? What is the currency? I am ‘not knowing’ these things. I should study a saintly character that may be in the know instead of Foucault who died of Aids. Dying of Aids denotes a proclivity for acts that only mad domesticated animals partake of.
We had a wallaby that would harass the woman during Japa, our legs in fact.
And then you get aides for your trouble.
And you might get TB for walking bare foot but I know for some being bare foot is more beastly than enacting the more rigorous acts associated with animal life. Hey don’t mistake my meaning; all acts are inclusive of the randomness of meaning.
Always-stepping side ways trying to reconcile myself with the thought that is all a product my own aversion. I own the aversion so I can possibly buy the confrontation. Vacancy is assumed waiting, to be inhabited, but what if the place, the space has no interval for you just now. What if the train just left and you are standing in the rain. Hey it is mostly always warm here so standing in the rain is fine and the trains are not air conditioned so you wont get cold when you do enter the cabin.
Remember that scene where neo is stuck on that platform. Can’t remember how that scene resolved itself. A guy at SCU did a PHD on it. The matrix that is. I think I could do that but I suppose I can not as I can’t damn well write the essay. If I remain lucid for more than a sentence at a time I could cut and paste and then send it in…
Purpose and pulp. I wish Orwell were here to give his commentary. The farm yard is a bit ineffectual now. What would be the allegory or metaphor now? Lounge room; politics of a modern day urban lounge inhabited by nuclear family. Where does the power lie? With the remote I recall. How cryptic is that? What reveals the light.? OH God that is painfully reminiscent of the Jesus thing.
See what they have done to words or is it just the sate of my heart after having been neglected and then subjected and finally found on the rubbish heap that is the end. Alone because the stench of the rotting carcass of life is unforgivably reminding all, that they too will partake of this feast of foreboding.
Back to Metaphor, Ahhh the tv, what is that. Another dimension. It represents dimension.
Couch, slouching curvature of the spine. Crippling. The windows reveal a garden that needs weeding or curtains always drawn. How do you live like that Bhuvana?
And the note at the end of the essay suggested the story depicted a relationship that was in a state of illness. Was that not warning enough? It died its own merciful death.
When will the keys be there for me even when I cannot see them? Wow, blind and still typing. That would be cool. Couldn’t upgrade then, brainpower too small to adjust.
Must eat now knowing this serves me if not you.
This is better than adolescence.
Clouds rumbling and they remind me of Eungella. Free of something there. Maybe it was closer to being engulfed by loss and that has its consolations. Here I am engulfed by possession. Ironically I have nothing here but I am being possessed, though unwilling.
If the self belongs to you as nothing else does why do I not feel wealthy? Maybe familiarity has brought contempt as is suggested of the material. Contempt is synonymous with the material.
Why do I have to keep that bloomin floor clean. It is the repetition that kills you.
I packed grapes as a young un once. Jesus I nearly died of boredom. When I seee the asian girls rolling cigarettes in Baraka I can see living death. What A shit I am so privlidged and always whining.
I dunno Arjuna,, you musta really liked Krsna cos I sure as hell woudn’t have done it and their lies my tribulation. It never really was going to work if I couldn’t figure on the unmitigated surrender required. Incremental measure is what it is all about. And a lot of softening support along the way. But what if?…. what if ?…. what if? No tall dude standing in front of me reminding me of the shape of things. What if I got it wrong? Shit. What if I don’t get another crack at it for a while? Don’t talk to me about faith. Enough. Life has shown me none of it can be trusted so how could I trust the big one. He can’t trust me so I expect it will be mutual.
I should buy that the love goes beyond or as my mother calls it ‘unconditional’. Well seen a lot of that lately, eh? So if everything here is a reflection of there, then maybe the mirror needs a bit of cleaning because I really do not see definable unconditional love.
Each breath I breathe is a gesture and I should count myself lucky as the droplet is hanging off the leaf and the morning wind will blow it off soon enough. Still doesn’t count as unconditional to me. You breathe on condition that you die, thus ensuring you do it again and again and again. Sounds like a deal with the devil and I suppose that is the inference, but why would someone who loved you let that happen? If there was so much love why is there so much loss? Not getting any of it and I know I sound like a whining materialist but it wasn’t my intention. Can’t deny the reality of present plight. It doesn’t ever go away I just get distracted and if spiritual life is all about distraction then I need to be worried.
The support we gave to Dhami was conditional, conditional on his guaranteed death; the great result of our supportive love. I am not with you here and don’t tell me it is because I am too attached. I have given up plenty; it is not about being detached. It is about finding some sense in the act. What is the trade off? And that is the twilight, neither here nor there. No material light and no spiritual.
Must post note on fridge, willing to make deal with God or Devil. Whoever wants to deal first, the better hand? Haven’t figured on what it is that is my hearts true desire. Revelation withheld sadistically is a cruel plight. Then again it may be that I am so retarded as to be entirely unable to grasp the obvious, the nectar.
Instead I remain as a statue sentinel to my children
as a dream that was and should be
as yet to be identified
any place close by.
I never did experience more than a handful of moments that represented freedom. Those moments vaporized and left a mark, possibly immortal but why so few in such a long life.
In the mean time I pick to pieces what is left after the act of tasting something that apparently remains on offer still. I have run out of shillings? What is the currency? I am ‘not knowing’ these things. I should study a saintly character that may be in the know instead of Foucault who died of Aids. Dying of Aids denotes a proclivity for acts that only mad domesticated animals partake of.
We had a wallaby that would harass the woman during Japa, our legs in fact.
And then you get aides for your trouble.
And you might get TB for walking bare foot but I know for some being bare foot is more beastly than enacting the more rigorous acts associated with animal life. Hey don’t mistake my meaning; all acts are inclusive of the randomness of meaning.
Always-stepping side ways trying to reconcile myself with the thought that is all a product my own aversion. I own the aversion so I can possibly buy the confrontation. Vacancy is assumed waiting, to be inhabited, but what if the place, the space has no interval for you just now. What if the train just left and you are standing in the rain. Hey it is mostly always warm here so standing in the rain is fine and the trains are not air conditioned so you wont get cold when you do enter the cabin.
Remember that scene where neo is stuck on that platform. Can’t remember how that scene resolved itself. A guy at SCU did a PHD on it. The matrix that is. I think I could do that but I suppose I can not as I can’t damn well write the essay. If I remain lucid for more than a sentence at a time I could cut and paste and then send it in…
Purpose and pulp. I wish Orwell were here to give his commentary. The farm yard is a bit ineffectual now. What would be the allegory or metaphor now? Lounge room; politics of a modern day urban lounge inhabited by nuclear family. Where does the power lie? With the remote I recall. How cryptic is that? What reveals the light.? OH God that is painfully reminiscent of the Jesus thing.
See what they have done to words or is it just the sate of my heart after having been neglected and then subjected and finally found on the rubbish heap that is the end. Alone because the stench of the rotting carcass of life is unforgivably reminding all, that they too will partake of this feast of foreboding.
Back to Metaphor, Ahhh the tv, what is that. Another dimension. It represents dimension.
Couch, slouching curvature of the spine. Crippling. The windows reveal a garden that needs weeding or curtains always drawn. How do you live like that Bhuvana?
And the note at the end of the essay suggested the story depicted a relationship that was in a state of illness. Was that not warning enough? It died its own merciful death.
When will the keys be there for me even when I cannot see them? Wow, blind and still typing. That would be cool. Couldn’t upgrade then, brainpower too small to adjust.
Must eat now knowing this serves me if not you.
This is better than adolescence.
Clouds rumbling and they remind me of Eungella. Free of something there. Maybe it was closer to being engulfed by loss and that has its consolations. Here I am engulfed by possession. Ironically I have nothing here but I am being possessed, though unwilling.
If the self belongs to you as nothing else does why do I not feel wealthy? Maybe familiarity has brought contempt as is suggested of the material. Contempt is synonymous with the material.
Why do I have to keep that bloomin floor clean. It is the repetition that kills you.
I packed grapes as a young un once. Jesus I nearly died of boredom. When I seee the asian girls rolling cigarettes in Baraka I can see living death. What A shit I am so privlidged and always whining.
The philosophy of head aches
There is infact no philosophy for head aches. If there were we would no longer have them. Doesn't philosophy resolve the evils of life and death? maybe that is the trick, I am not philosophical. Just a deranged mind let loose with no tether and no structure. Maybe that is why it is starting to manifest as physical pain.
Sitting between head ache and reality waiting for the trickle of each slow painful word to manifest ......yes still on it...... the essay.
So the loving daughter brings in a beverage of instant coffee. Who drinks that stuff but desperates. Anyhow I have pain so it may fix it.
I really am tired, [well in more ways than one] of waking up every morning with a head ache. It really does put a damper on being alive.
I heard Satsvarupa had one every other day and I am now scared I will go the way of he. What ever way it was, he went. He wrote too much, to much of it was actually published and too many of us are now confused about what a head ache can do to a man. Essentially I am pretty conservative or terribly scared either way Satsvarupa is off my radar but then Sucih says they used a book of his called Santorium for some uni discussion some where. Oh God it was in Belgium. An Iskcon affiliated Uni. What did they say about it? Are they as broad as that or did they sit back and snigger at his humanity or animality?
So the head ache kicked out and I guess it was a combination of chemicals that I consummed to distract or appease the pain. I suspect that caffeine has more to answer for than we know. They say it prevents alzheimers disease. Well that alone makes it worth considering but further study may put caffeine in a very bad light.
I am not worried about the flood though I worry that my neighbour from Sweden will freak out at yet another random act of nature that will invariably torture her sense of belonging.
Sweden must be a very precise place. Nature is present but somehow they have made a pact with her. Well Bengal has not and further more she is in all out war with Bangladesh.
We checked out Aus on the Mac from far above. They have satalites that can zoom in on your house. Unfortunately I left a part of myself in that house. The dream of reclusive rural life, off the grid, drop dunny, leaking roof, pythons curled up on the rafter of the veranda. Clay as top soil. Eucalypts eveywhere, clouds cool and low drifting in always. A hamock on the veranda and an easy flow. Who wouldn't think that was good? I love what I am doing now but it requires for me to wake 'oh jiva' and this girl has got a taste for the matrix.
My favourite part of the first matrix was the part where this guy tries to crack a deal with Smith to re-enter the matrix. Hey I am with you all the way. Ignorance is bliss and the twilight zone is just a lot of bloody guess work until such time as some one above chooses to relieve you of your madness.
Ahh, why couldn't you remain a simple fellow Satasvarupa. Why did you want so bad to be a much loved bohemian poet. Don't you know that bohemia now is pushing it too far. There are no rules now so you stoop into another species and try to reflect life where there is only death. What happened to you? Did you swallow a stupid pill? Or maybe the knack for cliches in this movement got you down and you tried to find truth in another realm not knowing that truth is as elusive as love. Why didn't you stick to reinterpreting in relevant terms? You had to throw the whole book out.
Must check out this gory web site they say he has. They say it is tragically vulgar.
Must go and do needful, ring bells with love and write what refuses to be written. They are the worst. It is like going through a crammed drawer of junk and piecing the history of how the junk got there in the first place. As if I could find life in that. I shouldn't be so harsh.
Must have faith that Sarasvati might reveal. I think I don't like knowing that I do not actually know.
It takes away the justification for being an opinionated and obnoxious twat.
Sitting between head ache and reality waiting for the trickle of each slow painful word to manifest ......yes still on it...... the essay.
So the loving daughter brings in a beverage of instant coffee. Who drinks that stuff but desperates. Anyhow I have pain so it may fix it.
I really am tired, [well in more ways than one] of waking up every morning with a head ache. It really does put a damper on being alive.
I heard Satsvarupa had one every other day and I am now scared I will go the way of he. What ever way it was, he went. He wrote too much, to much of it was actually published and too many of us are now confused about what a head ache can do to a man. Essentially I am pretty conservative or terribly scared either way Satsvarupa is off my radar but then Sucih says they used a book of his called Santorium for some uni discussion some where. Oh God it was in Belgium. An Iskcon affiliated Uni. What did they say about it? Are they as broad as that or did they sit back and snigger at his humanity or animality?
So the head ache kicked out and I guess it was a combination of chemicals that I consummed to distract or appease the pain. I suspect that caffeine has more to answer for than we know. They say it prevents alzheimers disease. Well that alone makes it worth considering but further study may put caffeine in a very bad light.
I am not worried about the flood though I worry that my neighbour from Sweden will freak out at yet another random act of nature that will invariably torture her sense of belonging.
Sweden must be a very precise place. Nature is present but somehow they have made a pact with her. Well Bengal has not and further more she is in all out war with Bangladesh.
We checked out Aus on the Mac from far above. They have satalites that can zoom in on your house. Unfortunately I left a part of myself in that house. The dream of reclusive rural life, off the grid, drop dunny, leaking roof, pythons curled up on the rafter of the veranda. Clay as top soil. Eucalypts eveywhere, clouds cool and low drifting in always. A hamock on the veranda and an easy flow. Who wouldn't think that was good? I love what I am doing now but it requires for me to wake 'oh jiva' and this girl has got a taste for the matrix.
My favourite part of the first matrix was the part where this guy tries to crack a deal with Smith to re-enter the matrix. Hey I am with you all the way. Ignorance is bliss and the twilight zone is just a lot of bloody guess work until such time as some one above chooses to relieve you of your madness.
Ahh, why couldn't you remain a simple fellow Satasvarupa. Why did you want so bad to be a much loved bohemian poet. Don't you know that bohemia now is pushing it too far. There are no rules now so you stoop into another species and try to reflect life where there is only death. What happened to you? Did you swallow a stupid pill? Or maybe the knack for cliches in this movement got you down and you tried to find truth in another realm not knowing that truth is as elusive as love. Why didn't you stick to reinterpreting in relevant terms? You had to throw the whole book out.
Must check out this gory web site they say he has. They say it is tragically vulgar.
Must go and do needful, ring bells with love and write what refuses to be written. They are the worst. It is like going through a crammed drawer of junk and piecing the history of how the junk got there in the first place. As if I could find life in that. I shouldn't be so harsh.
Must have faith that Sarasvati might reveal. I think I don't like knowing that I do not actually know.
It takes away the justification for being an opinionated and obnoxious twat.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
bypass synapse or synapse bypass
Gees I think I have to reinvest some thought in my understanding of humanity. I had such a restricted view of the available life forms; telly blagh, movies, primarily American and the web. Hiding in the bush like a feral hippy has done me little service at all.
Well I have had access for years but I just never got around to checking it out. I guess with the young growing up and having a maid an all I can spend some time spacing out. I started with MySpace. Well that was enough to make any person loose faith in the human form being anything more than an animal on two legs and there are a few of those. YouTube, is that it? Well I felt like I was in a sea of madness. Entertaining, vastly but in a very sick kind of way. There is a thesis there, just waiting to happen. I was actually in shock at the vastness of it all. How many people out there colluding and collecting. I was overwhelmed and luckily my server is so bloody slow I can no longer ponder the meaning behind Yutube or whatever it is called.
But then I check out blogs, well again there are some really sick nasty things out there or should I say in modern terms things other maybe no longer othered. Best they remain other to me as I haven’t the capacity to fathom their spatium. That’s where we get the word space. Since it sounds like sputum I thought it would allude to my feelings on the matter.
Now in the But I was meant to say, gees there are some really bloody smart people out there. Is there a smart gene I missed out on? I wont call sour grapes here. I honestly think I was born minus a few required synapses. The synapses that help you fathom quickly math and the like. I can hardly count. Is it environmental or physiological?
Oh well, now I know the smart people, although verging on the nearly dull [maybe that was mean] are out there, in really big numbers and they are going to eat us for dinner literally, as it appears that is all we are good for. Soylant green. Has it come to that? Nothing better than a human sacrifice offerable only because it resembles a human but in no way has any higher thinking faculties operating.
Sat sang. Must reduce distractions. Will be smart if I reduce distractions.
Coming from a breeder that is highly unlikely.
And all I had left was the thing my body could do all by itself without any help from me. I shouldn’t be so desperate for credit. ‘I am memory in man.’ Well however Krsna manifested in me I think it was merely as observer because his offerings in the memory department are a little scant.
What shall I call this ? for suckers who can’t think?
The lap top is burning my knee. Could they spend some time inventing something that protects me from the microwaves emanating from this thing? No let me guess I got it wrong, they are not microwaves. Well what ever they are they burn and for a long time afterwards. Lucky I have finished with the breeding, of more ‘poor dumb buggers’.
May something come of it one day soon.
Well I have had access for years but I just never got around to checking it out. I guess with the young growing up and having a maid an all I can spend some time spacing out. I started with MySpace. Well that was enough to make any person loose faith in the human form being anything more than an animal on two legs and there are a few of those. YouTube, is that it? Well I felt like I was in a sea of madness. Entertaining, vastly but in a very sick kind of way. There is a thesis there, just waiting to happen. I was actually in shock at the vastness of it all. How many people out there colluding and collecting. I was overwhelmed and luckily my server is so bloody slow I can no longer ponder the meaning behind Yutube or whatever it is called.
But then I check out blogs, well again there are some really sick nasty things out there or should I say in modern terms things other maybe no longer othered. Best they remain other to me as I haven’t the capacity to fathom their spatium. That’s where we get the word space. Since it sounds like sputum I thought it would allude to my feelings on the matter.
Now in the But I was meant to say, gees there are some really bloody smart people out there. Is there a smart gene I missed out on? I wont call sour grapes here. I honestly think I was born minus a few required synapses. The synapses that help you fathom quickly math and the like. I can hardly count. Is it environmental or physiological?
Oh well, now I know the smart people, although verging on the nearly dull [maybe that was mean] are out there, in really big numbers and they are going to eat us for dinner literally, as it appears that is all we are good for. Soylant green. Has it come to that? Nothing better than a human sacrifice offerable only because it resembles a human but in no way has any higher thinking faculties operating.
Sat sang. Must reduce distractions. Will be smart if I reduce distractions.
Coming from a breeder that is highly unlikely.
And all I had left was the thing my body could do all by itself without any help from me. I shouldn’t be so desperate for credit. ‘I am memory in man.’ Well however Krsna manifested in me I think it was merely as observer because his offerings in the memory department are a little scant.
What shall I call this ? for suckers who can’t think?
The lap top is burning my knee. Could they spend some time inventing something that protects me from the microwaves emanating from this thing? No let me guess I got it wrong, they are not microwaves. Well what ever they are they burn and for a long time afterwards. Lucky I have finished with the breeding, of more ‘poor dumb buggers’.
May something come of it one day soon.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
ticking out time
I’ll be dammed if I can surrender and I fear I may fail. Must write many words on book with as many technical terms as possible uughgh. Jesus If I wanted to become a mechanic I would have. They said I would get my hands dirty irretrievably so I steered clear. There goes the metaphor.
Egress? Don’t know. I decided to type with my eyes closed and see what the dictionary came up with, so there it is.
Down to our last of the western wealth. All the dreams I ever had of an ethical life have come to fruition and I may have passed the fear barrier. Luckily Sucih is pretty upbeat about being broke. I think he is a terrible hippy at heart. Anyway I am not under the impression that I will be missing out on anything bar an expensive breakfast at the Sugar Beat. It was always a transposed joy. A mild hope that I could grasp all that was good of the aspiring cosmopolitan. It wasn’t to be. The noises were always too loud. The company varied in inspiration and sometimes reduced to discussions of telly shows or better yet on things akin to. It was just a vapid dream.
There has been a fabulous breeze all day coming in stroking my face as I sit at the desk living through the machine; if not a machine then a book. If not a book a bell; if not a bell a child. Last but not least sleep and food though food is losing its potency over me. I don’t think they use enough MSG here.
It is ambient but I dare not indulge too much. Sabotage however it manifests still has me in a mean vice like grip of aprehension. I try to make a deal with Maya. I will relent and let go if you go easy. Well I expect she hears me but I shudder to know her answer. In fact I have it clear now. Walk the talk and it was a lifetime in the waiting.
Activism was always the way it was going to work out but ironically enough it was Iskcon that suggested refraining from it. Consume to your hearts content and call it service to God or the self either way they are connected, No?
Brasso is nasty stuff but in the service of Krishna it appears it doesn’t matter. I wonder if that is so for the ocean. Of bodies of water I am the sea. Pollute me and know that in service I will readily tolerate it. Sorry I am not sold. Too much merging and I sold out.
But circumstances are putting me in a position that resembles all the dreams I had forgone. The hut could very well be the finale.
I used to practice my ocarina lest I be left without music. I would have to create my own. Maybe I felt the impelling nature of my future.
House full of lap tops and not a penny to be had. Bloody hysterical.
Once the kids are out and about it won’t be an issue. All an old lass needs is a bit of soap to make her tolerable.
Ever stood in a temple on a hot and sweaty day jammed utterly by every villager in the district. I felt like the white spot on a cow and then after a while I ceased to be white. I had melted and so had they. They have the most incredible resilience, tolerant beyond belief. It is not about being comfortable it is about being alive and all that goes with that beyond the fantasies of self.
I spent all summer watching the slow demise of the bee hive across the way. Kalki had been attacked [his fault] and I was anxious these darlings find a habitat elsewhere. Well just shows you the power of meditation. They have shacked up on our windowsill now. Is that some kind of joke? An empiricist would say the logic of it is that my home has trees surrounding it thus providing a more temperate shelter. I thought of this but I have a sneaking suspicion I might have looked in the direction of the bee hive once too often.
Thus I end up in India living some wild fantasy, adventure. I even have a body of water to look out on. Flood water but water non-the less.
It was never going to be ordinary. I knew Sucih could handle that so it is he that partners this madness.
Kalki is big now. He is off to Tarunpur to visit another cyber kid. Radha takes him for the sneak peak she gets in going. We all have our consolations. Struggling for mine. Shouldn’t be ungrateful.
Where is lunch?
Thanks to a sentimentalist that loves dogs our landscape is smothered with the barking brutes, bickering and threatening each other. I was over dogs after my 12th. It can be a bit like love. There is only so much in the way of lies you can accept before you click on. This love thing is a living lie. Desire on the other hand, well that gets more manageable with age. The desire for the most significant moment in your life to happen; it is always in the eyes. One great big eye ball of an affair in hope and yearning. Not the eyeball that rots.
Egress? Don’t know. I decided to type with my eyes closed and see what the dictionary came up with, so there it is.
Down to our last of the western wealth. All the dreams I ever had of an ethical life have come to fruition and I may have passed the fear barrier. Luckily Sucih is pretty upbeat about being broke. I think he is a terrible hippy at heart. Anyway I am not under the impression that I will be missing out on anything bar an expensive breakfast at the Sugar Beat. It was always a transposed joy. A mild hope that I could grasp all that was good of the aspiring cosmopolitan. It wasn’t to be. The noises were always too loud. The company varied in inspiration and sometimes reduced to discussions of telly shows or better yet on things akin to. It was just a vapid dream.
There has been a fabulous breeze all day coming in stroking my face as I sit at the desk living through the machine; if not a machine then a book. If not a book a bell; if not a bell a child. Last but not least sleep and food though food is losing its potency over me. I don’t think they use enough MSG here.
It is ambient but I dare not indulge too much. Sabotage however it manifests still has me in a mean vice like grip of aprehension. I try to make a deal with Maya. I will relent and let go if you go easy. Well I expect she hears me but I shudder to know her answer. In fact I have it clear now. Walk the talk and it was a lifetime in the waiting.
Activism was always the way it was going to work out but ironically enough it was Iskcon that suggested refraining from it. Consume to your hearts content and call it service to God or the self either way they are connected, No?
Brasso is nasty stuff but in the service of Krishna it appears it doesn’t matter. I wonder if that is so for the ocean. Of bodies of water I am the sea. Pollute me and know that in service I will readily tolerate it. Sorry I am not sold. Too much merging and I sold out.
But circumstances are putting me in a position that resembles all the dreams I had forgone. The hut could very well be the finale.
I used to practice my ocarina lest I be left without music. I would have to create my own. Maybe I felt the impelling nature of my future.
House full of lap tops and not a penny to be had. Bloody hysterical.
Once the kids are out and about it won’t be an issue. All an old lass needs is a bit of soap to make her tolerable.
Ever stood in a temple on a hot and sweaty day jammed utterly by every villager in the district. I felt like the white spot on a cow and then after a while I ceased to be white. I had melted and so had they. They have the most incredible resilience, tolerant beyond belief. It is not about being comfortable it is about being alive and all that goes with that beyond the fantasies of self.
I spent all summer watching the slow demise of the bee hive across the way. Kalki had been attacked [his fault] and I was anxious these darlings find a habitat elsewhere. Well just shows you the power of meditation. They have shacked up on our windowsill now. Is that some kind of joke? An empiricist would say the logic of it is that my home has trees surrounding it thus providing a more temperate shelter. I thought of this but I have a sneaking suspicion I might have looked in the direction of the bee hive once too often.
Thus I end up in India living some wild fantasy, adventure. I even have a body of water to look out on. Flood water but water non-the less.
It was never going to be ordinary. I knew Sucih could handle that so it is he that partners this madness.
Kalki is big now. He is off to Tarunpur to visit another cyber kid. Radha takes him for the sneak peak she gets in going. We all have our consolations. Struggling for mine. Shouldn’t be ungrateful.
Where is lunch?
Thanks to a sentimentalist that loves dogs our landscape is smothered with the barking brutes, bickering and threatening each other. I was over dogs after my 12th. It can be a bit like love. There is only so much in the way of lies you can accept before you click on. This love thing is a living lie. Desire on the other hand, well that gets more manageable with age. The desire for the most significant moment in your life to happen; it is always in the eyes. One great big eye ball of an affair in hope and yearning. Not the eyeball that rots.
Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3.
Vishaka is educating her neophyte mata about how to post photos.
I love you, Mum.
I love you, Mum.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Drop a mac get a smack
In class, accounting of all things and I am getting nearer and nearer to the due date so I figure when the term ends will face the devastating truth. I can’t think crap about bugger all. I read those eloquent posts on this person and that, his or her style, integrated with nuanced meaning, slightly obscured, cryptic just to add the spice of intrigue. Heaven knows if you can’t understand me you might not be as smart as you think, they said.
I figure it is like being whipped with a cat o nine tails.
Poor poor Radha dropped the ten ton 19 inch ego trip that was my husbands lap top. Who needs cars with machines like those? And it was a treasured masterpiece, a mac, tha mac the mac.. It had to happen sooner or later and it is later after all. What fool buys such a bloody big contraption? As soon I laid eyes on it I knew it was destined for an ugly demise. But in the hands of poor Radha who now risks staying home from pilgrimage to satisfy malice felt by daddy regarding the treasured but broken item.
Who studies accounting? Laxmi’s physique or maybe her brief case or is it hand bag. Panty closet? Who knows but in the end accounting takes you to the very ugly places of life, hey maybe they aren’t too ugly but maybe I am too generous.
The Christians got to me and sacrifice seems the order of the day. What if I were a committed hedonist? Actually I think that is half the problem; the conflict of who I am and who I want to be.
Had some pretty weird dreams last night. Moved on but in moving on I had to move back and complete something. Is that how things go?
Nandunandana wanted to be good today. He is finally wanting to integrate into the class on our terms. He only needs to be left in the cold again for it to be in ruin again.
Think I might actually read what I aught to so as to invent what I should for those who could but needn’t.
I am not obsessed with death, just hard up for inspiration in life regarding life. It seems all to point to death. It does not reflect on me but the way that lies ahead.
And I thought I wasn’t an evangelist. I was a bloody Mormon as a kid but I had a slightly rebellious and disgruntled Mormon parent so she gave the spice that offered an alternative perspective to complete surrender. At the time I was grumpy with her for not being like every one else. She is so difficult that she ponders her navel with 2 dogs for company while trying to reinvent her reality so as to swallow it hard instead of constantly puking undigested truths. Shit I am a bitch but I like the definitions it gives. Too soft and blurry and you only get innuendo.
The man must let go in incremental measures. First stop, the over priced silver mac. Second step your temper at it’s loss. Third step any hope of ever owning one of those again because you now earn nothing but a gesture to ensure you can sleep at night.
I know it isn’t the essence but then who can gurantee the directions that sacrifice offers.
It’s a waiting game so I come back to death again but that is because life keeps falling through the gutter grill. If it doesn’t for you then tell me the secret. Yeah yeah it is pretty enough but if you peek a little closer you can see the ants carrying the dead back to their lair and some of those dead are other little ants. We feed of our own dead. Jesus if that is not close then what is. So in comes the metaphor and which says or indicates we are all very very close to each other. Is that supposed to be a consolation. Depending on the hormones I expect.
Back upstairs out of the soothing reach of air con. The class has gone feral under the care of the math teacher and now the poor Bengali teacher struggles with these little westernised beasties. No fear struck into these hearts as the cane is not an option; pathetic little zeros next to names but surprisingly enugh they seem to care about that even if it isn’t enough to civilise them entirely. The big kids down stairs were such a relief compared to these munchkins that are toying so much with their identities and mine.
I have to struggle for ways to feel safe. Why is that? Is it because my childhood was filled with moments of terror. The gun pointed at my mother and I with his little one there somewhere. He only got 3 months for that and she blamed me, all of 7 years old for not being clear in court. Not smart enough for a lawyer at 7 , dear me what a failure. Her consoling words to me 3 months later were , be careful Michael gets out of Jail today. Thanks mum , and a good day to you too. You wonder why I have a sick edge. I know I chose it.
Want to hear another anecdote, lets see. Some are too sad and horrible to tell for fear you might hear them in the between the crack s of the words. According to all I deserved it anyway so how to reveal my just deserts with out revealing my true status in the world.
Practice and cull. Beloved was able to reveal horror without represnting the characters as being defined by it. Sounds trite but it is a feat to represent abuse and the abused while still giving the dignity of freedom to the abused and even a little to the abuser.
That’s the essay.
What am I to say about colonialism. In my voice. Allegory
My thumbs are seizing up and I think it is the computer combined with age and arthritis. I am not going to like disability one bit. Ganga Ganag but then what was all this for if it is all so bloody hard all the time. How am I redeemed by difficulty. Couldn’t you be gentler? I shouldn’t complain too much. It has been relatively easy compared to that lost and lonely childhood. The gift I received to ensure a responsible adult life or at least a knackered one, in the true sense of the word. No stepping out of the boundaries for me. I have seen where those roads lead and it aint for the faint hearted.
And the ghost. I had one too. A really good live one, full colour clear as day but only once.
I was helping her children play with the piano. Feeling sorry for them. Mother was unable to embrace them as fully as her own. All of 2 and 4 years old.
The house was the place she was struck down. Epilepsy was the reason he said but the family doctor knew otherwise. He was lucky then as mats didn’t dibber dob.
For the sake of respectability. Hey white men have no shame and therefore no blame. We be clean men, good men, Christian men. Union men. His father was a wharfy, maybe that was why.
The house was filled with her belongings. Electric curlers, Kenwood blender. Bed. Blankets. Children. Her youth still lay in the foundations of the house built for her lifes dreams. I don’t even know her name. Her daughter was named Yvette. She must have been a little different for such a lovely name to come to mind.
A small mirrored reflection of her former self trapped in the lounge watching her children receive a little kindness from a kid that knew the sins of the malice ridden heart of the newly implanted matriarch. She wrote of the sins of the father. Well she shore did ensure I would be free of one but she neglected to invest any consideration of the sins of the mother. I don’t blame just prattling an observation. That was her thing, her mother died when she was 8 years old. Still treasured until her mood suited otherwise later on. At least she was pretty more or less. My son is worried I will be ugly in old age so it seems that it matters.
I figure it is like being whipped with a cat o nine tails.
Poor poor Radha dropped the ten ton 19 inch ego trip that was my husbands lap top. Who needs cars with machines like those? And it was a treasured masterpiece, a mac, tha mac the mac.. It had to happen sooner or later and it is later after all. What fool buys such a bloody big contraption? As soon I laid eyes on it I knew it was destined for an ugly demise. But in the hands of poor Radha who now risks staying home from pilgrimage to satisfy malice felt by daddy regarding the treasured but broken item.
Who studies accounting? Laxmi’s physique or maybe her brief case or is it hand bag. Panty closet? Who knows but in the end accounting takes you to the very ugly places of life, hey maybe they aren’t too ugly but maybe I am too generous.
The Christians got to me and sacrifice seems the order of the day. What if I were a committed hedonist? Actually I think that is half the problem; the conflict of who I am and who I want to be.
Had some pretty weird dreams last night. Moved on but in moving on I had to move back and complete something. Is that how things go?
Nandunandana wanted to be good today. He is finally wanting to integrate into the class on our terms. He only needs to be left in the cold again for it to be in ruin again.
Think I might actually read what I aught to so as to invent what I should for those who could but needn’t.
I am not obsessed with death, just hard up for inspiration in life regarding life. It seems all to point to death. It does not reflect on me but the way that lies ahead.
And I thought I wasn’t an evangelist. I was a bloody Mormon as a kid but I had a slightly rebellious and disgruntled Mormon parent so she gave the spice that offered an alternative perspective to complete surrender. At the time I was grumpy with her for not being like every one else. She is so difficult that she ponders her navel with 2 dogs for company while trying to reinvent her reality so as to swallow it hard instead of constantly puking undigested truths. Shit I am a bitch but I like the definitions it gives. Too soft and blurry and you only get innuendo.
The man must let go in incremental measures. First stop, the over priced silver mac. Second step your temper at it’s loss. Third step any hope of ever owning one of those again because you now earn nothing but a gesture to ensure you can sleep at night.
I know it isn’t the essence but then who can gurantee the directions that sacrifice offers.
It’s a waiting game so I come back to death again but that is because life keeps falling through the gutter grill. If it doesn’t for you then tell me the secret. Yeah yeah it is pretty enough but if you peek a little closer you can see the ants carrying the dead back to their lair and some of those dead are other little ants. We feed of our own dead. Jesus if that is not close then what is. So in comes the metaphor and which says or indicates we are all very very close to each other. Is that supposed to be a consolation. Depending on the hormones I expect.
Back upstairs out of the soothing reach of air con. The class has gone feral under the care of the math teacher and now the poor Bengali teacher struggles with these little westernised beasties. No fear struck into these hearts as the cane is not an option; pathetic little zeros next to names but surprisingly enugh they seem to care about that even if it isn’t enough to civilise them entirely. The big kids down stairs were such a relief compared to these munchkins that are toying so much with their identities and mine.
I have to struggle for ways to feel safe. Why is that? Is it because my childhood was filled with moments of terror. The gun pointed at my mother and I with his little one there somewhere. He only got 3 months for that and she blamed me, all of 7 years old for not being clear in court. Not smart enough for a lawyer at 7 , dear me what a failure. Her consoling words to me 3 months later were , be careful Michael gets out of Jail today. Thanks mum , and a good day to you too. You wonder why I have a sick edge. I know I chose it.
Want to hear another anecdote, lets see. Some are too sad and horrible to tell for fear you might hear them in the between the crack s of the words. According to all I deserved it anyway so how to reveal my just deserts with out revealing my true status in the world.
Practice and cull. Beloved was able to reveal horror without represnting the characters as being defined by it. Sounds trite but it is a feat to represent abuse and the abused while still giving the dignity of freedom to the abused and even a little to the abuser.
That’s the essay.
What am I to say about colonialism. In my voice. Allegory
My thumbs are seizing up and I think it is the computer combined with age and arthritis. I am not going to like disability one bit. Ganga Ganag but then what was all this for if it is all so bloody hard all the time. How am I redeemed by difficulty. Couldn’t you be gentler? I shouldn’t complain too much. It has been relatively easy compared to that lost and lonely childhood. The gift I received to ensure a responsible adult life or at least a knackered one, in the true sense of the word. No stepping out of the boundaries for me. I have seen where those roads lead and it aint for the faint hearted.
And the ghost. I had one too. A really good live one, full colour clear as day but only once.
I was helping her children play with the piano. Feeling sorry for them. Mother was unable to embrace them as fully as her own. All of 2 and 4 years old.
The house was the place she was struck down. Epilepsy was the reason he said but the family doctor knew otherwise. He was lucky then as mats didn’t dibber dob.
For the sake of respectability. Hey white men have no shame and therefore no blame. We be clean men, good men, Christian men. Union men. His father was a wharfy, maybe that was why.
The house was filled with her belongings. Electric curlers, Kenwood blender. Bed. Blankets. Children. Her youth still lay in the foundations of the house built for her lifes dreams. I don’t even know her name. Her daughter was named Yvette. She must have been a little different for such a lovely name to come to mind.
A small mirrored reflection of her former self trapped in the lounge watching her children receive a little kindness from a kid that knew the sins of the malice ridden heart of the newly implanted matriarch. She wrote of the sins of the father. Well she shore did ensure I would be free of one but she neglected to invest any consideration of the sins of the mother. I don’t blame just prattling an observation. That was her thing, her mother died when she was 8 years old. Still treasured until her mood suited otherwise later on. At least she was pretty more or less. My son is worried I will be ugly in old age so it seems that it matters.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
This is good
And cheaper than a therapist.
The feast was huge and so well served I give credit where credit is due. Bhakticaru Swami has good manners as so few have. Culture, most despise it as pretentious but I figure that, may be sour grapes. We haven't a clue on letting go of ourselves for the sake of another. It is so foriegn for a westerner to be concerned with anything but himself. Like the convenient gender convention there? As you please.
Westerners think sacrifice is for losers but they haven't the experiance of gain in loss. It is just loss and more loss with some hope of reclamation rather than transformation.
Surprise myself sometimes.
Where is Syrrell. What happened to the boy? I hope it ended well. Almost feel like I am part of the crime that was his fractured childhood. The neglect and near unwanted nature of that type of love.
Ironically and it is a big bloody irony, the mother goes on to write a book, "Unconditional [bloody if you ask me] Love" Hindsight is such a nice view. Invention is the mother and the mother invents. Says she only has 3 children. Which has she chosen to negate this time. Is truth pain or can it only be told in her fictions so as to avoid the accusing eye. Cryptic pointers to a past that bears on the future but doesn't really reflect the present. I choose that , not you. Tomorrow is yours but luckily that will never come.
Just morphing from one moment to the next, waiting waiting waiting but best of all I sometimes get to watch though I suffer in silent fear that I too may be watched. What will they think? How will they know I am real even if it doesn't look that way.
I dreamt that Krsna was standing in front of me. I wouldn't say indolant though I can't think of another word. Anyway I was crapping on in usual style trying to make some kind of an impression. Underestimaating him I suppose. Figured he didn't know me. That is the terror of the thing. Too dull to know myself. To dull to realise.
I do realise that I am plain bored with the body maintanance thing. Like the drive to work. God that can kill a person. Over and over and over till there is nothing left to know. Switch track before someone convinces me that a pill can fix it.
So back to the big boy. So I says, looky here GOD , I've got these here thoughts on you know this an that. Well he is about as impressed as any person might be with a basket of rotting fish. Why do i get the feeling that contemptible runs so deep.
But the eyes the eyes. Suck you in like a vacuum so that I got scared and figured it might be something dangerous though so seductive. Have a thing about the foriegn. Thanks to being one.
Why can't they get a bloody voltage regulator in this country.
So I will never know if it was God because I am too afraid and anyway how do you a bloody thing like that. That is an awful lot of bloody knowing. I think I want to be introduced by someone I trust. Why? cos I don't trust who or what God might be. S/he might be any bloody thing. Like the modern touch there. Always like to be inclusive.
It's the idea, but how does death of fear pose in the strength of the idea? Wouldn't fear itself devour the idea. Fear of death is not as heroic as you might imagine. More likely a result of a bit of a bad trott. Have a bit of fun and lets see how scared you are of death. What have ideas got to do with anything at all if they have a will of their own and float in and out as if unwanted guests. I figure being conscious is like becoming a psychic door keeper to the self. Unwanted and univited unembodied etheric energy is filtered, observed and syphoned off. That is pretty neophyt as far as consciousness goes but it beats being like a dog that goes with every new scent it encounters. what a spoil sport I am. Some call that living.
Next is discover personal detritus and divorce myself from it. Good one Dhami. Who was madder, you or me?
Then solitary life.....after divorce it always is. Maybe life really is poetry and metaphor. Maybe S/he keeps telling us all the while. Too retarded to see it under the nose. I told you scents are never observed unless there is a contrast. Bit like bad breath. How is it the owner never knows? Ahhh so that is the very simple trick of Maya. The bird does get crushed after all. Slight deviation there. It is not that hard a job when she has such undiscerning observers. A cloak here a wave there and hey presto, we're sold. But still the story is always being told in Mataphor. I am begginig to love that one. Maybe God lies in it or at least some kind of truth. Sorry for anyone out there who feels narrated and restricted by truth as a concept what to speak of experiance. No truth, no narration, no story. Gee how do you get out of bed each morning? If you don't have one doesn't mean I can't. Now that is real postmodern society. As the father said to his wife as she nags her stoned son at the dinner table, "leave the boy alone" Remember that add?
So who am I asking? nobody but invisibilty is relaxing and pretending inspires things I didn't really know were there.
Always too late and sleep is a gift. It is time to unwrap it and devour as best I can though my digestion fails a little.
I might fly one day through that ceiling. Not sure if i want to die in my sleep.
Best to do it by the Ganga to save anyone the trouble of disposing of the body. ooooh yuck. Nibbling on old dead woman for dinner. Now there is a bad birth.
The feast was huge and so well served I give credit where credit is due. Bhakticaru Swami has good manners as so few have. Culture, most despise it as pretentious but I figure that, may be sour grapes. We haven't a clue on letting go of ourselves for the sake of another. It is so foriegn for a westerner to be concerned with anything but himself. Like the convenient gender convention there? As you please.
Westerners think sacrifice is for losers but they haven't the experiance of gain in loss. It is just loss and more loss with some hope of reclamation rather than transformation.
Surprise myself sometimes.
Where is Syrrell. What happened to the boy? I hope it ended well. Almost feel like I am part of the crime that was his fractured childhood. The neglect and near unwanted nature of that type of love.
Ironically and it is a big bloody irony, the mother goes on to write a book, "Unconditional [bloody if you ask me] Love" Hindsight is such a nice view. Invention is the mother and the mother invents. Says she only has 3 children. Which has she chosen to negate this time. Is truth pain or can it only be told in her fictions so as to avoid the accusing eye. Cryptic pointers to a past that bears on the future but doesn't really reflect the present. I choose that , not you. Tomorrow is yours but luckily that will never come.
Just morphing from one moment to the next, waiting waiting waiting but best of all I sometimes get to watch though I suffer in silent fear that I too may be watched. What will they think? How will they know I am real even if it doesn't look that way.
I dreamt that Krsna was standing in front of me. I wouldn't say indolant though I can't think of another word. Anyway I was crapping on in usual style trying to make some kind of an impression. Underestimaating him I suppose. Figured he didn't know me. That is the terror of the thing. Too dull to know myself. To dull to realise.
I do realise that I am plain bored with the body maintanance thing. Like the drive to work. God that can kill a person. Over and over and over till there is nothing left to know. Switch track before someone convinces me that a pill can fix it.
So back to the big boy. So I says, looky here GOD , I've got these here thoughts on you know this an that. Well he is about as impressed as any person might be with a basket of rotting fish. Why do i get the feeling that contemptible runs so deep.
But the eyes the eyes. Suck you in like a vacuum so that I got scared and figured it might be something dangerous though so seductive. Have a thing about the foriegn. Thanks to being one.
Why can't they get a bloody voltage regulator in this country.
So I will never know if it was God because I am too afraid and anyway how do you a bloody thing like that. That is an awful lot of bloody knowing. I think I want to be introduced by someone I trust. Why? cos I don't trust who or what God might be. S/he might be any bloody thing. Like the modern touch there. Always like to be inclusive.
It's the idea, but how does death of fear pose in the strength of the idea? Wouldn't fear itself devour the idea. Fear of death is not as heroic as you might imagine. More likely a result of a bit of a bad trott. Have a bit of fun and lets see how scared you are of death. What have ideas got to do with anything at all if they have a will of their own and float in and out as if unwanted guests. I figure being conscious is like becoming a psychic door keeper to the self. Unwanted and univited unembodied etheric energy is filtered, observed and syphoned off. That is pretty neophyt as far as consciousness goes but it beats being like a dog that goes with every new scent it encounters. what a spoil sport I am. Some call that living.
Next is discover personal detritus and divorce myself from it. Good one Dhami. Who was madder, you or me?
Then solitary life.....after divorce it always is. Maybe life really is poetry and metaphor. Maybe S/he keeps telling us all the while. Too retarded to see it under the nose. I told you scents are never observed unless there is a contrast. Bit like bad breath. How is it the owner never knows? Ahhh so that is the very simple trick of Maya. The bird does get crushed after all. Slight deviation there. It is not that hard a job when she has such undiscerning observers. A cloak here a wave there and hey presto, we're sold. But still the story is always being told in Mataphor. I am begginig to love that one. Maybe God lies in it or at least some kind of truth. Sorry for anyone out there who feels narrated and restricted by truth as a concept what to speak of experiance. No truth, no narration, no story. Gee how do you get out of bed each morning? If you don't have one doesn't mean I can't. Now that is real postmodern society. As the father said to his wife as she nags her stoned son at the dinner table, "leave the boy alone" Remember that add?
So who am I asking? nobody but invisibilty is relaxing and pretending inspires things I didn't really know were there.
Always too late and sleep is a gift. It is time to unwrap it and devour as best I can though my digestion fails a little.
I might fly one day through that ceiling. Not sure if i want to die in my sleep.
Best to do it by the Ganga to save anyone the trouble of disposing of the body. ooooh yuck. Nibbling on old dead woman for dinner. Now there is a bad birth.
Monday, September 17, 2007
cracking
A night looking for old friends means i am getting old. Trapped by the bindings, that closed minds entwine around willing or otherwise...subjects.
Parochial, these words come of their own accord. Spat or divulged.
Found mother has been published, another obscure hybrid australian author. Not unlike Enid she cared more for all but those that sprung forth from her very own loins. Oh well, not much to bother about when all things seem too much.
Opa is so very old.
Would the place of birth bequeath any revelations about anything at all. i expect only that I can't afford to live there. The Rhine stinks anyway or at least it looks dirty but then so does the Yarra and the Ganga. like you care.
It takes so much courage to engage with the day. The big facade of pretending you really know who you are and exactly where you are going. I can take a little make believe but they are asking me to go for some seriously hard core mental visualisations. Who am I to desire what I may not really want after all. Measured in slow degrees, released incrementally. Only enough to know what it is I do not want. Maybe the hints and smells are so very alien there is no way of articulating to myself how or what it is I want. I'm not being pretentious, no dimensions for me and no post cards either. Who in Gods name would ask a dying person for a post card? Like I want to know a disembodied person. Give me a break, I can't even handle the embodied.
No direction and certainly no place to go. Hopelessly looking for old friends. Alice , James , Errin and I know Pavlich. never was much for laying low. Right up there with a picture and all. And Jacinta, karen. Where are you all? I want to know the stories. Breeding distracted me for a bit but they no longer need me as intensely as they did so i ponder my youth and that makes me think of someone getting ready to die.
Mark Tracey killed himself. I think about him a lot. He was threatening for decades. I wonder how that maverick Chris lorracela is doing.
It was fun for a minute, the adventure and discovery. Wild edge dwelling. We all fell through the loop of respectability. Some scratched their way back and a big bank bought them up. better luck next time. I haven't found a trader for mine yet. They say krishna wants me but i am not entirely convinced, jesus not even my family can handle me for too long. Hardly think God is going to find me much chop.
No hair dressers for me. No coffee shops. No dresses. I wanted to be a nun once but who would have thought I would bloody well go and do as good as. Third world philanthropy and my biggest realisation is sweat aint too bad after all. Ok I have come to terms with accepting short people warts and all but I still feel like a bit of a fake. hare Hare bol but please leave me be for a bit. Not quite up to avangelism as I am not sure if the house is quite tidy enough to bring guests home. Frankly I think there maybe a stench in the yard. Maybe a corpse of time gone past. A remembrance trapped and putrified, gutted of life. Gutted of meaning. Ok that was mean. Meaning being watch out for men who need careers to validate themselves.
And women who think self empowerment is becoming a man. Who needs the body odour?
My husband never could figure out how i could smell if the rat was male or female. Male rats really stink, god knows how female rats bring themselves to assocaiate with the blights. i figure there is a lot of rat rape going on. I suppose if we are to take our natural course we too will be reduced or elevated to the wild freedoms of the animal world. I keep telling my daughters to consider before breeding. It is not a pretty place to deposit yet another sodden lost pupil of hell.
Parochial, these words come of their own accord. Spat or divulged.
Found mother has been published, another obscure hybrid australian author. Not unlike Enid she cared more for all but those that sprung forth from her very own loins. Oh well, not much to bother about when all things seem too much.
Opa is so very old.
Would the place of birth bequeath any revelations about anything at all. i expect only that I can't afford to live there. The Rhine stinks anyway or at least it looks dirty but then so does the Yarra and the Ganga. like you care.
It takes so much courage to engage with the day. The big facade of pretending you really know who you are and exactly where you are going. I can take a little make believe but they are asking me to go for some seriously hard core mental visualisations. Who am I to desire what I may not really want after all. Measured in slow degrees, released incrementally. Only enough to know what it is I do not want. Maybe the hints and smells are so very alien there is no way of articulating to myself how or what it is I want. I'm not being pretentious, no dimensions for me and no post cards either. Who in Gods name would ask a dying person for a post card? Like I want to know a disembodied person. Give me a break, I can't even handle the embodied.
No direction and certainly no place to go. Hopelessly looking for old friends. Alice , James , Errin and I know Pavlich. never was much for laying low. Right up there with a picture and all. And Jacinta, karen. Where are you all? I want to know the stories. Breeding distracted me for a bit but they no longer need me as intensely as they did so i ponder my youth and that makes me think of someone getting ready to die.
Mark Tracey killed himself. I think about him a lot. He was threatening for decades. I wonder how that maverick Chris lorracela is doing.
It was fun for a minute, the adventure and discovery. Wild edge dwelling. We all fell through the loop of respectability. Some scratched their way back and a big bank bought them up. better luck next time. I haven't found a trader for mine yet. They say krishna wants me but i am not entirely convinced, jesus not even my family can handle me for too long. Hardly think God is going to find me much chop.
No hair dressers for me. No coffee shops. No dresses. I wanted to be a nun once but who would have thought I would bloody well go and do as good as. Third world philanthropy and my biggest realisation is sweat aint too bad after all. Ok I have come to terms with accepting short people warts and all but I still feel like a bit of a fake. hare Hare bol but please leave me be for a bit. Not quite up to avangelism as I am not sure if the house is quite tidy enough to bring guests home. Frankly I think there maybe a stench in the yard. Maybe a corpse of time gone past. A remembrance trapped and putrified, gutted of life. Gutted of meaning. Ok that was mean. Meaning being watch out for men who need careers to validate themselves.
And women who think self empowerment is becoming a man. Who needs the body odour?
My husband never could figure out how i could smell if the rat was male or female. Male rats really stink, god knows how female rats bring themselves to assocaiate with the blights. i figure there is a lot of rat rape going on. I suppose if we are to take our natural course we too will be reduced or elevated to the wild freedoms of the animal world. I keep telling my daughters to consider before breeding. It is not a pretty place to deposit yet another sodden lost pupil of hell.
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