Muslim Extremists?

Friendly reminder that non-white skin does NOT equal Muslim. Educate yourself and learn to tell the difference! Oh, and there are are plenty of white-skinned Muslims both in UK, Europe (e.g. Bosnia) and the rest of the World.

Second friendly reminder that all extremists are not Muslims. There are, for examples, extremist “Hindus” in India (attacking Muslims & Christians), extremist “Buddhists” in Burma (attacking Muslims), extremist atheists in Russia (attacking LGBTI folk) and extremist “Christians” in the USofA (attacking anyone). These extremists are terrorists and, in the case of religionists, are not following the call of their respective faiths.

DAESH (often called ISIS) are NOT a Muslim organisation, despite their claims and the efforts of right-wing media to suggest so. They are political extremists, terrorists. Nowadays we know that the so-called Christian Crusades were nothing of the sort, but power-plays and a means to obtain, money, gold, assets & land.

Learn from the lessons of history! Question the agendas of media outlets and the motives of politicos! Do not accept the superficial and soundbite propaganda of those in power over us!

Muslim does not equal extremist.

Coitus At Last! / "White"

WARNING: the following blog-post is about sex, especially gay sex; if the subject matter might offend, please do not continue reading.

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Those of you who have been following my blog are probably aware of my difficulties in finding a sexual partner. For BADD2012, Blogging Against Disablism Day, I wrote Sexual Eunuchs? about being gay and disabled, discriminated against twice by society at large and by the so-called gay community. Then for BADD2013 I scribed No Sex Please, We're… Disabled!, which hopefully highlighted some of the logistical difficulties in arranging a sexual liaison.

Well, a few months back, whilst on my annual sojourn in Spain, I finally - and fantastically - met a chap who was willing to play with this disabled writer. After more than eleven years without experiencing coitus, I truly felt like Madonna's virgin, "touched for the very first time". A tad nervous, to be sure. And giddy as an adolescent again too!

Thankfully, the lover and myself hit it off and we were able to have several days/nights of fun and games together. Yes, we had to pause to let cramps, muscle-spasms or stabbing pains pass. Yes, some positions proved impossible with my bone, joint and muscle issues relating to my various arthritic conditions. Yes, we had to pause so as I could regain my breath due to exertional apnœa. And yes, we had to stop for rest-breaks and sleeps, because of the ME/FMS. Through all this, though, we: laughed; gasped; giggled; chatted; kissed; and all the other things that lovers usually do. We had a lot of fun and parted chums. I was thankful for being able to both give and receive sexual pleasure once again. Mostly I was overjoyed to have tactile pleasure. I cannot say I did not want the sexual intercourse, as I very desperately did; but I was happiest at having someone to embrace and to cuddle me. I miss that intimacy.

Naturally, apart from my bodily fluids, my creative juices began flowing. As is my usual modus operandi, over several days I drafted a poem in my head, before finally typing it out and making final amendments and redactions.

What I wrote is neither poetry nor prose: it is somewhere in between. I have occasionally written other pieces that cross-over the two genres. Is it prosaïc poëtry or poëtic prose?

White…

White: the virginal page, upon which nought has yet been written; under the hand-scribed or typed words.

White: the spume of the sea, tickling the sand and giggling in a low susurrus; exhibitionist surf crashing on the rocks; the once-shy now wild white-horses frolicking in the sunshine and the salty brine; sea-angels coruscating whilst they play in the isthmus between water and air.

White: the clouds occasionally slipping through the habitual cerulean firmament; the blanket occasionally blocking the sun from view.

White: all the flowers in my garden - alegría, geranium, rose, cyclamen, kalanchoë, marguerite, snapdragon,…

White: the sense of peace, calm, tranquility, clear-headedness, purity.

White: the froth on our coffees; the head on our beers; the wine we daily drank, and supped, imbibed and got drunk upon; libation unto we demi-gods.

White: all my bedding, your sheets and pillow-cases enveloping our hot, our cold, our fevered shells; your bathroom’s sanitaryware taking away our bodies’ unwanted fluids and detritus; your soft, warm towels drying our skin and hair.

White: the hairs amongst the silken grey and black on your head, your chest and my favourite hirsute spot, the wee hollow between your shoulders and neck.

White: your buttock cheeks, sandwiched between your lobster-red torso and firm legs.

White: the little jewel sewn on your puce rosebud.

White: the cum that spilled across your salt & pepper’d chest this morning; mimicking a champagne explosion and creating an ephemeral œuvre; becoming diaphanous and then invisible as it soaked into your hungry flesh; disappearing as you from me, all except memory.

White.

Japanese-style, white garden

As a child, whenever it rained I asked to go outside and sit in a garden-chair under the apple-tree with my umbrella up, keeping me dry. I would stick out my hand from underneath its protection and let the raindrops splash onto my bare skin. My nostrils would flare, breathing in the wonderful earthy smell exuding all around from the garden's pores. The negative ions would calm me. I was melancholic and wistfully romantic from a precocious age!

Gardening itself I hated. I was in my thirties before I was converted. In fact I did not involve myself with or take any interest until after I became disabled. At first it was tending pots of herbs, but my collection grew. Now I find being in the garden, even if I cannot actually garden, thoroughly soothing. If I am able to do a wee bit of pottering or potting, I additionally feel a deep sense of achievement and satisfaction.

When my partner-as-was and I first started searching for somewhere to live together, one of the items on my list was a white garden. Don't get me wrong, I love coloured blooms. But I have always had a yen for foliage, going back to my days under the apple-tree: trees and shrubs do it for me. My desire was for a garden where the colours were provided by the differently hued leaves of various plants and that white would be the thread sewing these colours together.

 

Whilst the builders of our brand-new construction were less than helpful in providing adaptations to the property, even though we put a deposit down before a brick was laid, they did create a sort of ramp to the back door. What they did was create a sloped garden down to the garden-gate. However as the latter was diagonally opposite the back door, they in effect created an unconventionally sloped lawn space.

After eighteen months my very thoughtful ex decided we were going to have a garden that could accommodate my disabilities, with raised plant-beds and a ramp with a hand-rail. I sketched some ideas and a couple of plans which our chosen landscape-designer filled with plants and made concrete my dream.

Six-and-a-half years later, and the odd change of planting and the garden has matured to such an extent that there is now shade where shade was planned. And with some plants as anti-weed protection, for example woodruff in the shady area, and bark chippings elsewhere, I rarely have to do any weeding. Nonetheless, plants will compete with each other for the light, so I do need to tidy and prune from time to time. Initially this used to upset me as I do not like committing violent acts; but a long-time friend advised me to look at it as if giving the plants a hair-cut or manicure.

Unfortunately, I am often bed-bound and can at most just view the garden from my bedroom-window. Today, however, the sun came out in the late afternoon and the air warmed. I hobbled outside for an hour bringing order and filling up the garden-waste recycling-bin. And then I took some snap-shots.

For more images, see the following links:

The garden in June 2013.

The garden in May 2013.

The garden in April 2013.

The garden in October 2012.

The garden in late Summer 2012.

The garden in June 2012.

The garden in April 2012.

The garden in March 2012.

The garden in early Spring 2012.

The garden in November 2011.

The garden in June 2011.