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Thursday, December 26, 2013

AN ATTACK OF GOUT, A SLAP OF MANIA, AND A BOTTLE OF OVERPROOF RUM - THE EDITOR IS DRUNK AND THE RUDEBOYS COME OUT TO PLAY!


                      

                          I want to apologize for my outburst
of insulting talk directed towards various people
and also the reader. I want to apologize
especially to the reader.
           By the way, I've found it and gotten rid of the worst
of it. But it's frustrating. You get ride of one piece
of nastiness, and five  more paragraphs pop out. Yes,
I got rid of one ugly paragraph, only to
find five more take its place, from articles I don't
remember writing...  Kind of like gardening triffids.
You pull out one weed, and bingo!  The ugliness
has spread!
           I must have been in a horrible pre-Christmas
funk. I don't respond well to all the pressures of
Christmas. Why do you think I'm a hermit? I
don't respond well to pressure from any source.
My life has been full or horrendous, diabolical
pressures: 1st from my parents who wanted me to be
a politician; 2nd from girlfiends who EXPECTED
things from me... and 3rd, from the ugly
dark tunnels I lived in with various wives!  Only
when I left each situation did I realize how
miserable I had been!
         Now I live, not pressure free, but close to it.
That's why I have time to write, finally!

         Now briefly I live with a mess of cats. A friend
pressured me into taking the cat. Then I tried to
give the cat back - and that worked for about
a year... But, now the cat has come back to
me pregnant, and last week had seven kittens;
and they're all living in my kitchen....
          Anyway, you don't want to hear
about the smell and stuff like that. But
let me tell you this: if I can smell it must
be bad!
          In the past I have taken various
medications up my nose, and maybe
took a tad too much of certain medications.
The result of the whole thing is I don't
have much of a sense of smell...
well, you can imagine the rest.
          I'm not going to let the cat situation
develop into another form of pressure...
I'm getting pretty slick.  Pressure slips
off my back.... Ha! Ha! At least so far
today!

          The whole thing about writing
and about life is to work things
until you get into a flow experience.
Whether it's the flow of words, or the flow
of lovemaking, or the flow of a healthy
sport - running, cycling, and tennis -
the idea is to work it until you get into
the ZONE.
          The Zone is a flow experience,
and, as I say, this is the aim.

          Now that combination of Wray and
Nephew overproof, full strength,  white
rum from Jamaica (you can light a lantern with it!);
gout in the knee - the pain of gout in the
knee can drive you mad; and a good
solid does of  biorhythms moving into mania...
well, I had a flow experience, all right.
           The agony of gout in the knee;
the clean-headed drunkenness of the
overproof, and the high-paced
metabolism of mania. Rather than shouting
out the pain, I was writing it out into a
stream of intensity that no moral arbiter 
in the mind, and no mental editor could cope
with...
            Looking back on it, it was an
interesting experience, but no way
do I want to go back into that
wild state of mind.
           What I will do is go over
the sixty or so pages I typed up
instead of screaming or swinging
from a chandelier.... and see how
much of it has been published...
That's the plan.   
           And it may take some time.    
                    
          But let me say, I don't think anybody is stupid
to read my stuff when it is unedited. Sorry about
that.  Truth is, some of my best stuff comes out unedited.
That's when I'd read if I wanted to learn about writing
           Frankly, it's smart to read the unedited pages,
if you can stand the incoherence.  I was throwing pages 
out around the room - like a maniac.
You should see this place!
           
                    My theory is you edit nothing at first.
Then hopefully go over it, with a blue pencil, and THEN
publish it. (I know they don't use a blue pencil
anymore.) Or at the very least -DON'T PUBLISH
IT  THE SAME NIGHT YOU ARE DRINKING,
maybe getting loaded and starting to
turn ugly.
         
           It's taken a lot of years to learn how 
to write the way I wanted to - as I speak, myself -
and other people speak.  It's best to learn
hanging out with hookers, drug dealers and the
strong arm boys.
           Most street corners, you'll find them.
           The trick is to not get stabbed, robbed,
or have unprotected sex. If you're going
to have street sex, do it in such a way
that you don't catch anything terminal.
             I guess you could argue that death
is a flow experience, but it's not
what we're looking for right now.
 
           I want to write the way people talk - minus 
a few expletives.  Sometimes, of course,
you have to leave all the four letter swear
words in - if you're in the middle of the action,
or writing an intense argument. In other words,
there are times when you can't much out at
all.
              What's his name?-Keruoac  had a theory
that he wanted to bring it all out unedited, and it's
claimed he more or less did. I don't believe that.
But maybe he came close.
               Some other writers: Jean Genet came close also
in, Our Lady Of The Flowers...who else? Henry Miller, at times.
 Salinger .The guy who did, "Monkey House", Vonnegut,  
sounds like he's doing it, He's not, his stuff is well crafted, but
he sounds like he's talking straight to the reader.
                   Hemingway, great with the straight
narrative - telling what's happening etc: not so good
with the dialogue.  But you can argue that
point. I don't know why I brought him up.
His work is edited many times.
                   Celine, also, very much so in "A Long Day's
Journey Into Night" , that brilliant book! He sounds like
he's having a relaxed conversation with the
reader.  Seeming like you're talking right to the read
and being unedited - the two things are related
but they're different issues.
                    Both Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs
visited Celine in France in the mid 50s...
he was one  the fathers of writing
with slang and clipped street rhythms -
in order to achieve  the flow.   
                  Stephen King and Elmore Leonard
both very street-sounding dialogue, and you gotta
love them for it. Elmore Leonard's novel-talk
makes you feel like you're in the same
room with him, having a relaxing drink.
                 
                         

                Anyway,   the disgusting images
and the ugly/nasty narrative
the unnecessary rudeness
that was the flow that was natural
to the pained, ugly mood I was in...
But I should have edited it
later. 
                  Plenty of women have left me
for this very thing. I come on like a schoolboy,
then a month goes by... and I step into my
natural mania, drink some Seagram's Rye,
and then soon afterwards, have gout in the
knee and...
                 Then I tend to shout...and wave a
cane around...One time  I drove  down a
fairly busy highway - driver's door was open
and I was swinging an axe at other cars, who
were coming too close to my knee.
  And that was just gout in the
knee ... with no other added fuels!

          To be honest, if I wanted to be a writer -
I'd see if I  could get a glimpse of unedited
manuscripts at the library... when you
see a page of the first manuscripts, you'll
see how badly even excellent writers
start out... then watch their improvement
when you see the actual book        
         
        I'm normal now and clearheaded, coming
out of  depression or mania can be like
coming out of a tunnel.
       But it was worth exploring - the stream
of rude nasty ugliness - it's still a flow
experience.
          Anyway, sorry for the excessive
rudeness. I'll read the articles over and
get rid of the worst of it. 

 

               

                              

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

SANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE - A HUMOROUS APPROACH TO SURVIVAL IN STRANGE SITUATIONS






             SANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE
             **********************************************************************************************  

                                                CHAPTER TWO,


                                                              ONE



THE SCREAMING BANSHEE: HOW TO GET PAST IT...

         Oh, yeah, there's a screaming banshee outside,
all right...often it's in the wind. Sometime the banshee
as associated with the Wendigo, a central figure
in native lore.
         The banshee I had to fight was the one
within me.Blind Jimmy was picked up and carried
away, too, when the Banshee started howling.

         I used to drink too much. Don't worry. this is no 
temperance talk. I still drink too much. But now
I do it in such a way that I don't get arrested
every week.
         I have a tendency to climb tall trees and
towers, lamp posts and church steeples and ring
the bells of the steeples at 3:00A.M., and howl
instructions to the town. "COME AND SEE THE MOON,
 FOOLS!"
         I'd howl this weird gibberish at the town.
I also used to wave large gleaming knives at the full,
full moon.
        This was fine when I lived by the lake
 in a house with a long driveway deep in the woods. 
It wasn't fine when I moved closer to people.
That's when I had one of my many courses in law
enforcement.
  
      Rather then explain, it's easier to tell some Blind Jimmy
stories. Blind Jimmy was my evil twin - who I couldn't
force out of my house.

       


                                                          TWO



                     Sighting of Blind Jimmy?

RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS - SUPERSTITION IN THE DARK CONTINENT



"I have immortal longings in me."

"I will praise any man who will praise me."                                    William Shakespeare
        The doctor who lives next door was shouting over into my yard, when he saw me standing naked with coffee cup in hand, gazing off towards the vistas in the East.
         He was shouting and he's usually a quiet man, so this was significant.  He called: "WHO WAS THAT MANIAC DRIVING YOUR CAR OUT LAST NIGHT AT 3A.M? HE GOT SOME FOOL TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES ACROSS THE BAY!"
           "THEN HE LIFTED A HUGE STONE OUT OF THE BACK OF YOUR CAR WITH ONE HAND!  HE KICKED OPEN YOUR DOOR AND THREW THE BOULDER IN! IT LOOKED
LIKE A HUGE INDIAN HEAD WITH FEATHERS!"
             Then in a stage whisper  he says, "I was going to call - but some things shouldn't be spoken of... So I'm maintaining silence, as we agreed." Then he said something disturbing, he said, "He looked like some dark Caliban."

             People can get up to some pretty strange things up here in the dark, when there's nothing to do except look at the ducks for entertainment. 
             The bad weather around here often comes suddenly from the east. Quickly lightning begins to strike along the shore, and if you're in a tin boat floating perilously over this deep lagoon, you'd better get the hell out.      
             Actually, so far the lake is called bottomless. The crew hired by the government shows up every four or five years and they try to find the bottom with heavy measured chains - they
have never had enough chains to find the bottom.
             I'm thinking, "In this 'modern age' surely there must be a way to measure depth more quickly. 
             But a family runs the business and I guess they are funded by the federal government, so they keep trying in the old way. I'm thinking, what about sonar? But the chains are too much fun. They provide a Gothic flavor to the whole operation... And who wants to find the bottom anyway? 





             Sometimes sitting the local bar, 1,000 feet down a dirt road from my house, I sit quietly and listen. The people from along the peninsula keep whispering two tables over from me about, "the best place to hide a body."
              I already know, but I'm not about to interrupt the good clean fun of my neighbours.
              This is the land of 100,000 lakes and a million miles of muskeg. Bodies are lost up here even when no one is trying to hide them.
                I also hear them talk about the fresh water sharks that come and go across vast distances. After all, the caverns beneath our lake ( as everybody knows) are directly connected with caverns beneath rivers and lakes approaching the Gulf of Mexico.
                 I heard Suzie, a fine looking lusty lass with muscular thighs and knees that can crack walnuts, I heard her whisper to 3 girls from the northern volleyball team, she said: "In the winter, that's where they go to feed. Those poor Cajuns! Should we warn them?"

                
                                                                         


                   


                                                 
                                             THREE

SCREAMING BANSHEE ON A SUNDAY MORN



        Blind Jimmy isn't blind. He gets that way when he drinks. "Blind drunk", as kids, we all thought this phrase was named after Blind Jimmy, or should have been.
         He rents some of the rooms downstairs, or so we'd been told.

          He came into my office the other day soaking wet. Now my office is not a formal place. In fact. my secretary hs been on her annual vacation for the past 13 weeks.
          But soaking wet! And there were a few people waiting in the outer room.
          He walks in and he says, "Those fuckers!"
           "Who you talking about?"
I ask.
            "Those guys in the highway patrol. They took my car off the road!"
             "Jim, you're drunk!" I say, "You're pissed! Eight sheets to the wind! You're drooling, too! Like a hungry dog, a whipped cur! You're slavering like a beast who has met his doom! You're lucky you're not in the slammer! In fact, I should report you now! Ha! Ha!"
               "You can't drive smashed out of your mind like this --- at least, not any more!"

                He stared at me as if he had no idea what I am, let alone who I am, "No, no!" he shouts, "I started to drink after they took my car!"
               It was starting to make sense to me now. And the truth I was beginning to see was an ugly truth - one I'd rather keep suppressed, repressed, and blocked in my unconscious. But this was not to be, "You came by boat?" I ask.
                "I came by boat," he said, standing there dripping on my brightly patterned wool rug,"
... only I didn't make it all the way..."
                 "You bastard! You took my boat!"
                  "Yeah, I had to. I wasn't going to walk all the way from town."
                 I'm thinking, "You didn't have to come here at all!"
                                                                                                    
.
             

 

NOTE: Add Highway 63 Scene --- Blind Jimmy vomiting on the centre line,

           with 8 policemen laughing.  Young girl films it. Film is on T.V. news.

also Add:  -Huge  Feathered stone and    HIGHWAY FLASHERSin my kitchen at  6:00 AM      FIND these scenes & add them next issue.

                   

 

                              FOUR    

 

                THE THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE

THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE
THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE! STUDIES IN THE FEMALE ORGASM         I had to stop writing about religious matters because I was starting to see cross-eyed and I was getting threats from the religious community. Subtle comments like: “YOU ARE GOING TO HELL!”which got me laughing.        Or, DO YOU KNOW WHAT HELL IS LIKE? I e-mailed back, “I can arrange tours. Starting  at 2:45P.M today. Bring women and liquor!”

         Then I got into this more important subject, and I ran into Walker Ballantine’s  famous article: “THERE ARE TWO REASONS I GET ON MY KNEES!” And I knew I was onto the scent. This story has already taken me into some strange and disreputable places. And Ballantine’s mind is stranger and more disreputable than most washrooms in most train stations.

         Take Melissa, for example. I have her tied over an armchair in the garage, an armchair I
have flipped over onto the cement upside down.  So I could tie her naked limbs spread eagle to the legs of the chair. I can hear her screaming, howling really, into the night. I should  shut the garage door. 
          It’s 4:30 A.M. and the neighbours need to sleep.
          My closest neighbour is my attending physician, but he’d rather not attend.

           Oh, that was a good one! She’s really putting her back into it No one can scream like that
unless they really mean it! The dogs around the lake are starting to bark…If the people in her legal office could see her now!
            To put your minds at rest, your Roving Reporter comports himself with the utmost
integrity at all times. I obtained a 13 page “Medical and Legal Release” and had her sign it in triplicate. The RELEASE is iron-clad. I know because I drafted it myself.
            Also I work with a male psychiatrist  and a female Masters in psychology. Sometimes I have to employ a couple of hookers as well.

             A few principles of sexology, penned by yours truly.
              Principle 1: There is nothing ‘nice’ about orgasm.( Especially in Melissa’s case because she has not had an orgasm in 35 years. And frankly that’s just damn unhealthy - for her and for everybody else. She’s a strong woman physically and mentally. And around the office she’s turning into a real prick. She came to me for help and I told her I’d take the job, but it wasn’t going to be pleasant. And it was going to cost her!

             Principle 2: Tools and fuel are necessary.

( NOTICE- PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!   I don’t need more legal hassles. WARNING: THIS CASE STUDY INCLUDES SADOMASOCHISTIC ELEMENTS. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY SUCH SUBJECTS, READ NO FURTHER)

               Principle 3:  Extreme Measures May Have to Be Taken.
                Case History:(a) The subject attended a catholic girls school for 13 years.
                                        (b) Her father is  psychotic. The very thought that his daughter is having sex with anyone throws him into a destructive rage. Last week he managed to gain entrance into her underground parking garage and he attacked her BMW with a fire axe.
                                      (c) Her mother’s favourite expression when talking to her was: “A person of your quality need never cry.” The psychological damage that this cruel advice has caused Melissa is incalculable.

                Once she was tied up and naked with her buttocks up near the ceiling, I administered a sedative orally (which, believe me, she was  going to need).
                 Melissa doesn’t really like me, and her disdain is useful in this case.

                  Principle 4:Fear and shock are necessary psychological tools. 

                  At the moment she is penetrated anally by a radio-controlled device designed especially for that purpose.  I can adjust the speeds from up here in the house.
                   When she wakes up from the sedative in several hours, I have a surprise planned
that will  scare the hell out of her. Then all her resistance will be gone. She will be utterly compliant
and I can really go to work on her.
                     She will endure orgasm soon after dawn. After 35 years, it will not be a quiet
procedure.
                      She will not forget the moment. It will be an experience she will treasure for the rest of her life. How she will feel about me afterwards remains to be seen.

                       But I am a professional. I am used to the mixed feelings of the women I cure. Sometimes their hatred persists.

                                                                                      PLEASE NOTE: THE ROVING REPORTER  IS NOT A DOCTOR. AND DESPITE THE UNDOUBTED SUCCESS OF HIS METHODS, VERY FEW MEMBERS OF THE MEDICAL COMMUNITY APPROVE OF HIS PRINCIPLES.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                       FIVE

 

SUCH MIGHTY MYSTERIES, COULD WE EXIST WITHOUT THEM? EVERY ANGEL IS TERRIBLE GRADE 4 IN THE SCHOOL FOR MYSTICS




          The above title is a quotation, I believe, from the German poet, Rilke.
           I found it in a very old notebook of mine. This makes me think I was smarter than I now think I was, when I was nineteen.

              Here are some other quotations from the same scrap of paper:

              "Every angel is terrible."

               "For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror we can just barely endure."

                "Always distracted by anticipation."
                
                 "To wish wishes no longer."

              "Not that you could bear the voice of God"

                  Now I'm going to have to go back and study the fellow again... But his story as I remember it is this:
                  Let's say his name was Rainer Maria Rilke. I think this is correct, but I'm not sure. Remembering a time 30 years ago, is for me like remembering a dream.
                  He was a young man, and obviously a genius, so this older woman found him and set him up in a tower. She gave him a place where he could do his work. And by God, he did it!
                   She was right and he wrote magnificent things, like the quotes above.

                    But let's go on in my dream fantasy. I know it sounds like a fairy tale.
                    She set him up in a tower on the side of a hill, overlooking a wide, low valley... and farther away there were other hills.
                     This area was subject to some fantastic storms.
                     And in this tower, lightning struck, lightning in a bottle, he had Mystical Experiences
of the Divine. Now the divine goes higher than the highest star and deeper than the the deepest subterranean cavern, under the lowest hell. It's like when lightning strikes from high up in the clouds
to deep into the earth.
                      This is one way to describe a Mystical Experience, and make no mistakes, in the School For Mystics, a mystical experience is the goal.
                       No kidding around, I honestly believe that mystical experiences are the highest form of learning we can approach as a species, because science and religion, emotion and cold analysis... and a sense of Wonder... all combine in one Knowing.
                        I'm also quite sure that "Awareness"
this is the purpose of mankind. Through us the universe becomes aware of itself,
                         We are not separate from God; we partake of God. God is the universe around us the organizing of atoms bemeath our feet, and the  organising of intergalactic beauty. The Universe seems to be intelligently creating itself.
                          A scientist studying the mysteries of the quantum world knows that his awareness
changes the reality of what he is watching. Through the microscope, his awareness changes the equation, the gestalt of what he is watching. His awareness must be considered to be part of the equation.
                           Mind affects the ever-changing structure of reality.
                            I'm almost positive that our awareness changes what is happening in the sky above us, though our concentration cannot usually focus long enough to see the change... macrocosm
and microcosm. Does one reflect the other? Is the only difference their size.Is their everchanging nature essentially the same?

                            These are questions for Grade Four of the School For Mystics. And I gotta tell ya,  I don't have the answers.
                             The answers are in the Process,
the Flux, the River that Heraclitus said we cannot step in twice.


                              By the way, here are three mystics that all came out of Germany, or the area we now call Germany - Hildegarde of Bingen,
Meister Eckhart, and Rainer Maria Rilke.


                             "I am the living and fiery essence that glows in the beauty of the fields."Hildegarde
of Bingen. (somewhere around the twelth century)
                             This is from memory and I'm getting sleepy again, so please excuse any
misquotations and spelling mistakes.




                               
                               "Discard nothing. Everything
                               must serve."    Santa
                  
                             

     

Sunday, September 9, 2012


RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS -