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DesDownunder

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Blog Entries posted by DesDownunder

  1. DesDownunder
    So here I contemplate the meanings of blogging.
    Dear Diary...
    Dear Journal...
    Dear Dairy...
    I'll keep that for if and when I ever get invited to a farm again.
    Dear personal log...
    What was the name of the Captain in Star Trek?
    I will tell you, it was Captain Slog,
    because every episode started with a voice saying, "This is Captain Slog."
    Now where was I? Oh Yes,
    Dear Desmond's Log...
    Uh Oh that sounds a bit rude, doesn't it, or am I just writing things into my log?
    I suppose if I were to write to my log, I could thank it for all the good times it has given me, or I could tell it off for all the times it let me down, or even for the embarrassments it has caused in public places.
    No, You guys wouldn't want read to my logging adventures. Would you?
    I could call it "Boy's Own Log," or "Logs Long Gone."
    But then again writing on my log could be somewhat painful, might raise up some hairy memories and I might have to divulge the bones of my past. Better to avoid that I think.
    Dear Wet Log...
    "Don't I mean Web Log?"
    NO! "I'm Bloggin' in the rain."
    Dear epistle to myself... too formal. Perhaps I could use it on Sundays and while I write, I could sing "Blog of Ages,' or something.
    Dear written record of my thoughts and ramblings...you gotta be kidding me.
    Dear personal thoughts' file, posted on a website for the rest of the world to look at.. Yeah, Right!
    I know!
    Dear Blog,
    I was going to write something but I have run out of time and anyway I've forgotten what I was going to say, and I doubt anyone would comment anyway, unless they want to, Please?
    Blogging is so much fun.

  2. DesDownunder

    (49) Unwasted Youth

    By DesDownunder,

    Warning: Commercial Break:
    I posted a poem today in the Poetry Nook at Codey's World.
    It is called Unwasted Youth < click here
    Do let me know what you think.
    We now return you to the abnormal blog of DesDownUnder
    I'm still gay... and luvin' it.
  4. DesDownunder
    I read Cato's entry at CW on his home being robbed and thought I would comment here rather than expose the horrid tale more publicly there.
    Violence warning: The following is a grisly tale which I have endeavoured to lighten. Yes I am on my soapbox in do-gooder mode. I would say bleeding heart mode, but as you will see it wasn't my heart that was bleeding.
    In January 1998, I opened my door to a knock and received a brick to the head for my trouble.
    With what little sense I had left I shut the door. The brick-layer was so upset that I had managed to lock him out that he started throwing anything he could find at the glass patio door in the hope of shattering the glass.
    I alerted the other half who was in bed watching a movie. I swear the Empire could strike back on our front lawn and he wouldn't hear it.
    I rushed back to the kitchen where the masonry expert was still trying to master his glass shattering skills and picked up the phone to call the police direct-line phone number.
    While the phone was ringing I could see drops of blood falling from my head on to the table in a most inelegant manner.
    Finally the phone was answered, "You have reached your police department, please hold, your call is important to us."
    I hung up and dialled the all service emergency number.
    I was connected to the police immediately and gave them the details and the address, just as the glass door finally shattered and the dreaded invaders (I could now tell there were at least four of them,) yelled out for me to give them all my drugs.
    "Drugs?" They want my vitamin pills? No wait a minute they think I take drugs. They wouldn't know I am allergic to the weed and that I am a control freak who hates losing self-control to some herb or chemical concoction of illicit origin. Gee, even the doctor has to threaten me with alternative punishments to get me to take prescription medicine.
    So I shouted back at them, "We don't have any."
    I grabbed my half-dressed, better half and ran out the door on the other side of our love-nest, we call our home, into the street.
    The police and the neighbours arrived along with an ambulance.
    One of the neighbours was holding ice to my head and I watched trickling icy blood run down her hand, my blood!
    One of my big butch heterosexual male neighbours went searching for the demolition crew. He was very concerned for his little gay mates as he calls us.
    As he was returning from his search I had to stop the police from drawing their guns on him, he truly looked an image of terminator proportions, lurching down street, baseball bat at the ready in his hands. When I explained who he was, one of the police officers said, "Just as well he didn't find them."
    I could hear the police and neighbours exchanging questions about how could these people, "these scum" do these things, about how difficult it was to stop the criminal element, when I heard myself exclaim, "You are asking the wrong questions. You should be asking how come we have developed a society where individuals attack others?"
    In other words, "the system is broke and needs fixing."
    The answers of deprivation, poor education, poverty, unemployment, social injustice and inequality of opportunity as a contribution to crime seems to be furthest from some people's minds.
    Yes, I know there are criminal cartels and drug addicted crazies out there who have abandoned any sense of right and wrong, but they would be less in number if our social structure ensured large portions of the population were not deprived of their basic human rights and self-esteem for the sake of profit that amounts to no more than "legitimate" business avarice.
    These are my thoughts on such matters only, I am sure you have yours.
    I vacate the soapbox.
    PS. I am okay and you can't see any scars because of my old age wrinkles.
  5. DesDownunder
    Hi everyone,
    I finished this story a few weeks ago. Blue has since edited it for me and posted it in my hosted pages at Codey's World. It was supposed to be a contribution to the "Back to School" collection at Codey's World, but the computer crashed and had to be replaced, thus holding up the story's completion.
    With Codey being in such ill health I forgot I promised him I would put a notice here to let you all know about it.
    So I will rectify that now, here is the link:
    The Best Memories Of Their Lives
    My heart is not really in this story at the moment, but I thought it might take my mind off things if I prattle on a bit.
    This is a bit of a different story for me. It is not so much a comedy but has a kind of black humour about it.
    I have drawn from my real life experiences for many of the "memories" and then crazily mixed up the fiction with the real so that the incidents themselves are not as autobiographical as you might think, and yet some of them are.
    Perhaps you would like to guess:
    1. Which of these incidents in the story are not based on an actual experience?
    2. Which characters are pure fiction?
    If there is sufficient interest I will reveal all, some time down the track.

    All comments welcome (flames will be loved with much laughter).
    Come to think of it why do I never get flamed? I must try harder.
  6. DesDownunder
    Whatever must you all be thinking of me? I mean it is 12 days since my last blog entry.
    So to catch up, my ribs a re much better, thanks. I have a short story in editing stage and I have a new computer operating without Vista.
    I think I might have a new poem coming on, but these things can be elusive.
    I know I had worked out the opening lines just before I fell asleep last night, but I can't remember a thing about them today, but it was a great idea and I'm sure it revealed several fascinating details about the human condition.
    Talking about the human condition I always feel it should be available at the supermarket on the shelf alongside the human shampoo.
    Our local supermarket probably wouldn't stock it though, as it is run by homophobic moron managers.
    A wonderful, efficient, cheerful and intelligent young man in his early twenties has been the life of the checkouts, ever since he came to work with his hair spiked in the shape of Roman Centurion helmut.
    I of course mentioned to him how much I envied his black spiky hairdo and told him I would have something similar (but in red) if I still had all my hair. He laugh flirtatiously with me and always smiles when he sees me.
    I guess we both pretty much guessed we had a common desire in men's hairstyles, if you get my meaning?
    Anyway a couple of weeks ago he was checking me out, or was I checking him out? No he was checking out my groceries...Oh dear that sounds kinky doesn't it?
    A couple of weeks ago he was scanning my goods...errr, registering my prices, ringing up my items?
    I was at the checkout counter with my purchases when I noticed he had blonded the spikes of his hair, but left the sides of his hair jet black. It suited his dark features and I complimented him on the hair style.
    "The boss doesn't like it," he told me, "I have to have it normal by Monday or they will fire me."
    "That's outrageous," I said, "An invasion of your personal self expression."
    "That's what the union said," he said to me, "so they are going to talk to management tomorrow."
    "Well if you need someone to say they are happy with your work, I am willing to stand by you." I told him. He thanked me.
    Of course I would have been willing to stand, sit, kneel or lay down by him, but I didn't say so. I didn't want to scare the poor boy. I thought he was probably already stressed out enough.
    He thanked me again, as I gathered up the scanned goods and departed with spiky images stored for late night fantasies at my house.
    A few days later I saw him again and he said that management wasn't pleased but the union had made it clear, his hair style was not to be subject of his performance...as a checkout operator. He thought they would try to get him to resign though.
    A few more days passed and I had to go back to the supermarket for some more stuff, I swear I spend half my life there, when I realized I hadn't seen the spiky-haired one, lately.
    So I asked the friendly but not so cute tubby checkout guy where he was. Now this youngish, but not terribly bright fellow looked to his left, then to his right, then leaning across the counter as he slowly confided to me, "They wanted to fire him, because of his hair, but the union wouldn't let them because his hair is an expression of his h-o-m-o-sex-u-ality."
    "Quite right too," I said, working overtime to keep as straight a face as I could, "None of their business."
    "Yes," he said, "It shouldn't make a difference as long as he does his work."
    Today I learned the spiked hairdo has left for a job in another supermarket some miles away.
    I will miss getting my goods checked out by him.
    The supermarket management is badly in need of some humane conditioning.
    I hope my spiky-haired checkout guy is happier with his new job.
    I am sure his new employer will be satisfied with his work.
  7. DesDownunder
    I can't believe I have done it again. No not that, you dirty minded boys!
    You may remember, or not, that sometime ago I fell up some marble stairs and broke some front ribs.
    This time I fell backwards in the bath tub and did the back ribs in, (just so I would even things up.)
    My feet slipped out from under me and I was aware I was doing a horizontal levitation before crashing my right ribs into the side of the bath. Actually I was unlucky as I am so light I would have floated down except for the force of the shower water hitting me and speeding up my fall.
    As I was descending, I realised I was wondering if this was "it." Would I strike my head and and crack my skull open and watch my braincell being swept down the drain, swirling in a mass of blood and gooey bits? Would I paralyse myself and just drown in the hot water, my time of death being concealed by the heat of the water?
    I could imagine the b/f coming home and finding my remains all wrinkled by the running water and telling me I had aged quite noticeably since this morning.
    Staggering quickly to my feet, I deduced I had done the ribs in, but wasn't in too bad a shape otherwise.
    I cancelled the fun I had planned for the shower and dried myself with the warm fluffy towel.
    Ice pack to the ribs helped diminish the bruising and the pain.
    But the soreness cut in by morning. So I will just have to grin and bare it for a few weeks while it heals.
    Fortunately, for me, it doesn't hurt to type, so I will be able to report to you all.
    When the next door neighbour heard about me falling in the tub, she announced that perhaps I should think about a nursing home.
    Over my dead body, that's going to happen.
    Perhaps I should get some strong muscly young man to help me shower? Yeah that sounds like a plan.
  8. DesDownunder
    Setting aside (at last - sort of) the woes of my days,
    I am delighted to report that I have had my evil ways,
    With the computer software installation,
    And set it up for minimal infestation,
    By wanderers of Trojan harms
    So I am alerted with many alarms,
    To all attempts of corruption
    Of my new toy.
    I seem to have run out of rhymes,
    Because I am having the best of times.
    Whose blog is this anyway?
    Should I run away,
    Before I am found out,
    and beaten to a pulp.
    There it happened again
    No more rhyming,
    So I will abstain,
    from trying,
    Wow is this ever insane? I'll,
    Stop now before I became banal.

  9. DesDownunder
    I hate to say I told you so, but I didn't did I?
    I never actually said it out loud. So I will say it now.
    The current practise of looking for someone to blame
    instead of seeking to solve problems is going to cause
    the downfall of our society.
    There I said it.
    What brought this on you may well ask, and I will tell you
    because I want you to know, and I am sure you want to know, too, now.
    I have suffered under numerous bureaucrats, managers and
    other legal obsessed individuals in positions of power in the
    workplace to see that they all, were totally unaware of the principle
    of trust in others, mostly because they had never considered
    anything other than their own failings of which their greed and ambition
    were high priorities.
    Assumption of the worst in mankind begets exactly that and more.
    Treat people like idiots and you will encourage idiocy.
    Treat people like automatons and you will get robots.
    Treat people like loving caring, humane individuals and
    you just might support someone who makes life worthwhile.
    At the moment I am reeling under the influence of computer
    stupidity. The Vista operating system engineers have taken the easy way out of
    the security issue by forcing their concepts of doing useful work.
    Like the Nazi, legal, bureaucrats referred to above, the computer software
    designers have no idea of the requirements of human endeavour
    and creativity.
    Bounded by their own mediocrity and "intelligent backsides", we find ourselves
    having to cope with inadequate solutions to very real problems.
    When will these people realise that human beings need freedom as individuals
    to create, work and even simply have fun?
    So what can we do?
    I wish I knew. In fact I have a pretty good idea of what we can do, but apart from that,
    we can all help by letting them know that we are like Peter Finch in the movie
    "Network," when he said:
    "I am as a mad as Hell and I'm just not going to take it anymore."
    Go on, go over to the window and yell it to whomever is listening.
    Better still go out the front door, into the street and shout it as loudly as you can.
    It will make you feel better.
    Then send out an invitation to Microsoft and Apple and anyone else you know of their ilk
    to join us in a "Love-in."
    These people need Love. Lots of it too, I would guess at a pinch.
    These people have become dickheads, because they have forgotten how to
    masturbate and so play with their braincell instead, probably because it is bigger.
    We need to organise a mass demonstration of how trust can make a difference.
    Put all these computer nerds in one big room without any clothes and see if they
    can come up with any solutions...
    We should show them the greatest achievements of the human race have come
    from individuals who have been encouraged by both adversity and inspiration, but never by
    deprivation of their ability to be creative.
    Computers are great tools with a promise of extending human abilities but not in the form that Vista takes.
    I did tell you I don't like Vista didn't I?

  10. DesDownunder
    As I promised, (or did I threaten? I can't remember) I have returned. (you there in the back row, stop groaning!)
    I have a new computer, a new fence and the B/f has a new clutch..in his car, and the Bank has a better return on the money it has loaned us, but most important of all, the local supermarket has installed a new donut machine, so we have donuts for breakfast again. The B/f is overjoyed.
    (It doesn't take much to keep him happy, but then you only have to look at me to know that.
    I managed to replace the fence for only a couple of hundred dollars more than fixing the old one. I found a handyman who is an excellent tradesman. He worked steadily away all day listening to a Left wing radio station whilst cursing our present Right wing politicians, all so he that could raise his kids. What a nice man.
    For those with the curiosity on all geek things, the old computer's motherboard mouse circuitry expired.
    I had been promising myself a new computer for September, but was holding out for the new AMD quad cores motherboards.
    Unfortunately they did not materialize here and the international reviews are still indicating the Intels as better.
    As it was a new machine, I could get Windows Vista OS at greatly reduced cost along with Office 2007.
    I am not happy. Oh the computer is fine 6600 Intel quad 4 core with 4 gig RAM plus 2x500 gig Hard drives. What I am not happy with is Vista.
    Now before you all go telling me I should have got a Mac, let me explain somethings to you.
    I am of the opinion that we humans have a genetic disposition to either Mac or Windows.
    Trying to tell me that I should use a Mac is like telling me I should sleep with a woman.
    It ain't gonna happen!
    And that is what is so infuriating about Windows Vista, If I had wanted a Mac I would have bought one.
    At the moment Linux is looking rather inviting as the most readily available OS that will allow exploration of the computer development and environment, as opposed to the Mac and now Windows pre-emptive control over for what and how we use our computers.
    To carry my sex life analogy a little further, I rather feel like I have woken up with a couple of transgendered persons (one of each) either side of me, each one trying to be like the other whilst vying to excite me, of course without success.
    So in case you haven't got the idea, I detest Vista and Office 2007 has, for all intents and purposes been neutered. I can't see that it will be productive or even reproductive in its present form.
    The free office programs are going to be very popular, seducing everyone with with their well known attributes.
    I would tell Mac and Windows to go do things to each other but I rather feel they already have.
    Oh well, fortunately (to a degree) Xp is more than adequate for my needs and Vista can sit on the other hard drive until Bill fixes it or replaces it, hopefully not with another abortion.
    So now I have the joy of rebuilding and installing lots of software.
    I just hope it is all worthwhile...
    Now if I can just train the b/f not to use my morning wood as a donut rack.
    err donut anyone?
  11. DesDownunder

    (39) Don't Fence Me In

    By DesDownunder,

    What next can go wrong?
    No don't tell me. I don't want to know.
    After all the other various catastrophes (see previous blog entries) the fence blew over in reasonably mild storm. I have shopped around Very carefully and have found a man who will fix the fence for $400.
    But the old fence is next to useless. The wooden railings have rotted. The posts have snapped off beneath the earth and a new fence is only $930. Bargain! Should I get two in case of another storm?
    (No, the insurance won't cover the fence as storm damage because the wood had rotted.) Silly me for thinking otherwise. I am so stupid.
    On top of that the computer has gone sillier than me. I have to start the thing then wait for it to not open Windows while it goes to a black screen, then press the reboot button. It then boots up okay. Office has stopped working properly. It has dropped back to an old install?? So I will need to update that.
    Now all of this is just a drain on my meagre savings. I soon won't have enough money to pay the boyfriend to keep living with me. Not that he charges much. So long as I keep him fed with donuts for breakfast he is happy.
    You guessed it, his favourite donuts come from the supermarket where their donut machine broke down and they can't get parts to fix it.
    So I have to make scones or toast and the b/f is not looking happy at all. He wants his donuts.
    I have asked the fencing fellow to put the new fence up as fast as he can so I will be able to let the b/f out into the backyard without fear of him running away. At the moment he is locked in the bedroom and I only let him out to shower or go to the video store to work to earn the money I am spending on cars, fences, printers, scanners and computers, all of which I need, so that the video store business will attract customers who continually believe that their sole purpose on the planet is to scratch the DVDs they hire from us. Although I will admit some of the DVDs, when they are returned, look like they have been used to serve the orderves Hors d??uvres at a garden party. I won't mention those that have teeth marks from where the hirers' kids have used the DVD for a Frisbee for their pet dog to catch.
    But I am not complaining, you understand, I have my health (so long as I can afford to buy my heart medicine, along with my vitamin supplements.)
    Thursday I have to take the b/f's car in for a new clutch. The car not the b/f. Thankfully his clutch is still fine, so long as the lights are out.

  12. DesDownunder
    A local news magazine reported that a poetry reading group in Adelaide was having some issues with a person who wanted to read what some people regard as porn.
    Now I should explain that this poetry reading group has been around since the 1970s, but because I have been a shift worker and an avid supporter of whatever free time I have should be devoted to getting my rocks off, rather than reading poetry, I have never attended their meetings.
    However my recently awoken interest in poetry (caused by Awesome Dude) and the story itself piqued my interest, so I went to their monthly meeting last night.
    What a group of lefties. So that's where the left went. Of course there were a few representatives of the right, but in the spirit of live and let live they were heard with polite applause or giggles sniggers or even a roll of the eyes.
    The porn fellow was most uninteresting, but many thought he should be heard as they did not want to introduce thoughts of censorship into the meeting or the group itself.
    Freedom of expression and all that was protected with the usual cries of defending the rights of people to be heard. He was given the last slot of the evening to read his stuff, so people could leave if they didn't want to hear him.
    I read two of my poems published in AwesomeDude Forums and Codey's World. No one batted an eyelid, and I received a lot of applause and pats on the back for my efforts.
    I of course took the opportunity to plug AD and CW. So Dude and Codey can expect a few new visitors at the sites.
    All this brought my mind to realising how stimulating it was to read my poems and listen to others.
    There was over a 150 people at the meeting.
    I cannot begin to explain how great it was to be in room of inspiring and aspiring poets. Good bad and indifferent poems were read and all were accorded polite or enthusiastic reception.
    So Guys I recommend you find a local poet's group read your stuff, promote CW and AD if you can, and you may well find yourself inspired to write more.
    And yes there were some very cute guys there, who knows your next lover may be a poet.
  13. DesDownunder
    As strange as it will seem to our Northern siblings, today is the first day of spring in Australia.
    This is due to the tilt of the Earth's orbit and axis, (which, despite those who think otherwise is not part of an axis of evil), bringing the Southern Hemisphere to a greater exposure to the Sun.
    Walking in space, this can be clearly be seen and is a wonderful site.
    To walk in space by the way all you have to do is close your eyes and step off the edge of the world.
    This also should provide you with the knowledge that any axis of evil is all in the minds of certain politicians who only see evil wherever they look.
    Springtime in Australia has no relationship to Springtime for Hitler, talking about Axis of evil.
    Our own evil obsessed politicians are to be voted upon in a forth coming election and the good people of Australia are intent on trying to work out the lesser of those evils to elect to power. Power of course is usually just one axis of evil after another.
    Today however, the sun is shining and the birds are singing. The young men are trying on their bathing costumes and the rest of us are having evil thoughts about that.
    Tanning shops are selling tans at horrendously evil prices for those who don't have enough time to bath in the sun for a natural tan, owing to the fact that they all have evil jobs that make them work till after sundown, but at least they have the money to pay for the tan.
    Spring carnivals, we call them "Royal Shows," are being prepared in every state. Sales of candy floss (would you believe we call it "Fairy floss") along with rancid hot dogs in mouldy bread left over from last week's football games will be sold at evilly obscene prices, along with meat pies covered in sauce or sitting in a bowl of pea soup which we call a "pie floater."
    The Royal Shows have what we call side shows with really evil rides that usually end up being quite unsafe. It is a good idea to not stand near these rides as the riders sometimes vomit up the aforementioned hot dogs or pies, or both, and it flies out all over the bystanders in the crowd. Luckily it usually rains in the afternoons and washes people clean as they head home with an evil head cold.
    Spring also sets young people to fancy evil thoughts about what they would like to do to each other and thankfully for them, they usually manage to succeed in have a fun time doing it. Older people of course are obsessed with stopping them from having such fun, simply because they have forgotten how to have it themselves, or so the young think.
    Anyway I will leave you to ponder the evil joys of Springtime in OZ as you Northerners head into Autumn - Fall before the evils of Winter over take you and Summer burns the hell out of us downunder.
    What a wonderful World!

  14. DesDownunder
    So we had a storm. First, the wind blew out the pilot light on the water heater.
    Then the wind blew the side fence over at an angle of 30 degrees leaning into the street; its jagged edges just waiting to decapitate the early morning joggers. The gutter is conveniently placed nearby to catch their heads.
    I had to get the care serviced. I get it serviced every year whether it needs it or not. This year it only cost $210. I think the mechanic was pleased that I warned him to put a plastic sheet on the car seat to protect his overalls.
    The side wing of my glasses fell off, but the wasn't caused by the storm.
    The good news is that the glasses will be fixed under warranty.
    The fence repairer wants $ 40 a metre to fix it. (10 x 40 = $400).
    Where am I am going to find $400?
    Mature age men don't usually make that much money in a month, no matter what talents they may have.
    So I find the local Tool hire shop and guess what? They have a post hole digger for $80 a day.
    I'll need 9 posts and 3 bags of cement. Oh goody I can do it myself and save $200.
    The supermarket has stopped making fresh donuts. What will we have for breakfast now?
    I'm exhausted just thinking about it all...I'm going to have a rest.
    At least the wind has stopped.

  15. DesDownunder
    Are Blogs Draining? The title for this entry occurred to me whilst I was putting the finishing touches to my new short story soon to be released at a Codey's World near you. (don't hold your breath it needs editing yet.)
    It seemed to me that just maybe, blog writing may drain the creative impulses away from the writing of a good story, or a bad one for that matter.
    If we put in a lot effort in the short term to make sure our cute insightful blogs are fun, interesting or just plain readable, does that deplete our creative energy? Does it concentrate our resources into the blog when they should be going into our stories?
    On the other hand, yes I have two of them, does writing anything, even a blog keep the impetus to write, alive? Is there a line of demarcation one should watch, just to make sure that the literary prize is not being hi-jacked by some frivolous but clever blog remark?
    Are our darkest moments revealed in our blogs actually the stuff upon which our novella dreams thrive?
    So perhaps the blogs should be simple statements of fact devoid of creative writing.
    How can an author lower himself to do that? We write and must write as best we can.
    So if the blog bogs down the creative drain
    then the blog shall be first to block the bog
    and we authors will need to be plumbers
    to unblock the bogs of our minds so that
    the s**t can flow freely once again.
    Or am I missing the toilet paper here?
    Goodness me, after all that, I feel quite flushed.
  16. DesDownunder
    I don't understand it. I am snowed under with work galore.
    I have a dozen things to do all by tomorrow or next Thursday.
    I have just made a snack and sit down at the computer to read and eat,
    when without warning a phrase goes pop, into my head.
    I have to write that down.
    Fifteen minutes later I have a poem.
    A wretched silly poem!
    I also have a cold bowl of rice with hot-sauce,
    and none of my work even started.
    An hour later I am happy with the tweaking of said poem,
    but realise that some people are not going to cope with it at all.
    Why me? Why did the muse attack me at this time?
    Why was I selected to bring this vision to fruition?
    Did everyone else turn it down?
    That must be it.
    I got the left-overs.
    Everyone else had the good sense to not get involved in such a poetic travesty.
    Not me though, oh no.
    I had to go and let myself be used by the dark side to write and post the poem.
    I should have signed it as Darth Downunder. No too obvious.
    A poem for bedtime...
    "Safe As Houses" now at Codey's World

  18. DesDownunder
    So it's going to be one of those winters is it?
    Freezing one week, warm and balmy the next.
    Things happen in threes it is said. I hope they're right.
    First the inkjet printers blew up or stopped working, both of them.
    Nothing lasts forever. They had only printed about 30000 pages between them.
    And that was using refill ink. na na to the manufacturer.
    Second the scanner decided to insert vertical lines in every scan. Not just thin unobtrusive lines but bold broad sweeps of dark lines. So I get a new scanner and a new laser printer.
    Then last night I am having a wonderful shower. (Not THAT wonderful, you bad boys.) I was happily shampooing my hair, or what remains of my hair, making mad passionate love to the water, embracing the streams of pulsating liquid warmth whilst icy winds blow outside the house, when without any warning, the water goes frigid.
    Now I know how a man feels on his wedding night, when his wife suddenly loses all interest in making him hot. I felt jilted in the shower. All frothed and foamed up with no hot water to lovingly caress me.
    So after cursing all the taps in the bathroom a trickle of lukewarm water runs out the shower which is just sufficient to rinse off my soapy toned wrinkled aged body and most of my hair on the ends of which, icicles are forming.
    Sixteen hours later a dwarf appears in my back yard. No it is not a garden gnome. It is the hot water plumber. He is one of those small stocky built men. You know the type with a thick neck and short legs set wide apart. I stand watching him from behind as he leans into his tool box, wondering if anyone else has ever had this view of his back. He is very jovial, just happy to do his job at the rate of $110 for the first half-HOUR, plus $25 for each 15 minutes thereafter until my hot water is gassed backed into life, or I faint with financial apoplexy. Oh plus parts. $190. Oh well its cheaper than the $850 for a new heater.
    Aren't overdrafts wonderful? If the bank is as lazy about me paying as it is about giving low interest rates, I shall be in an old folks home in a trance before they realise I have no visible means of support.
    So I jump back into the shower to finish my shampoo, "I'm gonna wash that gnome right out of my head..."

  19. DesDownunder
    Why do I do these things to myself?
    I am obsessed with sound and music and drama...don't say it...I know what you are thinking...drama-queen! Right? I suppose it sounds better than music-Queen.
    So I decided I would record my poems for posterity. "Why Butterfly" was a test post.
    Just posted at Codey's World is my poem called, "A Scent of Love."
    This was not easy. I wanted to do something a bit different. I gave much thought to what I could do with the poem.
    I began rehearsing the lines while driving across the city of Adelaide to the Video store.
    Have you ever noticed that other drivers think you are a little weird when you talk out loud whilst driving the car?
    One fellow circled his finger around his ear to signify that he thought I had bats in the belfry.
    I smiled at him, but he put his foot to the floor and drove off in a huff.
    I continued reciting my poem out loud in the car. Just as I recited the line, "I loved him and forever I could tell..." at the traffic lights a woman looked at me from the safety of her car and smiled at me. If I read her lips correctly she either said, "It's alright dear" or "He's not worth it."
    On top of all that I caught a cold or flu or something and my voice went hoarse. I was neighing and hacking everywhere all over the poem, all over the house and all over me.
    The car was the only place I didn't cough. Maybe I have found a cure for coughing, drive the car.
    Determined like the trooper I am I pressed on and after weeks of cursing the beta of Audacity (great program) and auditioning a great cast of character ideas, rehearsing the musicians, and consulting with my doctor, who stupidly told me to go home to bed, I finally finished the epic.
    It is now available to hear for your amusement at Codey's World sound page:
    http://www.codeysworld.com/audio.html
    You decide if I am a drama queen or not.
  20. DesDownunder
    My sense of smell has returned; I can smell the donuts again.
    I can always tell when I am getting better after a bout of the flu' or a cold etc,
    I start to feel myself again. - (You people have one track minds!)
    I also start to feel like feeling the boyfriend again.
    So I told him at breakfast I was feeling better.
    "Anyone I know?" he asked.
    I looked at him. This was unusual, the b/f cracked a joke in the morning, before he finished eating his donuts too.
    It usually takes him all day to work up to a joke.
    Wait a minute, that's the clue, he's not making a joke.
    "Oh I am sorry," I say, "but I have been sick, and I didn't want to give you my cold.
    erm...How long is it since we..."
    "Nearly two weeks," he says looking down at the donut on his plate with almost a lusty stare.
    "Two weeks? Two weeks! oh you poor dear, you must be ready for experimenting with inanimate objects."
    "Oh No. It is alright, I have you." he says with just the faintest flicker of humour in his gorgeous brown eyes.
    "I'll make it up to you, or you can make it up..."
    "That would be nice," he says.
    Nice, nice? Since when has our unbridled excursions into celebrating the meaning of love, been nothing more than "nice?"
    I have my work cut out for me. I'll do the romantic dinner thing tonight, and then a hot tub followed by a lot of cuddling while we watch a movie and then..."

    Okay it is the next morning.
    We both fell asleep in front of a very boring movie.
    Breakfast is looking back at us again. Hot donuts look very tempting at the moment.
    "Tonight?' I ask.
    "Tonight!" he affirms.
    "Tonight, tonight
    I'll see my love tonight.."
    I love the smell of donuts in the morning.

  21. DesDownunder
    I made some scones tonight.
    The supermarket donuts have taken a turn for the worse,
    So I made the scones.
    I used the oven to bake them.
    The boyfriend said the donuts were making him feel ill,
    So I made scones.
    Now I suppose the scones will make him feel ill too.
    He has been eating donuts for breakfast for ten years.
    He suddenly blames them for making him feel ill.
    Personally I think he has caught my cold.
    But the donuts got the blame for him feeling ill.
    I made scones.
    This blog entry will be entered into the most inane blog entry competition.
    The first prize will probably be a plate of scones,
    or donuts.

  22. DesDownunder

    (27) My Land

    By DesDownunder,

    I don't know how long this newspaper link will be available, but thought you might like to see some shots of my state of South Australia. I am tempted to say the photos make it look better than it is, but that could just be that living here we tend to take it all for granted.
    http://www.news.com.au/adelaidenow/story/0...from=public_rss
    Photo Number 3 is not my house.

  23. DesDownunder
    I was looking through the illustrious blogs here at AwesomeDude, when I had a terrible thought.
    I wasn't struck by the number of people all having various traumatic moments, myself included, as I was by the way we all rushed in, keyboard at the ready, to offer help, assistance and just plain good wishes to all of us who were suffering, having a down moment.
    Then I thought about the real world outside of AwesomeDude and Codey's World. The raging car drivers, the insane profiteers, the elite socialites fussing over inanities, the mindless robberies, thuggings, muggings and various other horrors of existence on Earth, all made me think an even more terrifying thought. What if we, few in number that we are, what if we are all that is left of the nice , the good, and caring human beings on the planet.
    Has it come to this that we are all that remains of what is good about human existence?
    Now that is a scary thought.
    Okay, I know it is not true. I know there lots of good people all over the globe, but we only get reports of the bad guys doing horrible things. Acts of violence and mayhem are everywhere.
    So I have decided to turn off the computer for few hours and go out there and see if I can be nice to someone, whether they want me to or not. Damn it, I'm going to go and love someone just for being on the planet at the same time as me.
    Or is that another scary thought?
    Peace and love, my brothers and sisters, are not scary thoughts.

    This hippie moment brought to you by DesDownUnder.
  24. DesDownunder
    I haven't been blogging,
    Because I've been logging,
    A few sick days in bed,
    With a cough and sore head
    And no, I haven't had fun, flogging.
    Right so much for the poetry.
    I feel better now. Have you ever noticed how much better you feel after you visit the doctor.
    I have a great doctor.
    I turned up at the doctor's rooms ten minutes early.
    He sees me straight away. It pays to get the first appointment after lunch.
    I tell him all my woes outlining a plethora of symptoms.
    I hand him a sheet of paper I have typed up on the computer listing the degradations of my bodily functions with times and places of their occurrences.
    He glances at it and throws it aside on the desk. -Just throws it aside as if it was unnecessary!
    Doesn't he realise that the clues to making me alive and well again are contained in the detailed analysis I spent hours typing up for him.
    I could have been resting, sleeping in bed, but no, I am aware that his time is precious so I spent all of the previous night on the computer looking up my symptoms on the Internet; all to help him diagnose the hour of my demise and he just throws it aside like a piece of junk mail.
    He takes my temperature and blood pressure. He listens to my chest and then my lungs.
    "Say Ahhh," he commands, and he looks down my mouth, probably looking for tell tale signs of my sex life.
    "Aha!" he says.
    "What?" I ask.
    "You have a chest infection."
    "And?"
    "Rest up a few days and you will be fine."
    "That's it? I'm not at death's door?"
    "Not as far as I can tell," he says.
    I wonder about getting a second opinion. "As far as you can tell? Should I be concerned?"
    He laughs a boyish giggle and raises an eyebrow with an impish grin, "Just go home and rest. You'll be fine. Trust me I'm a doctor." We both burst out laughing at that remark.
    "Thanks Doc I feel better already."
    "Of course you do." He smiles as he holds the door open for me.
    I sign the medicare papers and walk outside. The sun is shining. I feel great.
    He is such a good doctor.
  25. DesDownunder
    I am really getting a little tired of feeling yucky!
    So bad have I felt that I have not been able to sit for too long at the keyboard.
    All I can do is use one hand to type because the other hand is trying to make me feel better, by wiping my fevered brow.
    (And you thought I was going to be filthy didn't you? Go on admit it.)
    So I lurk around the forums feeling not so good.
    The doctor says I am fine, nothing serious, just getting older, maybe with a "bit of a bug."
    Yikes, getting older! When did this happen?
    What next? Will I start to decay on the spot?
    Rotting flesh falling onto the kitchen floor.
    Perhaps I should get another cat to save me from having to mop up.
    Great clumps of what hair I have left now litters the carpets.
    If I vacuum it up it clogs the vacuum cleaner.
    But then so too do the dead mice.
    A bird of unknown origin died on the driveway overnight.
    I didn't know a thing about it until the boyfriend left to go to the video store and came back into the house screaming about death and dead things all over the yard. I immediately thought of the 'End of Days' and joined him to view this calamitous event in our back yard. I can't really call it the back garden as it is mainly shrivelled weeds.
    I grabbed the shovel and dug a hole and then with great dignity lowered the deceased into the hole.
    Unfortunately it fell off the end of the shovel into the grave hole, causing my darling to shriek in terror.
    "Is it dead?" he screamed. For some reason I thought of John Cleese and the dead Parrot sketch from Fawlty Towers, but I resisted the temptation to pick up the poor dead bird and fling it skyward in the hope that it might take off. This flight had already departed I told him. He is so sensitive.
    I put my arm around him to comfort him. He was shivering. I wondered if he had been meeting this bird behind my back as he drove off in the mornings. I wouldn't haven't minded, I'm not the jealous type.
    We stood silently by the grave uttering our thanks to the gods for the fowls of the air that had fouled up our driveway, and looked carefully to the heavens to see if there were any more dropping down to Earth.
    It was only a small pigeon sized bird. But what had killed it?
    Did it have a heart attack in mid-flight? Was it a suicide?
    Was it bird flu? Well this bird flew no more.
    Bird flu! Bird flu? OMG. We might have bird flu.
    I sterilise the shovel.
    "Quick, quick," I tell the beloved one, " we must wash our hands."
    I ring the council to get the latest news on migrating birds with epidemic diseases.
    They tell me not to worry.
    The boy friend drives off to work muttering something about me being a hypochondriac-drama-queen.
    And he was the one that was screaming!
    I'm going back to bed.

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