I`ve been through older unpublished Roving Reporter Rant
stories (RR Rants)...
need a little variety
because I`ve been trying to get away
from my frequent musings on Sadomasocism and Religion,
the Whip and the Cross.
It`s not bad enough that I`m a pervert - a sexual deviant, I`m a religious fanatic, too. This aberrant combination is guaranteed to not warm up the neighbours - especially when
I start chanting at 2:00A.M. during the new moon, approaching
the summer solstice.
I`m more comfortable with the balance between these extremes in my own psyche. That`s probably why I`m
not "institutionalized" anymore. Years ago one reader wrote the paper in a letter to the editor, saying: "This isn`t funny. This man should be institutionalize!"
Funny thing, I was institutionalized about
six months later... they caught me and put me right
in the booby hatch. Strange.
(Remember song - "They`re Coming to Take Me Away")
I used to pretend I was sleeping by the Big Lake up here (Lake Nipissing)... on the shore with three bottles
of wine sometimes with a blanket, sometimes with
a dog.
**** Have you ever given a dog some of your dinner,
and the dog wouldn`t eat it?
Ha! Ha! I have.
in our fantasy now, I`m living
on the sandy shore of that 90 mile lake, and I`m tucked in...more or less with the dog
and now only two bottles of wine... and I`m trying to get
an article down to the office, and there`s no way
I can make it.
The wind`s blowing up like a bastard... I hope
no Wendigo howls tonight...
Now it`s morning and no one to talk to out here
on the sandy heath, no one to send on an errand.
I walk a mile to call a taxi.... except it`s more than a mile... It`s way more than a mile. I feel I`ve fallen off the map.... and now I`m into a different time zone.. and
I`m in a desert that has never been recorded, on a road
that no one knows...
I`m exhausted. I`m hung-over like
a motherfucker. My mouth is so dry my tongue is looking
around for company. The tip of my tongue sticks
to the back of my tooth. It`s like I`ve been stuck in
the desert for 40 days.... I fall to my knees... rest
with my face in the sand..
I hear a car door slam. The driver is standing
over me... I see... I see the glint of something
smooth and fine ,,,, It`s a woman in a short skirt
and nylons... She has fine legs but I I cannot notice,
Gasping, I manage to sit up.
I hand her the story and say: "Don`t worry about me!
Get this story in to the Talk of the Town Press. It has to reach the press by 8:45 this morning
Can you get it there for me?
The mystery woman nods silently... She sets off
across the desert with her precious cargo... This time
I do notice her legs....I scratch my head with incomprehension...
The first words in the paper the next morning were:
"I was going to send this in by pony express, but they shot all the ponies."
But this whole tale about sleeping on the shores
of Nipissing (as terminal drunks have been known to do)
...Sleeping with a blanket (that how you spell blank et??? surely not)
Having my wine delivered by boat---- and
attempting to get stories off by return boat.
It`s not so bad now I got a shack. And I stole
2 gallons of gas --- so I can inhale the fumes,
when my spirit`s fade --- AS THEY`RE SURE TO DO
SOON AS I GET WET DOWN IN THIS PLACE...
Fuck! I better dig a hole and light a fire,
do it in the shack pretend I`ve got a stove. Steal
a rack from a used stove in a dump - soon as that fucker comes back with the boat....
I`ll borrow his 22... shoot a few birds and muskrats,
make a stew. Now I`m thinking!
This is the kind of story that used to get those
cards and letters rolling in (to the editors)
demanding police action
Hank staggers out of the shack...
"I got a friend who boiled a pidgeon for about
2 hours - he said, "Stink! Didi it ever stink!`
"Ya gotta take the feathers off em first!" I tell him, you can`t just cook them like they`re some sort
of microwave dish.... there`s stuff you gotta
take out of those birds =--- the bowels would be a nice
start- take those out & ya got a chance..."
The dog`s definitely hungry. I can
tell by the way he stares at me... those mournful eyes.
Perhaps tonight he won`t turn up his nose at my dinner....
JESUS, WHERE AM I?
Soon as I can get to a scanner, I`ll
scan some of the "Roving Reporter in the Bush" tales,
and the comic sketches drawn by Ernie Taylor of me in
hot pursuit of various stories.
(He got the "mad intensity" which is hard
to get, I`m told. Soon as someone points a camera at
me I smile like an innocent schoolboy.)
Of course, looking at me these days, I`m
not fooling anyone.
Maybe I wasn`t fooling anybody when I was
a schoolboy. I had one Grade 2 teacher who hated me
on sight! Maybe she got a glimpse of the mind behind
the mask - the innocent schoolboy act...
I wrote for 2 hours the other morning - a great
true scene of whipping my 2nd wife atop a cliff, near
a waterfall in the spring - with 20 tourists approaching. That girl sure did have a set of lungs!
I had to wrap things up fast....She was screaming
like I hadn`t told her what I was going to do to her...
Ah, but some of the tourists were running like
they were trying to "save" her. They should have
saved me. I was the one married to her...
The problem with people who want tot try S&M,
they hear it`s sexy... that the PAIN turns to PLEASURE...
if you get caned in the right spot.. But NOT RIGHT AWAY!
It`s going to hurt a lot first... And that`s when you
spend a little quiet time alone and tell yourself
how sorry you are for all the evil things you`ve
done... (No! I`m kidding!)
Anyway Melissa was losing it, and tourists
were almost making it to the crest of the hill, so I did the
only logical thing. I put Melissa in the trunk of the car.
Out of sight, out of mind... **
Then I went on to describe my use of Mindshocks,
working with a trained psychologist, to cure tortured
women, tortured by their familial repressions... how
Mindshocks help to set these ladies free - by scaring the
shit out of them, if they need it.
There knees are not pressed so tightly together
after that. And if the women have a tendency to look
at the floor - they don`t look at the floor so much
after the first Surprise.
No, it`s too dangerous to look at the floor. They
look behind them and all around them, and then they see
my trained assistants with notepad ,
padded handcuffs and a short cattle prod, which
is easy to hide when you tuck it up the sleeve of
your white labcoat.
Some of them try to run, but they don`t get far. It`s
rare for someone to get away, like Alice. Afterall, she`d already paid the fee. Also, there`s the fact that I`m the
only shop in three cities who performs this sort
of high-intensity, quick-fix psychological procedure.
Hell, I might be the only clinic anywhere, who promises to
cure your orgasm problems in ten days, or you money
back guaranteed.
After several years, most of the women who have
attended the KLEAR YOUR MIND ORGASM CLINIC
after a year or two, I get thank you notes... sometimes
the lketters are long and the thanks are effusive; sometimes they even try to find me!
But right off the back after the procedure, they
usually hate my guts... That`s why I have to get
the money first.
In my one unsuccessful case, out of 19 delighted and appreciative women I got a letter
that was not a thank-you note... it looked like she had
a lawyer or a an expensive secretary type it. The words,
"a long and enduring hatred" appeared.
I`ll be seeing her again, but it might take
years, and, all flippancy aside, she has a serious problem,
which will not get better on its own - even if she shoots
her father, or her uncle, whoever she`s sure has caused her
difficulties.
And speaking of shooting, transference can be a problem in this specific situation. When she turns her
compulsive spotlight in my direction, it`s quite likely
she`ll try to shoot me. This has happened to me with
members of the fair sex before, but never in a professional
relationship.
I can feel her now, prowling the side streets and
parking lots around my old place, a rifle with a scope in her
trunk. I should never have taught the lady to shoot.
I have had nothing but her best interests at heart, however - it might appear different in her mind - in her enraged,vindictive an extremely pressured state of mind.
I`ll have to be very careful
when I leave the compound.
I fear for the poor husband who marries Malhalla,
who is an extremely attractive, wealthy, apparently stable woman.
You see the husband, when he gets naked with
her to have sex - and when sex turns out to be a disaster -
it`s hard to get an erection if you are staring into the
eyes of a woman who looks suspiciously like a black
panther, preparing to eat your spleen.
I have my assistants. Gentle doctor Laura is
available to placate patients - Laura`s services are always necessary after the initial Mindshock.
The women naturally think they are in the
middle of some weird Machiavellian Nazi experiment
after I lay the electrodes down to tender parts
of their bodies.
But it`s almost all for show.
Thinking again of that poor naked man
before Malhalla`s glowering onslaught.
Without my instruments I`d feel naked, too.
I use well-fashioned and durable sexual implements... An electric pulse and probe are frequently necessary... and of course there are canes and crops. Electric cuffs may be needed... restraints,,,prescribed stimulants... padded restraints.
Sometimes I bring in professional studs,
sometimes distractions... Sometimes I use power tools
My team are pros at quickly
treating any medical difficulties
Sometimes after the first surprise probe and za Sometimes after the
first surprise PROBE and ZAP, the patient starts to shriek...
and the words LAWSUIT and charlaton often come up... and she`s right, with the amount of with the amoiunt of electrical
and medical lab equipment we have assembled here...
not to mention powerful prescription drugs.
When the patient starts to shriek "LAWSUIT"
after the first blast of current up her ass, I hit her with the
Haldol...
And soon as they awaken and she`s having
breakfast in her green backless johny gown, I hit her
with the blast again..... ZOWEEE! MINDSHOCK!
delivered to the lower unit...
I have doubled the current going thru the
electric probe this time .. .
I told you, I get results, and I get `em fast!
I must break down all resistance.
I`m the one who drafts the medical Release
form, and if I do say so myself, it`s a beauty.
I lost one lovely twisted soul 13 months ago... I
happened to spot her sprinting across the lawn.
Sometimes you overdo the initial shock - but really the
shock has to be administered in a closed environment.
An intelligent woman can often sense something
coming. Maybe it`s the snickers of the queer male nurses.
(I keep calling them gay - they insist they`re not gay;
they`re Queer. I`m not sure what the difference is
and I`m not sure I want to know).William S. BUrroughs did
write the book, though, and we all respected him.
I hired the male nurses because they did such a special job of nabbing fleeing patients at the research hospital -
they showed such gusto and skill. (They nabbed
me more than once and I can run like a rabbit when
I`ve got a good head of steam up. Of course, with my
knees strapped together they had the advantage...)
Yes, I make fun. But these women suffer.
And, understand something about my methods:
I claim to cure you quick. And I do. I will.
My team hasn`t had a failure yet.(With one exception
and I`m not finished with her yet.) If my
methods appear to be more like theatre than
medicine, well so be it!
I`ve always wanted to get into the theatre,
but this is a hell of a way to do it!
As I`ve mentioned before, my clinic is not
sanctioned by the A.M.A. or even by the F.D.A.
I do get referrals from some doctors, but
it`s always on the q.t.
That should be enough
initials for one article.
Word of mouth provides most of my trade -
people who roam the City late at night in the
black-walled darkness of the more unknown bars,
red flickering candles, vampire suits,
and laughter and shouts and confidential talk
when the band stops playing.
"It worked for Alice. She feels a whole lot
better now... She says he was brilliant, a genius.
She said he quoted Dr Wilhelm Reich and his
orgone therapy as well as Mesmer and the Marquis
de Sade.
" Now she wants sex as soon as she sees a
white coat, or hears a certain song
only the doctor knows..."
" You`re kidding, Madelaine - that has to
be unethical - keeping a hypnotic trigger secret!"
"It`s certainly better keeping it secret -
than telling everybody what it is at a cross-roads!" Madelaine
laughs out loud and slaps her knee.
"Actually, Jo, that was a joke about the secret
song." She pats Jo`s hand.
Johanna: "What`s gotten into you?
You haven`t been snorting that drug, inhaling ha! ha! gas?"
"Relax! I feel fine. I feel great, better
than I have in over a decade. He not only
showed me how to orgasm, he cured my two
pack a day smoking habit....`
"My God! How`d he do that?"
Madelaine looked down... along the line of
her leg and boot: "He showed me how to put something
else in my mouth."
Johanna sat back and said: "You don`t mean... ...
Do you still see him?"
"Oh, yes twice a week."
"For help with your orgasm suppression...
"Oh no, I`m cured!" Madelaine laughs I can`t tell you how cured I am!"
" Why`d you still see him then?" Johanna asks. She`s looking a little flushed.
"He`s helping me find a cure for my smoking!"Madelaine smiles.
* * *
THIS Passage is meant to go elsewhere!!! Don`t read now
unless you wish to shift to a darker mood
__________________________________________________
Hear In Silence I Sing
____________________________________
unedited article beginning
a poem --I`m just scratching out
I found an old unpublished Roving Reporter article,
written a few years ago when I was drunk as a Lord and raving
about "the townsfolk" coming with torches...
Though I was drunk angry and somewhat off my
rocker - the townsfolk comment, while unfortunate, was understandable. I`d been living on top of a cliff
in a cabin I`d built out of oak logs...It had a woodstove,
no electricity, no road to it. It was quiet and beautiful..
and if you stayed there more than about ten days by
yourself, no radio, no unnatural sounds.
You`d find psychic powers you didn`t think
you had would be returning to you.
For example, if someone was on my path -
a half mile away, I knew they were coming before I ever
heard a sound. So I`d go and sit on a tall rock
slightly off the goat path... and when they were passing me, I`d say, "Hi!"
It`d scare the hell out of them if it was at night
The point is, we all have such psychic abilities.
But to re-discover them, extreme steps are necessary -
get away from all unnatural sounds... for more than a week.
I`m not in the bush most of the time now, but I do sit in one place for long periods of time concentrating, going
through notebooks. Sometimes I just sit there
gapping out, staring at the wall.
I have been noticing minds have been visiting me .
I find it happens often when I`m writing... tonight I
was trying to write this articles, and a poem started
coming through.
It`s not unusual to be influenced by native psychic
voices around here. The First Nations peoples presences and influences are all through the land up here. I have to say,
I really respect these people. Really, they are my brothers
and sisters. They are the only people who will go into the
bush with your Roving Reporter for extended periods
of time.
I`ve got some stories from various forays into the
bush - one time for a couple of months in a totally
empty lake about two miles long... Oh, I shouldn`t say
totally empty. There are all kinds of inhabitants,
just none of them human.
And the Northern Lights seemed to make a lip
low over the horizon in the middle of the night - a huge
dancing mouth. And it spoke to me on more than one
occasion. Now, I`ve got no human witnesses of these events, but I did notice all the ducks turned around and stopped
talking to me and started listening, too.
Now we`re going to the other log cabin I built, with help - about 45 miles to the South and fifteen years earlier.
Wait a minute, this is about tonight.
I was writing this article tonight, and a poem came through and I could definitely hear an indian voice
telling the part of the story of the poem...
I lived on top of a cliff in the middle of a
spray of oak trees atop the hill and plenty of maple
and some poplar away from the windy sections
of the rock face.
In the winter, the small City of North Bay
glittered and sparkled in the distance, with outriders
(skidoos) skittering across the bay; it looked
like a temporary encampment of some invader
like Genghis Khan, who had overpowered the
land for a season - but who would be driven back
in dissaray and shame. It would only be
a matter of time.
Here the poem starts up without my knowing
I was writing a poem:
I was there in the permanent season.
I was there in the silence.
All I had to do is wait and
The intruders would be gone
Hear my song in the silence,
Hear in the silence I sing.
waiting is hard
pain`s unending;
we see now this heartbreak
our mother is stripping away;
our mother is still stripped away
I can wait in the silence;
I can wait in the dark;
I can watch for millenia;
Because I am one with the land
The sap of the maple`s my life`s blood.
Slow sap of the oak nourished me.
I know the waters will quench us,
move for us
Amid the long great deep freeze
This ancient rock is my bedstead
and bone;
The bark of the tree is my face
This my love, I die in it and and of it
I am already at home
*** Hear, in the silence there`s singing
Hear - the silence I sing
Oh now Voices pass thru me.
I don`t know when this began
The first people inhabit this land
My brothers and my sisters they`ve been
You brothers and sisters we`ve
lost in this time
We look for you in the spring
O Hear, in the darkness there`s singing
O hear, in the silence I sing
Here in the silence we sing
(C)2013 by Bill Milne
June 19, Bay City
This poem`s unfinished,
the poem might turn out to be a song
Respectfully Submitted, R. R.
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