Quantum boredom

It’s all in the title today. I misread a title of someone else’s blog post, and decided to run with it. I should be preparing to go to my summer home in England, but that is still not likely under the current circumstances. In the meantime, I’m trying to get as much work done as I can, just in case international travel opens up.

If I go to the UK, I’ll have to quarantine for 14 days, spend a week doing a few things, and then come back, and quarantine some more when I return. That’s five weeks for a one week trip. I’m not sure I have that kind of time or mental strength, especially in the small flat I have in the UK.

Somehow ‘Round Midnight came a little easier today, but there is still some demanding work to do. I’m up around 127,500 words now, but I feel little closer to a conclusion. Still nothing for EJO.

I skipped my run today. I’ve been out two days in a row, and my ankle hurt both times, more than it did last week. I think I’ll probably start going two on, one off for a while and see if that helps.

So, not only do we have a stay-at-home recommendation from the Governor, we have had 4 straight nights of curfew, and we aren’t in the part of the city that has protests. Boredom upon boredom.

I think it is about time for me to do some paid work. Yawn.

It’s hot. Maybe I should strip down first.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

Single Russian Girls

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy from Pexels

So what is it about my YouTube profile that brings up ads for Single Russian Girls?

Maybe listening to Hiromi Uehara playing jazz in 7/8 is a turn on for all those men who are desperate to see Russian babes. Why Russian? What do they have that we Americans lack?

What is it that they have that American men (or perhaps women?) want? They always portray them a little slutty, and I assume that they aren’t, but I suppose anyone from whatever background that is putting it out there, needs to, or feels that they need to put it on for display, just like a prostitute on the street. Is that what men really want? Too much make up, giant breasts hanging out, larger than life? Is that it?

Is that what I’m not getting?

Gain 30 pounds, slather on the lippy, but wear the clothes that would be considered revealing for my current size. That’s what will get me a man.

I’m still trying to wean myself off Arvo Pärt, and I’ve been doing it by listening to jazz and funk on YouTube. He’s not Russian, he’s Estonian, but maybe that’s the connection.

I might have thought it was the WordPress connection, but the majority of my views tend to be centered around the Indian subcontinent and America, of course. Okay, so one of my favorite photographers on Pexels is Russian, or maybe two of them, but there is also a Vietnamese and others.

Maybe they aren’t picking on me in particular. Maybe there are just so many Russian babes out there. Russia has only half the population of the US, and only about 25 million more than Japan. Shouldn’t we have twice as many ads for American babes and 10 times as many for Indian babes, and double that for Chinese babes?

And where are the men? I demand equal time for the men.

Of course, I never post pictures of men … or rarely, at least. I think I could count them on one hand. I confess I am trying to portray my mood as I write, not the object of my thoughts, however random they may be.

One shouldn’t objectify men, should we?

We shouldn’t treat them that way, should we? Certainly they have the right to the privacy of their bodies. Am I correct? We shouldn’t demean them because they are bigger and stronger than we are. I mean come on. Be real! If they want to throw their dicks around, who are women to prevent them from having vasectomies? Shouldn’t they have choice over what they do with their bodies?

But I’ve digressed.

Why do they need to put those ads out at all. Shouldn’t YouTube exercise some control on that? Or Google, they own YouTube, of course. Free speech! Yeah! Right.

The next thing you know they’ll be meddling in our elections.


Photo by Anderson Miranda from Pexels

I survived the block party. No bug bites. Perhaps a little more alcohol than planned. Loosened lips – sunken ships. I didn’t make any (new) enemies.

My neighbor out my window must be having a party, there were at least 5 cars in the driveway, until the hot metallic red one just left. It’s time to make dinner, but I’m still visiting with you. It’s all leftovers from yesterday anyway.

I’ve fallen into a rut. Reading through the first series of Ezzie, I see how she’s changed. She’s almost a decade older, and she’s living in America away from her friends. It seems she has stopped seriously thinking about finding a man, but that could be her rebellion against the succubus that clings to her. She’s depressed and hasn’t had a manic episode in a while. She’s discovered that she can wander around outside her body, and even fly, if she is bored or daydreaming, but she doesn’t understand all that she is learning. She may never understand it.

The other part of the rut is here. I’m blogging about my life, instead of blasting out the detritus from my brain. That explains today’s haiku: Coincidence?

Like Ezzie, I’ve lost my mojo. Time to go looking for it.

We’ll, after I’ve made dinner.


Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Listless, [list-lis] a, Without a list.


Well, I was without a list today, figuratively. I went all day without writing today’s haiku, and I didn’t have any idea what it would be about until I started it. Even then, I reversed the order of the lines before I posted it. It makes more sense this way, but I probably like it better the original way: The blues

I’m still thinking about writing some Ezzie episodes, so I’ve drawn a card for today:

4 of Swords, Truce. Refuge from mental chaos.

There are other interpretations, but that’s the one I’ll choose. In fact, I’m so rested that nothing is happening in my brain, not even the S-word. That’s me without a list, without meaning, running on a treadmill, never-ending. That should be a good thing, but today it means I’m without my mental faculties. I thrive on that chaos. I AM CHAOS! I need that anxiety, the rough and tumble, the sex obsession. All the plates have stopped spinning. Mush brain, that’s me – Jello that hasn’t quite set, oozing off the spoon, and disappointing the children. I haven’t even got the brain cells to give this paragraph the full Ezzie.

By the way, the second book of Ezzie is here, but it is in reverse order.

I’m supposed to be writing

Big Red by scarletsuede

Fun Anne seems to be AWOL at the moment.

You might argue that I am writing, but this doesn’t count. I wanted to write some poetry this week and maybe spend some time on one of my novels that never seem to finish. Maybe I’m a little ADD, but I can never focus on what I’m supposed to. Yesterday, I read the entirety of what I’ve written of The Fantastical Adventures of S-69 Lost, which is one sentence into Chapter X or 26.7K words.

Maybe I’ll read Out of the Frying Pan next. That’s a mere 22.5K words. Of course, I should be finishing and then rewriting The Cult of Hahn which stands at 78.7K words. It has one small gap and one large one left to bridge as well as a lot of prefatory psuedo-bibilical verse, and then a major rewrite of the whole thing. I’m not sure I feel up to that now.

The titles may change by the time I publish – if I publish. And, of course, my short story collection The Veil of Sheera and other Tales need at least one more edit. It’s nearly ready for KDP, but I need a suitable cover image, and I can’t afford to buy rights to a photo, since the book won’t earn more than a few pennies. Short story collections have exactly zero market. I might be able to sell a few to devoted followers here or The Cult of Anne, my writing website (see the sidebar for a link), or on the WritersCafe.org, where a lot of my work as well as samples of the novels live.

My inspiration has left the building.


Blarney Castle by freejay3

In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m obsessed with nudity. I’m not a nudist, nor do you necessarily want to see me nude. When I’m home alone in the summer, I’m not adverse to sitting at home in front of the computer in the buff. (Webcam definitely disabled!) I find it freeing sleeping nude under the ceiling fan on a hot summer night. I have A/C, but it just isn’t the same.

I like writing about people thrust into a situation where they are unable to hide under clothing – the embarrassment (Cult of Hahn), or the eventual acceptance of it (Out of the Frying Pan) . I even have a girl who is much like I would be, stuck in a remote mansion, never seeing anyone – ever – Yes, I would be working in the garden with nothing on (Intolerance).

Do I want to see you nude? Probably not, especially not the spam emails of girls wanting to get to know me. They are always girls, aren’t they. I don’t want to see their pics either. I would rather dream of you nude, and titillate you with the prospect of nudity, but not necessarily sex. I do think of sex a lot, and I like thinking about it, but I’m not asking you for it.

So … what am I writing about here? Is it a rant or manifesto. Maybe the latter.

I’m just in one of those moods.

Post Holiday Blues

I ain’t singin’ the blues, mate. I got ’em. It’s been almost two weeks since I last posted here, and well, I just can’t get going again. I’m back at work, and although I have loads to do, I’m doing some serious procrastination. I’m doing things around the house, playing with my new phone … anything to keep me from doing that which earns money.

I haven’t even worked at all on my new novel, which shall remain nameless, because, well, it is. The original title doesn’t fit anymore. I’m about 20,000 words into it. I also haven’t touched The Cult, except to read a little of the last chapter I was working on, to see if it started the juices flowing.

I guess I’m just juice free right now.