Wednesday, July 31, 2013


                                                                            A SENSE OF POSSIBILITIES

       Hank awoke with a general feeling of doom... That
sense of impending disaster got worse as he approached 
the ladder.
        Withdrawal from moonshine is more like drug
withdrawal than a mere hangover....Hank knew this.
"Mere hangover?  Did I just say mere hangover?"
                    The man is talking to himself, mumbling,
just the occasional word out loud...He crawls up the
ladder and climbs up into the sunlight.
             He is hit by an extremely bright and intense sun.
He closes his eyes and breathes. It`s going to take
a very long time for Hank to get used to this
midnight sun business.
             He stumbles down the road carefully...
"Slowly make my way to the wharf...see if there`s
a boat there....ha! ha! fat chance!... take it down
river so I can drown myself in the sea....  ... No!
so I can find a town with electricity - make a call
to get a plane - before the quarter-yearly landing."
         " How long before the regular plane comes? 
Ah, yeah, 81 days...And I`ve been here, how long? 
Nine days! Nine days only!... all that time, all the 
craziness happening, getting used to an insane culture. Careful  not to make any sudden moves... Nine days
only!  Then I`m well and truly screwed"
          That feeling of doom returns...
         "This  is backed up with analysis and reason,,,  my thinking is logical. I really am doomed!. it`s not just the hangover talking.," Hank, the former reporter, thinks.
           At the wharf he found it!  No boat!
He walked to the end of the wharf, 
stood up on his tip-toes and 
shouted his name out into the wilderness.... 
        An echo comes back... ... sounding different somehow... a name conditioned (by the wind)... 
purified by the wild.
           "Like the angels will sing at my funeral." 
Hank whispers to himself..... he falls to his knees 
and feels very sorry for himself.

            About 20 minutes later he sees Frank, the 
former mayor, riding some kind of a board downhill...
black smoke puffing out behind him...
              "I know how you`re feeling" the mayor
says when he arrives..."The world
ends now, I`m no good...I`m such a shit! I don`t
deserve anything... etc  etc!"
              " What you need
is the second drink! The first one in the morning -- 
 instant hangover cure. I`m not kidding!"

              Everyone in the Mackenzie River  valley 
drainage basin is certain of this fact...
               One good shot in the morning will cure the    
overproof "Desperation Blues."
                Hank has the drink the mayor offers
him.... moonshine and pineapple juice...In twenty
seconds he feels much better.  He jumps up,
says to Frank: "Where we going?" 
          They both get on the large motorized
skateboard- the Town Bus"  Frank calls it.
And roar up the hill, hanging onto - the
 rein of a horse bolted to the floor of 
the skateboard.
             Frank takes Hank to Artie`s Bar
where  the new shine is on tap. Artie`s a pro.
He`s been working 24 hours a day distilling
the Alcool brought up from Edmonton.  The new
stuff tastes fine just fine, and much stronger than the
original town-bought stuff.
            The whole town`s drinking today.
Even a few people Frank`s never seen before. 
       Frank: "Here I`m thinking the town`s 
population was 16... but those two guys I`ve
never seen before...  How the hell can they
get here without being seen?... or have
they been hiding out all this time,
afraid to show their faces after the last
       Highly unlikely, but not impossible 
in Wait-A-Bit.

Might have to do a census...
Change the numbers on the `Population` sign."
       Someone has stuck up a board that says
Population 646. The 646 is crossed out. Now it
reads 16... It`s standing right in that decimated
flat powdery area where the centre of the Town of
Wait-A-Bit used to be... Some comic has put up 
a population sign right where the bomb
hit - the blast happened.
       Nothing grows there, even now

       Artie asks Hank: "How`s the new hootch? It`s
fabulous! I NEVER want to  leave this place!
I LOVE IT here!"
       Hanks depression is no longer terminal, it`s
entirely gone.

       The mayor stand up and shouts to the l
crowd: "Did we make the right decision voting
 ` Booze, not Electricity`?"
       A big cheer of approval rises in the dugout
bunker bar.. "Yes we did!  Remember who your mayor
is,,, and I`ll be working closely with Matilta."
      Matilda`s sitting on the bar showing her great
legs..."He`s already has been working closely 
with me."
     The gang cheers... Everybody in town knows
exactly what Matilda means by, "Closely."  The
whole town has been working "closely" with her.
That`s why she can be mayor or anything else
she wants... She can be Queen Matilda, if she
     So far Wait-A-Bit is a republic, but everything`s
negotiable in Wait-A-Bit.  Next week it might be
an absolute monarchy - the boys will call it
whatever Matilda wants.   Luckily, she`s
a benevolent dictator.Maybe we should
call it a benevolent dictatorship.
      It doesn`t matter what you call it. So
long as the mayor doesn`t screw up
the annual hooch purchase, he`ll
continue to be mayor. If you don`t
give the people what they want -
call the town whatever you like... 
the mayor will be out on his ear.


That`s as close to public speaking
as Frank has done... and that`s all he ever
wants to do.
       Frank asks Hank: "What do you think?"
       "FUCK ELECTRICITY!"  Hanks says.  He`s on his
third hangover cure now... His depression
 he has forgotten what seems like a long time ago.


          Doom in the EARLY A.M.

        Hank`s up early in the twilight
of the sun that just bare sets these days.
He`s peering down the big river and it is
quite a sight.
       Makes a man feel insignificant, the
mere size and scope of the place... all
that water running north to the
       Hank`s been doing some introspection,
and it`s usually not a good idea to do too
much of this sort of thing in the Artic...
 Soon as you turn your head, something`s
trying to bite your horse.
       You can see why Shetland ponies do well
up here - although I`ve never seen one,
I here that they`re so hairy the insects
can get through to bite the skin --
or is that some kind of a dog
I`m thinking of...
     Before he goes to look at what`s
left of the town`s encyclopasdia... Hank
stand by the screens and listens to the
sound of the crows, maybe ravens - their
eternal cawing call..
      "I`l be the Romans and the  army
from Carthage listened to the same
sounds 2300 years ago, or whatever
the count is," this is Hank`s thought
       Counting loses its significance
up here, same as introspection.
Too much of either activity is a bad
thing here in the Great White North,
you must be ready in the present
at all times...
       Hanks ready all right, boy is
he ready! He`s ready for something
or nothing, whatever comes his
way - even if it`s nothing but
a few ravens cawing across
trhe calm waters here of the 
Mackenzie River.
        "This place is almost
civilized this morning," Hank`s
thinking. " I could get used
to this...."  Soon as he has
this thought Bertie runs by
naked waving a red flag....
closely followed by a big
muscular blonde woman
with large breasts.
       Every time Hank starts
taking himself too seriously,
whenever the sense of DOOM
creeps in too close
to his cerebral cortex, every
time his tendency to worry
closes in on him, something
outrageous happens!
       "I wonder who that
blonde woman is?" Hank`s
thinking, "I`ve never seen
her before...Where do these
people come from ... with a
population of 16, I should 
already know everybody
in this whole berg!"
        With this thought and
with his sense of doom gone
for good today, "I better lie
down and get some sleep. It
looks like noon outside."
        It`s seven thirty in the 
morning, again.
        Hank goes to bed.

Thursday, July 25, 2013



       Every    day ....... another kick at the can... if just wish  this morning, I didn`t have to do it sober!
     Monday night is my office party. I`m usually by myself, but
I stumble around just the same - and blow my trumpet and the howling
notes of a Fender lead blown through a huge amplifier. Ah, it`s better than sex! They can hear my clearly from across the lake.. the birds
leap from the trees when I hit the first note. And a howling blues lead ruffles through the trees and greets the sun when it`s dawning.
     Some sobriety is just fine - like when you`re standing before the judge, it`s best to be sober.  When you`re getting married, it`s best to be sober.... though, come to think of it, I was loaded when I was getting married. So much so that, when the words of the  preacher moved me,,,  I started to cry.  I was crying all through my marriage ceremony...  Crying til tears came to my eyes     Looking back at things,now, the tears   might have been prophetic..
     But that`s another story and I`m likely being too harsh.
     At mornings like this you have to look at the positives. Like a minute ago my stomach rumbled... and that`s all.
    Or like... I`ve got no fuckin coffee, but I have some milk.
    Like my income is below the povety line, but I have enough cash to buy a bottle.
    Like  I have no car -  but my repair bill is extremely reasonable
    Like... my wife only talks  to me after sex   -  when she calls me  from  the hotel.
Like: I found proof that I`m dyslexic -   I went to a toga party dressed
                                                                     as a goat.
When he`s drunk my uncle
pisses in the sink                        -     but at least we have a sink!"

LIKE i`M SO DEPRESSED i CAN HARDLY MOVE - But I can still watch
                                                       the grass grow across the street

            FEAR OF SUCCESS?

      What`s really been on my mind recently is this:
I`m trying to distribute this blog on other sites
so I can get some advertisers... make some money
for doing what I do.
        This blog  is getting more popular -
I think because I tend to deal with subjects no
politician would touch with a ten foot barge poll.
         Anyway, you know all that... but lately I`ve been messing up. In fact, many times when I`m on the verge of success disaster strikes, or I make sure disaster strikes.
        Lately porn (erotic) images of women`s asses have been showing up overnight on this blog.
        Some of it is fairly extreme stuff, like men with a need for humiliation - a powerlessness fetish.  This one`s hard to figure out. But a lot of people sure are obsessed
with this  psychological field... thousands of men with cuckold fetishes.  And I`m one of the thousands.
        So I might be discussing a human rights issue in the
`paper` I`m writing.  I`ll go to sleep and right in my story, you`ll see a dominatrix in boots, stilletto heels, perhaps latex pants... leading a man on a leash and the leash is attached to his testicles....
      It`s not the sort of think most people want to see at the breakfast table.  I understand this and I`m trying to stop the sudden appearance of a bare-assed woman bent over a fencepost.  This sort of think affects the gravitas of the subject matter.
        I don`t know whether someone`s playing a joke on me, or worse,  I`mm dredging up these pictures myself out of the bowels of the internet...
      I hope it`s not me. But I do visit all these sights late at night.  I`m just hoping I`m not so hammered that I`m re-bloging these pics to this VIRGIN PAGE, without thinking about it in the morning.
       Possible. The third option is someone is playing jokes
on me, but it`s some grinning growling sharp-fanged creature out of the dark lagoon within us which we call "the memory"  Take my word for it; the memory is a barrel of writhing snakes you don`t want to reach your arm into... These things are forgotten for a good reason... BECAUSE THEY`LL FUCK YOU UP YOU IF YOU REMEMBER.
       If you extend your arm deep into the snake-barrel
of your unconscious mind... you might find you were fucked up the ass by your uncle for a period of eight months when you were three... My opinion is let that guard dog sleep.
Let it rest.
       BUT if you have major SHAME issues and you turn as I do from a highly articulate person to a stuttering, terrified
schoolboy with shorts bunched up between your bumcheeks
 and you can`t say a proper sentence without stumbling on the words - not to save your life.
        Well, if you are having SHAME issues and problems,
deep feelings of guilt...the source of which you can`t quite put your finger on.
        If the past is screwing your ordinary life...well, you`re going to have to reach down into that barrel of snakes...
and you may be terrified while your`re doing it.But you can see it through. And it`s not all bad, some of the process is fun - you`ll come across sexy stuff  and terrifying monsters as well....
        Monsters you have run from all your life....But you must remember, these monsters were scary when you were two.  Even your grandmother can be a scary monster when you`re two!   In fact, mine was.
        But now you`re grown up, the monsters in the closet
hold no more fear for you; neither do the monsters under your bed, or the one reaching in to tickle your groin...or wash it repeatedly with one hand, while the other hand attended to him/herself in the shadows of your mind - out of sight, out of  your memory.
         You know the rest.
         If you find you are apologizing for yourself repeatedly when you`re in public... that`s a sign. But it is by no means definitive.
         If you are an apologizing, stuttering shambling heap
in public - and you have a deep need to be punished...
It`s more than a hint, I suppose...
         It`s a strong indication that you have a snarling
beast in your past and deep within your mind"YOU MIGHT FORGET,  BUT  YOUR UNCONSCIOUS ALWAYS REMEMBERS."





Thursday, July 18, 2013



       "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." Hunter S. Thompson.


      How to survive  bizarre life-threatening 
situations when you`re seeing things or hearing
voices, staying cool all the while and speaking
meaningless platitudes to the people you are with,    resisting, all the while, an overpowering urge to flee:

(a) when you`re walking with your boss and his wife, making polite conversation,  and your dead granny is whispering across the parking lot;

(b)when you discover that your true love has a lizard`s tongue but you have to go to her mother`s for
dinner anyway;

(c)when you know  your own mother is a spy for the Nazis...
    and the Nazis that very moment are hunting you;

(d) when you`re sure you`re hearing  hounds approaching;

(e) when you hear: "Hands up! We have this place
     surrounded!" and you`re sure the amplified voice is

(f) when you are eating in a fern bar and the ferns are alive!

       These are times when you`ve got to get a grip. If you keep you face looking calm and you walk right through the ugliness, you have a chance to escape.
       If a hallucinated person is real, he`ll tap you on the shoulder. Or put the cuffs on you, which is exactly  what you`re expecting!
       Chances are that`s not going to happen unless you`ve really been acting like a dork all over the place, or you`re losing motor function... ie: If you`re coming up Main Street walking like a crab .... then, yeah,
you`ll get picked up.
         Once they`ve got you, do not say one coherent word!  Say nothing in English.  If you`re really whacked any attempt at explaining yourself is just going to get you more time, especially if you`re on a serious drug and you have more of that drug hidden on your person.
         If they believe you are inarticulate and mumbling like a beast, they won`t bother asking any questions.  Drooling a bit never hurts. The idea is to disgust the cops so all they do is toss you in a drunk cell for the night. Then you`ll get out in the morning.
         If the police think you`re a hopeless drunk, they`ll
leave you alone.
         This one is hard to pull off, though. It`s difficult to hide  MANIA behind a shambling, drooling drunk act.  There are a lot of keen-eyed cops out there. And mania is like a bright light bulb in a crowd, especially drug-induced mania. 
 You gotta keep your head down, your eyes down, and for God`s sakes, don`t smile!
         Don`t give `em one of those big-eyed maniac
smiles, wide toothy grin.  What that look says is:
     " I`m going go to across the street, steal a Cadillac, then pick up some hookers and an ounce of blow
and accelerate out of here and toot my horn while someone TOOTS MY HORN, if you catch my drift."
         This is not a pose you want to project, even if you feel like you`re levitating... and you have to hang on to the grill of your car to just stay on earth and keep from floating away into the stratosphere...and you really believe it
      No, stick with the dumb disgusting drunk act. If you can look dirty, or better - filthy...FILTHY...FILTHY! The new policeman of today won`t want to touch you --- these guys are making 80,000 dollars a year... They`re not labourers anymore.... They`re professionals.... The old expression: "FIVE TEN, GRADE TEN" no longer applies, and maybe never did.
       The new young policeman is upper middle class and he`s NOT  going to want to get down on his knees in the sewers and the alleys with you... in all the places where we love to do our drugs... all the filthy holes! Har! Har!   Don`t expect any visits down there.
       Except we do not want to hide in filthy places, either,
we are not longer criminal, and we no longer accept being classified as such.

(Brief socio-political speech:  excuse me)

        We are no longer criminals --- we are the new and rising class of civil rights libertarians who demand
freedom to explore our own Consciousness, through the use of biochemical research.... This age is coming, and don`t think it`s not... Your Consciousness is as much your own as your Soul is.... and one is not so different from the other: the two are interrelated.  In fact, they are one in the same.
       Your Consciousness/your Soul is not the province of any government... and this one day will be one of our basic rights - the RIGHT to explore the LAST FRONTIER.... the inner Mind, the journey within.
        The VISION PLANTS  are a symbiotic need, essential as a fuel and a ground for this Journey.
       Our most basic RIGHT - THE RIGHT TO DEVELOP OUR OWN CONSCIOUS SOUL, and the right to research same.
        This right and principal will be bound inextricably into our most fundamental law. In America, it will be an Amendment to the Constitution;  in Canada, it will be one of the freedoms enshrined in our Bill of Rights.
        It will happen because it has to happen. This is the next direction of our Development, this is the LAST FRONTIER -  THE JOURNEY WITHIN.
         We must facilitate this inevitable step in our evolution.., consciousness must become Consciousness. And how do you think this necessary evolutionary step will happen. NOT by ignoring the Mind.
        Some Politicians will argue against this principle.
But they are Reactionaries and FOOLS, and they will cast themselves on the trashheap of history through their 
scare tactics and small "m" moralizing and their own
        Through the limited experiments that I have done, 
I can tell you we can travel a long way with the Human Mind.( and by `mind` I mean `mind-heart-soul`)
It is the Vehicle that will take us into our new lives
          IF we take this step - our future is scintillating and exciting, and surprising.

     A great philosopher said;  We  are too late for the gods,
                                           but too early for Being.
     Well, right now we`re getting ready for Being, and there`s no stopping the process: the groundswell is overwhelming.
      If we let the Fear-Mongers rule us and we do not
journey into this real Last Frontier, we will sink farther back into the IRON AGE  and death.
        For now, experimentation is a game of hide and seek we must play with the Authorities, and we might as well enjoy it.

        By the way, in a real Democracy, the Soverign 
agent is always the Individual, not the government.
The government is not our "Daddy" telling us what`s
right and wrong.
       We are daddy.
        I am daddy, and it`s best not to fuck with Santa.


        Once you`re in the cell tossed away like  yesterday`s news,  you can deal with your stash so you won`t lose it.
        But, boy, if they sense mania or any form of toxic psychosis you`re in for a longer visit... 30 to 60 to 90 days... Perhaps for a psychiatric assessment, and that`s something none of us wants....+
        +(Though, if you have a troubled past of abuse
or violence, a psych assessment can save your life. It
sure saved me --- with the hard work and care of more than one  fine doctor).
       If you are crazed on PCP, still try and act drunk - though I doubt you`ll fool anybody... You`ll look too primal.  And whether you know it or not, you`re probably grunting and making snarling noises...
       I got strapped to a guerny  one time in a hospital and the howls, snarls and savage roars I was making kept the whole floor awake. I was not trying to do this, you must understand I`m a considerate guy. I was making these sounds without knowing I was doing it. The sounds were just part of my  one million years B.C. self.
      Every time I get really crazed I run into the same Doctor, Doctor Bloch, I`ll call her.  I`m either snarling, vomiting in her office, or making speeches. I don`t know why I keep running into her; it`s like fate or something
      Her names starts with a B. She knows who she is. I find her quite attractive.  I`d ask her out for a date, but having witnessed the monstrosities she`s witnessed, not to mention the array of personalities... my chances for a date are
sub zero.

     I seem to remember she  made a few speeches herself, but of course I was too intoxicated to remember a word. I was admiring the shape of her skull* as she was scolding me.

       Remember, Intoxication is an art and a sport. The idea is to get more out of the time you`re having, than the time you`re having is taking out of you...
       The name of the game is to have a good enough time that you want to keep on living.
        It`s very definite `edgework.`

        There`s nothing better than to remember those moments when you`ve been riding the crest of the wave. And you know that this time is your time and there will be no other, and you rose to the occasion, you challenged the day and won... because you cab laugh.
       Man can you laugh!

        Some of these stories aren`t quite so funny.I`ll
tell them anyway.  It`s best to be prepared. 

(i) one guy lit his house on fire then cut off
     both his big toes because they looked as if
     they didn`t belong to his body....he thought maybe he was allergic to his own toes.(PCP story from the net)
 (ii)   A rapper thought his girlfriend was
   the devil, so he tore open her chest and ate
    her lung; he was found standing in the middle
    of the street covered in blood staring up at the sky.
     He made no attempt to run away

(iii) Houstin (sp?) plucked out his own eye
      trying to go to heaven.

    (Got this from Urban Dictionary... rappers
      names were cited... Houstin? Big Lurch?)

       Not a good idea this standing in the
middle of the road staring up at the sky -
even if you`re undergoing a spiritual
awakening - expect time in jail.
       p.s.:  Acting crazy can be a form
of performance art on a 4-lane stage,
but do not act as if you have a weapon.
They`ll shoot you at sixty feet.  They`ll
shoot you down like a dog.
      That`s not the kind of applause
you`re looking for.

         I can relate to being found standing in the
middle of the road covered in blood, looking up
at the sky ---It happened to me(my own blood mostly).
        They locked me up.
        If you take the Rasta tack and
shout out to the cops surrounding you: "I swear
allegiance to no authority!" Expect 60 days in solitary confinement before you are taken for a 30 day psychiatric assessment to determine whether or not you`re fit to stand trial...


         Nothing like going through a village at 3:00A.M. in the middle of the country on some side highway, and letting her out... Letting your motorcycle finds its pace and roar under the trees,  with the sweet smell of  hay in your mouth, the fresh plantings in early summer, the sweet young grasses and oats
       And roaring through the empty village at 3:00 AM, yes, there is a romance to it, and it`s a romance  that will never go away. For you know that moment in your heart

      Not to experience such moments when you`re young,
that would be the tragedy.

     It`s these moments that stay with you when your body`s stiff and your`re old and grey and you can hardly move.
Such joys attend you by your bed, and stay with you when you dream, like a lover.


                              I`ve always found it`s helpful
          In those paranoid rocked-out moments when your childhood demons come back to haunt you, and the omniscient Policeman in the sky is watching your every move, to identify your angst:  YOU HAVE THE FEAR.
That`s fear with a capital "F".
         It`s nothing to be ashamed of... We all get it.
But it has to be handled carefully.
         You can do really stupid things when you have
the Fear.
         One night in spring I was going to a party 
in the West End.  A friend was with me.  He had five or six
grams of cocaine in his coat pocket.  And he was very very high and extremely nervous. He had the Fear. I could hear his shallow rapid breaths.
        We were standing on the steps to the front door
waiting to get in to the party. There were about forty
people in a  loose line, all waiting.
       A police car pulled up to the curb behind us. My pal
was starting to twitch... he was just about to bolt to take off
and run across the backyard next door.
      I held him back.  Two cops were walking along the line,
one on either side. They were checking everybody out - just routine.  No problem, no suspects... just doing their job on a slow night in Toronto.
      My friend name was Randy. One cop was walking up the line and passing Randy, when he blurted out:
      Randy then proceeded to pull out his five, separately
bagged grams of cocaine. The policeman didn`t have to do
any detecting.  He just took the drugs as Randy handed
the the baggies over. They took Randy off to jail.
      And, sure enough, that night they attended at Randy`s house with his assistance and permission.  There they found
another sixty grams of coke!
      Because most of the coke was baggied up into grams,
he was convicted of "possession for the purpose of trafficking cocaine" and Randy did two years at Mapplehurst.
       That`s what often happens with the Fear - it`s easy to panic. When you freak with panic and do something dumb and obvious, it just makes the policeman`s job too easy.
     If you`re passing a cop cruiser on the street.  Just walk as normally as you can with your limbs frozen rigid. (It`s O.K. to lurch a bit).
And your twisted mind tells you that cops in the car know
EXACTLY  what you`re thinking.... DO NOT BREAK INTO A RUN!
        If you walk past a policeman on the street and suddenly  break into a run, chances are he`s gonna pursue you . You can try this experiment if you want,  but I don`t advise it.
       The police are not usually amused by this kind of experimentation on the part of the public.

         Right now I`ve got to go and get some FUEL, 
so more later. Right here. 
             There is such a thing as SHARED PSYCHOSIS.  Some weird form of ESP and who knows what else?  When you`ve been smoking rock for days, you are prone to seeing things, as everybody knows.  At 25 degrees below zero one night with a 30 mph wind down the lake, I saw a seven foot woman with a low cut black velvet evening gown standing on the ice.
       I told Tom and he looked out , too.  Damned if he didn`t see the same thing! In fact, he saw several more ladies in evening gowns in a lighted boathouse across the bay. I did, too.  They all had drinks in crystal glasses... they were milling about and talking.
       All in low-cut formal evening gowns at 30 degrees below zero F.  They looked good, too!
        I managed to avoid chasing them across the ice barefoot in my underwear....   but the temptation was there.

       In the second case, we both saw a troll standing under the porch light of Tom`s back door.

       As we were driving away towards town, we looked back and saw the troll. We agreed to compare notes when we got to town -  without telling each other a thing.
      In town we both make a list of the troll`s clothes... at different tables in Greco`s Pizza. We both got red toque-like hat, a long toque that fell down his back... a brown  jacket, check pants. He got a yellow scarf; I didn`t see a scarf. We both
       I know this sounds nuts, and maybe we were nuts.   But we both saw a short man, slightly bent forward, broad shoulders,
big head.  And we saw more or less the same clothes.
       I guess we call it SHARED (TOXIC) PSYCHOSIS.
       Weird, huh?
        The problem with psychosis is that paranoia often comes with it.  And a paranoid person is a dangerous person.  If the man living next door to the local church takes a large dose of PCP, and he sees 3 nuns walking his way...
        He might be sure dark evil  minions of Satan are coming to suck  his bodily fluids dry and dissolve his bones.  And dark long-robed creatures are going to devour the bones of his little dog, too.
                He might lurk in the bushes waiting for the robed sisters to make their way through the garden past his house....he might be waiting with a pick-axe. He might already have the hole dug.
         There`s a report of a couple who`d been taking P.C.P. for some weeks... The drug became toxic in their systems.  They then entered the dangerous dark fairy land of PCP belief systems... They had two boys.  One was a little prince
a hero-saviour figure. The other child was the dark one - the Satanic child, born with Satanic knowledge - devious and monstrous and cunning at birth.
        The dark child was plotting the death and destruction 
of the hero-saviour kid, he who served the light.
         It was a very long weekend in the fairy kingdom that family spent together - especially for the kids! I`m not going to tell you the outcome exactly.... But not everybody
       Don`t get me wrong, PCP is a very useful drug - used as animal tranquillizer... It`s also fun for humans, but tiny doses out to be meted out by a "party doctor."   Best not
to fuck with that drug at all.
      The thing is,with some of these strong drugs like fentanyl and PCP, you lose all your inhibition.  And that`s fine if you`re in a happy mood... But if some dark suspicion
crosses your brow and you work yourself into an ugly mood, ooooooo  don`t go near that drug, even with a ten foot
barge pole.
       You don`t always remember the atrocities you commit.
           When the fern in the fern bar where you are eating is ALIVE, you never know what darkness may come in the
     While the voice of your dead Grandma whispers to you across the parking lot .      

   On discovering your true love has the tongue of a lizard...

Sunday, July 14, 2013



          I went to see a psychiatrist once.
          That`s an understatement.

           I was order by the State to undergo extensive
psychiatric treatment, and I wouldn`t have missed
it for the world.
           I heard a voice in my head say: "You fucker,
think of all the taxpayers dollars you cost the country."
That was the MINE CAPTAIN.*****  ONE PERSONA
           And I say, "OK, asshole, true enough.... Come a
little closer so I can grab your throat....You know fucking
well I paid out more than I ever cost the state! So let`s
put that dog to rest for a little while. this PERSONA = SANTA
pretty close to the core of me.
          I intend in this stories to let a few of these personalities
speak up. Now I`m not psycho, totally, I know when this
different people are speaking through me.  I know what
they`re saying and I know what is being said.
          I`m not one of those multi-personality
people who have different PERSONAE take over -
and they don`t even know they`re killing a chicken
at the same time they`re having sex with
their sister.      Ho! Ho!
         I`m not like that and I want to make that clear....
though, sometimes when I`m really high...
       I`m  kidding....

          The point I`m trying to make is this.  I woke
up this morning and I turned on one of my sites
and the first thing I saw before coffee is a big colour picture
of a woman applying electrodes to a man`s genitals
and turning up the juice.
           There are some things you don`t want to see
first thing in the morning  --- it`s different for everybody
            THE WHIP AND THE CROSS - no erotic picture
             ROVING REPORTER ----anything goes verbally
                                                   no nasty pics
WALKER BALLANTINE TIMELINE - attempting no pictorial
             surprises, but because of certain managerial sites
             sharing.... they`ll be some surprises I can`t control

ROVING REPORTER IN WAIT-A-BIT   very little control
                                                                                                               over what goes in (a MAB)

SADOBEG   --- expect straight porn.

  Another PERSONA =  APOLOGETIC SCHOOLBOY (needs to be caned and likes it... ashamed of himself and he should be ha! Ha!

another PERSONA -   SANTA my nickname in Northern Jails
                               kind, generous and a bit MONSTROUS, too --- teaches URBAN SURVIVAL skills  ( see RRR story)
It`s important to remember that when I`m presenting as
the "Apologetic Scoolboy", Santa`s just under the surface
watching the whole show....

I`d get rid of SCHOOLBOY  but his guilt and shame and
       stuttering manner arouses something SICK AND PERVERTED and FUN deep in my psyche....
    It`s like the old joke: patient:  "My brother`s gone PSYCHO - HE THINKS`S HE`S A CHICKEN!
my whole family`s upset about it."
  Doctor says: Well, why don`t you smarten him up?
  Patient says:  Because we need the eggs!
   Same thing here - I could get rid of MR APOLOGY
but I like the spankings....

     And no one`s going to spank SANTA

     Also, there`s a saintly presence who leaps in when
I`m painting a picture.... I call him
ST GUILLAUME.... he  really takes over, but he`s
hard to see. He`s a much better painter than I am....
he`s the Zen presence who`s right in the mix of things.
     He also shows up sometimes when I`m writing
the WHIP AND THE CROSS --- believe it or not, that site was supposed to be funny....sometimes a Ray of Truth blasts through... and all you can do is let it express itself....
      The problem is --- when I start writing the holy, spiritual stuff.... I start getting PREACHY and I don`t know what to call the humourless FOOL who does that...? Ok for now
let`s call him HUMOURLESS FOOL...

       OK these are about all the characters that I can think of
that fill and inform my PSYCHE... except, here are a few other names:  John Rock, JJ Williejohn, Bill Milne, and
Walker Ballantine..... I`d tell you how they all fit in, but I`m not eactly sure....   One thing I can tell you - it`s hard to say Bill Milne through a Microphone.

       Try listing a few of your own personalities or
""psychological stances"" It`s fun to do, and you come
away with a better understanding of who your are.
If you get good results, feel free to e-mail me at: please mark your subject as PERSONAE --- so I`m sure to see your mail.

                  All the best to you,   WALKER BALLANTINE



          My first band past the age of 21 was called: JOHNNY ROCK AND THE ANGELS. This band was situated at a rehearsal space above the Zanzibar Tavern in Toronto.
The Zanzibar is a famous striptease bar on Yonge Street
in Toronto.
           There are many streets in Toronto. But Yonge Street
used to be MAINSTREET, still is
in many ways.
            I had been working on a farm in a place called Verner, west of North Bay. I`d been shovelling
a lot of feed, and sand and shit... and I`d had a lot of bad
jobs  in the past. So I was a physically powerful man -
and I thought I`d be just fine on Yonge St.
           John Rock and the Angels were a tough bunch.
however.  What I didn`t know at first was that everybody
had a hidden weapon...a gun at the ankle, a hidden 
switch, power drugs, axes, hammers, razors and
shotguns... and that was just for Sundays!
          A literary pal of mine used to call this band
that name was more fitting, I suppose, than the Angels.
We were no angels, but everyone has a spiritual side -
even Monsters.
         There are a series of short films about that time, that
place and that era. Many of the real players
are not mentioned in this film, but I suppose you can`t
mention everybody... and names are transient
anyway, and we all pass through many of them.
         I`m a bit different because I have about seven names
in this life - not even talking about re-incarnation ( or whatever pejorative word we use in the West
to describe a phenomenon most of the people
in the world know damn well is going on)...

          The point of this story is I`ve felt a lot
of SHAME in my life, due to a fucked-up upbringing
in many ways.  This is not abnormal
this is about average in our culture.

           So I say to my psychiatrist:  "All I want to be
is a normal guy."
           He says to me,  Walker, you are many
things...(and he listed some of those things) but ONE
Now that`s not something you want to hear from
your psychiatrist.

           The first band was made up of a group of
musicians who knew the Zanzibar. I rented a room
upstairs. We`d meet there and rehearse. A pal of mine
says to me, "You  should  called  your band THE MONSTERS  instead of the ANGELS

                                                           *    *    *

                  WE all know things move in cycles
             The cycles of the moon are the most obvious
I remember my doctor sister, Sheila,  saying things were twice as bad in the Emergency Rooms during a full moon. d Toronto "the Good".  Ha! Ha!    Nobody calls it that anymore, and I know why!
         I was there for many of the NOT GOODIE TWO SHOES celebrations... when the real heavies came out...This is when I was sixteen and I didn`t expect some flashy white guy in sunglasses to pull a nine millimetre automatic out of his
pants with silencer and start firing quiet but impressive shots into the plaster of a chapel I knew and respected....
        Then he threw out handfuls of white powder
onto the hardwood pews and CHOIR PRACTICE
was over...,  we brought out the bass and the drums
and rolled back the carpet in the centre aisle....and things
got loud.
         This guy was screwed unconscious and he passed out face down into a stack or prayer books... and we heard sirens coming our way and things moved fast... I locked the door
of the   (sp?)  chapestry    where they keep the less expensive communal wine.
         You should have seen the Choir Boys snort and gobble that night.... Just like they were used to doing
when they were with the priests.... well, the gobbling, anyway...Ho!  Ho!   Boo!   Cheap shot!
          That was unkind.  Most of
those priests and ministers were fine fellas, and I mean it - kind souls,  but it`s easy for me to say. I was never
taj=ken from behind by a man wearing priestly robes....
not until later.... Later a strong blonde busty German gal
with big breasts and legs that could hold up the stars ( and in fact did hold up my stars)  gave it to me... and taught me the meaning... of the word:   PROSTATE MASSAGE.
           God!  Another scam!  More lies about  RIGHT AND WRONG!" 
           I highly recommend that you get some sturdy gal
with long fingers to massage your prostate.....
it feels great  --- thought I was gay for a minute, but no,
this is normal... Men we have an extra sex gland
we have hidden from ourselves
           I ask you what would these uneducated
judgmental school-assed and twerps know
about RIGHT AND WRONG.... Before you can comment
on `right and wrong` you must get your head
out of your MOMMIE`S ASS!
          Of course there`s nothing wrong
with mommie`s ass, depending on whose Mommy we`re
talking about....and what you intend to do with that Ass.
Of course, if you are her son - certain things are supposed
to be out.... beyond the pale.... forbidden ,,, even to rat man.
          Tell me what a forbidden country ass does to your


         Turkey`s in the pot;
 Johnny`s on the spot       
Hilda`s on the cock of a dove.
 Pukkha`s in tha orch
 Four liquor are torqued
  And Pussy needs a bolt from above3.
((((  Elmer`s got a bend
 in the trend cradenza   sp 
     And Pussy needs a bolt of love.  

Saturday, July 13, 2013



          This hangover is SPECTACULAR! Don`t get me wrong,
I feel bad... but I also have that crystal clarity
that makes me think I can see for 100 miles 
and call the ravens out of the white pine telepathically
 from way back here.
      An old pal is getting out of the Inuvik Jail, where they`ve had him in the hole for that last 72 days.I guess they`ve had him there for the last eight months.
       He`s a quiet fellow, never makes a fuss ho! ho! and
will hit town like a Okkie tornado and freight train all rolled up in one and come whistling down the river hopefully
in a bush plane - he`s not high enough for travel by levitation just yet. I imagine we`re going to fix that.

      We have a tragedy on our hands at the moment -
we`re out of hootch, internal bug spray - let`s call that
High Mountain Moonshine Overproof Special Yahoo! That`s the name of this blend...but it`s almost gone.

       I woke up this morning because I was buzzed
by a Beaver.
        I`m not talking about a blonde in tight jeans
about to sit on my nose - no! I`m talking about
a Canadian bushplane/floatplane which makes quite
a roar when it`s coming in -  buzzing your cabin, or coming
down to land at a ridiculous speed.
        I knew who it was.  It had to be 
Bobby Carl Wildman, who had just been sprung from a jail
only 400 miles up river. 
      He`d be  rarin` to go.
Problem with Bob - he gets an idea in his head
it stays in his head until something is done about it.
Most of his ideas involve motion for everybody else.
You could say that`s part of his charm, and sometimes
you`d be right.
        His last name is Wildman and he acts like a Wildman,
and every time he comes by: I have a near death experience.
       We usually follow a plan, take off in some direction
and see what the hell`s going on over there. If nothing`s happening; that changes pretty quick.
        Once I was lying on my back  relaxing in a canoe in at Trout Lake in cottage country. The waves were rocking me like a little baby in his cradle. And the sun is warm on my face.I was listening to the song of birds.
         All of a sudden there was an 
was an explosion on the shoreline, much much louder than a firecracker. It was Robbie arriving.Robbie showed up with a couple of suspicious looking fellas in a white limousine.
           Next morning at 5:00 A.M. I wake up in New York City. With no memory whatsoever of how I got there.
            I look up and admire the plaster moulding between ceiling and wall . It`s good carved work. Then I hear the constant traffic flow... WTF?
       Then I forced myself up onto all fours - and I started
to crawl. It seemed like a long journey across an
endless desert.  What drug gives you tunnel vision and
and totally fucks your depth perception, too... so that a foot
can seem like a crab at the bottom of a cliff... What drug can make a luxurious rug at the Hotel Pierre look
like the Gobi desert?
       What FOOL would take such a drug,,,Am I that much of a fool... Oh, no! No negative script right now, revolving in my swollen brain....I don`t have time to be depressed.  Yes,
I might be an utter shit; I might be spit on a windowpane -
but if we don`t clear this room they`re gonna put me away forever...
         In one of those cheap government asylums,
where all the patients are numbers walking around with their asses exposed.  Eight AM and they bring out the firehose -
they start hosing the `residents` down with cold water...
        No need for showers.... and when they put you in immaculate white solitary confinement, that`s when, under the bright lights they let the spiders loose on you..! You can see `em real well against the bright white floor and sheets... then you`ll scream.... yes, then...scream.... Yes you will!
       There are certain parts of YOUR body they like to eat when you`re sleeping.
       STOP IT. That`s all in my head.. No one`s turning the spiders loose on you - not quite yet,  anyway.... Now open your eyes and get a grip....
      Not acid, not cocaine, not crystal meth or MDA, not
herb... although herb sometimes can do amazing things
with colour... not Haldol, methadone or amitriptyline, not most of the prescription drugs... although there are
 some exceptions if taken to excess...not PCP,,, not PCP....
oh God!  Not PCP!!  What have we done?
       Why are all these bodies lying in our room.  On PCP
you can do any monstrous thing... you might think it`s for the good of society that you`re choking the life out of your highs school teacher...
       You might feel sorry for homeless people, then kill them all and drag them to your room in the Hotel Pierre
so they`d be warm and not feel so alone anymore.     Schostokovitch! Is that what we have done?  Are any of the people alive? Am I  a certified monster, after all?
Were my friends in primary school right all along about what
I would become?  On PCP, all of the above is possible
        "THEY`RE GOING TO HUNT US DOWN LIKE DOGS! "I whisper to myself.
         "get a grip.... first of all you`ve gotta go and catch that prick over there...."   I`m crawling again, trying not to puke... He can`t hear me.  I`m too quiet.

       The bastard`s over there in the corner hunched over the telephone talking rapidly.He looked like he was 100 miles away.... I had tunnel vision. WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?
 I have a wad of money in each of my front pockets... Have we robbed these people then terminated their lives?.
        Did we chop them up? I had a horrible taste in my
mouth just tasted like last night`s  liver and 
onions.Did we eat their LIVERS! Are we harvesting organs?

       I can`t crawl far or fast... from all fours I collapse on my stomach. In the rug I smell something sweet. My nose is in something soft... Dear God,it`s a hand! It`s perfume I smell... With my eye I follow  the hand along the arm up  to the head. The eye in the head opens.  The eye is huge
and seems to be following me as I attempt to crawl away
I`m about to make an exit on my knees...
     It sees me: "HEY, COOCHIE!" It shouts at me.           
       "Thank God!"  I`m thinking. It`s alive! Do I have to kill
it again?"
        I clutch the back of Rob`s collar and pull him
onto the rug with me. So he`s at my level: "YOU FOOL! WHAT HAPPENED? " I hiss.
        "No one`s sure.  Remember those two honchos in the limo.
         Just barely.
          Well, we rode in the car with them for five hours.  You told all kinds of funny stories....
          OK OK. what happened!
They gave five pills of that date rape drug.  They told me to try it out.
         You gave it to yourself?
          Sure, why not?
          "You give the pill to your date, not yourself You`re supposed to give that pill to the woman and SHE passes out. Then you jump on her and do your evil deeds...  And then you`re facing ten years in the slammer...
          The way you did it: "WE passed out. You can tell the guys it worked! too well...It turned us into killers, also!
          He looked at me for a long time. I was just about to pull out one of his teeth  with my bare hands if he didn`t speak up.
         He said: "That pill really got on top of you, didn`t it?"
         I say:  "What pill, you fool!  What the fuck happened?  Our room looks like Cambodiea after a massacre!  WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING WITH THE BODIES!"
        Rob looks at me as if he`d never met me before,
        "Those aren`t bodies!   That`s Shula and  those are her friends! They`re all alive, I think, anyway.
We met last night.... drank several gallons of beer.
You must remember Shula.  She was giving you oral love under the table!"
       "I`m hallucinating are you?" I ask I`m not mentioning
the evil grin the head had given me?
       "Yeah, quite a bit actually... How about you? You took three times what I took... oh yeah, and the boys said there
might be a little PCP mixed in it just to keep you awake... so any weird thoughts you`re having - forget `em."
       I didn`t say a word. So he continued his explanation:
     "You climbed up onto the stage and did a slow striptease.Shayla got up, too, and stripped with you. The whole place went wild; the bar was mayhem.  The bouncers and the bartenders were freaking. Then you got up on a table and...things settled down when you were least at first....
      "Then you made a speech about "LIBERATION" and  things got way way worse...everybody got up on the tables throwing their glasses against the wall... Cops were called. We got out quick  We have a room here..."
     "OK, I understand.  But there`s something we`ve gotta do first. Come back into the room with me and we`ll check their vital signs."


          I woke up this morning full of doubt and recriminations.Guilts of all manner were trickling past my ears into my enlarged mind.  I can`t drink a bottle of whiskey straight without water and expect to survive.  I could do it when I was twenty-one but even then it was a bad idea.
          These days it`s damn nearly suicide
        I have that clarity that means you`ve just dumped about a billion brain cells.

            Another time we ended up in Peru.
       That another story, one for a more adult audience. Ho! Ho! Joking, of course.  You can imagine what Bobby got up to in Peru - with Peruvian flake cocaine selling for $10.  a gram.
I`m admitting nothing, naturally.  We went up into the Andes and we were consumed with snow.
      I remember that sudden vacation a whole lot better.
I have a very Klear memory of it.


       Another time six of  us were just arriving back at Pearson International Airport (Toronto). I was with a bunch
of Danes (Gerd, especially). They had just introduced me
to Aquavit. I had six glasses of it then fell asleep behind the wheel. (Wish I had a glass of it now!)
        I drove into a concrete abutment, attempting to leave the parking garage. We weren`t going fast, but even
at 10 MPH you can have quite a collision.There were six of us in the car.
      I drove an Oldsmobile Cutlass straight  into a cement  pillar   I WAS AWAKENED BY THE SCREAMS OF MY PASSENGERS.
      Usually within three days of Wildman`s arrival, some disaster happens 
        Bobby kicks the door open  and shouts: "I NEED SOME HEROIN!"
       I just stared at him from across the room....   ....  ...  You son of a bitch? YOU MAD BASTARD! You know there`s no heroin in Rat River! For the last month
we haven`t even had salt!"
       "Fuck that! I came to pick you up!  Time for a party... I`m just out of jail and you look out of your mind.
       "What`s wrong with you -- you look like you`re dying!"
       "Isolation sickness.  Mad Po left for a booze purchase
  three weeks ago.  At first the silence was, not so much.
       "Forget that! It`s time for a party I`ve got $32,000 and I want to spend it!
        Bobby waves to the pilot.  An engine starts up
down the river.