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A religious and moral obligation
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Sep 8, 2010 12:16 pm
1856 Views
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"Still, we feel that it is time for America to quit apologizing for our actions and bowing to kings ... We must send a clear message to the radical element of Islam. We will no longer be controlled and dominated by their fears and threats. It is time for America to return to being America."
Pastor Terry Jones. To his well intentioned followers on the burning of the Koran.
"He's NOT the Messiah! He's a very naughty boy!"
Actor Terry Jones. To his son's misguided followers on the adoration of Brian.
I suppose that if you are insistent on hosting your own Krystallnacht then you just might want to save the following excerpts from these couple of books.
The Holy Quran. 42.40.
The Holy Bible: Matthew. 5:38-40
But what do I know. I'm just a miserable sinner. You guys are the experts. God told you.
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The Lessons of History.
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Sep 7, 2010 3:58 pm
1706 Views
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Okay.
In order to keep a promise to Kelidgh. (Proud Owner of the Best Ass in Adult FriendFinder) and in a passing homage to the eloquent and elegant Christylovesfun.
I present Archeological Gold.
See this pic?
It's of a place in GB called Vindolanda. It's an ancient Roman Fort just South of Hadrian's wall and in fact pre-dates it.
Actually, the paving stones aren't worn thin, K. although you'd expect them to be. They never had a chance - because although some Fort or other stood on this site for nearly 400 years; about every 70 years or so, the Romans would knock down what they had built and start again.
The purpose of the Fort was to protect the trade route that ran just South of the wall and linked what was later to become the cities of Carlisle and Newcastle.
The Gold, Christy?
In amongst the many artefacts found here were many letters, the most poignant of which, and thus the most famous reads:
'Claudia Severa to her Lepidina greetings. On 11 September, sister, for the day of the celebration of my birthday, I give you a warm invitation to make sure that you come to us, to make the day more enjoyable for me by your arrival, if you are present (?). Give my greetings to your Cerialis. My Aelius and my little son send him (?) their greetings. I shall expect you, sister. Farewell, sister, my dearest soul, as I hope to prosper, and hail.'
Claudia Severa was the Governer's wife, who lived in a Villa just outside the Fort.
The point, dear readers?
This letter is about 1,800 years old. For those of you who doubt my assertion that the written word is permanent, like I said, better think twice.
For those of you who think that such caution is superfluous, note the date.
Lesson ends.
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Can beggars be choosers.
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Sep 6, 2010 2:16 pm
1924 Views
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Okay, a tiny explanation. The short fat and gist of it.
When I wrote/composed my parody, it was just a spoof on another bloggers overly strident complaint about receiving unwanted attention.
It seemed odd to me. How somehow a man who gave himself such a title and clearly then seemed more than able and willing to live up to it felt hard done by.
When you are short, fair and plain, it seems hubristic in the least to read such self-pity and so, as is my wont, I parodied the post. I'm gifted like that.
Soon after the time that I had written it, when Been was alive, I was intrigued to dicover that another blogger had left quite a vituperative comment on her post and so it was that after a little clicking, I discovered a particularly nasty blogwar was in full swing and clever me: I'd just posted a skit and managed to skim the edge of it.
Then Been died.
And lots of posts all over this site were withdrawn. Including the target of my parody. Now it''s back.
And good for that poster. Because if a man is to write anything about himself, if he is to be the custodian of his own integrity and uphold the meaning of his word,then he should shun hypocrisy and have the courage of his convictions. Publish, and be damned.
However, what I was trying to illustrate by my post was that if you were at the front of the queue when God was dishing out the pulchritude, quit whining.
Good looking people have their pick of the best jobs, the best lays, the best sychophants. They get to mix backstage with the band, they always get served first at the bar. No matter how mediocre their talent, it's always beefed up, even forgiven.
All of us ugly people know this. It's the nature of Our Ugly Existence. Those of us who were at the back of the queue have to develop strategies and plays in order to just stay in the game. Them's the Rules Eternal, so why moan about staying in front of the game?
Because it's not like that is it? Good looking blonde women perpetually have to fight off their dumb stereotype.
This website itself is full of beautiful talented women who have to wade daily through an absolute barrage of pleas, to cajolement, even to attempted blackmail. Being an ill-disguised cajoler myself, I see this.
However, it took a further look at this blogger's other posts to make me aware of something new. This happens to men.
You know, at first thought, my initial reaction was one of, "you lucky bastard!".
BUT. Credit where credit is due. He's opened my eyes. If you are in the middle of a relationship then such attention must be at least unnerving, if not distressing.
CHOOSE YOUR MOOD.
He's done well to remind me of some advice a management guru gave me long ago. Cliched, I know. But in this particular case so apt.
I suppose what Benadar and everyone else who has been offering olive branches around amounts to and comes from the same position.
One of the reasons why poetry is such a clever medium in which to write is that, by some unspoken convention, the reader approaches it with an empty mind. You anticipate that the clever poet is going to not only reveal his mood, but affect yours. The reason why emoticons exist here is that they allow the poster who isn't quite so able to wax lyrical to indicate the intention behind their word and the respondent likewise.
However, there are some, like me, who try to use just straight prose, comicality or even parodies to illustrate their point. Sometimes you hit your mark, sometimes your arrow of blinding insight misses the Gold to go Begging in the forest of obscurity.
No matter. For me, the fun is always in the writing which is why I'm not so precious about having my posts copied, quoted or lifted. I have a gift that keeps on giving.
What I'm wobbling on about is what Benadar says too. If you have had a bad day, if you just can't get the Adult FriendFinder of your dreams to answer to your BEGGING, think on. Is the anger you feel within YOU or within the few lines of writing you have just read?
CHOOSE YOUR MOOD, walk away if you have to, then come back and think again. Before you write that riposte, before you roll those dice, better think twice.
You see, the thing about the written word, even the virtual ones, is that they are permanent, even when you're gone. Ask Ozymandias.
Lecture over. Back to strategizing.
May I beg the good looking girls amongst you to please stay behind and help me collect all the pencils? Some are on the floor.
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On the buses.
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Aug 27, 2010 9:52 am
1842 Views
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I met an old friend for lunch today and during our conversation, which roamed far and wide, some of our talk wandered on to the topic of ancient British comedies such as "On the buses".
What my friend recollected of this particular series, and as I concurred, was that the majority of the episodes were given over to Stan's (Reg Varney)pining over his friend Jack's (Bob Grant)greater success with women, usually a new ticket collector or a "clippy" as they were referred to.
Looking back, some of the political incorrectness of the shows was simply appalling: a Black character was referred to as "Chalky" and the main female parts were typecast as a gormless over weening Mum, a drab whining sister and then, for the larger part of a given episode, any new up and coming pneumatic actress of the day was invariably cast in an over tight jacket, complete with open blouse and mini-skirt to be fawned over.
They were always described as "Birds" and were generally referred to and treated by the script more as a commodity rather than a character. Pneumatic, tactile and winsome, they were usually great looking girls who were invariably written as gullible and yet somehow always out of the reach of the hapless Stan but ever so pliable when it came to his scheming mate Jack.
What gave?
You see, the craziest part about all this was that the actors who played both Jack and Stan were clearly of an age where they could quite easily have been the eye-candy's father, and in the world beyond the recording studio most likely would never have earnt a second glance by such nubiles. Least likeliest of all was Jack, played by an actor who at best could only be described as plain and at worst as a periwigged jumble-sale of oversized and nicotine-laden tombstones.
As we agreed over our lunch, the suspension of disbelief lent to both parts was being stretched to the giddy limits of credulity in every episode.And yet there we sat, week after week, drinking it all in.
However, the thought did strike me as I reminisced with my old pal that maybe this show, transmitted as it was in my formative years was when and where I acquired my faltering techniques with beautiful women, and the vague notion that maybe it really didn't matter how unattractive you were....
....AS LONG AS YOU WERE FUNNY!!!
But having researched the show before writing this post, maybe not. I understand that when the series finally ended, Bob Grant could never fully shake off his typecasting which sadly culminated in his suicide.
I wonder if I should change my act?
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Handsome is as Handsome doesn't
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Aug 26, 2010 11:45 pm
1765 Views
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Further to my previous post Handsome is as Handsome Does. and Smarty's kind advice, I returned to the site and changed my profile pic from the rather goonish but funny pic of the one with my best pal's fingers doing a bunny over my head, to one that I have displayed here; with me, sitting rather enticingly on the sofa, looking upwards and into camera, an air of intrigue if not pure seduction oozing from my come to bed eyes.
So I'm pleased to note that my picture score has changed dramatically from the rather derisory and embarassing average of 1.94 to the even more derisory score of zero. Zip, nada, nul, nil, you got nathin'.
I'm assuming that I have reached and can maintain these dizzy heights only because the site's primitive software is incapable of accepting negative values and the mathematical concept of Imaginary numbers. However, my own mathematical ability, despite my advancng years, is still capable of processing such nebular thoughts: although I do need a rub-down with a valium soaked dishcloth soon after.
Contrary to my previous two conclusions then, from this result I can derive only one.
Smarty!
Stop helping me!
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To My Friend Bess. R.I.P.
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Aug 26, 2010 4:04 pm
1678 Views
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I Think Continually Of Those Who Were Truly Great
Stephen Spender
I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light where the hours are suns
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.
What is precious, is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog, the flowering of the spirit.
Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are feted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's center.
Born of the sun, they travelled a short while towards the sun
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.
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The short fat and gist of it.
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Aug 24, 2010 4:09 pm
1907 Views
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I have seen rants about me, from people I have begged on my blog lately and instead of begging them on each blog, I will give you a little message HERE. Now; I know YOU won't read it, but your buddies can COPY and PASTE it.
Back to me, if I beg enough, I am sure you will oblige.
Here is my perspective on why I offend people on my blog. First off I came here to blog and talk about the things I want to talk about and then, other things - I steal.
When I make friends on here NO MATTER who they are, if I see them being naked or unfairly distributed I will usually add something via a comment about myself. To the instigator or an e-mail or by phone if I have their number. If you responded the same way again and do not take me into consideration, then those around you or those affected by your words, then THEY were probably begged. IF YOU were cautious and DIDn't reply...then you were begged again.
IF I tell two faced, BOLD FACED LIES.... that I didn't want your Legs spread around my back....THEN YOU WERE STILL BEGGED.
IF I saw total disrobement out of you on someone else's blog that I enjoyed reading and it was unrecorded and delicious...THEN I BEGGED YOU from taking the same line of attack on my blog.
IF YOU ARE HER, and not one of my friends or I believe that you are a stranger to me or the people you are friends with THEN YOU ARE BEGGED.
My list is quite expansive and I don't hesitate to mock or beg people anytime I want or deem necessary.
IF YOU HAVE BEEN BEGGED DO NOT CRY ON OTHER PEOPLE's BLOGS about how unfairly you were treated, about how you feel that I am in the wrong. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH BEING BEGGED then contact me directly and often. I am sure you can use one of your NAKED profiles to contact me if you are begged. If not that one...THEN TRY the others you have.
FRONT BOTTOM PEOPLE....
If I don't see you on my blog, quit trying to spread your LEGS and MYSTERY on your friends blogs, it is VERY attractive in most cases. Your just saving yourself for potential suitors in your life. How come No ONE wants to be with an UGLY personality, EVER?
No matter how good looking the FROG is...ITS THE Pondside that matters to you and if you see a COLD blooded person with a ribbit, you will move on to those I want to be part of my life.
FOR THOSE OF YOU THAT I DON"T KNOW - WHY????
Take A HINT...
WHAT DO I WANT IN MY POND - LIFE? You ask me as I get e-mails with the same questions.
I want life in my pond that are going to make a difference in water levels everyday,
I want life in my pond to truly enjoy each moment they are alive and breathing underwater,
I want life in my pond that are CRAVING,
I want life in my pond that are STRONG swimmers,
I want life in my pond that are FUN,
I want life in my pond that TOUCH my "heart" and make me stand proud, to call them my friend (wb).
I want a life in my pond that I can connect with on ALL levels, that I can learn from, that I can teach to scuba, who will explore with me together the mysteries of aquatic life.
I want a life in my pond that I can inflate,love, cherish, honor, make water wings, that SHE can be there for whenever I needs some.
I want a life in my pond....THAT LOVES POND LIFE.
To me lungs DO play a minor role of attraction in a person, to say it doesn't - the person would be a flying fish. BUT its not all that matters to me...CHEMISTRY is key and you have to have MANY elements for that lesson to happen.
I want to see what HER heart is made of,
I want to hear the whispers of HER SOUL,
I want to see the COURAGE of her spirit and
I want to see the Strength of HER LOVE.
I want to see inside HER and know that she is for ME.
In biology class.
I know what and WHO I want in my LIFE
AND
I also know what and WHO I can't have in my LIFE.
AND
They are usually both the same.
[post 2395389]It's a first draft, most likely the last. I bore easily.
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The other end of the Causeway
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Aug 22, 2010 6:04 pm
1825 Views
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Standing still and timeless,
with her batteries now removed,
like a toothless crone
squat by an empty sea
Lindisfarne calls to me.
From afar she seems tall and aloof
nearby soft and crumbling
for aeons she has guarded shores
and guided mastless ships from sundering.
through cobbled decks and leaky towers
the countless faces wander
some stop and stare, some hurry through
some want to stay for longer.
In Inglenook and fireplace
In wood and stone and iron
The spirit of a race pervades
whose majesty reigns no longer.
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St. Cuthbert
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Aug 22, 2010 1:28 pm
1786 Views
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Like another mounatain.
Cast into the sea.
But smaller,
and
a lot older.
You don't call to me
as much but
you are full
of tourists
and an ancient
mysticism.
Misty sometimes
but not on Friday
I climbed your tricky slopes.
St Cuthbert lived on you.
Oh Lindisfarne
Oh Holy Isle
Land of mead and
Brown Ale.
I salute you.
In the distance.
St Cuthbert.
Preserved and ancient.
How come you are
the patron saint of Plagues
and seamen and all things maritime.
Is it because you were around
long before
refrigeration?
Further to my last ode,"St Michael.". I have to apologize for not oderizing St Jude. I couldn't find very much so I gave him up as a lost cause.
But speaking of lost causes.
Attached is a photo of a causeway that I found in Northumberland on Friday. The scenery and Zazou's plaintive urging, stirred my whimsical muse and brought forth honey from the lion's mouth, as it were. Well okay, it might have been Meade from the Queen's Head.
I think that I'm getting the hang of this now.
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Only Smarty's have the answer
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Aug 8, 2010 5:17 pm
1774 Views
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Further to my previous hilarious post Handsome is as Handsome Does..
And smartasswoman's helpful insight I would ask
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
Images of you:
1) allowing your border collie to LICK YOUR LIPS is NOT "cute" : it's borderline insanity.
2) standing so far away that I need to use a microscope to find you are not helpful, nor intriguing.
3) with a part of your ex's anatomy (usually an arm) in shot isn't welcoming, however, those with ALL of him in shot, less so.
4) With your toilet behind you, even if the lid is down, fails to entice.
5) In front of a car that is so not yours, since your profile says you can't drive, is less than reassuring.
6) With a cigarette in your non-smoking hand fails to convince.
7) With a date-stamp on tend to re-define your age. Precisely.
8 ) With eyes that think that they are so good-looking, they can't help staring at each other, lead to doubts in regard to your proclaimed IQ or sobriety, or both.... ....or mine.
9)In soft focus don't add to your air of mystery but do contribute heavily to the whiff of suspicion, but see (2)
10) Having far too obviously borrowed your daughter's bra, doesn't add to your allure as much as it does to the suspicion that you must both dress in the dark. AND that you have the alarm clock. (most likely in the bra with you)
That is all. There are more, but in time-honoured tradition, I kept to ten.
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5
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St Michael.
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Aug 8, 2010 3:48 pm
1879 Views
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Like a mountain
cast into the sea
or a stone
bereft.
You call to me.
and I stand
on the shore
languidly waiting
like the time and the tide
sometimes
your are string
most often you are not
instead
you enfold me in your arms
and gather your sides to mine
embracing
all enclosing
you clench my neck
or sometimes
it's my legs
you hold
and protect them from
the sun's impetuous stare
But more often than
anything, you feed me
grapes, dates, cheese, honey
and falafels.
You fill my world with words
with recipes old and new
there are several ways in which
I am indebted to you.
Oh proteector of Israel
oh bringer of the light
you brandished sword before Enoch
and banished Lucifer
Quite often you
are invoked as
the familiar nick-name
of
Irish men
as well as Paddy
or Tim
Inspired by Mariana Trench and her recent spate of beattitudes.
My Dad used to swear by Marks and Spencer's string-vests. My mother was never keen, she reckoned that they later made for almost useless dish-cloths, but he was young and feckless then.
Marks and Spencer's are a popular retail outlet in Great Britain. Famous for their high quality food and clothing, as illustrated by the Saint Michael Brand, they've been going for years. They also used to publish cook-books.
Mont St Michel is an Island near France that I once visited as a schoolboy and bought a rosary for my mum.
She lost it.
It's been raining here since July 15th. You all know what that means.
And..... guess who is the patron saint of finding things? That's right.
I had an Uncle Mick too. He's dead now. I don't think that St Anthony can pull that one off, though.
Next post. Jude the Obscure.
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To link to this blog (DonDecton) use [blog DonDecton] in your messages.
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