African Pots

Now here is a video ( from all over Africa) showing what different Africans do with clay. There is not ONE of them that does things in harder than Granite or Granite like the Egyptians did. Why?

So, enjoy, beautiful pots!


Well, I guess bored is the wrong word. Tired would be better. I have done a LOT of writing the past few days. ‘How to Kill your Father’ is well underway (I cut it, again! From nearly 70,000 back to 35,000) but I am now wondering why 80,000 has been chosen as the word count? How many times have you started a book, and in the middle you get bored because the Author is obviously just “padding” in words to make that total?

I hate that.

Anyway, ‘Memories of Life in a Gin Bottle, Volume 111,’ ‘Talks with an Alien’ etc are also going very well. I think (am thinking!) about making the Talks with an Alien a short series of books, different subjects. I LOVE writing that one!!

Cookie? Who the fuck is Cookie?

I do not know if you know love? But I loved my sister, She was older, OK, so, I guess one is supposed to love the older sister, well, in China, at least.
You see? Jade was the pretty one. Now? They tell me I am pretty, but, then? Back then? It was always Jade. She was the pretty one. Talented, and first to die, for that reason?

How can I tell you what that did to me? To see her, tied up like that, beaten with hammers? To see her eyes rolling around looking for a socket and then, again? No blood? I learned that eyes to not bleed? Cynical? You have no idea what I learned from Zao.

Now, this part I am going to gloss over very quickly. But, it is a part of my life that I will never, do not wish to, ever, forget.

Ax came.

(Now, do not forget, I was naked and tied to a chair, there were four our them. armed and, obviously, highly dangerous? Ax was one person. Not “armed” I saw it. OK? I fucking saw what he did.) Zao made it OK.

Ok, now , moving on.
He picked me up. I was naked. He wrapped his coat-thing around me. And carried me. I cried. OK? Yes, sorry, After watching what he did? I cried. Sorry? Na, I went to grandmother in China.

Then, that phone call? I come to you. He said no. Did he have a choice? No. I was now a different “Cookie” to the one he saved.