My Lists, Uncategorized

Three Recipes – a bit rude I guess

Recipe for love – ingredients (potatoes, water, milk, flour, fat and frypan and, you)

1.  You need a kilo (that is 2lbs folks) of potatoes, peeled and then boiled.  

2. Drain them, set them aside to cool.  

3. Then, mash with a tiny bit of milk, and then add flour, and seasoning.  

4. Then, turn them out on a breadboard, and cut them into rounds using a glass or a knife or one of your friend’s children’s funny shape cutters.  

5.  Then get the pan with some fat on it….and turn it up to three quarters or so.  And then you pan fry them, and you make a whole lot of them and then,

6. You eat them….and once you ate that, well you can eat anything now.

Recipe for Saturday – Ingredients (bed, radio, coffee, birdsong, and, well, you)

1.  You awake, and you languidly lie in your bed.  

2.  Masturbate just a little but do it languidly and certainly do not please, do not orgasm.  

3.  Go now out and put the coffee on.  

4.  Lie back, and you listen a little to some music or the radio, seasoned to taste.  

5. Then get the coffee, and you lie back, toying yourself a little more. Don’t forget the anal area, which you should always keep clean.   Cleanliness is nice. You know that.  

6. And then you sip a little more of your coffee.  Fiddle idly with yourself a little more.  There is no need to orgasm.  Keep it for another time.

7.  Allow yourself to be distracted.  Listen to the birds.  Or the radio if the song is that good.  

8.  Then it is time for a shower.  And orange juice….nah no one  has orange juice.  That is for movies.  You have another coffee.  Then you have some of whatever crap cereal it is you eat…or muesli maybe.  Or toast.  Whatever.  For now you are ready for your Saturday.  You can put up with anything now.

Recipe for worship – ingredients (sunny day, morning time, and, yes, you)

1.  Go outside. Yes that is you, do it.

2.  Sit down.  Get down low.  Listen and watch.  Look at all those little lives.  Ants all that.

3. Ok that is enough ants.  Now look up at the sky.  What kind of blue is it?  Squint and look towards the sun.

4.  Now look at those little plants all around, even the ones, especially the ones that are struggling through cracks in the concrete or whatever that hard stuff is.  And say, “Well, lookee at you little friend!”

5.  And then say, “Praise the day that I can go inside when it rains, and when it is too hot, and that I am not stuck in between two hard bits of stuff that makes life difficult for me!”  As for the previous recipe, you can put up with anything now.

Recipe for Zen – ingredients (annoying human with motorised device, eg. leaf blower or motor mower or motor bike)

1.  Wait for arrival of annoying human

2. Observe discreetly, eg from cafe, or through curtains or blind slats

3.  Focus intently on that sound….rrrr rrrr rrrr wwwhhhrrrr

4.  Hum that sound…tune into the universe…..rrrr rrrr rrrr wwwhhhrrrr

5.  Do this for a very, almost unbearably long time

6.  Suddenly, when it stops, take a breath.  

7.  Prepare yourself…another breath.

8.  It starts again.  rrrr rrrr rrrr wwwhhhrrrr

9.  Repeat step 4.

10.  Repeat step 5.

11. Repeat step 6.

12. Repeat step 7.

13.  Repeat steps 9-12.

14.  Repeat step 13.

Three recipes.  That is enough philosophy for one day, darling

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The adventures of Zed, Uncategorized

Sixtieth? Really, Zed? Is this what it is? Really? Can it be? Is this really what it is? But where? But how? And now? Surely not, surely, surely not.

Sixty times? No.  Surely not.  And all that time looking for it.  And now you have found it.  Really, after all these tales, my little free rider? Really?  No one believes you.  No one! 

writingthebody

writingthebody

 

It was a question.  It was about a question.  Why is it raining just now?

No, that was not it.

Why am I here?

No that is not it either.

Why is there something rather than just nothing at all?

Ah no.  That hardly matters now. Not after all these stories, surely.

Well, it seems that it just cannot be remembered.  Not even a little bit.  

And there would have been a tale told just here, a tale of some kind, or at least that is what they say. When that girl came in, there were a whole lot of people sitting, looking. They were just looking at the walls. And she asked them, each by each, turn by turn, person by person. She asked them over and over. She asked them, She asked them:

 

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?           Maybe.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?           No, anything but that.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?                 We may have to wait and see.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?                Ok, that is enough of that.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

 

 

And a small child looked up at me, inquiringly. And I said,

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?         Stop crying, no, that cannot be what it is.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

 

And the child did not reply. Nor did the other child. Nor the other one besides. Still yet the words resonate, as in a cavern, deep and far from the spume of the ocean….still yet they resound, over and over, over and over

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?           Yes come and look at the wall.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?           I already said it is.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

 

And this was what it was.

Yes it was.

But what was it?

It was just the questioning of a free rider, over and over, ceaselessly whispering,

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?         We will beat you if you keep asking

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

 

No tale this, not really, not another tale, no, not that. No, anything but that. But yes, it was that, even though it was not told, except as a question,

 

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?         I am afraid so.

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this what it is?

Is this really what it is?

 

Yes, Zed, perhaps it is.

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I don’t know why, but this song always sounds like it should be a drunken sing along….sort of slurry, sort of singalong

A ticking bomb
A false alarm
A wrecking ball

Yea! call me in thah mornin…
Ya call me when you’re home
Don’t let go….ah no!

As to which incarnation of TBS this is, well, I think it is the current one. This is that album with no name, well their name. And it has a girl on the front…not sure what she is doing. Her hair. Swimming maybe. Like swimming up the stairs. As you do when you are a mermaid. Or a fish woman. Or whatever it is. I don’t care, I mean I really don’t mind. It is a memorable image for some reason.

They seem to be on tour. Like playing everywhere except here. I would not mind being kinda drunk and singing along as well.

Look, my fave album is New Again. I know that line up lasted for, let’s see, five minutes or so. But well, this is fun isn’t it? You can do worse….a lot worse….they sound ok to me. And whoever recorded this turned the volume so it is not just a mass of distortion. Thank you for that.

Here are the words, in case you want, you know to sing along at home….

Well I don’t know where you’re going
but I know where you’ve been.
I’ve been tracing all your footsteps,
I’ve been counting all your sins.
A ticking bomb, a false alarm, a wrecking ball…
You left before I had the chance to say

Just call me in the morning.
Call me when you’re home.
I know what you’ve been through, don’t let go.
Don’t let go.

Well you reached into my mouth
and pulled out a single bloody tooth.
I’ve never shown that to anyone.
Yeah no one knows but you.
A ticking bomb, a false alarm, a wrecking ball…
I left before you had the chance to say

Just call me in the morning.
Call me when you’re home.
I know what you’ve been through, don’t let go.
Honey don’t let go.

You never knew that it would take so long (take so long)
to understand you’re right where you belong.

I don’t know where were going
but I know where we’ve been.
We’ve been hiding from each other,
we’ve been hiding from our sins.

My Lists, Uncategorized

Reasons why I think I am an emotional masochist – Another challenge

So Passionately, curiously, daily has posted a set of seven….she is at http://passionatelycuriousdaily.com/2014/04/08/reasons-why-i-think-i-may-be-an-emotional-masochist/

Seven – my magic number (not my favourite number, but my magic number).  And she asks herself the reasons why she is today an emotional masochist….and here is what she said:

I notice by the way that she forgot number two…but she counted to 7 and that is the thing….so she says

1. I like playing the victim. Sometime it is easier than being the other guy. Also, if I play the victim, that means eventually a Ryan Gosling adjacent looking specimen will come save me. I will let it slide if he does not ride in on a white horse.  

I say – yes, I get that.

3. I enjoy a good cry.

I say – yes, but it is to movies for me, and I do not feel masochistic then…

4. I like to complain, sometimes (always).

I say – not so much now, I used to though

5. I find passive aggression to be quite enjoyable at times.

I say – I used to do this, but did not like it.  I don’t do it now.

6. Sometimes you just need to listen to depressing music.

I say – well, yea!

7. I support Toronto’s athletic teams, e.g., Toronto Maple Leafs, Toronto Blue Jays, etc.

I say – Um, what?

 

Now I say in two parts that there are seven reasons I used to be an emotional masochist, and now seven reasons why I still am…

Why I used to be an emotional masochist (age 16):

1. I did not play the victim; I was the victim.  But I got to like it by age 16.

2.  I was passive aggressive…yes.  I used to irritate people till they hurt me

3.  I used to think that what I thought really mattered and that my suffering meant something

4.  I was unable to express myself and kept it all inside

5.  I let people dominate me even if I did not like it

6.  I used to get turned on despite myself – and felt ashamed of that.

7.  I was plagued by guilt…really.  And fear and shame.

 

Now I am still an emotional masochist but it is rather nicer….seven reasons

1.  I love being beaten…I revel in it.

2.  I love being humiliated … so long as the person really does not think me bad or base

3.  I am a submissive person if I trust you

4.  I am empathetic and like to hear your story

5.  I am able to be kind to people even if they are not to me – and I find a way to rationalise that

6.  I do chance myself sometimes…genuine danger occasionally….otherwise am I really alive?

7.  I sometimes want to die, just die.  really.  But I can control that, I know it now.  I feel great shame at times too.

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Uncategorized

A Sexy Computer Questionnaire

So, someone I had not seen for a while picked up my quiz (that I got from Mouse) on the content of the ipod.  Well, I am not Anastasia (you know, of Fifty shades fame) has posted her own set of responses to a different quiz….I am not Anastasia is at http://imnotanastasia.wordpress.com/2014/04/01/tmi-tuesday-the-rise-of-the-machines/#comments

Anyway, her answers are there, and mine are after…..so here I go.

1. What’s the wallpaper (photo, design, etc) on your phone, laptop or PC? Is it the same or different on these devices?
She says: On my phone it’s a latex clad form. On my PC it’s a shuffle of nature images. On my tablet it’s the default because I’ve not bothered to change it, though I suppose I will at some point.

I say: On my phone it is a picture I took of an anime in Japan.  My pics are different on all devices.

2. What’s on the desktop of your phone or notebook/tablet (i.e., icons, files, windows etc.)?
She says: The home screen of my phone has the time and weather as well as a notification menu that tells me of incoming information that I’ve missed. It also has icons for my most used functions. My tablet has a bunch of icons, only two or three of which I use with any frequency. My PC has icons and folders aplenty.

I say: full of junk and folders and crap.

3. What type of computer device do you use most often?
I use my smart phone and my PC just about equally. I use my tablet almost exclusively when I’m away from home.

I say: my computer.

4. How many computer type devices do you own including smartphones?
She says: Uhm … yeah … I’m a bit of a technophile. This would be truly embarrassing to answer, therefore I shall refrain. (In my defense, I will say that the vast majority were gifts.)

I say: Yea, it is a bit mad to count them all.  Three computers (two very old, one not quite so old), two phones, one tablet, one ipod.

5. Do you make sexy videos with your smartphone?
She says: No. Two words: Digital permanence. And, yes, I do understand that making a video and posting it are two different things. I also understand that believing a video will only be seen by its intended audience is foolhardy at best.

I say: Yes – though not everyone would find them sexy.  I watch them as well.  I even get turned on by them.  And as for permanence, well, shame is the name of the game.  I mean humiliation is what I live.    

6. Do you video-chat naked or have virtual sex using your computer?
She says: No. See number 5.

I say: No – that is kind disorienting for me.

7. How many naked photos of your whole body or your body parts have you taken with your smartphone camera?
Zero. See number 5.

I say: I don’t know. A lot. Cut up in different ways….maybe 100 or so. More of me I realise than of downloaded videos. I guess it is my self-image now. And my self-porn which is better than any other kind....

8. What is the most photographed part of your body?
I had to stop and think about this. I’m going to say my head. It is often photographed on its own and is usually included in full body pics.

Bonus:  Post a photo of the most photographed part of your body.
She says: Uhm … no … see number 5

I say: ok, but it won’t do much for you (see bottom of post).  It is of my bruises.

Bonus, Bonus: Do you use a screensaver? If yes, post a pic of it.
She says: I don’t use one.

I say: me neither.

————

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Childhood memories of Ticks

This picture is an illustration of the life-cycle of ticks (http://theoutdoortype.com.au/2011/03/15/ticks-and-people-in-the-australian-bush/).

I don’t know why I thought of it, but I suppose it is all those memories of the horrible blood-sucking things on the dog, and on me as a kid.

For reasons I well remember, the dog used to sleep on my bed – I grew up in a warm climate where you could sleep underneath high set houses – and my area was under the house, if that makes sense. Well, even though that sounds awful, it was kinda cool having my own little den even if it was not really a room. The only thing was I would get a bit scared at night at times, and the dog would be a comfort.

But she had a lot of ticks on her, and I do not know why it was impossible to get rid of them….as an adult I have never failed in that respect – but that one was not down to me, I guess.

Anyway, for reasons again that I do not comprehend, ticks leave the host animal and do weird stuff, especially as juveniles. There were always dozens of the wretched things in the bedding, and – for reasons that I again don’t know – climbing up the walls where I used to kill them by the score. I mean where are they going? There is nothing up there, only the floor….and nowhere to go. I never saw them coming back down. I guess they just went up there and starved if I did not get them.

But of course, I sometimes had them on me too. Mainly they do not like our blood I think. They probably would suck for a while and move on. But occasionally, one with some sort of human blood-appetite would stick on. And I would find it all full up with my blood. Usually I would find it because I would feel a lump under my arm. You see, they start quite small – either small brown ones with hard bodies or these yucky small blue-grey ones with soft bodies even when they were young. And I used to just pull them out, and kill them. Urk. Gross. Really gross.

But people back then used to say that you should put a lighted match to them. Well! I now read that this is NOT what you do. In fact, my childhood instinct was not bad – just pull the stupid thing off. Ok, now they say to use tweezers. Right.

The thing used to be to use metho or matches because “otherwise the head will get left behind” – I remember thinking, ah fuck that. Who cares? I don’t think their heads got left behind just fyi.

I mean obviously you are pulling an animal out of you so you have to take it slowly, because it is not going to want to let go. And then it dies. Ticks and mosquitoes, my least favourite animals. And I don’t go for fleas either. Compared to them I don’t know why people get excited about cockroaches and flies. Except for the bitey flies (march flies we call them here), they are harmless. And doomed.

Not sure why I need to tell you all this. Not sure if you really need to read it either….just another shot of what makes a freak like me. Stupid me I guess.

Uncategorized

Childhood memories of Ticks

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Softly Shaping

Gorgeous me,
Wrapped in my cloak of blue
Such velvet writing
Covers my skin in you.
Broken open
Your fist tears and it tests, yes
But then
It wilts my breasts
Into the softening shape of you.

Poems, Uncategorized

Softly Shaping

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