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Ever since moving out of the regular routine demanded by ‘work’, the concept of ‘time’ has brought about a whole different perspective to the psyche. In spending lots more time at Flowerbook since the change took place, priorities have selected themselves in accordance to the natural flow of things in general. This means that there is a whole lot more of absorption in natural systems and the way they work – and then using the information to make those systems work for me. This is particularly important in the management of land with regard to its use for landscaping that includes organic agriculture and the creation of mini-environments as part of the plot.
For instance, on sloping lands (which is usually the case in the hills), use of the natural contours in determining the levels for terracing and the application of the commonsense that comes with right observation, will result in drainage systems that will allow the flow of rain-water to catchments that serve more than one purpose. One is to store water (in ponds or pits) for irrigation and other uses, and another is to minimize erosion. The creation of a ‘wetland’ is another purpose that, in addition to providing an environment for the purpose created, also creates a mini-environment that attracts many different species of fauna, flora and innumerable attractive insects.
But I digress – the point of the post being to inform my mates of the blogosphere the reasons for not being all that active in putting out more frequent ruminations. It’s just that Java and I are blissing-out on the sheer wonder of being able to be one in harmony with the beauty around us. The dogs, of course, add to the joy – and not being constrained by the obligations of the nine-to-five trip and the repercussions from it, gives the psyche a lightness of being that is just brillig. The results of all this, of course, is that there is hardly any time for much more than the essentials, which means that blogging has definitely taken a back seat in the present scheme of things.
We still do check out kottu and some of the other sites that turn us on, and we do chuck in the occasional comment, but other than that, there is simply no desire. This does not mean that there will be no catalyst to prompt the odd compulsive and occasionally regrettable post, but that’s just how things go – if one is Java or yours truly, that is.
So now it’s nearly noon, it’s time to trip on outside with a cool lager and some high-quality smoke. The music is turned up, which will allow strains of whatever is playing on RIFF, the Jazz station on WorldSpace, to reach the pond at the lower part of the garden. The dogs have got the vibe and are egging us on and out.
So much to do (or not) – and so little time…
Got this in the mail from Kranzloid this morning (can’t give credit where it is due, as the author is unknown) and thought it funny enough to want to share with some of you.
What a world!
In Lebanon, men are legally allowed to have sex with animals, but the animals must be female. Having sexual relations with a male animal is punishable by death.
(Like THAT makes sense.)
In Bahrain, a male doctor may legally examine a woman’s genitals, but is prohibited from looking directly at them during the examination. He may only see their reflection in a mirror.
(Do they look different reversed?)
Muslims are banned from looking at the genitals of a corpse. This also applies to undertakers. The sex organs of the deceased must be covered with a brick or piece of wood at all times.
The penalty for masturbation in Indonesia is decapitation.
(Much worse than ‘going blind!’)
There are men in Guam whose full-time job is to travel the countryside and deflower young virgins, who pay them for the privilege of having sex for the first time. Reason: under Guam law, it is expressly forbidden for virgins to marry.
(Let’s just think for a minute; is there any job anywhere else in the world that even comes close to this?)
In Hong Kong, a betrayed wife is legally allowed to kill her adulterous husband, but may only do so with her bare hands. The husband’s illicit lover, on the other hand, may be killed in any manner desired.
Topless saleswomen are legal in Liverpool, England – but only in tropical fish stores.
(But of course!)
In Cali, Colombia, a woman may only have sex with her husband, and the first time this happens, her mother must be in the room to witness the act.
(Makes one shudder at the thought.)
In Santa Cruz, Bolivia, it is illegal for a man to have sex with a woman and her daughter at the same time.
(I presume this was a big enough problem that they had to pass this law?)
In Maryland, USA it is illegal to sell condoms from vending machines with one exception: Prophylactics may be dispensed from a vending machine only ‘in places where alcoholic beverages are sold for consumption on the premises.’
(Is this a great country or what? Well, not as great as Guam!)
Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories an hour.
(Who volunteers for these tests?)
The ant can lift 50 times its own weight, can pull 30 times its own weight and always falls over on its right side when intoxicated.
(Did our government pay for this research??)
Butterflies taste with their feet.
An ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain..
(I know some people like that.)
Starfish don’t have brains.
(I know some people like that, too.)
And, the best for last?
Turtles can breathe through their butts. (And I thought I had bad breath in the morning!)
Thank you all for reading this, if you need to reach me in the future I will be in Guam!!
Poor blog suckers – the parasitical cocksuckers with elemental aberrations and warped watchmacallits have had their fill of the smelly rotten pickles aka achcharu. So what else is new??? Twitterings from the frustrated wannabes who never really had the attention they craved – and why would they? One fat and frumpy-dumpy without the love she craves, the other nerdish and wimpy with all that ‘inferior’ baggage – and those hangers-on with nothing else to turn them on.
Poor, poor twittering blog-suckers. What a way to get off!
Emily Brontosaurus pondered on the futility of it all as she breezed past old memories
Older sensations and whimsical thoughts poured through the sluice-gates she opened
To let the dammed collection of murky waters once part of her stream now a lake of despair
Gone were the days of searching for satisfaction amidst the debris of fallen idols
Now ground to dust paying the price for their infamy and the misfortune visited on followers
In that petrified forest that lingered now in eternal crepuscular light – no shade no light
To encourage shadows
Tuning in to the here and now she located the scorched earth of the northern end of time
Where the children born to know nothing more than fear and despair tended their offspring
As best they could amidst the unending carnage in what had once been the verdant fields
Of their forebearers
The blood of generations still flowed through the gaping wounds and shattered dreams
Fashioned by reptilian minds that now took other feline forms to combat the morbid
Forces of destruction each as insidious as the other battling for supremacy and
But Emily couldn’t linger in a present that kept shifting into the future as past dreams
Flooded her being to the point of no returning to the fantasies that moved her onwards
To gather stardust and other planetary debris that whirled by as she sped past the galaxies
In her mind
Or was it that which she had no remembrances of those black holes containing the universes
She had explored in days of future past with moody blues and pink floyds and yellow jackets
All of them making the music she would use to colour her dreams with changing them to studies
In black and white
But back to now – in spite of the nowness of it all everywhere all the time at once
Emily forced herself back – to the place she was in with a Bach Cello Suite playing
In the background the notes bounced off the wall and filled her head with fragments
Of melodic sequences
Merging into acapella Spanish vocal sampling retaining the melodic sequences
Emily floated off to Madrid to watch again the toreador that stole what was left of her heart
After that it was back to the petrified forest where the faint strains of Gregorian chants
Coloured her world
And so she sat at rest at last no traces of traces to cloud the waters as they rippled clear
Crystal clarity bottomless and without limits only the movement on the surface
Unending ripples reflecting light and shade both apart from each other yet so much a part
Of each other