Bitch on the Blog

April 16, 2018

Soft boiled

Filed under: Future,no return,Roadkill — bitchontheblog @ 19:31
Tags: , , , , ,

I have done the maths.

How best not to waste time considering how little there is.

“How best to not waste time”? As in “what’s left”? Who am I kidding? It’s my life’s purpose to waste time. Not yours. Mine.

U

 

 

 

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April 11, 2018

Reasoning

Just came across one of those marvels, nay, marbles: “Your logic is right”.

Let’s leave aside that the person who this accolade was bestowed upon didn’t employ logic. They stated an opinion. A variety of which you can find on many a blogger’s armchair wisdom of how to deal with world affairs. Why some of them aren’t ashamed of both stating the obvious or think that their three short paragraphs amateur assessment of how best to handle the Syrian conflict (for example) holds water in a balloon easily punctured, I don’t know. Actually, I do know. It’s called inflation. Of what? Don’t ask. I have more needles than time to prick balloons.

Yes, so, “Your logic is right”, the innocent sycophant tells their blogging icon. My question, and it’s a genuine one, not least one for Looney: Can logic ever be wrong? Or isn’t logic, by its definition* and when employed correctly, always right?

U

*”logic – reasoning conducted or assessed according to strict principles of validity”. Up to and including “strict principles” my world was in order. “… of validity”? It’s a bit like a slippery and very lively eel wriggling its way to freedom and confounds all I think logic stands for.

April 8, 2018

Lullaby

Sometimes, when lost in the sea of many possible perspectives, I seek advice. Seek advice with hope in my heart that if I don’t follow it [the advice] the advice giver is wise and kind enough to not take it personally, as a rebuff. That’s why there are some people in my life whose advice I do NOT seek. It’s enough to grapple with the problem that makes you seek advice in the first place, without then having to play nurse maid to someone’s hurt feelings. People like that don’t seem to understand that they should be glad to be asked in the first place as it implies trust, and that the purpose of advice givers is that of a midwife: Helping with the delivery, not claiming the end result.

Before I pursue the above line of thought, a subject dear to my heart, I’ll stick with the original purpose of this post.

Sleep has always been important to my mother. As she got older she started sleeping rather a lot. Now she sleeps, more or less, round the clock. Every time I phone her I can bet my bottom currency that I have either woken her or that she was just about to go BACK to sleep. This is during the day – not at midnight. So enter increasing irritation and exasperation (neither of which I ever voice to her) on my part. Who wants to see their once active mother wilting? I take it almost as an affront – of nature/biology. Once resentment starts creeping into any relationship you need to regroup, and/or seek ADVICE in order to restore perspective and balance. So, this morning, I took to the experts. Yes, really. Google.

Peace has once more returned to the part of my heart that is troubled by my mother’s (as perceived by me, excessive) need for sleep. A few clicks and links later it’s so simple I wonder why it hadn’t occurred to me in the first place:

“There is no law, indeed no need, why someone (particularly in their old age) should conform to our idea of being active. If it makes someone happy to sleep let them sleep.”  That insight, so obvious yet obscure in its simplicity, was all I need, in future, to not be endlessly frustrated by my mother’s sleepiness AND her blatant, if gentle, refusal to engage any longer with anything that clouds her days, and I quote the same source:

“Discussing a point is no longer important for her. It’s like all she wants is hearing our voices, smiling back, hugs.” Peace, I suppose. Peace at the end of a long life. A peace I will contribute to as best I can. Doesn’t come easy to me to put myself onto the back burner – yet, since when haven’t I been able to will myself to do almost anything for the greater good.

The hard part (for my mother), wait for it, that she is fully aware of her increasing frailty and laments vehemently the physical restrictions in its wake(!). Hardly the time I can make one of those, meant to be assuring, throw away remarks: “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Though, most likely, in the end, emphasis on END, everything will be fine.

U

April 5, 2018

Primal

My trusted lot, I need your help.

I have just come across a blog post that is so wrong about gender on so many levels if I don’t watch it I’ll turn into one known Canadian who has most forceful, convincing and obvious views on that subject (and many others) – and let rip.

So what do I do? Do I use my full arsenal (Alternative Comment Box) on my own turf and put my argument, or do I just slink away in the firm knowledge that whatever I’ll say, no matter how well reasoned,  will make no difference on the blogger’s-in-question outlook on life?

Question Number Two: Do you think there is a cut-off-point in terms of age when you leave the older generation and their blogs/opinions just to it? Is it kind or is it cruel to keep shtum, not challenge them and bite on a piece of well seasoned driftwood in order to stifle your screams instead?

U

 

April 2, 2018

Alternative Comment Box – Nick

If I were a teacher having to face class every day I’d be both overjoyed (facing class) and in despair (when marking their work).

Dear Ramana, on his blog, writes a heart warming “first page”, in response to which Nick – who appears to be incapable of talking about anything other than himself – writes, and touching it is:

“The first page of my novel would be rather too long to reproduce here. The first sentence maybe. Someone else has already used “It was a dark and stormy night”, so I’ll have to think of something else. “I was born in one of the coldest winters of the century, when strict rationing was still in force a year after the end of the second world war.”

To which I replied, and I am aware of how cruel yet instructive my comment is:

“You need an editor, Nick:

The Allies and their enemies had bombed the shit out of each other. To little gain. As is my wont, I was born in March – an unusually unwelcoming one. Strict rationing in full swing, my mother wasn’t able to nourish me to full potential. The year was 1946.

U”

If my father taught me one thing it’s that “dog bites man” does NOT make a headline. “Man bites dog”? Yup. In the meantime just keep barking.

Belated Happy Birthday, Nick. And don’t worry about the dog. Rarely, though occasionally, even I don’t expect an old one to learn anything new.

U

 

April 1, 2018

Poison

Being Easter my thoughts turned to eggs. Not so much scrambled as chocolate.

I particularly like the tiny ones which I leave on every surface all over the house. Wrapped in green, gold, blue, pink foil. Atmospheric among vases of daffodils, and, obviously, keeping people in chocolate without being faced with a full on one, the size of an ostrich egg.

Yes, so with eggs on my mind just now I went for a stroll round the park when one of my lesser brain children was still born.

Trouble is, as soon as you set foot out of the house, misery will meet you. I make it my mission to wring a smile out of anyone coming into my vision, coming my direction. On the whole I am pretty successful. Despite my being the arsehole that I am depicted as in certain quarters in blogland, I am one of those amazing people whose beaming smile, a smile from the heart because I really really really like people, makes others, strangers, smile back. Children, adults, young men, old men, young women, old women. Dogs. It’s a gift. Let’s hope I’ll never suffer a stroke leaving my face immobile. Life won’t be the same again. In fact it’ll be shite.

Yes, eggs. So there I was looking everyone I came across this afternoon wide and into the eye, as I do, when I had this, at first glance, marvellous idea: How about if I gave every single person crossing my path today one of those tiny foil wrapped chocolate eggs? Obviously they’d take it. But, and this is the big BUT, would they eat it? More to the point: If a stranger gave me one would I eat it?

And thus an awful thought was born. Namely that the world we live in has made us suspicious of the kindness of strangers; suspicious in a way unrecognizable from the time when I was a child, a young adult. If I, of all people, forever trusting the good in mankind, can fathom a thought like that then the sad truth is that the world is effed.

Want one?

U

March 27, 2018

Alternative Comment Box – Health Warning

There are two types of pain; the inflicted and the self inflicted. Sometimes the two overlap. Band aids on request (I don’t do stitches unless you want me to knit you a scarf).

One cool cucumber of a commentator, on the blog of many as yet to be deleted expletives spewed in my direction, evoked the spectacular of Karma for sins I stand accused of having committed in John’s comment box; something along the lines of her ardent wish for Karma to bite my behind. Unfortunately, there is a fault in her thinking. A mistake easily made: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself.

I repeat: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself. As the Angel astutely observed the other day: “If one lived with the ‘eye for an eye’ maxim, when would it end? Never.” I dare say, lame and blind – that’s where it would end: Limp and in the dark. Fighting windmills. So, those lovely creatures out there so enchanted with your barely audible brain exhalations, be careful what you wish onto others.

If my above take on Karma is wrong I will stand corrected. Over to you.

U

March 26, 2018

Growth

Filed under: aesthetics,Beauty,Nature — bitchontheblog @ 09:32
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I knew there was a downside to being a man (apart from not being able to give birth). It came to me by no simpler means than stroking the edge of my chin.

There I was, lost in the labyrinth of thought, staring into the middle distance (it was dark), when I was jolted out of my reverie as how to make further inroads into the world of blogging without a virtual contract killer trying his luck on me. Stopped in my tracks. A coarse hair. On my soft chin. Nothing that a magnifying mirror, a steady hand and a tweezer didn’t rectify in a second. Give it another twenty years and I won’t be so sanguine. I’ll be fighting follicles and their excesses.

How do you guys live with stubble and rough and coarse? Mind you, the Angel recently remarked, in passing, that one of the pitfalls of the human mind that, if not vigilant, we can get used to anything. Till it doesn’t register any longer for what it is. Scary.

U

 

 

March 25, 2018

Alternative Comment Box – Concept(ion) and Implementation

Sometimes one falls so much in love with an idea you forget why it was conceived; what its purpose is.

To remind myself: I conceived, and fell in love with, “Alternative Comment Box” when I realized that whilst people can, and will, arbitrarily, shut you up on their turf [comment boxes] – not by putting up a valid point but taking the short cut of the delete button – I can be their fog horn.

My Alternative Comment Box initially concentrated on the Three Muscle Tears (Gray John, Joyous Rachel and Charmless Sculptor). However, the Alternative Comment Box’s magic that I can comment on anything any way I like.

So before my interest vanes in those whose comment boxes I no longer soil: Foam, put your view, foam, don’t put your view. Sulk instead. Sully my name further by weeping at each others’ shoulders. The latter, only yesterday, so weakly illustrated by Gray John, lost and without direction, throwing himself at Spineless Nick’s mercy with: “Speaking of arguing… U has now turned on me rather than you! How delightfully boring “. Let’s leave aside that I didn’t “turn” on anyone. Nick, ever ready to jump to the defense of damsels in distress, hands John a starched handkerchief with the immortal words of comfort: “Oh dear. She seems to be fixated on you for some reason. What can you do but delete?”

Indeed, what CAN you do? You ain’t exactly spoiled for choice, are you?

If only you knew how much amusement the two of you provide me with you’d go back to the drawing board and devise a new ball game. Not, of course, that balls is your game.

I won’t dissect Gray John’s comment. It smacks of despair and, as he said, it’s “boring”. So not “delightful”. And, hadn’t you made thundering announcements in recent days that you were finished with me? Never mind. You are only human. Let’s turn to Spineless Nick’s reply instead. Nick appears to not have grasped why I am “fixated” on Gray John. Do some revision, Nick. Leave “fixated” out and concentrate on matter in hand. Where poor Spineless Nick lets himself down is his inspired, if lacklustre, advice of “What can you do but delete?” Indeed, Nick, what can YOU do? One may suggest engaging in discussion but don’t test yourselves to the limit.

Other than that, Nick, and take it slowly as not to test your faculties of comprehension: There is nothing to “delete”. Why? As I don’t comment on your respective patches any longer there is nothing to delete; the matter being out of your hands. The ACTION, Nick, the ACTION is all here. Here, where no one can delete me as I will NOT delete YOU. Got anything to say? Say it. Here. On The Alternative Comment Box.

And before you start, Nick: Don’t push it by sniffling “yes, but I never deleted you”. No, you didn’t. You outsourced. If you wish me to go into detail I will – though I’d rather not as not to disillusion WWW who considers you a friend. Not, of course, that one can’t entertain vaguely questionable friends.

U

March 24, 2018

Alternative Comment Box, Finals … – Going Gently

Sorry about pauses in proceedings.

Sometimes I wish there were three of me. Don’t groan. It could be worse. Four of me. Hundreds, Thousands …

The only reason I wish I were more than one of me that I could delegate to my others. Delegate to my others to tidy all those loose ends I leave in my trail whilst trying to tend to the main business of my life.

This morning’s washing (black) coming out of the machine covered in tiny shreds of white tissue. I nearly lost the will to live. Then I remembered my mission in blog land; namely to support rhyme and reason, eradicate unfairness and instill justice. Not just on my behalf. I can live with shit – even John’s who can barely contain his.

Before I stop mentioning John by name (after all, he just stands for others with similar limitations), I won’t deny him the public glory of having excelled himself. To my dismay I  had, initially, not picked up a true morsel he served me up on a platter. You may remember my post “Inadequate” in which I ask about the morals of a man who applies double standards.

Casting my inner eye over most people in my life, not least some of my readers/commentators, I imagined their answers if I had laid such a serious question at their respective door steps. And what eloquent and reasoned replies I would have received. What does One John come up with? It was so thin, I nearly missed how thick it is: “No comments as per usual….go figure”.

You ask someone about their moral bankruptcy and all they are able to come back up with is “No comments as per usual….go figure”?

Yes, John, go figure.  Unlike you I don’t hone a herd of sycophants who comment even if they haven’t got anything to say; even if there is nothing to add.

Unlike you, and some of your circle, I do not make layman’s pronouncements (in absence of anything mildly original to say) on others’ mind, soul or inner workings. Without wishing to stretch the limitations of your brain power to bursting point:

What does that feeble “counter attack” (if you can call a lame response that) of yours say about you? That you are feeble?

Ok. Let’s, for sake of argument, say that you are feeble. In which case, dearest John, you will be so happy to hear that I only blame myself that I didn’t follow a hunch many moons ago that I was whiling time away in the wrong part of Wales. To no one’s benefit.

Read the last paragraph again (yes, I know, you claim you don’t read my posts any longer; pull the other one, John. You’d have to be super human not to; not least because you don’t rest in yourself but are totally dependent on anyone’s and your readers endorsement of you). I said “I only blame myself”. You see, John, that is self awareness. That is admitting that we have limitations. Mine being that I don’t recognize that gold nuggets are not to be found in a sand pit. I am tempted to go as far as apologizing that I mistook you for someone you are not.  You never claimed you are something you are not – so it sure ain’t your fault that I find you morally bankrupt.

To you it’s all black and white. Which, considering your surname is Gray, is almost tragic.

U

 

 

 

 

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