Look, Pappy, I Is Manure ...er, Mature!

Saw this blog rating system thing on Darkneuro's House of Musings and decided to be a copy-puss. This is the rating I received:

Mingle² - Online Dating

One of the reasons given as to why it got this rating is because I've used the word 'gay'. Strangely, my usage of the word 'homosexual' wasn't deemed as problematic to them! What the fuck's all that about? Weird. And undeniably offensive! Especially when you also consider that writing things like 'cunnilingus', 'foreskin', 'orgasm' and 'I squirted ivory sap from the borehole of my log' doesn't seem to bother them at all. Silly manure-heads!

Unhealthy, Poor and Foolish

I haven't been posting much over the last little while because I have been either too busy, too stressed or too tired. My sleeping pattern is all out of whack - I had been living in the vampire hours until a couple of days ago when I began resetting my internal timepiece to the conventional pattern for human beings by forcing myself to go to bed earlier and rising earlier in the day. It seems to be working, although I am as yet still spending all my awake time in a sleepy state. Coffee has been helping with this, and what's been helping at night are sleeping pills (unfortunately, a necessary evil, so to speak, at the moment but I figure this is okay because I won't be taking them very many nights). Anyway, I plan to start posting more regularly again next month, which begins in about three minutes! I'd better go get my pinch and punch ready!

We Two Are Four From Twins

I am now two Uncles. Shantoozy is now two Aunts. On Thursday, my brother and sister-in-law were the recipients of miniature twin female humans. Not that I support anyone thwacking out more than one child - in fact, I am steadfastly against such idiocy on this horribly people-plagued planet - yet the sporadic occurance of twins, triplets, etc., being unintentional, is as welcome as any singular birthing. Shantoozy and I shall meet them in about a month or so when we fly up North for familial visitations. I shall attempt to inform them about the original "Star Wars" trilogy in an attempt to warn them early against the abominable so-called 'special' editions from the Nineties. Yes, they shall learn much of use from their wise Uncle Me.

In other news, I hear that Britain's Queen who don't play majestic rock'n'roll tapped something sharp a few times and then did arise Sir Salman Rushdie. Well, I'm sure that the author of the magnificent "Midnight's Children" should find it all a bit of silly fun, so, why not, eh? (At the risk of being an embarrassment to Sir Sal, I ended that sentence thus because I couldn't be bothered trying to extract an intelligent comment from my fractured brain; and aren't you glad I explained that?)

News the third: I have yet due four asses (as I call my uni. assignments for short), having procured extensions obtainable because of the tiring stress of being me at present. Fear not, for I am fine despite, and am handling the craziness of my life by the grace of the Divine Powers of the universe and beyond, whilst utilising a wondrous capacity for consuming diet ice creams. I need to kick these asses in themselves and get them bared for lecture-ous eyes to critique! Then I shall be free to ... well, by the time I'm finished them all I shall be free to start more, for semester 2 will have surely begun. Errggghhhh!

Here

Here on Earth my current feet, although they are inside blue ug-boots, feel cold and brittle. My flannel pyjamas have planets and stars on them. My sinus cavities are murky. My teacup is yawning hollow. Well, actually, I have some Chinese Medicinal herbal broth here in another cup, to try to increase my energy levels. I am somewhat sleepy. I recall what is probably my latest dream, which, from memory, involved my hearkening to an unreal version of Allen Ginsberg’s Ballad Of The Skeletons with what seemed to my sleeping soul like quite a good lyric, but Philip Glass was nowhere to be heard. My current artistic endeavour has me working at finishing a short story I began many years ago; it is pretty shitty but can perhaps be made worthwhile. The two cats slumber upon their heated mattress. The clock tick-tocks. It is early and the sun shall be rising soon. I’d better get a move on, off to bed once more. I like bed. Bed provides a raft above the chaotic sea.

Hay, Hey

I’ve been feeling really wasted lately, which is partly to blame for my lack of posting on mi blog. However, I’ve started a treatment of acupuncture and boiled herb broth so disgusting tasting I thought my mouth was going to be permanently disfigured from the pained contortions they put it through, so hopefully that’ll help. I think maybe I am getting another cold or something, or have hay-fever, or hey-Judaism, where you become a piano-playing, bearded Beatle or some such. I’d love to be one of those people of whom it can be said, “ He was never sick a day in his life.” Although, that doesn’t stop the sentence degrading into, “But then he just dropped down dead one day, aged 50.”

Various Vicissitudes Aside...

Hello again all! Yes, I have been away too long, I know, I know. Please, as The Kinks say, stop your sobbing. … Oh, you mean to say you’re not crying because I was … oh, I see, well, then, rest assured I shan’t be staying long. Fine!

(He-he, and a jolly good laugh was had by all over that cute opener.)

But, seriously, this is just a quick ‘pop-in’ post to assure you all that I still breath here in this virtual gutter.

The main reason it has taken me so long to post again is that I’ve been wanting to compose a little paragraph or so in tribute to Kurt Vonnegut, who recently passed away, as you doubtless are all aware. I’ve been busy with uni. shit and dealing with the various vicissitudes of my body and mind, and once again I find my feet lagging behind the days on the calendar.

Anyways, I shall produce that post real soon, and then onwards and beyond unto the realms of more musings and illiteracy from the bilious gut, er, of the Idyller.

Wacky In The Noggin And A Boot To The Buttocks

I don’t know what to write sometimes. Hmphh, some writer! Moving on, however...

I think my o.c.d. has been acting up lately. I’ve been thinking that all the books I own need to be in near-perfect condition in order for me to be a ‘proper’ writer because that’s the condition of ‘proper’ writers’ book collections, except I’m told that it isn’t, that I’m just being a little wacky in the noggin, and I think I might perhaps believe that may well be true, quite possibly. Ha-ha.

And I’ve been thinking that my poetry isn’t ‘real’ poetry. I’m not talking ‘real’ in the sense that Yeats or Bukowski or Verlaine is ‘real’, coz that’s really REAL poetry, from the tendons of the earth beneath well-worn slippers, and mine’s certainly not real poetry like their’s – it’s but a fact that few genuine poets exist – at least, I think that’s probably correct – although my slippers are slightly scuffed, shall we say? – so, no, I’m not talking ‘real’ like that. I mean that my poetry doesn’t feel ‘real’ to me (at the moment, anyway) because I don’t have a clear understanding of the varieties of poetic form. Most of my so-called poetry is free-form stuff, but does not, for example, the painter need to be able to draw accurately before legitimately experimenting with line and form? I think there are a lot of sloppy, semi-skilled poets in the world today, myself included; and I feel a pressing urgency to improve my poetical understanding and skills. Yet, am I just talking rubbish? I mean, perhaps Bukowski couldn’t adequately descant upon accentual-syllabic verse in relation to the iambic pentameter and its caesurae, and I think my o.c.d. has been acting up lately and that can be debilitating to me.

In fact, yesterday I was so discombobulated, and at times so dang tired, not to mention busy trying to get a uni. assignment in on time, which I failed to do – I think I missed the papers box closing time as the office was closed by the time I arrived, a bit after 5pm – that I didn’t do anything for the 118th anniversary of Charlie Chaplin’s birth, beyond pleasant well-wishing. A big-footed kick in the buttocks for me! I plan to do something this weekend, if not before. Watch a short and eat some custard pie with Shantoozy, at least.

Happy Birthday for yesterday, Sir Charles!