My wonderful big brother, Hughie, was cremated a couple of weeks ago. I can't really do justice to him here, but he was my brother and I loved him and now he's gone. Sometime I'll write something about Hughie and his effect on my life, but maybe this isn't the time yet.
Two good things, I know about, happened for me this year. Once was finishing The Buddha, The Dakini, and The Dirty Old Man, In the six months since I finished it, I haven't managed to get anyone in the book business to read even the first three chapters, which is all they want to see if they don't know you. But that's okay. The writing is the thing. Becoming something is not what it's about when you're a septuagenarian. Wanting to become something is for young people.
The other good thing was the heat. All the time, it's coming. It's a false alarm. It's an intimation. Well, now it's evident in almost the first vase breath.
How crap is this when it arrives just as the flatheids come loose from their positions and you have to attend to all the drunkenness of this time of year, and all the people, and everyone is fucked up in some way or other. I don't like "holidays". To me, I have to have a holiday from all the things I like and deal with the fucked up who are too dumb to meditate.
I became an Irish citizen this year. Tomorrow I might take possession of an Irish passport. Begorrah! Our time will come. Maybe in Belgium.
My brother died at 84. This is a very good age. I want to die at 84, or 93 when my maw and my auntie Kathy, and Mrs Bowman died. But 84 would be great.
Some people are hitting this blog regularly from Holland. Happy New Year to yous when it comes. The troll who keeps trying to leave ugly comments here can go fuck himself.
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