I have moved

I'm in Hong Kong now!

Haiku 13

Paws are always cute
If I had them I'd be happy
Opposable thumbs?


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Haiku 12

So many haiku
Not truly understanding
The art of it all


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Haiku 11

My cat is staring
What does she want from me, what?
Food; I am just her servant


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Haiku 10

The lawn needs cutting
Dandelions get higher
A backyard jungle


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Haiku 9

Food is not my friend
I love it but so very much
Winter is coming soon

Haiku 8

Hey you Saturday
You day of rest and much sloth
Marry me, I love you.

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Haiku 7

Yesterday is gone
I miss the holiday now
Saturday awaits

Haiku 6

Sleepy but haiku
Must be done daily I think
I missed yesterday, now two!

Haiku 5

Crocodiles wait
For food to come by their place
Home delivery


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Haiku 4

Sadness can take it all

Leaving you with naught

Remember you rock

Haiku 3

Insomnia strikes
For what reason, I don't know
The night is now mine


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Haiku 2

Beauty it is said
Is different to us all
Ugly is a lie


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Haiku Day 1

My dog is outside
He's eating guinea pig poo
It's nice he's eating


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My dog

My dog is named Taj. He is a Sealyham Terrier and is eleven years old. Last Friday i made the painful decision to put him down. 

He was diagnosed with Crushing's Disease in July of last year which is the over production of hormones by his pituitary gland which causes his muscles to tighten and for him to be extremely thirsty. He suddenly, it seemed to me, became incontinent and started puffing all the time. He also began to refuse to walk, which is something he loved. After the diagnosis I began him on a daily pill which after a week had a dramatic effect on him. He went back to the Taj I knew and we were happy again to the point where I got mad at him for being too Taj-like and barking at cats at 3 in the morning!

All was going well until a month and a half ago when we were out walking and suddenly he stopped, quivered and fell to the ground. I panicked and rushed to him. He didn't seem to be able to walk but was otherwise ok. I picked him up and carried him for about 20 minutes until my arms almost fell off. I put him back down and he began to walk normally. I watched him for the rest of the day and he seemed fine. Then three weeks ago, as we went out to walk, he refused to go further than 10 metres from our door. I reached down to pat him and he yelped in pain. I was shocked, apologised profusely and we went back home where he went to his bed in our laundry and went to sleep. From then on there was a massive change in him. He refused to move and just wanted to lie on his bed all the time. He no longer barked at people who came to the door and stranger still, he no longer wanted to bark at cats. He wasn't even barking the house down when his human family had their dinner before him. He was, in truth, no longer Taj. I took him to the vet for tests and drugs and we tried everything we could think of for a few weeks but there really was no change. If I were a person with an endless supply of money, perhaps I could do more, but the fact is that animal health care is extremely expensive and I was running out of options. One last test from the vet showed that his red blood cells were not regenerating anymore. He was slowly dying. I had a painful choice to make and it was something I was trying to avoid. 

I continued to try and get him to walk, but he just wouldn't. While not every time, many times when I would touch him he would yelp and this was the thing that really got to me. I didn't want to hurt my dog. I want to make him happy and to make sure that his life is a good and satisfying one. I no longer knew how to do this. Last Wednesday in desperation, we doubled his Cushing's Disease medicine in the hope that it might do something, but by Friday we knew it wasn't doing a thing. The decision I dreaded was something I needed to make. When I talked to the vet on Friday afternoon, I told her that I felt that my dog was hurting and we needed to put him down. She offered to do it that very day and perhaps I should have taken her up on her offer. But I didn't. I decided to wait until the next day so that the family could say goodbye to our pet.

That night Taj lay in the corner of our lounge while I sat next to him. I wanted to pat him, but I was scared that he would be in pain. So we just spent his last night next to each other. It was a sad time for me. I never want to cause pain to any living thing, especially to one I love such as Taj and I was very upset. I ran through what would happen the next day in my head. I would take Taj into the vet and I would help him onto the table and I would hold his paw as the vet injected him and then he would quickly fall asleep and would be at peace. I also knew that I would sob my heart out and wouldn't be able to function for quite a while. The more I thought about the pain I would feel the next day, the more I looked for reasons not to do it. I talked to people online, good wonderful people, and they were so helpful in making me feel I was making the right choice. I'm not pro-euthenasia in any way. I don't want the power of life and death to be given to anyone, but here it was, thrust into my lap and I had used that unwanted power to essentially order the death of my beloved pet. 

I had very little sleep that night. I had made up my mind and was then beating myself up about the imagined consequences. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I didn't have the right to decide on his death. The next day was a sunny bright day and I took Taj out for his final walk. For some reason, that day he was happy to walk further than he had in weeks. We walked for an hour. He got quite tired about half way through and we took our time. It was a time for us to spend together. Our final time and I was happy to make it last. We sat down in a small park together and I took some photos of him and I patted him and for a moment what was about to happen was forgotten. With half an hour to go, I slowly walked with Taj back towards the house when suddenly I got a text message from my wife saying that the vet had called and had delayed Taj's appointment for another half hour. 

I don't believe in fate or signs or anything like that, but something nagged the back of my head that this was a sign. As we walked closer to the house I began to convince myself that Taj was getting better; that this was no time for him to die; that he still had so much to live for. By the time I got home it wouldn't have taken much for me to cancel the appointment and in this case my wife asked me if I still wanted to go through with it. I replied no and burst into tears. She called them for me and the appointment was cancelled. I called my mum to tell her, as she was a great friend to Taj, and we both cried down the phone to each other. The emotion of it all had proved too great. 

Now it is Monday. Taj is still alive. The whole time I was getting ready to put him down, all I could imagine was death row. Taj was being sent for execution on my say so and it was a hard image to shake. He had no received a stay of execution from the governor. But the governor now doesn't know if he made the right call. 

I have been stressing over my decision for the past few days. The fact is; Taj is not well. I don't know what he is thinking or how he is feeling. Is it right for me to decide that he is suffering and for me to have him die? Should I wait until he is in much more visible pain? I fluctuate between being on the verge of taking him to the vet to die; or convincing myself that I see improvement in his state or that improvement will happen when we wake up in the morning. I know that this is self-delusion, but it's something I can't avoid. 

Never have I known such stress as this. The power of life and death over someone I love is too great. I don't know how this will play out but I wish somehow it was ten years in the future and it was out of my hands. I don't want this decision. Does it make me a weak person? I think it probably does, but I don't know what else to do. I'm finding it hard to do anything much these days. I feel drained of energy and just wanting to avoid everything. I feel it will all come to a head soon.

Google Poetry

I love how you love me

Whenever we're alone

Sometimes I get a good feeling

I wonder why Rick Ross

And then came Lola

Forever new forever new forever new

And that's who I am

Summer is never going to end...

Summer is never going to end..., originally uploaded by Mr San.

I'm thinking a lot about money and happiness these days. It is said that money doesn't buy happiness but I can't see how that would be. If I had millions of dollars I would be extremely happy. I'd be able to live how I want and not have to stress about where the next dollar is coming from. It is such a symptom of our society that many of us cannot be happy with what we have. I want to travel; I want to live where I want; I want to be happy. It seems like money would fix this. 

I don't know, but I want to be happier.

A Letter

Anais:

Don't expect me to be sane anymore. Don't let's be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can't dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage. I saw you as the mistress of your home, a Moor with a heavy face, a negress with a white body, eyes all over your skin, woman, woman, woman. I can't see how I can go on living away from you—these intermissions are death. How did it seem to you when Hugo came back? Was I still there? I can't picture you moving about with him as you did with me. Legs closed. Frailty. Sweet, treacherous acquiescence. Bird docility. You became a woman with me. I was almost terrified by it. You are not just thirty years old—you are a thousand years old.

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one's time, to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madama Butterfly—"Some day he'll come!")

I still hear you singing in the kitchen—a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you're happy in the kitchen and the meal you're cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes.

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that's in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don't find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they're singing "Heaven and Ocean" from La Gioconda.)

I picture you playing the records over and over—Hugo's records. "Parlez moi d amour." The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can't do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow nor guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will. 

All morning I was at my notes, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don't begin. The walls are completely bare—I had taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out—where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We're in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We're journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and they strew our path with flowers. 

I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon's soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, wilfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

HVM

(Harry Miller to Anaïs Nin. Taken from Letters of Note)

I'll be back soon for actual blogging!

Post

There is another one of me out there somewhere. He is living the life I want. For all the non-belief I have, sometimes I will have another life after this one to be that other guy and be on his shoes for once.

Long

Long time, long life, long day, long term; so many "longs". When I typed the title I was thinking of a long time. It seems to me that life is a series of important or looked forward to events joined together by the dreariness of living. I am looking forward to travelling in September and as the event gets closer, I think about afterwards and the inevitable back-to-sameness of my life. I suppose if I think about it too much it can be a depressing thing.

Life is long, but the true joys in life a short things.

I love life and wouldn't give it up, but I always want more. The true secret to a great life is learning to accept what you have and not to think the grass is greener on the other side. It seldom is.