:: Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Balls, Inspector
Bollocks
14th Century (as ‘ballocks’)
English term which has grown numerous useful applications within today’s language:
1. Term of exasperation, often at having made a mistake.
2. As a plural noun, the bollocks are the testicles.
3. Exaggerated truth or blatant lies.
4. Unfathomable rubbish; corporate management speak, e.g. ‘blue-sky thinking’, ‘touch base’, and ‘thinking outside the box’.
5. Poor or bad effort, esp. with media references. (The more bollocks, the worse the event.)
6. When the bollocks belong to a canine, the inverse meaning of (5.) comes into play, though nobody knows quite why. This meaning appears to date back from 1989.
7. To ‘drop a bollock’ is to commit a social faux-pas leading to grave embarrassment.
8. A ‘bollocking’ is a telling off, often by one’s boss for an inadequate or incomplete piece of work, or inappropriate behaviour.
9. To lack bollocks is to be gutless, spineless and generally lack courage. This is not used inversely for the word ‘balls’ covers this application.
10. As a verb, to ‘bollocks’ or to be ‘bollocksed’ it to flummox or be flummoxed; confuse or be confused.
11. If a piece of machinery is bollocksed, it is broken or rendered unusable either temporarily or permanently.
12. To be ‘bollock-naked’ it to be completely without clothing, save for a few relatively unimportant items such as socks, watch, rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings or other body jewellery.
13. To be ‘bollocksed’ also means to have imbibed an amount of alcohol which has eliminated a dangerously high number of brain cells causing a lack of social and spatial awareness, incoherent speech and the inability to believe that you’re not as drunk as you are, you’re not as unattractive in that state as you are, and that you don’t rule the world.
14th Century (as ‘ballocks’)
English term which has grown numerous useful applications within today’s language:
1. Term of exasperation, often at having made a mistake.
2. As a plural noun, the bollocks are the testicles.
3. Exaggerated truth or blatant lies.
4. Unfathomable rubbish; corporate management speak, e.g. ‘blue-sky thinking’, ‘touch base’, and ‘thinking outside the box’.
5. Poor or bad effort, esp. with media references. (The more bollocks, the worse the event.)
6. When the bollocks belong to a canine, the inverse meaning of (5.) comes into play, though nobody knows quite why. This meaning appears to date back from 1989.
7. To ‘drop a bollock’ is to commit a social faux-pas leading to grave embarrassment.
8. A ‘bollocking’ is a telling off, often by one’s boss for an inadequate or incomplete piece of work, or inappropriate behaviour.
9. To lack bollocks is to be gutless, spineless and generally lack courage. This is not used inversely for the word ‘balls’ covers this application.
10. As a verb, to ‘bollocks’ or to be ‘bollocksed’ it to flummox or be flummoxed; confuse or be confused.
11. If a piece of machinery is bollocksed, it is broken or rendered unusable either temporarily or permanently.
12. To be ‘bollock-naked’ it to be completely without clothing, save for a few relatively unimportant items such as socks, watch, rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings or other body jewellery.
13. To be ‘bollocksed’ also means to have imbibed an amount of alcohol which has eliminated a dangerously high number of brain cells causing a lack of social and spatial awareness, incoherent speech and the inability to believe that you’re not as drunk as you are, you’re not as unattractive in that state as you are, and that you don’t rule the world.
:: Saturday, November 27, 2004
The Human Race
Life is all about thrust.
Think about it - we start off as some sort of primitive pelvic thrust, then we are ejected out into the world, fighting for air and a place in the world. We slowly gather energy and focus and start to crawl, to walk and to run. We elbow our way through life, jostling others aside and jockeying for position. We climb above those beneath us by taking what we can and giving what we must. We measure our performance, our success on that which is owned by those we pursue, and those we leave behind. We hit our stride and begin to accomplish our dreams, our momentum carrying us ever higher, ever further, more success, more things, more richness, more control. We are Gods, and we control our future. Sometimes we cock up, we trip, drop and roll to once more begin to crawl, walk and run, picking up speed until back on track.
Back competing in the race.
Eventually, we start to tire. That which was once effortless and enjoyable now is stressful, onerous, an obligation. And as we tire, we seek not to be run down and shoved aside by those still running with us, around us. Through us. We fight for our place, we fight for our future, we fight for our past. We drift out to the margins to avoid being a hindrance, step aside from the buffetting crowd. We slow to a walk and then to a crawl, quite aware that our race has been run. We have needles and medicines thrust at us, to alleviate that which medicine cannot fix. Eventually, our own inner timespring winds down and runs out of energy and once more we are fighting to breathe, to simply live and for validation of that little place that we hopefully managed to carve out in this world.
And then we are thrust in a box.
Wow.
Think about it - we start off as some sort of primitive pelvic thrust, then we are ejected out into the world, fighting for air and a place in the world. We slowly gather energy and focus and start to crawl, to walk and to run. We elbow our way through life, jostling others aside and jockeying for position. We climb above those beneath us by taking what we can and giving what we must. We measure our performance, our success on that which is owned by those we pursue, and those we leave behind. We hit our stride and begin to accomplish our dreams, our momentum carrying us ever higher, ever further, more success, more things, more richness, more control. We are Gods, and we control our future. Sometimes we cock up, we trip, drop and roll to once more begin to crawl, walk and run, picking up speed until back on track.
Back competing in the race.
Eventually, we start to tire. That which was once effortless and enjoyable now is stressful, onerous, an obligation. And as we tire, we seek not to be run down and shoved aside by those still running with us, around us. Through us. We fight for our place, we fight for our future, we fight for our past. We drift out to the margins to avoid being a hindrance, step aside from the buffetting crowd. We slow to a walk and then to a crawl, quite aware that our race has been run. We have needles and medicines thrust at us, to alleviate that which medicine cannot fix. Eventually, our own inner timespring winds down and runs out of energy and once more we are fighting to breathe, to simply live and for validation of that little place that we hopefully managed to carve out in this world.
And then we are thrust in a box.
Wow.
:: Thursday, November 25, 2004
I was always fascinated by stories of the Burning Times when women and men denounced as witches were burned all across Europe, and hanged and stoned in Salem Witch Trials.
Even the word “Salem” conjured up a picture in my head of what it would look like there. Forests and fields, big evergreen trees and dirt roads, old shacks, timber houses and circular wells.
This is what it looks like today.
I never felt any inner horror of the burnings, more a keen sense of wanting to understand why… why did they murder so many people under such spurious puritanical laws? Reading some of the trial transcripts, you seriously have to wonder what the fuck these people were on.
So, over the years I have read lots about the hangings and stonings of Salem in late 1692.
And the burnings of Europe, and I’m still fascinated.
Maybe my ever-burning legs are a karmic payback - maybe they didn’t burn me as a witch.
Maybe I burned them.
And wasn’t Mum was forever telling me to leave the fire alone when I was little…
Even the word “Salem” conjured up a picture in my head of what it would look like there. Forests and fields, big evergreen trees and dirt roads, old shacks, timber houses and circular wells.
This is what it looks like today.
I never felt any inner horror of the burnings, more a keen sense of wanting to understand why… why did they murder so many people under such spurious puritanical laws? Reading some of the trial transcripts, you seriously have to wonder what the fuck these people were on.
So, over the years I have read lots about the hangings and stonings of Salem in late 1692.
And the burnings of Europe, and I’m still fascinated.
Maybe my ever-burning legs are a karmic payback - maybe they didn’t burn me as a witch.
Maybe I burned them.
And wasn’t Mum was forever telling me to leave the fire alone when I was little…
:: Wednesday, November 24, 2004
mellow D
I’ve been writing this silly wee poem
Bits and pieces of thoughts that I’ve thunk
Like cleaning out all of the clutter
And burning a lot of the junk
I’m living alone in Hell’s kitchen
In an alcove, all the way out the back.
My table’s a splintered old applebox
And my bed just a rough pile of sacks
When it’s MY daytime everyone’s sleeping
When they’re working I’m out for the count
The problem I see with this dichotomy
Is this barrier’s to big to surmount
Im learning all about diseases
My own, to be completely precise
You know, they can duplicate MS
And exhibit in laboratory mice
Matey and Nushie eat fresh meat
Not that God awful shit comes in cans
And not from a company that tortures it’s pets
Vivisectionists known as “Iams”
You know that our country is fucked up
Rich and poor, and so wide is the range
That a burglar doing his time for recidivist crime
Can gets a taxpayer-funded sex change
Christmas is here for the scumbags
They’re running amok every day
Helping themselves to where you and me dwell
Taking bikes and just riding away
Pretty soon now, it will be my birthday
Being 40 has flown out the door
The day’s done a bunk, like these thoughts that I thunk
And I can’t thunk any thinking no more.
Bits and pieces of thoughts that I’ve thunk
Like cleaning out all of the clutter
And burning a lot of the junk
I’m living alone in Hell’s kitchen
In an alcove, all the way out the back.
My table’s a splintered old applebox
And my bed just a rough pile of sacks
When it’s MY daytime everyone’s sleeping
When they’re working I’m out for the count
The problem I see with this dichotomy
Is this barrier’s to big to surmount
Im learning all about diseases
My own, to be completely precise
You know, they can duplicate MS
And exhibit in laboratory mice
Matey and Nushie eat fresh meat
Not that God awful shit comes in cans
And not from a company that tortures it’s pets
Vivisectionists known as “Iams”
You know that our country is fucked up
Rich and poor, and so wide is the range
That a burglar doing his time for recidivist crime
Can gets a taxpayer-funded sex change
Christmas is here for the scumbags
They’re running amok every day
Helping themselves to where you and me dwell
Taking bikes and just riding away
Pretty soon now, it will be my birthday
Being 40 has flown out the door
The day’s done a bunk, like these thoughts that I thunk
And I can’t thunk any thinking no more.
:: Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Time in a bottle
Have you ever wondered what you would change if you could turn back time and do stuff all over again?
Nah, of course you haven’t - not in the past week, anyway.
But when you did think about it, what time frame did you think you wanted to roll back? Was it a month or a year or five years or ten? More?
I do, I think about it lots. And I know how far I want to roll back, too. Right back to the very beginning, to whenever the genetic blueprint that would become me was implanted. And then I’d chose a different egg and sperm to deliver the payload. I mean, it couldn’t be much worse than this, could it? Ok, so it could be worse - a lot worse in fact. But it could also be a shitload better.
Only, I would want to know everything I know now, but back then so that I didn’t have to experience any of the past 40 years of shit again.
Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 40 years good Karma.
Random.
Now, how about you? How deep would you like to dig to change something, anything (everything?) in the past? Cos, if we did that, we wouldn’t be who we are now, today. And we might not be better people for it, hmmm.
I think I’d rather be a rich, healthy, shallow, adored and desired Barbie all the same, if that’s ok with you.
We can start tomorrow, God; that would be fine with me
Nah, of course you haven’t - not in the past week, anyway.
But when you did think about it, what time frame did you think you wanted to roll back? Was it a month or a year or five years or ten? More?
I do, I think about it lots. And I know how far I want to roll back, too. Right back to the very beginning, to whenever the genetic blueprint that would become me was implanted. And then I’d chose a different egg and sperm to deliver the payload. I mean, it couldn’t be much worse than this, could it? Ok, so it could be worse - a lot worse in fact. But it could also be a shitload better.
Only, I would want to know everything I know now, but back then so that I didn’t have to experience any of the past 40 years of shit again.
Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 40 years good Karma.
Random.
Now, how about you? How deep would you like to dig to change something, anything (everything?) in the past? Cos, if we did that, we wouldn’t be who we are now, today. And we might not be better people for it, hmmm.
I think I’d rather be a rich, healthy, shallow, adored and desired Barbie all the same, if that’s ok with you.
We can start tomorrow, God; that would be fine with me
:: Monday, November 22, 2004
Riddle me this
:: Sunday, November 21, 2004
daily useless factoid
The Portuguese invaded Sri Lanka immediately after reaching India in 1536. The Sinhalese King paid the Portuguese tributes of 110,000 kilograms of cinnamon annually.
That’s a shitload of cinnamon pinwheels, huh.
That’s a shitload of cinnamon pinwheels, huh.
:: Friday, November 19, 2004
my blog hates me
it wont post what I write.
Time for a puppy-pic.
The gorjus Dudley.
Time for a puppy-pic.
The gorjus Dudley.
:: Wednesday, November 17, 2004
In Passing
Why do you seek to dim the glow that once shone in my eyes
Why do you repay my truthfulness with evasion, deceit and lies
Why do you not observe the plea that with fairness I be dealt
When for many years you rested safe, when inside my life you dwelt.
When the friendship dawned a new trust was formed, one that served us all these years
I doubt that either one thought it could be more than what it first appeared
A mismatch born in comedy between two people so diverse
One with Life’s Bounty at their feet, one with the beggar’s purse
One who’d been to Hell and back and had memorised the ride
And one who’d touched the coldness but had not been sucked inside
If familiarity breeds contempt then I suppose we’re both to blame
To fool me once is your disgrace, but to fool me twice my shame
If Life is like a Journey and we’re all passengers and crew
Travelling here and helping there, always lessons a lifetime through
And at different stations we meet different folks all travelling as well
Maybe we need their input to keep us on the road away from Hell
The train is pulling out now, moving quickly down the track
But it’s hard to know if it’s going forwards or is it running back
The gaps between the seconds are so infinite in size
When there’s nothing left to make the glow that once shone in my eyes.
Why do you repay my truthfulness with evasion, deceit and lies
Why do you not observe the plea that with fairness I be dealt
When for many years you rested safe, when inside my life you dwelt.
When the friendship dawned a new trust was formed, one that served us all these years
I doubt that either one thought it could be more than what it first appeared
A mismatch born in comedy between two people so diverse
One with Life’s Bounty at their feet, one with the beggar’s purse
One who’d been to Hell and back and had memorised the ride
And one who’d touched the coldness but had not been sucked inside
If familiarity breeds contempt then I suppose we’re both to blame
To fool me once is your disgrace, but to fool me twice my shame
If Life is like a Journey and we’re all passengers and crew
Travelling here and helping there, always lessons a lifetime through
And at different stations we meet different folks all travelling as well
Maybe we need their input to keep us on the road away from Hell
The train is pulling out now, moving quickly down the track
But it’s hard to know if it’s going forwards or is it running back
The gaps between the seconds are so infinite in size
When there’s nothing left to make the glow that once shone in my eyes.
:: Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Tired
Main Entry: 1wea�ry
Pronunciation: ‘wir-E
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): wea�ri�er; -est
Etymology: Middle English wery, from Old English wErig; akin to Old High German wuorag intoxicated and perhaps to Greek aOros sleep
1 : exhausted in strength, endurance, vigor, or freshness
2 : expressing or characteristic of weariness
3 : having one’s patience, tolerance, or pleasure exhausted – used with of
4 : WEARISOME
Main Entry: tired
Pronunciation: ‘tIrd
Function: adjective
1 : drained of strength and energy : fatigued often to the point of exhaustion
2 : obviously worn by hard use : RUN-DOWN
3 : TRITE, HACKNEYED
- tired�ly adverb
- tired�ness noun
Its after midnight and I have just got up again. I cant sleep, you see. And so yes, its late and I am tired. But worse than tired, I am weary.
We tend to use these two words interchangably, tired and weary but they aren’t quite the same thing if you look at their dictionary definitions; one is more physical, the other more spiritual/emotional/psychological.
It feels like it’s been a long day and whilst I haven’t accomplished anything of note, the kids and I did enjoy a trip to the Cans Film Festival tonight at Cinema 8, where we saw the movie Garfield. It was a good outing - the movie was good, the kids were both happy to sit in the same theatre, and best of all was Adam saying as the movie started how neat it was that we were having a family outing. And with that outing alone, I did too much and tired myself out. It’s worth it to hear Adam say he was enjoying himself, even if it reinforces the guilt of how little I can accomplish in my role as sole parent.
And I grow weary of the guilt pushed onto me for something I cannot change. I grow weary of the constant sensate assault as the perceived temperature of my left leg fluctuates from a too-hot shower to a crematorium oven in an endless waxing and waning loop of mental and physical pain. I grow weary of always doing less, having less, being less when thrust into occasions of social intercourse. I feel I live on the edge of a spiritual depletion, often unsupported by those who would ask of me the most. And through it all I am expected to accept, nay embrace this emotional and physical inequality.
Who needs that shit?
My sense in the existence of a power greater than myself has been restored somewhat this week by the finding of my long lost friend Tobi, who starred briefly very early on in my blogging career. She has been out of touch and lost for well over a year and with her precarious health, I feared that she was dead and I would never know. Well, I found Tobi again this week and had all my fears laid to rest.
God IS good - She might have taken our health, but She gave us something back - a friendship of huge understanding between two people that spans the globe and led us both to search for the other.
A cyber-friendship of understanding and respect? Or a real life(sic) friendship, where I feel misunderstood, confused and hurt?
Is there a comparison?
This is a picture of my Nushie dog, painted from a photograph by a dear friend in Auckland.
A cyber-friend.
An original by the lovely Jo White.
There are all sorts of people in this world - the blessing of this era in history is the emergence of a new way of relating. And having people in your face doesn’t have to feature in the mix. Total acceptance comes in many forms and not always from those who know one best.
Life’s funny that way.
“Bow down before the greatness of the Holy Cat Nip Bud”
Pronunciation: ‘wir-E
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): wea�ri�er; -est
Etymology: Middle English wery, from Old English wErig; akin to Old High German wuorag intoxicated and perhaps to Greek aOros sleep
1 : exhausted in strength, endurance, vigor, or freshness
2 : expressing or characteristic of weariness
3 : having one’s patience, tolerance, or pleasure exhausted – used with of
4 : WEARISOME
Main Entry: tired
Pronunciation: ‘tIrd
Function: adjective
1 : drained of strength and energy : fatigued often to the point of exhaustion
2 : obviously worn by hard use : RUN-DOWN
3 : TRITE, HACKNEYED
- tired�ly adverb
- tired�ness noun
Its after midnight and I have just got up again. I cant sleep, you see. And so yes, its late and I am tired. But worse than tired, I am weary.
We tend to use these two words interchangably, tired and weary but they aren’t quite the same thing if you look at their dictionary definitions; one is more physical, the other more spiritual/emotional/psychological.
It feels like it’s been a long day and whilst I haven’t accomplished anything of note, the kids and I did enjoy a trip to the Cans Film Festival tonight at Cinema 8, where we saw the movie Garfield. It was a good outing - the movie was good, the kids were both happy to sit in the same theatre, and best of all was Adam saying as the movie started how neat it was that we were having a family outing. And with that outing alone, I did too much and tired myself out. It’s worth it to hear Adam say he was enjoying himself, even if it reinforces the guilt of how little I can accomplish in my role as sole parent.
And I grow weary of the guilt pushed onto me for something I cannot change. I grow weary of the constant sensate assault as the perceived temperature of my left leg fluctuates from a too-hot shower to a crematorium oven in an endless waxing and waning loop of mental and physical pain. I grow weary of always doing less, having less, being less when thrust into occasions of social intercourse. I feel I live on the edge of a spiritual depletion, often unsupported by those who would ask of me the most. And through it all I am expected to accept, nay embrace this emotional and physical inequality.
Who needs that shit?
My sense in the existence of a power greater than myself has been restored somewhat this week by the finding of my long lost friend Tobi, who starred briefly very early on in my blogging career. She has been out of touch and lost for well over a year and with her precarious health, I feared that she was dead and I would never know. Well, I found Tobi again this week and had all my fears laid to rest.
God IS good - She might have taken our health, but She gave us something back - a friendship of huge understanding between two people that spans the globe and led us both to search for the other.
A cyber-friendship of understanding and respect? Or a real life(sic) friendship, where I feel misunderstood, confused and hurt?
Is there a comparison?
This is a picture of my Nushie dog, painted from a photograph by a dear friend in Auckland.
A cyber-friend.
An original by the lovely Jo White.
There are all sorts of people in this world - the blessing of this era in history is the emergence of a new way of relating. And having people in your face doesn’t have to feature in the mix. Total acceptance comes in many forms and not always from those who know one best.
Life’s funny that way.
“Bow down before the greatness of the Holy Cat Nip Bud”
:: Monday, November 15, 2004
Mail call
Dear Friends,
I have been watching you very closely to see if you have been good this year and since you have I will be telling my elves to make some goodies for me to leave under your tree at Christmas.
I was going to bring you all gifts from the 12 days of Christmas, but we had a little problem
The 12 fiddlers fiddling have all come down with V D from fiddling with the 10 ladies dancing, the 11 lords leaping have knocked up the 8 maids amilking, and the 9 pipers piping have been arrested for doing weird things to the 7 swans aswimming.
The 6 geese a-laying, 4 calling birds, 3 French hens, 2 turtle doves and the partridge in a pear tree have me up to my sled runners in bird shit.
On top of all this Mrs. Claus is going through menopause, 8 of my reindeer are in heat, the elves have joined the gay liberation and some people who can’t read a calendar have scheduled Christmas for the 5th of January.
Maybe next year I will be able to get my shit together and bring you the things you want. This year I suggest you get your arse down to The Warehouse before everything is gone.
Yours sincerely
Santa Claus
I have been watching you very closely to see if you have been good this year and since you have I will be telling my elves to make some goodies for me to leave under your tree at Christmas.
I was going to bring you all gifts from the 12 days of Christmas, but we had a little problem
The 12 fiddlers fiddling have all come down with V D from fiddling with the 10 ladies dancing, the 11 lords leaping have knocked up the 8 maids amilking, and the 9 pipers piping have been arrested for doing weird things to the 7 swans aswimming.
The 6 geese a-laying, 4 calling birds, 3 French hens, 2 turtle doves and the partridge in a pear tree have me up to my sled runners in bird shit.
On top of all this Mrs. Claus is going through menopause, 8 of my reindeer are in heat, the elves have joined the gay liberation and some people who can’t read a calendar have scheduled Christmas for the 5th of January.
Maybe next year I will be able to get my shit together and bring you the things you want. This year I suggest you get your arse down to The Warehouse before everything is gone.
Yours sincerely
Santa Claus
:: Sunday, November 14, 2004
Food for thought
When I was a little girl
I didn’t eat my greens
I hated pasta, avoided rice
And offal was obscene
When I was a teenager
I dug chips and dip
Big Ben pies of creamy mince
That always burnt your lip
In my 20s I gave up pies
And took up beer and wine
Pissed and stoned and off my face
Fuck we had some awesome times
In my 30s I went back to school
Back to my teenage years
Discovered yummy seafood pies
A new lifestyle, groups of peers
Now Im getting older and
My 40s have arrived
I’ve even given up the booze
And given up the pies
And given up on worrying
Whether people like my size
Cos I know what’s important
And it’s not lies, hair dyes and thighs.
I didn’t eat my greens
I hated pasta, avoided rice
And offal was obscene
When I was a teenager
I dug chips and dip
Big Ben pies of creamy mince
That always burnt your lip
In my 20s I gave up pies
And took up beer and wine
Pissed and stoned and off my face
Fuck we had some awesome times
In my 30s I went back to school
Back to my teenage years
Discovered yummy seafood pies
A new lifestyle, groups of peers
Now Im getting older and
My 40s have arrived
I’ve even given up the booze
And given up the pies
And given up on worrying
Whether people like my size
Cos I know what’s important
And it’s not lies, hair dyes and thighs.
:: Saturday, November 13, 2004
meh
Have you noticed how seriously fucked up our world is?
All over the world there is rape and pillage and murder and destruction, all based on greed and evil, and that’s before we even finish with our planet and start on each other.
Evil isn’t born - it’s created. There’s nothing mystical or religious about it, its Genesis is man himself.
Roll on the next comet. Only, next time I think we can do without Noah’s family and make him the only humanoid that survives. He won’t last forever anyway.
Maybe this new seeding of our planet will yield a better harvest, instead of a bitter one.
All over the world there is rape and pillage and murder and destruction, all based on greed and evil, and that’s before we even finish with our planet and start on each other.
Evil isn’t born - it’s created. There’s nothing mystical or religious about it, its Genesis is man himself.
Roll on the next comet. Only, next time I think we can do without Noah’s family and make him the only humanoid that survives. He won’t last forever anyway.
Maybe this new seeding of our planet will yield a better harvest, instead of a bitter one.
:: Wednesday, November 10, 2004
funny, that...
My Goldfish Died
Little Amber was in the garden filling in a hole when her neighbour peered over the fence.
Interested in what the cheeky-faced youngster was doing, he politely asked, “What are you up to there, Amber?”
“My goldfish died,” replied Amber tearfully, without looking up, “And I’ve just buried him.”
The neighbour was concerned, “That’s an awfully big hole for a goldfish isn’t it?’
Amber patted down the last heap of earth then replied, “That’s because he’s inside your fucking cat.”
Little Amber was in the garden filling in a hole when her neighbour peered over the fence.
Interested in what the cheeky-faced youngster was doing, he politely asked, “What are you up to there, Amber?”
“My goldfish died,” replied Amber tearfully, without looking up, “And I’ve just buried him.”
The neighbour was concerned, “That’s an awfully big hole for a goldfish isn’t it?’
Amber patted down the last heap of earth then replied, “That’s because he’s inside your fucking cat.”
:: Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Vegetation
All that spring rain and warm sun has made the grass grow. In fact, it’s grown so much that Merlin gets lost in it. Well, he did the one time he bothered to attempt to wade through it. Now, the weather has turned again and it’s been just gloriously sunny outside. And hot. And this sudden bout of hot, sunny weather has knocked the stuffing right out of me so I’ve started my summer hibernationa bit early. I’m thinking about where to put my fan. I’ve � closed my curtains to keep the sun and heat out. I’ve removed the woolrest from my bed and replaced it with a dimpled topper pad.
Now all I need it to not have to leave the house and my summer sentence will begin in earnest. And one of the most common aspects of this sentence will be hearing the words “oh, did I wake you?” at the other end of the phone.
“I have MS. MS and summer time don’t play well together. It’s summer time and I am asleep. Of course you fucking woke me.”
I’m just not a summer person, you understand.
But anyway, while I am vegetating in bed, I will pass another annual milestone - the anniversary of the beginning of a longer sentence. A life sentence. I will turn 41 and you know what THAT means… that makes me an “over 40s” bod, but I won’t have to worry about that until I wake up in March. I won’t have to worry too much about christmas, either. I hate bloody christmas. All those years married to the kids sperm donor, every christmas was a screaming, scrapping, stressful, nasty time when the “work do” in public would mutate into a personal shitfest in private with a resulting physical, material and emotional fallout that lasted forever. Every bloody year. And now, while it carries a completely different emotional fallout, at least the house doesn’t get trashed in someone’s drunken rage. I can break it myself now.
It’s all good :-D
Here’s an oldie for ya.
From the day of our birth
Til we return to the earth
Our lives are all twisted and snarled
Not being true to ourselves
And those with whom we dwell
Makes a life become boring, banal
To reach for the goals
Dig for treasure in holes
Is happiness just too remote
Just a nebulous thing
Whose tail holds the sting
As on Misery’s coattails we float
As each new day dawns
And new life is born
A resurgence of hope can we feel
To take all our lumps
And ride over the bumps
And before suffering and pain never yield
Never lose sight of the dream
Of the lessons you’ve seen
Of the trials that you’ve overridden
For a life without love
Of One you raise above
Rendered voiceless, unfinished and hidden.
Now all I need it to not have to leave the house and my summer sentence will begin in earnest. And one of the most common aspects of this sentence will be hearing the words “oh, did I wake you?” at the other end of the phone.
“I have MS. MS and summer time don’t play well together. It’s summer time and I am asleep. Of course you fucking woke me.”
I’m just not a summer person, you understand.
But anyway, while I am vegetating in bed, I will pass another annual milestone - the anniversary of the beginning of a longer sentence. A life sentence. I will turn 41 and you know what THAT means… that makes me an “over 40s” bod, but I won’t have to worry about that until I wake up in March. I won’t have to worry too much about christmas, either. I hate bloody christmas. All those years married to the kids sperm donor, every christmas was a screaming, scrapping, stressful, nasty time when the “work do” in public would mutate into a personal shitfest in private with a resulting physical, material and emotional fallout that lasted forever. Every bloody year. And now, while it carries a completely different emotional fallout, at least the house doesn’t get trashed in someone’s drunken rage. I can break it myself now.
It’s all good :-D
Here’s an oldie for ya.
From the day of our birth
Til we return to the earth
Our lives are all twisted and snarled
Not being true to ourselves
And those with whom we dwell
Makes a life become boring, banal
To reach for the goals
Dig for treasure in holes
Is happiness just too remote
Just a nebulous thing
Whose tail holds the sting
As on Misery’s coattails we float
As each new day dawns
And new life is born
A resurgence of hope can we feel
To take all our lumps
And ride over the bumps
And before suffering and pain never yield
Never lose sight of the dream
Of the lessons you’ve seen
Of the trials that you’ve overridden
For a life without love
Of One you raise above
Rendered voiceless, unfinished and hidden.
:: Monday, November 08, 2004
Praise the Lard
These Destiny Church bods and their Leader Brian Tamaki are a bit of a worry, hmmm?
The quintessential white American Evangelist wearing a darker skin and ranting to his adoring followers, foaming at the mouth about the evils of homosexuality. Black T-shirts with arms raised in salute proclaiming the power and might of God and the sin of a world that allows homosexuality. And they’ll even let you tithe to them for the priviledge.
God is good. But Brian is better.
HE has a big diamond ring :-)
There is a close sibling to Destiny Church - they are called Density Church, "a community of faith for enthusiastic, on-fire, Bible-believing, Church-going, Spirit-filled, Tithe-giving, Happy-clapping Children of God!!"
They want to outlaw homosexuality in sheep as well. Check out this page. You’ll be glad you did!
Amen.
Tell me again, was it "a cult" or "occult" that was bad?
The quintessential white American Evangelist wearing a darker skin and ranting to his adoring followers, foaming at the mouth about the evils of homosexuality. Black T-shirts with arms raised in salute proclaiming the power and might of God and the sin of a world that allows homosexuality. And they’ll even let you tithe to them for the priviledge.
God is good. But Brian is better.
HE has a big diamond ring :-)
There is a close sibling to Destiny Church - they are called Density Church, "a community of faith for enthusiastic, on-fire, Bible-believing, Church-going, Spirit-filled, Tithe-giving, Happy-clapping Children of God!!"
They want to outlaw homosexuality in sheep as well. Check out this page. You’ll be glad you did!
Amen.
Tell me again, was it "a cult" or "occult" that was bad?
:: Sunday, November 07, 2004
coming out
We went out last night. It was ok too, once I got used to there being so many people in one place. But the strain of doing it hurts a bit the next day cos this morning I woke up feeling run over by half a small Panzer Division, like I was really pissed last night.
‘Cept I didn’t drink even one drop of alcohol.
I dunno, I’m running out of vices to give up in an effort to redeem myself. I even gave up sex just so that I could cut down on my cigarette consumption. I mean, what the Hell else do I have to give up?
You can have anything you want
You can drift, you can dream, even walk on water
Anything you want - Pink Floyd
‘Cept I didn’t drink even one drop of alcohol.
I dunno, I’m running out of vices to give up in an effort to redeem myself. I even gave up sex just so that I could cut down on my cigarette consumption. I mean, what the Hell else do I have to give up?
You can have anything you want
You can drift, you can dream, even walk on water
Anything you want - Pink Floyd
:: Saturday, November 06, 2004
donkey
Thanks to Scorps for the inspiration for tonight’s entry.
I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 1! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 2! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 3! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 4! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 5! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 6! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 7! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 8!
Are we there, yet?
I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 1! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 2! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 3! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 4! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 5! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 6! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 7! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes…
Verse 8!
Are we there, yet?
:: Friday, November 05, 2004
On getting blogged down
Mark doesn’t like my new blog.
Well, he didn’t exactly say he didn’t like it, he said he liked the old one better. I would have to agree with him - I like the old one better, too.
This one hasn’t got any teeth to it yet. It’s not pithy enough. It’s not pissy enough. It doesn’t TAKE the piss enough.
I must be losing my touch. Fuck, I’m losing everything else! :-D
Seriously (she said putting on reeely serious face), it’s not easy blogging regularly for 18 months with little in the way of breaks and no one to use for inspiration. I mean, shit, even I get sick of the sight of my own writing, you know!
But I’m aware that this one has yet to catch up with the rivetting tone of the previous one and maybe I should do something to remedy that. I mean, this blog is a month old and I have yet to do an item on sex!
For what it’s worth, I have been busy sleeping and being midwife and nana and doctor and taxi and doing a few graphics and writing the occasional poem and reading books and occasionally opining on the messageboards where I hang out and I’ve even read the MS newsgroup and cooked the occasional meal. Maybe now I should concentrate on cooking up some meaty blog entries and things to amuse you poor bastards who keep flocking here to read this crap.
And, while you are waiting you can look at a pic of our fireworks tonight.
Well, he didn’t exactly say he didn’t like it, he said he liked the old one better. I would have to agree with him - I like the old one better, too.
This one hasn’t got any teeth to it yet. It’s not pithy enough. It’s not pissy enough. It doesn’t TAKE the piss enough.
I must be losing my touch. Fuck, I’m losing everything else! :-D
Seriously (she said putting on reeely serious face), it’s not easy blogging regularly for 18 months with little in the way of breaks and no one to use for inspiration. I mean, shit, even I get sick of the sight of my own writing, you know!
But I’m aware that this one has yet to catch up with the rivetting tone of the previous one and maybe I should do something to remedy that. I mean, this blog is a month old and I have yet to do an item on sex!
For what it’s worth, I have been busy sleeping and being midwife and nana and doctor and taxi and doing a few graphics and writing the occasional poem and reading books and occasionally opining on the messageboards where I hang out and I’ve even read the MS newsgroup and cooked the occasional meal. Maybe now I should concentrate on cooking up some meaty blog entries and things to amuse you poor bastards who keep flocking here to read this crap.
And, while you are waiting you can look at a pic of our fireworks tonight.
:: Thursday, November 04, 2004
The sleep of the just
These anti-epilepsy drugs to stop the jerking spasms that the doc put me on when my chemo failed and the MS took off have done a good job of stopping the jerking spasms. I find that a bit of a blessing. It was hoped the medication would also stop the burning legs (and now arm) but it hasn’t managed to do that cos they are still burning. Well, still pretending to be burning. I could be imagining them pretending to be burning, in which case, I would be a complete fruitcake, wouldn’t I?
Oh yeah, I am.
Anyway, one of the side effects of the meds is that they induce great sleepiness in some of those who take it. How I would differentiate this from the normal extreme fatigue and sleepiness that the MS brings in it’s wee basket of goodies, I have no idea. I’ll think about it when I wake up.
You could say that I am sleeping my life away. Not that it really matters, I wasn’t doing anything with it anyway.
Oh yeah, I am.
Anyway, one of the side effects of the meds is that they induce great sleepiness in some of those who take it. How I would differentiate this from the normal extreme fatigue and sleepiness that the MS brings in it’s wee basket of goodies, I have no idea. I’ll think about it when I wake up.
You could say that I am sleeping my life away. Not that it really matters, I wasn’t doing anything with it anyway.
:: Wednesday, November 03, 2004
stake
We went up the hill to Debbie’s after school today. She is the puppies other Nana.
She had a kidney removed a few weeks ago, a tumourously nasty one. And now that it’s back from Biopsyland she has it in a jar at home. Where all good (and not so good) kidneys should be after requiring removal.
Anyway, it was fascinating to see a real human kidney up close like that (even if it had been sliced up into chunks). It was even more interesting to see what a tumour looks like. Cos some of it didn’t look like I imagined from all those medical shows on TV.
Doesn’t it make you glad that some of our organs come in bulk?
It does me, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen that one, would I?
And Debbie wouldn’t be here any more, either :-(
The puppies are one week old today.
She had a kidney removed a few weeks ago, a tumourously nasty one. And now that it’s back from Biopsyland she has it in a jar at home. Where all good (and not so good) kidneys should be after requiring removal.
Anyway, it was fascinating to see a real human kidney up close like that (even if it had been sliced up into chunks). It was even more interesting to see what a tumour looks like. Cos some of it didn’t look like I imagined from all those medical shows on TV.
Doesn’t it make you glad that some of our organs come in bulk?
It does me, otherwise I wouldn’t have seen that one, would I?
And Debbie wouldn’t be here any more, either :-(
The puppies are one week old today.
:: Monday, November 01, 2004
catch
A parent takes a small child
And throws her in the air
And laughs with her as she flails and squeals
In exhilaration and in fear
They catch her safe and hold her close
And lowered gently to the ground
The child’s excitement shows she knew
That she was always safe and sound
The young bride awakes to rustling noise
Of branches scratching on the glass
The barking of the neighbours dogs
Footsteps swishing through the grass
She wakes her man, he investigates
He lays her mind to rest
And in his arms she understands
Within his love she has been Blessed
The aging woman sleeps alone
No companionship for her
By nocturnal noises, roused from sleep
Unease a creeping saboteur
Her time to ponder on her dreams
Memories built on purity
And through the long night reflect upon
Her long fled, dead security
And throws her in the air
And laughs with her as she flails and squeals
In exhilaration and in fear
They catch her safe and hold her close
And lowered gently to the ground
The child’s excitement shows she knew
That she was always safe and sound
The young bride awakes to rustling noise
Of branches scratching on the glass
The barking of the neighbours dogs
Footsteps swishing through the grass
She wakes her man, he investigates
He lays her mind to rest
And in his arms she understands
Within his love she has been Blessed
The aging woman sleeps alone
No companionship for her
By nocturnal noises, roused from sleep
Unease a creeping saboteur
Her time to ponder on her dreams
Memories built on purity
And through the long night reflect upon
Her long fled, dead security
Radio HaurakiClassic Rock that Rocks
LIVE FEED
Recent Meanderings
Endnote
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WOTD - Fig
Revisiting
The Times, they are a'changin'
Pavillions
Chilly calamari
Calling Gordon Shumway
Night Moves
Git on in there
Inner spaces...BOP Flood 2005
Outer spaces...
National MS Society
Project Gutenberg
Knight/Lomas
NZ Histories
Eyewitness to History
The Human Marvels
Smithsonian Institution
BBC - Ancient History
Blardy Amazing
20Q.
John Cooper Clarke.
Spacing out at...
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the flatcattery
rollertrain
Secret Diaries
myboyfriendisatwat
NEW The World of Yaxlich
when atomicans go wild
Intrepid Adventures
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reasons you will hate me
gramyre, on having MS
rAnDOm randomness
NEW Thing to make U go hmmm
Rachel's story
sick puppy award goes to...
Peter Pan
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Some content included in this site has been liberated at (and from) great peril from the internet. Where possible, credit or a link has been given or is marked as "Unknown", except for jokes - I don't make up jokes. All other content comes straight from the Brain of Moi. I reserve the right to retain ownership of my own drivel :-)
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