Free socks!

          Normally, I'd go and buy a lot of socks and such like when I got a windfall. Now that they are almost free, I went out and bought fifteen pairs on Monday. I can now throw out all of my old socks, though some are still serviceable. But they are old. David Beckham only wears trainers once. This is because trainers to David are free. In fact, somebody probably gives him money to wear these trainers. The Queen has never paid for anything in her life. The more better off you become, the freer everything gets.

          Poor folk don't understand this. You get locked into your viewpoint. If they knew all this about the free stuff the evil bourgeois were getting, obviously they would rise up and put them all to the sword. Nobody deserves to be dead rich. It's a failure of law.

           In order to make things freer for the poor - like in the old days when specs were free, and the dentist was free, etc. - we on the left must start making an alliance with the progeny of the evil bourgeois. As soon as folk retire, the state should make a deal with their inheritors that the inheritors get half the parents money straight up if the state gets the other half, the half that's going back into free specs and teeth, and no beggars on the streets. The retired folk should be left with no more than a hundred grand. That's far too much money for anyone to have in the bank, not when there's 300,000 care workers sitting on zero hour contracts. They should also be offered free euthanasia pills since what's the point of being alive when you just waste all the time by not meditating?

          I've been reading 'Born in Tibet' by Chogyam Trungpa. I've always had a problem with Chogy who was killed by the drink in his 40s. Since I was born in Lanarkshire, we expect and hope that 'holy' joes should be renunciants. Like St Francis. Renunciation is a hinayana path. Vajrayana joes might not be renunciants. They're into transformation more than renunciation. Dzogchen leaves everything as it is. It is obvious as you read about Chogy's young life that he was obviously highly realised. In the book, he talks about monks who stay between life and death for a day or so. According to accounts, he did a bit better than that. Despite being on eight bottles of collapso a day. I was reading this in the pub this afternoon.

          I haven't had a conversation since Sunday. If you want to know what that might be like for a flatheid, you should read Company by Samuel Beckett. 'A dead rat? Ah, what company that would be!' But here the old man is purposeful and not so much lonely as trying to stay away from flatheids. Ah, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

          It says in the book:  The Communists had entered the houses of the better class Tibetans and ransacked them; they had taken the clothes of the masters and made the servants wear them, and the masters had been forced to put on the servants clothes.' This is what will happen as soon as we get independence. The old evil bourgois will be forced to change clothes with the men digging up Portobello roads, and dig the roads while the workers will put on his clothes and stand there shouting abuse at him.

          What goes around, comes around. The trouble with the Chogy book is that it doesn't have an authentic voice. I want to know what the juju was like inside the boy's head and when he started in on the babes. I want the Charles Bukowski of the juju world. I think this book was published way too early for that. Anyway, it's no right to drink yourself to death. The boy's a bad example. But in a way he's absolutely on the money. Watch out for these buggers. Be nicer if you were holy, but you don't have to be.