Saturday, August 18, 2018



        There are  scores of hard-working,
earnest women in this country, who cannot quite
reach orgasm – due to a fucked-up
religious upbringing… with all those
hidden messages…
         “You can`t do this… God will never forgive you;
you can`t do that, you`ll be stepping into
the devil`s lair” Hogwash and bullshit! But if
we have these hidden, unspoken messages 
deep down inside… they can be terrible inhibitors.
         These messages we absorb from early
childhood never have to face a critical
arbiter … They have crept  into your system
before you could think, before you ever
wanted to think.
         So now you have these unseen messages
in your system which inform your actions…
and you don`t even know about them…
A religious voice from your grandma could 
be saying, “You can`t relax now… not when
you`re naked. People want to USE  you!
So tighten up, tense up and be on your guard!”
          And these messages will not be overcome
unless the stimulus is strong.  That`s why
I advocate the use of vibrators in stubborn cases,
and pneumatic drills if necessary!
          Whatever it takes! There must be
a coup within… The unseen moralistic
voices must be overthrown in your inner kingdom.
          It`s often not easy….In a thirty-five
year old woman, the inner regime has had
lots of time to build up its defences – 30 years
of re-enforcing the walls… You`ll never reach
orgasm with normal sex… maybe later, yes,
but now what you need, dear lady, is an
irresistible invading force that will break
down any resisting scruples you have…
when you`re “doing the dirty deed”, “acting
like a dog in the street”
 dealing with the urges that come from
“Down There!”
           Perhaps this is why most women
have secret rape fantasies that they tell no
one about… because they need that restrictive
moralistic citadel within to be overthrown.
           Often it takes more than one person
working together in the `invading force`
in order to breach the walls.
          All those sayings parents come up with
when they`re trying to tell you how special
you are: “A person of your quality need never cry.”
That`s a dandy one.
          Parents are not trying to twist and screw
up your love life beyond all recognition. No,
parents for the most part are trying to protect
you. And you knew that and your trusted them and
you believe everything they say….
        No critical arbiter  need be passed. These
parental sayings in early childhood never have to
“clear customs, so to speak”.  They never pass
through a rational assessment… And deep
down inside. they might be your dearest beliefs.
         There are many kinds of tragedy, and being
blown up by a bomb is just one of them, living
in a psychological trap is a kind of death
          For this reason the psychologist should stay
here, deal with the stricken you have around
you. Forget about going East.
          The clinic needs the help. We need every 
psychologically-trained brain and every sense
of humour we can find.

          Laughter’s just the tiniest bit like
orgasm, isn’t it?

(C)2015 by W.G. Milne                

Sunday, August 12, 2018


When I was relatively young, I had a Realization, foundation experience in Christian terms I had no idea what had happened to me. There are no recent writings about this in Christian literature... I had to go to a Zen temple to find out what had happened. Philip Kapleau helped me. He was the master there and a great guy. ........It is necessary to create a tradition in terms of the Christ............ The Gnostics knew about it thousands of years ago....But that stream of enlightenment practice was terminated by the Empire church ...............................................................................That is why I am teaching this now. It is necessary to re-establish the path.

        I went to  a party last night. We brought
 mickeys of vodka. Then it turned out my
 host had hidden 2 more bottles away.
          Everybody has anger and grief 
problems. All of us are walking away with 
horrible problems of tension, despair and
and confusion... The path was
 DELIBERATELY obscured... the path to 
deep truth.

          When I learned these facts to be 
actual, as a young man I was enraged. The
supposed source of spirituality lied to us
and told us a simplistic fairy tale.
          The Empire church hid the real 
sources of the Christian path --- and put a 
simplistic Monopoly in their place... They 
lied to us! And then they offered us 
forgiveness for a price. Talk about sin!
          We were conned. Lied to about the 
nature of sin and they controlled us...

           That's what I say.

            It's good to have a blowout party 
from time to time, under these 

            Get rid of all that tension, shame
 and guilt that was artificially induced.

(C)2018 by W.G. Milne

Saturday, August 11, 2018


This song I had written years before,
but finally we did this recording of it
above the Zanzibar Strip house and Tavern.
I had a room upstairs where we used to rehearse.
         We even recorded some of the girls. Just because you're a stripper doesn't mean you don't have a song in your heart.

         I played my red Gibson 330. Bobby Dean Blackburn played his Fender Rhodes keyboard.
We went through the song a few times and this is what we got --- recorded on a 2 track.
         The song starts off with some weird noises, but it comes around.

         The Zanzibar days were full of joy, doubt , anger and passion. I didn't know my own mind yet, as I was being pressured to do all sorts of other things.

         But I meant this song and I still do. Don't throw your song away, don't lose your dream... Or you might lose everything.

         People seem to like this song and I like it a lot, too.  I hope you enjoy it.


(C) 1990-2018 by W.G. Milne

All rights reserved

Thursday, August 9, 2018


               I saw the most amazing thing today -- especially  when I consider how we coddle are children...

              I heard a strange cawing - it was a young crow, almost fully grown but still a baby and used to being fed.
              The mother would parade back and forth with a dangling worm in her mouth. The same beak that fed this big baby, now it denied him.  And it teased him with this dangling morsel...
              The young bird was cawing in protest and he kept following his mother. But she kept turning away.  
            She would give him nothing - only tease the baby crow she had always fed before. She was giving him not a thing. Yet she kept teasing him with obvious food.  
         She kept teasing and when the young, cawing protesting crow approached, she'd turn away... keeping the food just a little bit out of reach.
              "What is she doing, " I asked myself: "Has she no mercy?"

               Then it hit me. This was a training episode. She wouldn't always be there. She had plenty of mercy...
                She was teaching him to fight for his food.


(C)2018 by W.G. Milne

Saturday, August 4, 2018



         The difficult aspect of Mind work is finding a peaceful place to pursue your endeavours, and finding the will to begin.
         It's rather like writing in this respect,
because the roughest thing about writing is getting yourself to the typewriter and making a start - facing the virgin page.
        I know all the theories. I am no longer interested in theories.
Scholastic pursuits no longer interest me.

'Rational' arguments -- I avoid like the plague.

It is even more difficult to find a Place of Power
upon which to employ your meditations --- a place you can access daily.


I searched all the heights of a large peninsula. I climbed to the top of each rise and I sat there to see if I felt grounded - if the place welcomed me and inspired me.
              I found such a place and I built a hut there. We are lucky living in Canada, because there are lots of empty places - places that seem empty.
           But in Canada, of course, you have to build a shelter that is strong enough to be warm in the winter.

          Sounds echoed from the hills across the bay, and the winds would blow up suddenly. After a time, when I had sat long enough, when I was one with the place, the winds seemed to have Spirit in them.
        It was then I started to pray.And when I prayed, after various lengths of time, my prayers were answered.
        A Voice was passing through me, as if I were transparent, as if I were a hollow reed,
as if I was like a flute --- an empty vessel.


        I wrote some words derived from these new, most ancient Gospels. I started the passage and wrote a few paragraphs, but often it was the silent Voice that finished the passage.
        After a while I knew who the Voice was. It was the Voice of the Lord of Hosts, Lord of Israel, Lord of Albion, Lord of Jacob and Isaac
and Abraham - Lord of the red earth, Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Lord of the Islands of the Caribbean - a Voice that rang out over all the nations over the earth, and in my inner ear especially.
If I wish to teach anything, it is how to access that place of silence within you. We must make a space - so that Grace may enter.


(C)1980-2018 by W.G. Milne

Wednesday, July 25, 2018





       Editor 666 has arrived. This bush pilot knows where the poet lives. His cabin is
hard to forget, as it is the only free standing structure in several hundred square miles.
      Wait-A-Bit is about 200 miles away,
but there are no free standing structures
in Wait-A-Bit – except Matilda`s double caravan
with dug-out room below… Her former friend drove a smaller trailer into a larger one, pushed insulation between the two walls, doubled up with the screening, cut a hole in the floor to accomodate the foxhole – and voila – the perfect Artic dwelling.. with steel walls…
reinforced with angle iron… 
        My first wife she used to try
to piss me off – clever bitch! I loved her – still do. She figured the only way she could get me to tell the truth was when I was angry. Otherwise… I lied.
      “True enough,”  Astrid insists: “Normally
you`re a sneaky, duplicitous bastard!” So she`d try to annoy me        “Truth is best before breakfast,” she`d say…. See?  That`s pretty annoying.
      Today   EDITOR 666 meets the THE MAD TRAPPED POET OF RAT RIVER.
     I can relate to EDITOR666 because you must get ugly with
yourself, with your sentences – with everything in your
    I love the street and I love street talk.  I love country
talk. I love being in the country. I love to have a cold beer
sitting on a stump.
      But do not be deceived. I spent four fucking years
at the University learning how to use this language.
And I`ve spent another ten years learning how
 to use street-slang…. I didn`t know that`s what I was doing
at the time – I had joined crack culture, “country of the Now”
      But to write well and tell the truth I almost
have to “get my dander up”… this is a phrase the old
folks used….. Get up to face the Virgin Page.
      I`m getting older now – a ripe middle age. And I`m
not as patient as I used to be – in fact I`m turning
into a real monster.   I don`t let people visit me. 
Most people don`t want to, anyway.  And that`s just
fine.Works out well.
      You see I have to GET IT UP every morning (and
for once I`m not talking about sex). And you know, that
old prick Hemingway (he`s already had more than enough
attention) – but he was right about a lot of things… I like
him best when he talked about writing.
      I used to think he was always a bit pretentious about the
boxing matches, the bullfights  etc. But I don`t think that way
 any more.
      Boxing to me is just a metaphor for the fight to face
the page, and derive some truth, squeeze some juice out
of the psyche. 
      Every morning it`s like climbing a mountain…to mix
       I`ve climbed plenty of mountains and, if you`re determined,
 the one thing you cannot do is stop


Editor 666 – picks a lame line out of a half-assed poem
and sticks it up on the blackboard.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!    What the fuck do you mean by that???
Mad Trap Poet:   If I could see the text, I could discuss it.
Ed:     You don`t need the text, fruitcake… I`ll put the text      
in big letters up above  TO EMBARRASS YOU!
MAD POET OF RAT RIVER:  He produces a 14 inch
butcher knife which looks more like a Roman short sword
than a knife….He waves the blade in the light from
the Coleman Lamp, so Ed666 can see its razor sharp edge. 
“Call me `fruitcake` one more time and I`ll cut your head
         off. Right here, right now.  I`LL EDIT YOU!
EDITOR666:  Ah,  you don`t have the balls to cut anybody`s head off.   Not you, you`re a “literary type.”
PO:  What are you—- you`re a LITTLE editor.  (He lisps
        as he says this)    
 EDITOR666:  All my life, I`ve worked like a man. You don`t   
          have the strength to cut off my head —  see these       ..        neck muscles? They`re too tough for you…. You
          do not know how hard it is…head cutting.

PO:    Oh, but I do.  I know exactly how hard it is…. I`ve
         done it before AND I LIKE IT….It`s not hard;
         it`s easy…. the prick was trying to kill me and
         it cheered me right the fuck up lifting his
         surly head into the air – by the hair… Hard, nah.
         Easy. I liked  I felt like a better man after it was
         done….. All the women in the club cheered and   
          and begged to suck my dong…. Did I let   them?         
What do you think?


Editor666:  No way.. I scan the news for mental oddities
                elements of the insane… I`d have seen  the
                news report…. Did you do it in secret, pansy,
                in your own secret closet?
PO: No it was in the news for days….almost 2
      years back… Remember a story about…..a head being
      chopped off in a public…WHAT ARE YOU, A COP?  I`m     not  not    telling you any details….
EDITOR666:   “I`m no cop! Your mayor hired me to give you
                      a hand with your narrative poems and free free             
verse…. I hear you`re good but you need help
                         bad !
              PO:      What mayor? There`s no town….if you hadn`t           noticed…. We`re on Great Bear Lake,  asshole!
        The only town within 500 miles is PORT RADIUM…
        and it`s been a ghost town for twenty years.
        That`s what they tell me.
ED6: You never bothered to go.?
PO:  Where you from?
ED6: Toronto, New York City, London.
PO:  You drop in to Rochester often? You bother to
        go there?
ED:  Never have, nope.
PO:  Well, at least there`s fuckin people in in Rochester.
       Port Radium, there no one.  And it glows in the dark!
       And It`s about the same distance…   
ED666: What do you mean, same distance. It`s just
           across the lake. I saw it on the map…
RAT:    A map?  You saw a map did ya? Ha! Ha! Ha!
           Yeah, just across the Lake, a paddle of
            about 400 miles…
ED666:  You`re not kidding are you? No, God help me!
            What`s so funny about a map?
PO:  No one`s seen a map up here for years…
        The map`s not really the problem… even WITH
       a map, we don`t know exactly where we are.
        We`d better have a drink and Il try and
       explain things for you…
Editor666:  That first pilot dropped me off
                 right in the middle of a huge parking lot…
Mad Poet:   You mean Wait-A-Bit!
Editor: __________?No. It was just utter
          devastation. Not even a blade of grass. It was
          a huge stone crusher had passed through just
          that morning…
Poet:   So you didn`t see the mayor.
Ed:     I didn`t see anybody. Wait, there was this one
      crazy asshole who seemed to be sweeping
      the place up… He was wearing this  hat like I`ve
      never seen before, and I have been to New
      Guinea… And they come up with some pretty
       wild-assed combinations over there… But
      nothing like this fool! There he was looking
      among the stones… With all these screens
       hanging over his face…..!
Mad-trap: That was the mayor.
Ed666:  Oh, no!  You`re mistaken. This guy looks like
          the moron janitor no one hired, working in this great
           latrine under the sky, scrubbing at the rocky
           coast of nowhere!
Mad Poet ( writes it down)   
       “The moron janitor no one hired,
        Working in this great latrine under the sky,
         Scrubbing at the rocky coast of nowhere “
 MADPO:        ” Sweeping under the open sky”…not bad!…. Maybe   you`re a poet,also

Editor666:  “I WAS a poet… It`s just that my character
                is not quite aberrant enough; my temper,
                though it is extreme, is not sufficiently
loathsome; and my genitals, though larger and much more
weighty than average, are not quite huge. And though
I enjoy beating innocent animals and persons smaller than I am, whipping them into apologetic and begging submission – I am not quite the sadist that I ought to be… to be worthy the name,”POET”.  
          Though I am deceitful and enjoy lying, 
especially to trusting souls: I find duplicity is not the air
I breathe.
        Though I do try to be an cold emotion-manipulating
beast, I am not quite up to par: I do not have that icy grasp
to squeeze each drop of soul out of each person in a situation;
       No I am not quite cold enough to deserve the title,POET.
Mad poet:  “WHAT? did you just say? Are you mocking me? Did you just insult me??`  You`re drunk, aren`t you…?
                You`d better be!”

Editor 666:  “Oh, no! Drunk?  Never!  Alcohol gives me the
                  great clarity.  The more alcohol I consume, the 
                  more intelligent I seem to be…
                   I do not know entirely  how the 
                 Cosmos works, but the more I drink, the less                   
intelligent  other people  grow to be, other
                  people in the room with me, the dumber they                   become….                          
             quite likeable folks turn out to be fools and
                 morons – the alcohol gives me the power
                 to discern their retardation easily…
MadPo        Man,  you`re hammered! Look, it`s 
                  OK to talk to me this way…for a moment…But if you start spouting off this way in Wait-A-Bit…. 
someone`ll put a bullet thru your brain… and laugh about it… It won`t take  very long, either!
Edito666:   WAIT-A-BIT does not exist!
MadPo:    Ha! Ha! That`d be a good start.  They`re sensitive
          over there about their town stature         
ED666:  Statue…?.
MadPo:  That, too! It was melted down in seconds!


Mad Po: I had sex with his wife.  He found out.. Broke into my house… I woke up he had a knife in his teeth and
            his hands in my pants….
Ed666:  So you cut his head off…. and then you ate his

Mad Po:  Quite right. I felt I had to … to prove
              the ability that he was trying to remove
              from me. 
              I caught him and I ate his brain.             
              I felt like a real success that day!

Ed666:    They found you covered in blood
              a man`s brain in your mouth….

Mad Po:  Yes.

Editor:     You did all that and got away!  You`re a sick
              prick aren`t you? Brains, guts, mental illness and
              a gory past – you have exactly the traits I hope
              to find in a poet… Yes, you are mad -but that can 
              be a good thing for similes, images and symbols.
Mad Poet:  So you`ll work with me?
Editor 666: Yes, I will. You`ve got all the qualities.
Poet:   In honour of our deal, I will present you with
          this!         The  Poet from Rat River
          holds up the huge knife…
Editot 666:  I was hoping for something else”, he 
               whispers in the poet`s ear.

Mad Poet:  That?  You want “that?”
The editor nods his head, “Yes”

Poet: Poet nods his head.  “That can be arranged.”

            They shake on it.


  EDITOR 666 – DEFINITION OF A POET:  Intelligence of an  eccentric kind, passion with a BENT twist —a different   way of thinking and seeing the world,  
 necessarily strange associations. A mean, assaultive   character   prone to grandiose thoughts.  Alcoholics are often best – alcoholics who yearn for 
childhood before the age of 5 (Like- Dylan Thomas.) A puerile intellect that makes manipulation
of children and naive under-confident women a simple matter.
     A capable individual,  a person who devises a plan and can then carry the plan out –  no matter how outrageous, violent and sordid the plan may be.  A person with massive manic interludes…. an attractive, handsome sociopath (who can really screw the ladies over). 
MADPO:   “What?” WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY….??? Let me read that! I`VE NEVER HEARD SUCH A STRING OF INSULTS, degenerate thinking in one place
EDITOR 666: Ho! Ho! You know I speak the truth!
PO:   You`re going to pay for that little joke!
Editor 666:  Who`s joking? 
         Both men are loaded now. The overproof has found
a major place in them both.
        Running down towards the river. Mad Trapper Poet
 of Rat River asks:  “Do you think I`m poet material? Do you think I can make the grade?
EDITOR 666 “A person of your experience, proclivities and background, you will shine!” 

(C)2010-2018 by W.G.Milne/Walker Ballantine

Friday, July 20, 2018


The Lord has mercy on those who have given everything:on those who have nothing left,
on those who travel bereft.

The Lord knows who each of his true ones are to be, that they might seek the True One, and speak in His Name, the Father is most forgiving, it is we who condemn ourselves

What we lack tends to melt away in His completion, known as the Reunion, after
the long separation. After a while his servants
begin to see the hand of the Lord in everything, and as a result everything begins to be forgiven.
For all is forgiven that has been redeemed. And all is redeemed when the hand of the Lord is seen in everything.

The creation is not a part of history. It proceeds daily.

"It is today" says the voice of the True One,
"It is today, always today, where you must find me.Do not search for me in books or in churches: but outside and within yourselves."

"For I am within all things; and all things partake of me. Forget everything and you shall remember. Lose everything, and you shall gain Me."

For I greet desperate men, widows and orphans;    those who are well-established tend to ignore and fear Me. They see me as a threat, that I might take what they have.

from the Clifftop Writings   p.116

(C) 1970-2018 by W.G. Milne