Your Opinion Matters. Wait - No It Doesn't. And Neither Does Mine

I was going to blog about this week: a lot has happened. But I’ll tell you all of that next time, because the following exchanges occurred this morning before I’d even got out of bed.

Yes. I'm in this.

I say ‘exchanges’; they weren’t. I told you last time, I don’t do social media spats. But, but, but. This is beginning in the middle. Let’s wind back a little bit.  Earlier this week, issue 242 of Skin Deep Tattoo Magazine went on sale. I admit I haven’t had cause to get all that excited about SDTM in the past, but now I have reason to be – and not just because I’m in it. Yes, I had a small tattoo somewhere private* as a result of youthful folly, but I never, ever dreamed I’d get another one, or that it would be huge, or that it would raise £2000 for charity, or that it would – oh, here it comes – end up as a five-page reader profile in a magazine. 

See? Told you

 I won’t say anything about the article – bloody go and buy a copy. It’s well worth the money and there’s a nice picture of my bum in it. Besides, you know, all the other cool tattoos and much-prettier girls. But – exposure… it has a circulation of fifty-odd thousand or something, so you never know what will come of it. Then, this morning, something did. One thing, definitely: I don’t know about the other two. It’s possible. I ended up with the feedback classic, the Shit Sandwich.

Layer one: Nice Gentleman, sent this. Charming words AND he liked some of my poems. What a lovely thing to say! Earns a deep curtsey from me, not to say a flutter of my fan. My actual fan. Seriously, Shup, people.

Layer two: hardly a Gentlemanly response to the image on the right, but if all opinions are valid, his is too**. As you know, I don’t respond to this kind of thing, but I did share it – quite objectively, I hope; with a hint of sarcasm, I admit.  A flood of comments followed – again, not a wave of support but plenty of feelings on both sides of the argument. Privately someone suggested I take a look at his profile and rip him to pieces. No. I just wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. Again, as has happened before, I’ve reached a place in my life where this kind of thing doesn’t hurt. I wonder, though – does that actually make me a Condescending Witch? Oh, the irony…

And finally, Layer three: layer three is just delicious. Layer three is not a slice of Hovis 50/50. It’s not even a complex handmade Seeded Batch. It’s a delicate, melting Brioche, lightly warmed between the thighs of a –

Well. Read it yourself. It was a private message, from a woman. Her permission to share it has been sought and obtained.

Have you read this far? Well done, you. Seriously, I'm impressed. Thank you. I check my blog stats: no fucker reads it. Ever. The only time they even glance at it is when there are pictures of tits and arse in it, and then the chances of them actually looking at the words are almost nil. So yes, I will continue to voice my opinion, safe in the knowledge that no-one will ever, ever know what it is.

Not really my opinion. Lighten up.

• Damien Hirst can't fucking paint. 
• Some people are beautiful, both inside and out. 
• Others, though, are just c*nts. 

Ignore this. My opinions are no more valid than the next fool's. See below.

Then kiss me, Motherfucker.

*I say ‘private’ – didn’t stop me getting it out at the the Great British Tattoo Show when a random individual asked to see it. Can’t believe I did that. Well… there’s a lot of nudity at these events. You stop worrying about it after a while. Still – tut, tut

**All opinions are NOT valid. Ever read ‘Have Your Say’ on the BBC website? For fuck’s sake.

Ghosts and the Periodic Table

It all started with this.

We were walking home from the Post Office and I was asking The Boy about his day. Then he suddenly said something that made me ask him to get off his scooter and carry it so I wouldn’t miss a single word. ‘Say that again, Babe?’

‘I said, in school today I learnt that I can’t have a discussion with a Christian without getting really angry!’

The argument boiled down to this, and it would make Professor Brian Cox himself proud. 

Thanks, Geoff. We know this to be true

The Boy was arguing that ghosts couldn’t possibly exist because there is no substance in the Periodic Table which can pass through solid walls, therefore there’s nothing they could be made of that would allow them to do so (yes, I am aware that his argument is somewhat flawed, but a) he’s ten years old and using the Periodic Table to to support his statements and b) um, Ghosts? The whole thing’s flawed from the start). Then his friend had retorted that angels could pass through walls because they could turn themselves into fog. ‘But,’ Boy continued, with violent gesticulation, ‘fog doesn’t pass through walls either! And he wasn’t having it!’

‘And did you point out that angels must be insects, on account of the six limb thing?’

‘No, he wasn’t listening to the first bit, never mind anything else…’

I won’t relate the rest of the conversation. Or the stopping in the street to hold his tiny shoulders and tell him I ache with pride that he has learnt something that many people never do, in their whole ignorant lives.  But following another revelation from The Girl, I took to social media in sheer delight at their miniature self-awareness.

Then something lovely happened. And if this comes across as me preaching about How One Should Use Social Media – FINE. I’m the f**king Pope.  And I’m really good at it. Here’s why:

I posted this – which, some might say, is somewhat inflammatory.  I think you’d have to be fairly web-toed to think so, but as the late Bill Hicks said, there are indeed some serious pockets of humanity out there. Of course it wasn’t long before my friends started chiming in, on both sides of the argument. 

Play Nice, you Beauties

That is, not too far down one side of the argument – they are my friends, after all. The thread began with some banter and a marvellous use of the word ‘Bellend’, which always pleases me immensely; then somewhat of a discussion ensued, between Christians and Atheists on both sides of the Atlantic. I have lots of Christian friends on Facebook, and lots of Atheist friends, and anyone who reads my blog may know my views on religious matters. I state my feelings openly on my blog, and if anyone wishes to be offended, I politely invite them to discontinue reading it. I hope, however, I have the good manners not to invade others’ privacy, their feelings, or their social media walls, with my opinions. I was pleased, and warmed, to see people bonding over shared views, whether equal or opposite to mine.  I was pleased above all that those same people chose to contribute without becoming accusatory – even when the banter was quite provocative.  I’d have been sorry to see it blow up – after all, my wall, no-one has to read it – and as I’d already made my point in the original post, I purposely kept quiet myself.  

Facebook spats are so unseemly. This Be The Word Of Mu.

Yes, Lily. Yes. Yes, I will.

THE GLORIOUS TWENTY-FIFTH OF MAY

I'm posting this now because I'm just about to leave for the Great British Tattoo Show and I won't be able to do bloggery for a few days.  Then I'm going to do some slightly mad things in a field in Oxfordshire*. But, good people, 25 May is Towel Day. Douglas, I love you, and I always will. Thank you, for everything. 

Oh, good lord... I very rarely 'unfriend' people. If I have done, it's always been because they've expressed or spread extreme racist ignorance, particularly if directed at an individual (it would be fair to wonder why such a person would be on my friends list at all, but remember, we’re talking about social media here. It’s not the same as exchanging body fluids. Ugh).

This comment popped up in my feed recently:

"well, just finished reading 'hitchhikers guide to the galaxy - the trilogy of four' the omnibus edition! if anyone wants it, they can have it for the cost of the postage!! didn't really enjoy it and won't be reading it again!!"(Capital letters? No, thought not.)

...and I moved to the 'Unfriend' button.  What sort of cock would react so dismissively to H2G2 – and then admit it in public?! That’s like saying “I lack even the most basic insight into the nature of humanity and the Universe, and here, have my brain, because I’m not using it.” 

Then I thought, No, I'm pretty easygoing, and a complete attention-whore, and people are allowed to think differently to the way I think - I'll just read through his timeline before I make a snap judgement.

Guess what? It's full of racist bile! BYEEEE! HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAA!

Some lilac. Some of you will know why.

 I lifted this text (below) directly from Ben Mapp’s “Douglas Adams’ Lost Legacy” blog post from 19 March 2013 – so it’s not mine, and I am in no way pretending it is. Here’s the original blog. Please visit it out of courtesy, and stay because he's a pleasure to read, but then come back:

http://www.imwithgeek.com/8/post/2014/03/douglas-adams-lost-legacy.html

Quote begins:

Today it was revealed that an archivist at Brentwood school discovered a poem written by the 17-year-old Adams. It was written in 1970 as part of an initiation to the upper-sixth’s literary society, featuring the theme of ‘candles’ along with the works of his fellow students (including that of comic actor Griff Rhys Jones).

The full poem is as follows:

A Dissertation on the task of writing a poem on a candle and an account of some of the difficulties thereto pertaining

by Douglas Adams, January 1970

I resisted temptation for this declamation
To reach out to literary height
For high aspiration in such an oration
Would seem quite remarkably trite:
So I thought something pithy and succinct and clever
Was exactly the right thing to write.


For nights I sat musing
And musing ... and musing
Whilst burning the midnight oil;
My scratchings seemed futile
My muse seemed quite mute, while
My work proved to be barren toil.

I puzzled and thought and wrestled and fought
'Till my midnight oil was exhausted,
So I furthered my writing by dim candle lighting,
And found, to my joy, this of course did
The trick, for I flowered,
My work - candle-powered –
Was inspired, both witty and slick.

Pithy and polished, my writing demolished
Much paper, as I beguiled
Myself with some punning,
(My word play was stunning,)
I wrote with the wit of a Wilde.

At length it was finished, the candle diminished,
I pondered and let my pride burn
At the great acclamation, the standing ovation
Its first public reading would earn.

But lost in the rapture of anticipation
And thinking how great was my brilliant creation
I quite failed to note as I gazed into space
That incendiary things were about to take place:
That which had ignited my literary passion,
Was about to ignite what my passion had fashion'd.

And - oh! - all was lost in a great conflagration
And I just sat there and said 'Hell and damnation',
For the rest of the night and the following day.
(My muse in the meantime had flitted away
Alarmed, no doubt, at the ornamentation
My language acquired with increased consternation.

So unhaply the fruits of my priceless endeavour
Are lost to the literary world forever.
For now I offer this poem instead,
Which explains in itself why the other's unsaid.

Quote ends. *Sobs quietly*

*I think Douglas would be proud of me.

PINTERFACE-TWITTAGRAM And Why I Love It. Dot Mu.

DO YOU KNOW YOU CAN FIND ME ON FACEBOOK? Of course you do. It’s probably how you ended up here.

You - yes, you! Say something

And on Twitter – you can find me there, twittering away with my chums; and now on Insta-that, too.

Oh, and of course, Pinterest, with my *famed ‘Woops, There Go My Panties’ Beard Porn Board, providing late-night entertainment for Ladies the world over, apparently (and Men. That’s implicit). Look me up, I post all sorts of pretty things. And Beards. Lots of Beards.

I have a website; it isn’t especially good, but…  

FACEBOOK  https://www.facebook.com/MurielLavenderPoetrix

WEBSITE ... you can look, if you like www.muriel-lavender.com

PINTEREST*  http://www.pinterest.com/muriellavender/

BLOG  http://muriel-lavender.blogspot.com/

TWITTER @MurielLavender          INSTAGRAM @muriellavender

… but really, this is where the fun happens.  Why not follow my blog, while you’re here?

I’M GOOD AT SOCIAL MEDIA. Insofar as there is a proper way to use it, I use it in the properest way. That is, I keep it light and sparkling¹, I interact with people all over the world, and I don’t post pictures of my fucking dinner.  Or of rainbows, either.  I know they’re nice, but for fuck’s sake, the entire world doesn’t need to join me in running outside to point at the pretty thing.

because there's never a bad time to look at my legs

Being an International Superstar (as I most certainly am, what with being the current World #2 Whiskerina, and also Pope, so there’s that) naturally I meet the most interesting people. Some of them are are so remarkable that I just fall in love with them right there. Others are plain peculiar.  Some of them don’t exist (staggeringly beautiful 19-year-old transsexual living in my hometown? No, I think I’d have met you by now *ignores friend request*); whilst others really seem to admire my shoes to an unholy degree. I’m absolutely ok with that. Some of them – most, I must say, actually, there’s no ‘some’ about it – are tremendously witty and intellectually stimulating. But then, I move in the social circles, the celebrity squares, and the Dairylea triangles of Poetry, Burlesque, Steampunk and Competitive Bearding.  Wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful.

FINALLY GETS TO THE POINT

I want to introduce you to a fellow blogger, with whom I have enjoyed many a half-hour of amusing and/or challenging conversation. Sometimes we talk about Beards, or dreams, or snow; sometimes religion or sex or politics; sometimes we just do Monty Python sketches or sing silly songs. One night we chatted about Poetry. I admit now, Dorkbeard, you worried me at that point. Anyone who says ‘I used to write poetry.’ is as wont to unleash a storm of self-pitying dribble as they are to unleash the literary equivalent of cock-shots. So I played it down a little. Ok, a very little: I replied that my poetical output was really just a series of minge jokes. But a few minutes later DB sent me a poem full of such bliss that I have, in fact, performed at it two shows now (introducing it as the work of my good friend, just as I ought) – and congratulations have poured in. The audiences loved it. And, as it is indeed itself a thoroughly good minge joke, here it is:

A woman once said that a rose is a rose is a rose

But I'm afraid that I'm inclined to disagree

For each and every flower is uniquely distinct

When properly observed upon bended knee

Some have pink petals like satin and silk

So tightly closed their inner mystery they hide

Other still appear more like sun-bleached, chewed leather

And are open enough to fall inside

Some blossoms are set within manicured gardens

Some alone or with a neat shrub upon the porch

Yet others seem lost within deep, tangled jungles

So dark one may need to bring a torch

The sweetest of blooms smell sweetly and pure

It's a pleasure to behold their bouquet

Yet there are those left alone and not tended with care

Those smell more like low tide near the bay

Dear ladies please heed these small words of advice

And tend well to the roses that you keep

For then any true gentleman will gladly bend his head low

And ensure that his appreciation runs deep

Dorkbeard

5 March 2014

Delicious. See what I mean?  My acquaintance via the internets, they set the bar pretty high. I love their company and I am grateful⁴.

Incidentally, when it comes to Facebook, I have only ever blocked about a dozen people or so, and every single one of them was either a) racist or b) unimaginative. One bright spark managed to claim the entire intersection of that particular Venn diagram for himself by referring to someone as a 'curry-eater'. You really couldn't make it up, could you?

Get to know Dorkbeard here http://dorkbeard.wordpress.com/

¹Don’t start. I’m also aware that social media is an invaluable tool for spreading knowledge, politics and global issues, unadulterated by news agencies or governmental bias. But so is telly and it doesn’t stop them broadcasting Hollyoaks² and I’m A Third-Rate Celebrity and all the other lowest-common-denominator brain-rot.  As I said, I mostly do minge jokes. If you want serious political debate, go and see Russell Brand³.

²Is that even on, anymore? I’m well out of touch with the televisual device, me.

Is this yours?

³Russell Brand. I so would. I can’t help it. 

⁴Yes, I’m also fond of those who post when they get their hands stuck in the Pringles tube, but that is for very different reasons.