Jerusalem BLM Mortimer

I'm doing Tim (Alien Sex Fiend) Another Tim Another Place (Bryan Ferry) The last Tim (Stones) One more Tim (The Cure) Just in Tim (Vic Fontaine) Your Tim will come (Eurythmics) Had me a real good Tim (The Faces) (Shouldna given all my e's to The Shamen)

I've got my site back up. And wrote new bdsm filth! Maires looked at me, puzzled. “Are you going to fuck Stephanie – I mean Scallop – again tonight?” “Nope.” “Is she going to be allowed to come?” “No.” She paused. "Are you punishing her?” “No.” jerusalemmortimer.com/bedroom-eyes-3…

Applied a second coat of high-gloss oil paint to the sink surround in the bathroom. I'll have to wait for that to dry before I paint (water-based semi-gloss) the ceiling. I got enough old sheets to keep the floor, shower, bath & sink covered during that job. First do no harm.

Damn. jerusalemmortimer.com, my website, just crashed when I updated plug-ins. Something to do with an error with the Jetpack update. Anyway, I'll try to get it back. Naturally, recovery mode doesn't work at all. To be continued...

After scrubbing it first. I run a "no mould left alive"{ policy.

I'm going to have to paint the whole bathroom, from ceiling down to the floor. Because some people don't know, even after being told many times, that if you have a long hot shower & shut the door behind you when you leave that room will be full of warm steam, perfect for mould.

Should write. But it takes intense concentration. At the moment, I've painted & scrubbed, vacuumed a pool & I'm worn out. If someone asked me what I wanted on a pizza, I'd burst into tears. Got no focus. I'll write tomorrow. Time to get stoned and watch Star Trek, I think.

Er, I meant $325. The $350 is wishful thinking.

My house is nearly ready for new housemates. Did a lot of painting & scrubbing today. The bathroom's almost ready. Scrubbing mould off the ceiling All this is about getting by. For a writer, being able to let a room for $350 a week is the difference between survival and not.

It's a bit like Stephen King's "The Dark Half", where a mainstream "literary" novelist occasionally lets his horror-writing alter ego seize control of the pen in his literary fiction. Only in my case it's only me, erotica-guy, grabbing the keyboard occasionally. Also, I'm benign

In my first published book as a non-erotic writer, there are scenes that make it clear that one relationship is at the lighter, spanky, end of bdsm. Well, not actually "clear". A vanilla person would probably miss the hints, but someone with the right antenna might notice.

But if anyone did want to buy a very steamy bdsm novel containing real people, and comedy among the sexual material, then you might find this both charming and also very, very hot: amazon.com.au/Tale-Tawse-Jer…

One thing I am absolutely terrible at is selling my books. They're good, sexy books, generally with love and bdsm as the stars. But I guess I'll have to read up on Sales 101: how to market your rather clever and sensual smut.

This is as far as I'll take my end of the in-fighting: an observation and a bit of a whinge on Twitter. That's it, from me. I guess if I start to feel I'm exposing myself to reputational harm, I'll stop organising events.

I got a feeling I'm being called hard names, out there somewhere. I dunno what names, but it doesn't matter. By doing this thing I'm exposing myself to be shat upon. Organising munches for a semi-rural bdsm group is utterly insignificant. Therefore, in-fighting will be vicious.

In my mountain home I organise a monthly bdsm munch. For the January 2024 munch I waited an hour and no one showed, so I left. I had errands. A woman said she arrived half an hour after I'd gone. So I apologised, explained and said I'd have stayed if I'd known she was coming.

I'm working today. I like Australia a lot. The pic's from my bit. But the angry aggro guys dressed up in Aussie flags are killing their own self-claimed day. They drive people away from what they say they're trying to defend. Ugly isn't a good look. Anyway, I'm home working.

-I’ll be out here dyin. I hear the burnin horses’ sound Gettin closer to my buryin ground, I’m waitin on my buryin ground.” That feels kinda right. It don't quite make sense, like a bit of story's missing. And it ends at the burying ground. I hear it as Mississipi, about 1920s.

Here's a blues. It's meant to feel old. It aint. I need to have a character sing, & not get caught in copyright. “Some folks just gonna talk all through the day. Oh well-ay, talkin through the day. Everybody got a thing to say. But poor dog me, I'm only sighin, -

@JMoffattWrites One of my tests of a successful life is to have as few self-inflicted scars as possible. I've never in my life seen a tattoo that looks as good as that skin would have looked without the tatt. So I'm proud of my books, and therefore I don't need coloured scar tissue as penance.