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Friday, June 21, 2013

NO WAY OUT! FLIES! FLIES! HOW TO LIVE IN A HOLE FOR 90 DAYS HOW TO TELL THE FIRST TOURIST YOU`VE SEEN IN 16 YEARS - HE HAS TO SHOOT HIS HORSE QUICK,BURY HIM IN 20 HOLES **** WAIT-A-BIT CHAPTER 1 **** also unedited bits from THE MAD TRAPPED POET OF RAT RIVER!

 FULL MOON SKETCHES IN A  SICKLE TOWN 
    There is  pencil and/or ink drawing done by ERNIE TAYLOR

                SEE ---- on WALKER BALLANTINE`S FACEBOOK TIMELINE ---
ERNIE`S SKETCHES OF A LITTLE TOWN....  CARICATURES, TOONS, COMICS
SKILLFULLY CATCHING THE MAD PURSUIT....INSTANT HISTORY 
BY "PINBALL, SON OF ZYTT"  as Ernest like to be called in his serious moments.  






        Whenever I wrote a strange story  for the Talk of the Town Press  (North Bay and Ottawa) and let`s face it, if my story did not have a touch of the strange about it, I didn`t consider it a story.
         Ernie was right there with me. He loved to portray
the mad act...




     

           To roll the dice - live or die - on the one endeavour...
So very quietly, like a good hunter, he waited for the
wildly serious pursuit of the RIDICULOUS...... Translation: BUSH TRIPS in furtherance of The Great Mystery - 


HERE GOES --- MAD TRAPPED POET OF RAT RIVER
 UNEDITED 1
the Eye at the Heart of eternal in the Flower - 
 THE EYE OF THE FLY in the VORTEX OF THE MIND, 

 whirlpool at the core of the galaxies of TIME, 
 the Mind of the Lion in the palisades of power

and SEE infiinity in a grain of sand
know eternity in an hour                         (some..Blake)

to hold infinity in the palm of your hand
to know the cosmic dance is ours
 
the funnel at the centre of water circling round 
 MIND at the heart of  Aurora`s silent sound

silence  of primordial rock  of the Same
 the Name of  the diamonds and the stars from the All

our maker makes us, rarely shares whence he came
only in silence may we hear the Call

          I`ve been trying to work the "FLIES" theme back into
this story
         A SPIRITUAL QUEST really and a GARDEN OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS,  THE EYE OF THE FLY AT THE HEART OF THE FLOWER.  
         See?

         For example, the Roving Reporter`s story: 
          "On the Mating Habits of  a popular bird -
the Woodpecker - who beats his brains out for LOVE
AND INSECTS.
           See?
           There was no way our Roving Reporter was going to lose the thread of this one, this story in the immense silence...
the immense silence in which there was only one sound....
a rapping, tapping evermore....
       oh, no!   ONCE MORE HERE GOES:
       MAD TRAPPED POET IN RAT RIVER!
       ________________________________
UNEDITED TWO:
       "rapping on the feast of Stephen
       tapping though his hooves were cloven
       as some mad mind clove the moment
        knocked the hollow spot of gore;
        hollow place that was a doorway
        hollow tree that was before me
        and the sound that struck and tore me
        Like a fiend that lived before"
        
        "In that place, that mystery scoring
        Some weird beak at beat imploring
          

         like my camera had a barrel
          focused on the place of peril
          as my step would not find  purchase
          in that cursed land ashore
           croaked the  bird,  that looked so sterile
            on that island place of peril
            I took one step, tore  my apparel
            as knocking struck my knees once more
            Was it bird or beat or devil
             Beating hard on God`s quick anvil
              Beating like the heart of angel
             Chained below in some dark castle
              Whispering up some prayer and pleading
              That someone here would ride,
               Be seeing
               Some now timid broken creature
               Who the angels call Lenore

             EDITORS` NOTE Oh yes, and where were we?
             Was there not a story you were telling
             Before the office staff starts yelling
              With your laundry hamper smelling
              So we pitch the coffee on the floor
               You wretched fool, now tell the story
              Or your return we`ll be ignoring
              Just like some blind beast that`s boring
               Through the heart of dark love going              
               O the heart of dark love going
               To that sacred place of yore

               Through the heart of all dead lovers
               In the paradise of lovers
               Laughter runs thru like a river
               As Love`s dart will know no quiver
                                          enter true love liver (???)
               Ah, that liver set  afire
                Yes, the river  dark and rolling 
                Round the bend, so mad, and whirling
                 Yes, that dark and mighty river
                 That lost corner now forlorn
                 Mighty River called The Corn.         
                                                             

           
            __________________________________
 Cannot find toon sketch image for "Woodpecker"
   OK, OK, try this:

The other morning I woke up with the premonition that I was going to die, so I did the only logical thing. I went into the

BUSH and instructed my MORTICIAN to accompany me.
        BACK IN THE BUSH WITH MY UNDERTAKER =
                         
            MORTICIAN`S HUMOUR

   The first story for the Talk of the Town Press was entitled : 
"ROVING REPORTER DISCOVERS FLIES" 
That story drew Ernie Taylor`s attention immediately. And the line: 
"YOUR ROVING REPORTER HAS ASCERTAINED THAT FLIES DO INDEED
EXIST OUTSIDE THE CIVILIZED AREAS." 
                                                
* Reporting that flies exist in northern Canada in the summer...
s like reporting that ,with a lot of diligence and weeks of hard work, 
you have managed to find a tulip in Holland in TULIP SEASON                                    

             



                                               NO WAY OUT!   FLIES!  FLIES!
                                                                                      
                                                WAIT-A-BIT    CHAPTER ONE
                                __________                                                                       

         Now I`m reporting from a small  town north of Normal Wells on the 
 East shore of the Mackenzie River. If you look at the map and see
 Great Bear Lake - that`s about the Latitude.
                   I`m reporting from this little town of several burroughs - 
not Burroughs like you have in New York City, not Burroughs like you have
 in Toronto - no, I`m talking about Burrows , like foxholes - the kind you dig
 in the ground. The kind you dig when expect to move frequently.
                I`ll report to you the name of the town, village....
one dirt lane  near a hill ( we get our fill from the hill)
       - AS SOON AS THIS PLACE HAS A NAME,  I`ll tell you the name.
For the moment I call this town,  "WAIT-A-BIT."
               The town had a name before it was obliterated by a Canadian
pilot, during a joint Cruise Missile test done by USA and CANNUKS Working
together, they managed to obliterate our town so badly that no one can
remember  what it`s name used to be - if it had a name.
               We can`t blame this one on the American`s either... the 
servicemen  up  here tend to get a little loaded at the dances. 
Even way south in Normal Wells, the dances aren`t what you`d call dances.
. And that`s the big city compared to here... Once in Normal
Wells, twenty years ago I went to a dance, 
only there were no women OK maybe three.
So what everybody did is we bought 100 booze tickets each...
 and we got so loaded each person danced with himself... 122 men, 
3 women - and each person dancing to his own private tune.
              That was the night our ship rolled into Normall Wells. All
the one RCMP town cop had to do was park his cruiser outside
the dancehall and wait for the dancers ha! ha! to fall out the door.
And one by one he drove us back to the Ship -- or to our above- ground
dwellings.
             I can only assume the flyboy up here went to a dance and decided
to fly home and create a roadbed for a new highway at the same time.
Now we got the gravel bed for a new highway ---a NO highway that will NO be built,
 which will have a NO surface*** from NO-where =  from  "NOVAR to...
 "NOVAR to WAIT-A-BIT."
                                                *         ((((   "BACK TO THE STORY, FOOL!" (Editor`s Note) "THE STORY IS CALLED,
 "FLIES!` In case you`ve forgotten!" )))))   
  FLIES!                                                        
  FLIES!
 ______
                                               "
            In the Northwest Territories you can`t tie your horse up outside for
longer than an hour in fly season.....If you stay in a bar too long and leave
your horse tethered outside, one of two things can happen.  
(1) Your horse has gone mad and he won`t let you near him - every time  you
draw near he tries to bite you - and there`s no way you can ride him. In
his own crazy eyeball-rolling way the horse is dead serious about  hating you... and
he won`t change his opinion about hating you for the next two or three years
(2) You`ll notice you can see his ribs now when you never could before. That`s because clouds of carnivorous insects have been eating his tender bits, and now they`re working
away at chewing through his hide so they can start devouring his internal organs...

        You can be sure his asshole will mostly have been eaten out so it is
beyond repair... this will not have a calming effect on your horse, and it is likely
he will hate you for as long as he lives.
         I heard the plane landed an hour or so ago, and I notice we have a tourist in town for the first time in fifteen years. (Explosion was in 98). I leave my smokey burrough and go
outside to talk to the fool. I don`t like being outside at this time of day, but -
after all I`m the reason he`s up here, so it`s only fair that I talk to him...
... I can see in his eyes that`s he`s a long way from sober... He`s getting
that  `step n`a lurch` tourists get around here.  It`s easy to spot.
        Bertie`s walking past, also. So we got a crowd of three people on
the Main Lane.
         "Hey, Bertie, remember that tourist we had up here a few years back?"
         "Sure do!" Bertie calls back, "Nice fella...Didn`t say much, tho...
Funny the way he ran after that plane!"
          "Sure was!" I shout back at Bertie. Nice to talk toBertie. Don`t see him
much anymore. To tell the truth, I thought he was dead.

          I go real quick over the lane to talk to the tourist. It`s obvious
his horse is in distress. "Distress" is putting it mildly.
          "YOUR BEST PLAN IS TO SHOOT HIM QUICKLY AND USE HIM
FOR FOOD!"
            Fella whirls round on one heel and stares at me as if
I`m off in the distance. I`m only ten feet away. Peers at me like he`s
never see a man before. 
            He shouts, "WHAT!" He keeps lookin off to the south trying
to see the plane.  Plane`s been gone for hours. Won`t see another 
plane around here for weeks now, maybe months! I check one of
the dials on my watch - 3 months exactly.
            I say. " SHOOT YOUR HORSE!"
            He looks back at me. He almost falls down doing it. "WHAT!"
he shouts. He`s not asking questions now.  Now he`s getting kinda
rude...way too rude for an unarmed man.... I decide I`ll try
one more time --- a little patience.... I explain:
            I shout:  "NOTHING STANDS STILL UP HERE FOR VERY LONG!"
            "What?" he says. He`s perplexed.  He had no idea what the fuck
I`m talkin about.
             I say, very slowly now: "YOU`RE GOING TO NEED THE FOOD FOR
SURVIVAL UP HERE... SHOOT HIM QUICK!" Now I`m getting pissed off.
                    "NOTHIN STANDS STILL HERE FOR LONG!!"
                     Just as I say that -  a dog comes running down the lane
quick as if ten children were throwing rocks at him!
                     And they say God doesn`t have a sense of humour! Well, 
body says that up here. Up here  everybody knows God has a sense of
 humour... just... not a very pleasant sense of humour... This guy.... he keeps
staring at me like he`s never seen a hat before.
He keeps trying to reach up under one of the screenings. I swat his hand
 away, and kick his leg a light one.
         "WHAT!" he shouts at me again.  Spose he`s been down at
Artie`s grill.  That`s the only place you can get liquor around here. And
the man hasn`t had time to make his own.
         I shout back: "People don`t like cruelty to animals around here. The
horses can`t stay out long this time of year. Usually we let èm run up and down the street a few time and then they peel right back into the barn. And then we lock the barn door
tight, so nothing can get at em."
           I might as well be talking SWAHEELIE to this idiot! He walks right
up to me. He`s sorta a big fella, but I was big when I came up here, too.
             He says, "What do you mean this time of year?"
              I say:  "I mean the SUMMER. It doesn`t last long but  IT`S
                          NASTY, LONG AS IT LASTS!"

               "Looking for a man named, WILCOX!" he says.

                "You mean HENRY Wilcox?" I ask.
                "I MEAN ANY KIND OF FUCKIN WILCOX AT ALL!"
                 "Ha! Ha! Well, you came to the right place! I`m Frank Wilcox.
Henry was my Uncle."
                 "WAS? WAS! Did you say, WAS your uncle. YOU MEAN I
JUST CAME 5,000 MILES TO SEE A DEAD MAN?"
              "Yesh, that`s right. But don`t be blaming me about Henry. S`not my
fault he`s dead... you can`t just go running off across the muskeg around
here! It looks like a field I know, but it`s got HOLES in it... Just watch the moose
they don`t stay on top too long. Course you won`t see a moose this
month."
              He makes another grab at my hat. Kicked him harder this time,
closer to the knee. This one hurt-a-bit. In Jamaica they got a town called
Wait-A-Bit. Well, that`s where I got the name fort this place. Sure as hell wish 
I was in Jamaica --- it`s a lot cooler in Jamaica than here this time of year.  And in Jamaica, at least you can get some cold beer.
        Like I say, it`s hotter here .... and you cam get a beer to save
your life: DON`T GRAB MY HAT AGAIN!"    I`m taller than this fool
when I stand up straight and you better belive I can chaoke the life
out of him. God knows, I`ve had enough practice. It`s just not smart
to stand up straight around here. You make a .... better... Target.
           HE SAYS;  "You kick me one more time, I`ll rip that nose off!.... Right
off your face!....  That;;s if you have a nose!!!  Under all that screen shit!
COME `ERE! I WANT TO GET A LOOK AT YOU!"
            Artie`s laughing so hard he`s roling in the dirt... 3 legged dog
keeps sniffing at him...
             I shout: "WHERE YOU FROM ASSHOLE?"
             "Maryland."
             "YOU DON`T TOUCH MY HAT! Takes too long to strap it on These
screens are real important to me!  I`ll tie em up when we get inside.
                     "Artie`s buying us a drink...  .... Get up, Artie! Ya look like
you`re enjoying what that dog`s doing to ya... a little too much!"
          We go inside and I get Artie to unsnap the back of my hat where
where it tightens around the neck... I hang the hat fropm a hook in the ceiling...
don`t have to reach too high for the hook.    Ceiling`s only 4 inches from
the top of my head when I`m crouching... which I do these days pretty much 
all the time

         
          You get used to walking in a crouch... ask anybody`s who`s been in the army for
about four years... where people are shootin at your head.

          Now that I`ve got my hat off and the tourist can see my face - 
it`s too dark in Artie`s to see yer face ( I can write good English,
but not always.) 
          It`s cool in Artie`s Bar because it`s dug in the ground... like every
other fukin place around here...after the joint Canadian-American
cruise missile tests... and that dumb NUK ( I mean CAN-NUK... I`m not
being racist, not that anybody`d notice around here... nobody gives a fuck
and I tell ya... after smokin your skin a foot from a wood stove
10 months a year... nobody can tell what colour your skin is anyway...
cause it`s too dark to see anywhere you can relax enough to have a look...
to have a drink... after all, there`s only Artie`s.
        The tourists`s name is Hank, and He`s not a bad guy... he`s going
to have to learn some manners.... He just took the oil lamp off the bar
and shone it in my face....!   Nearly blinded me:
        "Relax! Just want to see what you look like... see if you`re half mad, or
if you`ve gone all the way."
         Artie laughs.  "Oh, he`s gone all the way... All the way and back!...
All the way round the moon - only the dogs up here understand him -
and that`s cause they sing together.
        "SHUT UP,ARTIE!"  It`s nice to see him, just not
that nice.
          "So what were you trying to tell me about my horse?" the 
tourist asks me.
           I was saying,"YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE!
Artie`ll lend you a gun and sell you a bullet."
           
            Artie pours us all a double shot of moonshine, mixed with water,
berry juice and syrop from farther south,  flown up north here all the way
 from Hay River NWT, and Hay River, on Great Slave Lake - hell, that`s 
Civilization!  
            Hay River`s  700 miles north of Edminton, the
Capital of Alberta.... And Edminton`  300 miles north of Calgary (give or
take 150 miles)...
          The Mackenzie River whose elusive east shore we are more or
less on.... this town migrates like Elk when it has to...Every year
or so we got to move in a hurry...
           Not like on Incineration Day - which is our version of
Armed Forces day up here in this funky little village --- village
which has proudly just received a tourist for the first time
in 16 years.  So we`re trying to be nice to Hank, here.
           The Mackenzie River`s (1,700 miles) one thousand seven
hundred miles long --- that`s just down to Great Slave Lake --- and 1000 miles
south of Great Slave Lake, you`ll still freeze your balls off any time
close to the wintertime - July, August your testicles might have a chance
to descend again because they`re warm  But don`t count on it!
          What I`m trying to say is - here in Wait-A-Bit we`re 2000 miles north 
of where you freeze your balls off 9 months of the year.

           Artie pours us two more - moonshine in a tin cup.  Heaven!
          

           I turn to Hank the tourist. "O.K. Listen to me now: "You`ll likely be
spending the winter here..."
           "WHAT!" shouts the Mad Tourist, Hank.
           "Because people don`t like cruelty to animals
in these parts, so no one`s going to give you a ride south. Not that there
are  any rides south...  The plane`s the only ride you can get, and it`ll be
 back in..... Artie!"
                      "2262 hours .... give or take 100 hours."
                       "WHAT?" says Hank. He`s starting to catch on again.  Every 
time he starts catching on, he starts to shout...
                        "There`s no way out of here! None at all! Unless you`re a 
muilti-miliionaire - then you could order a Beaver in here
in about  6 hours....only cost you TEN GRAND."
                 Or.... unless you can paddle 2000 miles up river.... Ha! Ha! Me
and Artie laugh..
                  "Well, even the experts can`t do that...
You`ve lost your transportation.And you`d BETTER SHOT THAT HORSE
FAST!  WHILE THERE`S STILL SOMETHING LEFT OF HIM!... Before he runs
 off into a lake  somewhere and stands up to his neck in water for days, 
like the deer do..."  
                   Hank`s grabbin at me again. "Every once in a while you`ll 
see a deer duck his head under the wate to get the FLIES off. Then he`ll 
stand  there in the lake up to his chin in water with his eyes closed
and he won`t move. It`s hard to see èm after a while -  looks just
like a stump"
             Artie pours us another couple of drinks.  Hank and Artie are laughin so
so hard now they`ve starting to GASP...
             ME, I`m trying to tell something the poor fucker how to survive
the next couple of months without losing 105 pounds in a diet 
no sane man would want. 
              " YOUR BEST PLAN IS TO SHOOT HIM QUICK BEFORE HE 
GETS IN TOO DEEP AND THEN YOU`LL NEVER CATCH HIM!  But first
you`re going to have to dig some holes - about twenty of them at least 
four feet deep so you`re down below the frost line..."
             "Good God!  You`re kidding!"  Hanks says.
             "I only wish I were kidding!" I say.














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