2434. Tonsured

Not an actual photo of me but pretty close

Today is a true story because the well has run dry!

You know those old pictures of monks with a ring of hair on their heads called a tonsure? These days the meaning of it escapes anyone with a pulse. For hundreds of years, possibly for more than a thousand years, monks in the Roman Catholic tradition had tonsures.

Now I make the dates up because I can’t remember, but after more than a thousand years I was the second to last person in the history of the world to get a legitimate tonsure. My friend, John, was the very last, he being several months younger than me. In those days everything was arranged in age from oldest to youngest. The bishop came to do the deed. It was around 1972/1973. Let’s say it was arranged to happen on the 22^nd of May.

The pope had issued some decree or other that did away with the tonsure. A new ritual was to replace it. The new ritual was to become valid on 23^rd of May, the day after our arranged ceremony. The bishop sent a telegram to the Vatican: can we use the new rite the evening before? He had another urgent task to do and had to go away. Back came the answer: Negativo.

And that is how I became the second to last person in the history of Western Civilization to get tonsured.

Don’t panic! I was still young and within a few months had curly ringlets down to the centre of my back. Perhaps the tonsure had been there to safeguard against vanity!

2380. An adventure sprung

Randolph so enjoyed his trip to town. He hadn’t planned on going, but… the best laid plans of mice and men…

One never knows what surprises Fate might spring before the day is o’er. What a glorious day to go into town! The sky was blue. High up clouds raced in the heavens, but here on land there was the loveliest of breezes. Wind in the face was what Randolph enjoyed! And enjoy it he did all the way to town. As did his friends who were coming with him.

Once in town they were ready for the promised adventure. It was an unplanned mystery tour. Did I mention that Randolph was a sheep? He was unaware he was being taken to the slaughter house.

1772. A close encounter

When the alien emerged from the cosmic transporter on my back lawn I honestly didn’t know where to look. It seemed to be all twiggy stems and long hanging seed pods; sort of like sea kelp on the end of a stick. It was hideous.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” it began. Sorry to bother me? I couldn’t imagine where the orifice was that was producing this dialogue. I couldn’t discern a face anywhere.

“I’m sorry to bother you but the facility in the cosmic transporter is blocked and I wondered if I could use your bathroom?”

Ah! There it was! A mouth that was moving. The words were definitely emanating from there. The alien seemed quite tall so I stood on tip-toe and addressed my answers towards the mouth. I couldn’t work out a nose or eyes or ears. Just this (really for the size of the alien) rather tiny mouth. No! There it was! A sort of nose that twitched a little, just above the mouth. And a couple of bumps on either side of the nose that I presumed were some sort of eyes. Or perhaps ears.

“You’d be most welcome,” I said. “The bathroom is just up those steps, across the porch, and to the immediate right as you step inside. You can’t miss it.” I tried to convey how welcome it was to use the bathroom by appearing friendly and speaking in an enthusiastic manner. It’s most disconcerting speaking to what looks like a pile of kelp. And so I smiled in a friendly way and addressed it directly close up to its face.

“You can’t miss it,” I repeated, whispering a little now in order to convey a certain confidence in the strange creature. I even managed to pat it in a non-condescending manner on the top of what I presumed was its head.

“Look!” said the alien, “I don’t mean to be rude but would you mind not staring so closely at my private parts.”

1518: Bloggeration

Hi. My name is Zhara and I would like to share with you what I have learnt about blogging by blogging. First of all don’t get caught up with trying to get lots of likes – I get about 1100 likes and I am happy with that. I get friends on Facebook and stuff to give me likes as it’s a way of promoting my blog to those who are missing out. It is so exciting! I can’t believe how popular I am. My friend, Arizona, only got 27 likes!!!! What a loser!!!!

I also try to select the best makeup to recommend, even though I’m not a makeup blogger but a lot of women are interested in makeup so they are attracted to my blog because of the makeup. And the guys like coming to my blog to see the photos of the women wearing the makeup. And I also post about makeup for men for those who like looking at men like my cousin Alfred. So find some side things to put in your blog to attract a wider audience – like makeup and fashion and face cream and hair and stuff.

It’s also helpful if you suffer from some ailment and talk about it. I got a fungal infection once but I didn’t blog about that. It is better to go for sychological (that’s a word I can’t spell) ailments like skizno skitzo depression. People run away from viruses but they don’t mind (or rather like) people who are suffering and they like to offer their support. But what is the point of offering support to someone with a fungal infection? You might catch it!!!! So go for something in the head like grief or loss or something. Face cream for dry skin is alright because it’s not fungus.

Anyway, all this is my advice, and I hope to start a page soon about website promotion – but people will have to pay for that!!! My boyfriend is coming to my place tonight to show me what to do because he knows about stuff like that. I am really excited to be a successful blogger, and will now post this before I lose all the friends who read my first posting yesterday.

Poem 56: There was no starlight in her eyes

There was no starlight in her eyes
when I asked her for a dance,
but she was the only wallflower left, and
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
She cavorted to the beat like a waddling duck;
her arms flayed like a windmill. Yeah,
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
Her clothes didn’t match her hair;
they looked like hand-me-downs. See,
beggars can’t be choosers.

There was no starlight in her eyes.
I guess that goes with being blind.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1197. The artist’s model

Stella had the most beautiful hair. Her hair was the envy of everyone. All who saw it couldn’t help but gush with wonder and admiration. It was almost as if Stella was a mutation. Her hair was probably why the artist had asked Stella if she would mind posing for a painting.

“Just look up to the ceiling for a minute if you would,” asked the painter.

“Turn your head slightly to the right,” asked the painter.

“Gently frisk your hair to the left. Just a little! Perfect!” said the artist.

“All done,” said the artist. Pablo Picasso put down his brushes.

Stella had the most beautiful hair. It was just a shame she had only one eye and in the middle of her forehead, three ears, and a nose that pointed in two directions at once.

1033. That’s because

Your lips are as sweet as honey.
– That’s because I’ve been cooking dinner and tasting it to make sure it’s to your liking.

Your hands are soft and fragrant.
– That’s because I’ve been doing the laundry in the tub because your washing machine is broken.

Your hair is wild and natural and lovely.
– That’s because I’ve been up the hill out the back in the wind collecting firewood to warm the house.

Your body is lithe and perfect, like a model in an advertising centrefold of popular magazines.
– That’s because I spend hours digging your vegetable garden and mowing your lawns.

Your walk is as graceful as a gazelle.
– That’s because I walk your dog every day.

Your taste in clothes is impeccable.
– That’s because I buy the occasional thing with money earned from working a forty hour week.

You are the perfect woman. Marry me.
– I’m outta here.

831. A lot of people…

Of course a lot of people don’t know how to part their hair in the right place. There are a lot of people who simply part their hair where they feel like it, but the head has a natural part. If you part your hair in the natural place, you look a lot younger.

My husband is bald, so he wouldn’t know where to part his hair. We came out from Cambodia over thirty years ago. I said to my husband then, that we have absolutely no relatives here, not even a solitary old auntie, so we’d better start making babies so that we have some relatives. So that’s what we did. We made three babies, and then I got a job in Johnsonville while the smallest was still small.

I’m not a grandmother yet, but the oldest boy is twenty-eight now. He had a girlfriend but when he broke up with her it broke his heart and now he’ll have nothing to do with girls. My husband and I, ours was an arranged marriage. I said to my son, there’s lots of relatives overseas who will find a pretty Cambodian girl for you to marry. Then you can start making babies. But he’s more into not doing that. He says he’ll find someone when he’s ready. But he’s not going to get back his girlfriend because she already married somebody else. I said you go online and find a girl on Twitter or something, but he won’t do that.

After Johnsonville I got another job in Wellington, but it didn’t pay as well, and I had to travel there and back. There was no time for the garden. I like my garden very much. So I said to the boss that I would work only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that’s what I do.

Anyway, that’s your haircut finished. Just pay as you leave.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!