smokingboot

He doesn't really know what he wants for his birthday, so I've no clue.

But I'm calling it now, balloon animal cufflinks are not the answer.
https://babette-wasserman.com/product/balloon-dog-cufflinks-yellow-gold/

Dear friend's cat died yesterday. As ever the words don't work. She is devastated. He was such an excellent boy.

I got myself an ice-cream out of the freezer, and was eating it when the doorbell rang. Some guy was there with a parcel for us, Amazon or something (clearly not Evri or it would have been bunged over the back wall.) We chatted for a moment and he told me it was his mum's birthday. I wished her a happy birthday.

'Oh she's in a better place now,' he said, 'she passed last year. But you know, she was 88 and they say you've learned all your lessons by the age of 82. So she's definitely in a better place. She passed all the tests.'
He carried on talking about her for a while, and I listened, seeing no grief in him except perhaps this sign, the need to talk about her. Eventually I asked him if he would like an ice cream in celebration of her day. He declined but blessed me for offering it, and away he went.

And somehow this old song is in my head remembering him and the death of beautiful Malkin and this gents' memory of his mother, all these things.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4Y7IxGG9zg&list=RDS4Y7IxGG9zg&start_radio=1

https://open.substack.com/pub/smokingboot/p/the-hare?r=1r9jj7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

I am actually tempted but the interpretations are wack. (https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/andplay/eternal-garden-tarot). I suspect for this it would be better to draw/photo one's own and scrawl in bits of folklore/herbalism/whatever. I have some ideas, no ability, and questions re time so maybe I'll do this or maybe I won't.

Meanwhile, it seems President Trump is annoyed with our PM for not joining his war quickly enough. Do even his own folk want to join the war? He was the candidate promising no more foreign interventions. We have no input into the decision making, no say in the direction it will take, we can neither shape nor define how it will end. It effectively makes President Trump the Commander-in-Chief of the UK without one UK citizen voting for him, and it might well finish Starmer in the way similar action finished Blair.

Meanwhile President Trump brings down a horrible regime, but with what does he replace it? And in the meantime, if the Straits of Hormuz are closed, the price of oil goes up. Who benefits from that? Good for Russia, I think.

My weight has crept up again. I would love to blame letrozole for this but as I have been stuffing my face with cake and beer and taking no exercise while struggling with a deadline, this really is down to me. Trying to work out whether hypnosis might help. Thoroughly daunted by Ozempic face, going nowhere near it!

Snowfall settled this morning under a pure white sky shot with the most extraordinary limpid grey. Doesn't sound very inspiring but I don't think I ever noticed these radiant shades before. And it gave way to all this blue, fresh and lovely.

To my eyes there's a difference between Spring snow and Winter snow. The quality of light changes things, or maybe I am imagining it, seeing as snow in March is pretty rare around here. It's been a particularly lovely full moon. I don't know where we will go if we move from here, but as time goes on much as I enjoy company, I need more sky.

Stuff got done this week, so now I can stop/read/paint. The only issue really is that my eyes are closing again. Letrozole's weird. I cannot even read now. I must stop for a while.

The East was peach pink this sunrise, and the sky was full of planes.

I am barely awake, everything seems loud.

There's too much to think of. A cup of coffee might help.

In response to the request by

mallorys_camera, here is the horary chart I cast on hearing about the attacks on Iran. The underlying question is 'Will this lead to a world war?' I know, dramatic, but it's the big one.

Here's one interpretation of it, not to be taken too seriously. It's just woo after all. I hope. But very interested to hear other ideas on it, interpretations welcome! To those who don't know much about it, the story starts at 9 on the clock point and runs counter-clockwise around, with each symbol meaning a planet or mathematical point that has a bearing on the matter. Each pizza slice shaped division = an area of influence.

I put it behind a cut because it's long, and very dull to someone not interested.
( The Arse-Biter )

But maybe not, maybe just woo, the dismayed human seeking a story about something far beyond its influence. All we can do right now is hope for peace and prosperity and safety all around. I'm going to believe we'll get there in the end.

A very beautiful full moon last night, sailing fast beyond wind-driven clouds, who also sent plenty of bins careering down the road. I am glad Spring is here. I feel it, despite everything.

Dreamed of the pre-ex-ex. In the dream, we met at a party and ended up kissing passionately. It was an odd one, cos I feel no flame towards him, but I do remember a letter he sent me, promising that in some world, in some other life, he would be kissing me and making love to me forever. The idea was that we couldn't be together in this life but we would be in another to come. It's hard to think of two more half-baked people, honestly. I lost the letter years ago - I'm a romantic but don't trust me with the paperwork - and never thought of it again til this morning, when I woke out of the dream thinking has he carked it? His favourite clip from his favourite film was this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98qgvKUCcrk I was meant to be Cher. I know I should be flattered but... anyway apart from being insane, he always had an underlying ruthlessness and attachment to money he blamed on being an orphan. Whatever the reason, folk with that lean and hungry look tend to last, so I'm sure he'll be around longer than I will. But it was an odd moment. I am dreaming a whole bunch of bits and pieces I associate with death.

Maybe my subconscious is being influenced by the news. Confused by President Trump's move, wasn't he the Keep America Out of Foreign Wars Candidate? Not that anyone is going to mourn the end of the mad mullahs.But he does have this habit of lighting the blue touchpaper and standing back. I was so worried I did an horary chart for the whole thing, and maybe at some point I will put it up. But for now I must settle into more work.

This contradiction pleases me.

My efforts are still slow and foggy and I have missed a deadline. But I can't be blamed for that, what I do is what I can do. It's not up to par by a long way but there is definitely improvement.

I got good news this week, but won't go into that. I also got disappointing news but I won't go into that either. The good outweighed the bad.

Meanwhile there was great socialising and far too much food alongside strange dreams. One was on Wednesday night, very short but vivid, a bubble of blood spilling out of a mouth. I didn't know if it was mine, but when the bubble popped in a non-messy non-splatty way, I could speak. It was better. Better than what ? I don't know.

Then last night I had a dream that may have been born of ridiculous amounts of food, but was so pleasant I decided to record it anyway. I was in a house with two toilets. I went to the outside privy only to find it had been completely overtaken by flowers, they were blossoming in the pan and all over it. I told myself I would pull them out and clean the whole thing up when they had finished blooming, then I went away and left it to grow.

On returning to a house I saw something like a glass screen, and behind it was underwater at first. I saw tadpoles, really big long tailed ones and then frogs with extremely long spindly limbs. Then I saw that the back lifted onto a tree root supported riverbank, and between the holes I could see foxes and weasels and many more little mammals watching from behind them.

I didn't realise til I woke that today is the first day of Spring, but clearly my subconscious knows more than I do. And though every thing is just that little bit harder than it was - even writing this post feels like effort - still, all is moving.

Yesterday was a pleasant if slightly serious day. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine experienced a slight but constant pain in her back between her shoulders. It stopped when she paused doing stuff, proof, were any needed, that activity is a dubious friend. She went to the doctor, tests were done, all was well, ECG fine, but the medic was still troubled, something didn't 'feel right', and ordered an angiogram.

That was when the need for a triple bypass was discovered. Some kind of hereditary problem. Stents were a possibility but they would need replacing, so instead they decided to use arterial material from within her leg to create the bypass. They didn't need it all, so she said they could use the rest in research. Question I dared not ask: if they use leg arteries, what happens when the legs need blood? Of course there's more than one blood conduit in a lower limb, but I am ignorant on the subject. She was in a bind, I think, a naturally very chatty person at once wanting and fearing to talk about it. Far more cheerful for her were her tales of the other patients, the doctors and nurses and doings on the ward. She says she gets better each day, and there's hope she can join us for the games night some chums hope to host this weekend, but if I am any judge of expression, her fatigue quickly overpowers her eagerness. My sense is that Games Night will be too much.

We left having brought gifts of puzzles, a crochet flower, and The Number One Ladies Detective Agency. We wanted to bring these to the hospital, but R caught something covid-like and it seemed too risky.

And last night? A dream of Daft Bint sitting down glowering to inform me and some other people that she was going to Crete to find Chokmah and copyright it. I couldn't help smiling and she turned to me with some asperity, demanding to know what I found so funny. I kept my temper, spoke a little about those who had tried, in the past, tried to copyright concepts, but whether or not she heard anything is another matter. She was in a foul temper about something, and I couldn't help wondering what Cretan Zeus would do with such a cheerful visitor. Before or after this I was in a market I know well in my dreamworld, it changes but you can buy a lot of things there, including perfectly useless junk. However, it attaches to a kind of museum street, and from there is a mausoleum I keep almost visiting. It has something to do with Rome, there is a path under the earth I should get to but never quite do, and sure enough, I didn't this time either.

Special treat from R last night!

It was enchanting, and I became a little girl caught up in the ethereal beauty of the swans and Tchaikovsky's music, momentarily wanting to be the Queen Mother because she had the most fabulous cloak, pink and purple and billowing. She didn't have to dance at all, just make imperial gestures and get exasperated with her stupid son. I reckoned to be able to do that.

It could be argued that practice in this was available thanks to the row right behind us, which held four young women who just couldn't help a little chat here and there. They went completely silent after the interval, except for the moment when, on seeing a ballerina appear wearing a beautiful black tutu studded with red gems, the group detective hissed 'it's the black swan!' Thank you Sherlock. But they were locked in, as were we all. Weak points? This was a happy ending version, so the defeat of the sorcerer needed more drama, more combative elements. Also, Von Rothbart had a stupid hat. Strong points? Everything else.

“I don’t think it’s very fair that he’s just been nicked. They’ve arrested him in a Range Rover, brand-spanking new — why didn’t he go in the back of a Mondeo like anybody else?”

Oh my.

I recall seeing Fergie leap out of a car, slam the door, and race down the street followed by hapless bodyguards. What struck me then was her bandy legged sprint; I couldn't help thinking that whoever she was seeing, she could calm down a bit. Having said that, Fergie would outpace Usain Bolt for a free meal. Even then she had the rep of a grifter, albeit a very genial one. Other colleagues had tales to tell of the pair of them; she and Andy were known for bad table manners ('they eat like pigs'), and treating restaurant staff with no courtesy whatsoever. But then Cookie, Anne, and Margaret alike were all reputed to be capable of rudeness, expecting the world to put up and shut up due to their station. Never can tell really. Re Andy and Fergie stories, these were the same staff members complaining that Princess Diana was too tall with a big nose and a lucky face for photos. I am not sure what diplomats really know, but for proper irreverant goss, check in with embassy secretaries, at once vicious and shrewd. True? Couldn't say. Entertaining? Every day of the week.

The Yorks were universally considered exemplars of crass behaviour by those around them. Andrew is/was one of the most colossally spoilt men in the world. Can he have been as colossally stupid as it would take, to maintain relations with Epstein, then lie about them, and solidly keep lying? Can he really have forwarded confidential trade documents to Epstein, which seems the most likely basis for this charge? Even supposing him to be immeasurably infantile and greedy, could he be this foolish? What's he been doing with his money to need this kind of friend?

The King says what he must say, and it's true: The law must take its course.

The strange thing is this; in principle I am against the idea of monarchy, though I do see how it could be a waymarker for a nation, maybe even a binding power among disparate groups within the whole, the person who is and always will be above party politics, the person who exists to be your group egregore, the embodiment of your values, people, land. I can see it as a poetic conceit, maybe even a spiritual one. But I have never agreed with the inherent inequality of it, and royal finances need a proper squint, for they seem singularly obtuse. Yet somehow the death of the queen sealed my place as an Elizabethan, rather than a Carolingian or a Williamite. Do I miss her, do I feel for her? Probably not, but I do feel for the times she represented. And I am glad, for the sake of fond mums everywhere, that she was not around to see her favourite boy's disgrace splashed on the front page of every paper.

In her normal days Mum was a thorough hypochondriac on behalf of the entire family. As a child she contacted diptheria,and was only saved by the serum produced from injecting horses with diphtheria toxins to stimulate the production of antibodies in their blood. This was in 1930s/40s Spain, after the Civil War. Even in all that carnage folk knew how to drive away the terrible 'strangling angel of chidren'*. Mum learned her lesson well into adulthood. We were basically NHS pincushions.

Now of course she has forgotten all that. As have others, apparently, cue a sudden burst of measles in London. Measles! That old nursery bogey! Measles was sorted many years ago, yet somehow here we are again. People don't trust institutional authorities any more, some fear what they perceive as the medical/pharmaceutical industry's pursuit of profit, some never got told and some just plain forgot about getting their kids vaccinated around/after Covid. So much, too much. Still, it isn't an epidemic and hopefully won't become one. Fingers crossed for the old town.

And in that same old town, Bro is discovered to have elevated PSA levels. Docs found nothing to worry about but suggest a biopsy. He ain't doing it, despite my powers of persuasion (aka eye-rolling and saying 'for Christ's sake, just get on with it.') He's so avoidant! But he has promised me solemnly that he will monitor the situation, and I try not to bark and harry, given my own history of telling doctors to sod off. I didn't exactly race towards my own biopsy.

Meanwhile. Valentine's Day was fun. We went to Howling Wolf in Glasgow, listened to a great live band of old geezers playing amazing blues. There is something else planned for tomorrow night, but R won't tell me what it is, only that it requires frockage. So I bought a few separates. One thing about Scotland, at least for me, is that pretty clothes go by the by. I'm a bit of a jeaniac anyway, wearing t shirts in Summer, jumpers in Winter. He's been begging me to buy new clothes as stuff gets threadbare, but I don't enjoy shopping. I like clothes that keep me warm and don't make me itch, a taller order than it sounds.

And I have stuff to do today but just can't get down to it yet. Wake up Boot!

*They actually called it that.

Here's to the Year of the Fire Horse! Run, baby, run!

https://open.substack.com/pub/smokingboot/p/the-year-of-the-fire-horse?r=1r9jj7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

This just came today. Nothing to do with Valentine's, but there's not much of that vibe around at all. Seem to be an awful lot of people just being terrible to each other. Can't begin to describe the papers, pages full of...

So here.
Maybe this is a comfort to someone, not much but something.

https://open.substack.com/pub/smokingboot/p/even-the-sun?r=1r9jj7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

Here comes Valentines Day. This is for when you are tempted, or wish you were tempted.

https://open.substack.com/pub/smokingboot/p/here-for-you?r=1r9jj7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

...Is that either anybody can find anything or nobody can. Bad at lists, bad at remembering, these bits and pieces I tuck away in obscure places include some official important stuff. I hide things, especially if I am aware that someone will be in my study while I am out. Shades of my mother, I know, I know, but that's how I roll. Well, this time I've hidden something so well I have no idea of where it is. I have checked everywhere that would normally appeal to me, but it seems I have been ever so specially clever on this occasion.

Meanwhile, Small Prophets is quite charming so far; after a, shall we say, softly paced first episode, it began to please me, touch of surreality, much more than a touch of magic. Which is probably what I need to guide me through this little room, just as packed as it was before and even less navigable now.

There she was in my dream. I met her on a road somewhere, recognised her straight away from her Orphic hymn;

I invoke you, beloved Hekate of the Crossroads and the Three Ways
Saffron-cloaked Goddess of the Heavens, the Underworld and the Sea
Tomb-frequenter, mystery-raving with the souls of the dead
Daughter of Perses, Lover of the Wilderness who exults among the deer
Nightgoing One, Protectress of dogs, Unconquerable Queen
Beast-roarer, Dishevelled One of compelling countenance
Tauropolos, Keyholding Mistress of the whole world
Ruler, Nymph, Mountain-wandering Nurturer of youth.
Maiden, I beg you to be present at these sacred rites
Ever with a gladsome heart and ever gracious to the Oxherd.

She looked at me and said

'You never ask me for anything.'

I didn't quite know how to reply to her. Respect and all that, but I connect the Dishevelled One of Compelling Countenance to unhinged people, and already have access to enough crazy lady vibe to last me a lifetime. Having said that, anyone who protects dogs gets my thumbs up.It did occur to to me that I would like to draw her or try to turn her into a painting, but given the chances of it being absolutely terrible, decided not to offer it.

I can't remember what happened then, only that next I was a teacher of some kind going to school, when a pupil visited me at home and told me she was sick. She was an ordinary dark haired girl, and I have seen a face like hers before in my dreams connected to malice unfortunately. But this made no difference in the context. She was sweating and trembling copiously, and her skin had a very unhealthy pallor. I asked her if I could place a hand on her forehead to take her temperature, and she refused, saying that touch hurt her. I knew she could be lying but it would be the loss of one day if she was. I let her stay and gave her instructions on contacting an ambulance if she needed it.

Then I tried to go to school and got lost. Came back to find the house was full of my housemates, who were all men. One yelped when he saw me, talking about how badly I had applied my makeup. Glancing at my reflection, I saw that I appeared to have applied lots more eyeliner to one eye than another, but when I found a mirror, it was much more dramatic than that.

My eyeliner had congealed in thick lines along my lower eyelids. Underneath them sat a wild design, blue white sparkling crystalline stalagtite shapes covering my cheeks and most of my face. They looked great but I had no idea how they got there. I took them off and got myself ready for school.

Valerian's pretty amazing for sleep, it really suits me. At some point before this dream I saw my dear old dog being let out of the back of a car, alone with another dog, and watched him dragging some poor shmo along on a walk because his distate for leashes has not changed in over 30 years.

My little study had reached junk yard levels of untidiness, No spare room on the floor for standing and the glasses cabinet door stuck open behind various boxes, coins, paintings, tubes, letters, books, wrapping paper and a strange blue box whose contents I can't recall. So, I said to my cleaner that if she found time while I was out, she could give the floor a go. I told her not to bother with my desk, and sure enough everything there is the same, except it's covered in pencils she picked up. But the rest of the room is dusted and immaculate. It's eerie. There's a distinct sense of everything in its place with a very satisfied vibe. I get the impression she's been waiting a long time for this moment.

One of the reasons I kept her out of the room before accepting what had to happen was my embarrassment at anyone seeing my paintings. They're really bad. Failure number one started out as a sweet drawing of a tudor lady, and she genuinely had a lovely smile. Then Ralik peed on it, and I didn't have the heart to throw it out so I cleaned it up and did everything I could to rescue it. Well, the lady got darker and darker of mood as did the whole painting, I noodled and made things worse and finally created something so awful I honestly do not want anyone to see it. It's hokey, it's badly painted, it's ridiculous. I am keeping it because I worked hard and long on the stupid thing but the moment my primitive self accepts the painting really doesn't care, I'll paint over the horror and keep the canvas for practice.

Failure number 2 was just a field under a sky. It was an experiment using acrylic paints and spatula for the sky, acrylic pens for the field. The combination was blah. So I went over it using acrylic paints and brushes for the field. It was OK, but still nothing really. Finally I used a palette knife on the field and created what feels to me like a stubble burning scene. I love it but I dare not show it to anyone because while not as abject a failure as number 1, there is the undeniable probability it has no merit at all.

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Desperation

The birdhouse in your soul

When You Want To Run And Who Can Blame You?

Ways to Waste Money

Need more sky

Waking

The Arse-Biter

Not Cher

Still, all is moving.

A Visit

Swan Lake

From Today's Times

Andrew

Measles and More

Happy Lunar New Year!

Not much but something

Here for You

The problem with neat rooms

Valerian and Hecate

The Terribleness