Thursday, December 31, 2015



I flew down to the Big Smoke this month to make the annual booze

purchase for the entire village.All of us have been drinking entirely too

much, especially the preacher.

Once again we had voting day. One more time the entire village

choose to buy alcohol rather than install electricity or plumbing. I
agreed totally. If I'm too weak to make it
to the outhouse and I
can't see well enough to shoot some predators on the way... well then,

you'd better just shoot me.

I made a recent discovery. If you're walking out into the savage night

and you're not wearing any pants under your long coat - it improves  your eyesight and focus. If you fear a weasel or a wolf, or even our
own 'domestic' dogs, if you fear something's gonna bite yer balls off.
by surprise - well, shit! You're gonna pay close attention.

I'm lucky in that I've got good periferal vision. And I can sense
if somethin's gaining on me in the night. And I'm real quick with my
gun - can shoot a surprised rat, nail him every time. We don't have to

eat rat up here any longer. but we did have a few tough years
after that motherfucker incinerated the town. I still think of that fuckface now and then. And if I catch him one night when I'm
drinking, I'll show him the meaning of the word, "SORRY"!



        I'VE HEARD of wolverines that are angry, pissed off,

and malevolent already. When a trapper's gone, they've

been known to break into his his food and piss

all over his blankets. What food the wolverine's too full to eat, he'll

dig a hole and bury it - and he'll piss all over that, too,

before he covers it up again with sand and leaves.

           The piss of a wolverine some say is worse than  the spray of a  skunk.

           One thing we didn't need was to get these fuckers

meaner and smarter with human D.N.A. They were

pretty smart already, trust me.






There is your normal big weasel. Then there is your abby-normal

big weasel or grizzly... I've heard tell of a GMO experimental

lab to the east of us, perched on the edge of a cliff near the

site of the Cave Bear People, doing experiments on

your basic wolverine.

Now, that was five years back I heard those stories.

The rumour was they were doing those experiments

for military purposes - mixing human DNA with the DNA

of fierce animals (as if they aren't fierce enough).

       The native folks already call 'wolverine' "THE DEVIL."

Now the wolverine is bigger - 150 to 200 pound wolverines

exist now. There never used to be devil beasts that big. But with

the human DNA in the big weasels...well...

                 "Don't tell Artie this", I tell Hank but the human DNA might   explain the devil-beasts raping humans in the northern

villages, including our Foxhole Village at

Wait-A-Bit. Savage creatures indeed! Hard to imagine

what a mix of those two devious minds might produce,"

Triple bee-screen Frank says.

                "Hey, don't tell me any more!" Hank says.

He's  hiding his head under a blanket. "We

really do need to get the fuck out of here! But

there's no bloody way out."

                 "You might be able to hitch a ride out

with the annual transport that brings in

our liquor  each year. But it won't

be cheap. Bruno's a cheap prick," Frank says.

        "Who's Bruno?" Hank asks.

        " He's the pilot, you fool," says Frank.

                "Look, Hank, really don't tell Artie

about the D.N.A. military experiments. He's already

spooked as hell about being taken up the ass

twice by a big weasel. He won't leave his bar. He's been

reinforcing the walls. H e won't step outside. The possible human-wolverine DNA
mix, the very thought of it would freak him right out.
Put him over the top... might make him suddenly try to
sprint right out of here."

        "Bad things happen to those who break into

a panic and try a sprint. I mean, there's a billion trees

you can sprint smack into. And there's the muskeg

you can sink in... And a mad leap into the Mackenzie River

has never been healthy for anyone," Frank says.

"Do you understand?"

               " I understand we're trapped in our foxholes,"

Hank says. He walks into his tunnel and starts

shoveling towards the east. "I understand we're fucked!"

he shouts back at Frank, over the sounds of  his frenetic




(C) 2015 by W.G. Milne



Monday, December 28, 2015




To the journeyman within
There are points of life
Round the curve of this planet
In the psyche’s dark;
Lights glow over oceans
Beyond mountains, across harbours
And through seas, and these
Lights are conscious points
Where realized minds, saints,
Monks, teachers, masters, sufis,
Bodhisattvas, across the cosmos
The light of knowing, pervades
Penetrates the distances, glowing,
Piercing the heavy mists with
Such soft lights through fog,
Through starlight and the centuries
Lights of compadres who die not
Whose minds surround the globe
In the night never viewed
By those lost in commerce
Buying and selling, getting and spending,
Women and men imbibing temporal pursuits
Never see these friends, these
Luminous globes through the night
These brave ones who have gone before
Who do not abandon us
But who wait patiently for our
Liberation. They reach a hand to us
And wait, patient as spring rain.

(C)2014 by W.G. Milne







the deer hunter does not

see the mountains

the ambitious man does not

see men


lusting for societal position

I did not see

the flower in the courtyard

I hurried past my own heart



The spring flowers, the autumn moon;

Summer breezes, winter snow.

If useless things do not clutter your mind,

You have the best days of your life.                               **


When you realize what the real is,

You will see we pass from one husk
    to another

Like travelers stopping for
    a night's lodging. **


Only listen to the sound of
         pines and cedars

When no wind stirs.


There are ten thousand paths to dawn

At the peak of the silver mountain.


**  verse by Mumon

compilation and poem  (C)2015 by W.G. Milne

Friday, December 25, 2015


                                           - 2 -

           I was starving. I put my hand on the pizza box.
I went out on the porch and smoked some Jamaican herb.
I began hallucinating just a bit. That stuff is too strong for
me - I don't need the flowering tops, the marijuana buds -
I'm more of a mushroom and chemicals guy. I like to keep
a clear head. Ho! Ho!
          Well, some of the time...
           Anyway, I was getting the munchies real bad.
I stumbled into the kitchen. I put my hand on the box.
The pizza box was still warm... Goody for me.
I tasted the wet spot on the corner of the box.
It didn't taste like pepperoni.
            The light was too bright. I had to focus. I turned one
 light off. I opened the box. And what did I see? I saw my
own face staring back at me.  What the fuck!? Is this some
kind of a joke?
            It was my face, all right.  But it looked twice as
wide as my face. And it was entirely flat - twice the size
of my head. The eyes stared up at me with no expression
in them.  Dead pizza eyes. Some weird
sick attempt at painting my portrait  I picked up a
piece. It was crispy and hot...
            I noticed the oven door was open behind me.
The oven was hot. I turned it off and shut the door.
I had a bite of the strip of pizza. It didn't taste
like pizza.
           I had a horrible thought. No that couldn't be
true. I've been accused of having an over-active
imagination. I splashed cold water in my face,
then I  went back out of doors and looked out
into the night. Still the wind howled and moaned
in the windows behind me.
          I shut the door of the house. I went for a drive
by the lake. I had some thinking to do. 

          I got out of the car and walked out onto
a wharf into the lake. The lights in my rear view window
had blinded me.
          I walked about 100 feet onto the wharf. I looked
across the lake. I heard footsteps behind me on the boards 
of the dock. There was a large, athletic looking guy
walking up behind me. I thought, "There is no way off
this dock without running into the guy behind me."
          I turned and started walking back. I saw the man
more closely. He was wearing an orange baseball cap...
On the cap were written the words, "SPLATTER PIZZA."
I could see the guy more closely now. He had mad eyes
and a big crazy smile on his face. He was grinding his teeth.
         In his right hand he held a samurai sword.

                                                            (C) 2015 by W.G. Milne

(Note: My daughter Abby Rose told me she liked reading
          stories on the site: "Creepy Pastas." The idea
          appealed to me.  So I wrote this.)


I learned this the hard way at four A.M. on a windy winter night. The wind was shrieking at my windows, howling and moaning as if was trying to warn me of something.
I didn\’t pay any heed. I was too hungry to worry about what some spirit among the trees might have to tell me. I looked in the phone book. All the pizza places were closed at that hour –
It said, \”Just enter your phone number, address and order, and you\’ll never buy pasta
from anyone else.\”
I was about to make the worst mistake of my life. I filled in the empty spaces of the order form shop on line. In almost no time there was a loud pounding at my door.
I was upstairs in the shower. Fernnie, my twin brother, he answered the door. There was
a lot of sounds like scrambling, scraping,tackling, run and a thump…I thought I heard a scream
as I was drying my hair with a towel. Then the door slammed.
I went downstairs. The delivery man was gone. There was the box of a
pizza, extra large on my kitchen table. On the box was written, \”SPLATTER PIZZA !\” in big red letters. The corner of the flat box seemed to be wet. It appeared to be dripping.

Sunday, December 20, 2015






A whole new horizon for my life now, must learn how to pace

myself in a new way - exercise, eat spinach & the other

"super foods"...

I don't know how to adjust. But I feel

good, better than I have in a long while. Now I'm not

DOOMED as I thought I was.

I have no coronary artery blockages.... but I

suffer from coronary spasm. This is a much better situation

than I thought was the case.

New pills, nitro glycerine patch... a new horizon.

And a different mind set. A growing sense of possibilities.

Oh, what a relief it is!

THIS is the first writing I've felt like doing in several
months. I just didn't have that zing, that effervescence...

I didn't have the joy in life ... As I say, I felt I was DOOMED. I was going to croak at the same age my father had died. It was
genetic, my heart was going to explode at any time.

It wasn't much fun, and I wasn't much fun thinking that way.

Now after spending several days in the reality

of a heart and lung clinic: heart failure = fluid in your lungs. You die by drowning in your own lungs. It's
a hellish way to go. I don't recommend it.

I was with people who were facing the same

uncertain diagnosis. I watched each of them walk

into the operating room; then I watched as they

were wheeled out flat on their backs on the stretcher. They were told not to even raise their head, or they might burst
their cut arteries open and spray the walls.

Eight people went to the operating chamber

walking and they returned on stretchers.

Finally, hours later, the doctors came for me. The good news?

I have no arerial blockages. My diagnosis is

coronary spasm - which is no joke either. But

I have some days ahead now to finish some of the manuscripts I started: there are eight of them.

And also I have some time, if the bombs don't fall and the rivers don't rise, I have time to publish the four or
five manuscripts that are finished.

    HALLELUJAH!!!! Praises be to the Lord of Hosts who thunders and ignites the clouds, praise be
to the Lord of the Meeting Rivers, O praise the Lord of Abraham and Jacob, the Lord of Israel and Albion. You lift us up in your wings!

      You allow us to create and see and meditate

until we are reflections of you in the mirror

of our soul.

          The Gnostics (earliest Christians) called this
mirror the chaste Bridal Chamber, sacred place, in which a baptism of light occurs, clean, chaste and  holy place where a man is wed to his God.

These people I saw - so courageous and silent

in their suffering. I saw the reality of the spirit

of our  people there, and I am so proud of


        I give thanks to the light that dawns each

morning, a reminder of the Light which

may fill us all, so that we all may be blessed.

I give thanks, also, for the kind people who

prayed for me.

          People want to avoid me when I write

"spritual" passages like the above paragraphs.

But it's a writer's job to tell the truth, however

unpleasant that truth may sometimes be.

         There are ugly holes of utter lust, places

where only desire and greed exist, places

without an iota of trust. There are hells on

earth. Most people know what I'm

talking about when I say this.


       But when I talk about the fact that we can travel in our minds, that we have vast resources of trust, telepathy
and E.S.P. within us, places that we can journey to through 
focus in our imagination: then people get sceptical about
what I'm saying.

The truth of the matter is we are being trained by a mechanistic society to disregard the power of our inner imagination, to disbelieve the infinite resources
of our very own minds. We are being fed
persuasive propaganda. And we believe this errant elephant shit!

          After baptism by fire and light in a chaste and holy place, the magic occurs and mind becomes Mind.

The mind of the egoistic individual becomes the
Mind of the cosmic "I AM." God becomes man in the
chaste mirrored chamber. This is another
wedding, one we don't usually discuss, one we are led to believe doesn't exist - a redemptive feast and  a refuge, a place we are told that we cannot access.

But we can travel many places with the
use of the inner Mind - what you are able to imagine,
you can achieve - with the help of all the spirits
of the earth and skies.

                                                (C)2015 by William G. Milne

Thursday, December 17, 2015


These days comics are too bummed out to play the Universities,
because they are booed when they crack jokes that are not politically

This movie comes from more than a decade ago, from
a time when a rude belly-laugh was still permitted.

I recommend the whole movie!

Thousands will not agree...
Merry Christmas  to all!

p.s.  The man can sing!

Sunday, September 13, 2015


If I could write the beauty of your eye,
The simple goodness, as you treated me;
Our descendants would turn and swear I lie:
That such unconsidered kindness could ever be.
Some plead their love and look for recompense;
And your beauty truly glows a light as well,
Shows me decrepit  in my tenderness;
I speak true of you with what I tell.
When that churl death with dust my bones shall cover,
Th' angelic force you embody late and soon,
I come not with passion as an earthly lover,
But in light that comes from far beyond the moon.
When I am gone you'll know I loved you true,
Not with anguished desperation of the hour,
Not with lust and avarice as most men do:
But with trust, and honesty, and power.

(C) William G. Milne

I have stacks of notebooks in these rooms. I've been "EXCAVATING
THE EMPIRE". as a lady says, who is dear to me.  Anyway, this
poem I snatched this morning from a page I'd never seen. I hope you enjoy these slight aspects of poetry.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015


September 8, 2015


RED WOMAN enlarged detail
Meditation is a form of prayer, make no mistake.
Or “sitting” as I like to call it, or “zazen” as the zen
people phrase it.
The big different is you are not focusing on
an external Source, rather you focus on an internal one.
But this is too simple, because after you are used to
sitting, external becomes internal. Prayers or questions
that are asked of the Lord of Hosts are often answered
through some kind of internal telepathy.
We are fools if we think that the Lord of Hosts is
working only externally. Why would we think this?
Because social norms are based on superficial
distinctions. And our understanding is all too often
based on social norms.
We assume God is external in the West. But of
course this is erroneous.
The golden fleece is hanging on a branch and
we must journey to find it. The holy Grail is a silver
chalice, is it not? Or is it a rock, a stone? Or is
it the fertile generative vulva of a maiden?
Yes, we must journey to find the Grail.
But the most important travelling we do is the
journey we do in the ‘dream time’ while
The silver mountain is within. And it is also
external. There are mountains and clifftops which
are places of power. Such places will give you further
energy in your sitting.
But really there is no need to go anywhere
once you find a place that is the axis of your own world,
your own hopes and dreams, your own guilt, shame and
regret.  Throw it all away!
But stay balanced in your sitting.
The SILVER MOUNTAIN is a symbol, an image.
When we travel through the dream time, the collective
unconscious of our species is within. We travel from image
to image, from symbol to symbol in a vast world
of half-understood archetypes.
It is not necessary to understand. Travel as if you
are asleep, but you are still awake. Journey from one
luminous point to another in the dark and the light of your
psyche’s core.
I have been around the world more than once.
I have taken ships, planes, trains and bicycles. I have
hitchhiked for more than 10,000 miles. And I have spent
many nights in mystic sitting in various places
of power around the planet.
It’s a wondrous world externally. But equally wondrous are
the galaxies within.
Don’t think of sitting as an ascetic discipline.
Sitting is a luxury, perhaps the greatest luxury of all.
It is no hardship to enter the timeless
Babes  in their mothers’ wombs are in the
timeless. We are born from the timeless
and at death we return to the timeless – that
chaste immaculate place that is beginingless
and endless – that beautiful realm where
saints and bodhisattvas are conscious still.
The signposts of the Way are in the timeless.
Images are brief maps. Symbols are signposts
along the way. Follow from one glowing point to
another. Travel wherever your heart desires.
There are great surprises in the timeless world,
the dream time.
        The divinity you find might just be your own.

(C) 2015 by W.G. Milne

Sunday, September 6, 2015



Screenshot fromSANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE 2014-05-17 17:54:38

        Yes, this is one of my books at It is not for the faint of heart.  It‘s packed with extreme humour from an ex-attorney who has also been in jail. Every disturbing scene is based or real violent reality or drug-induced madness and toxic psychosis, events that have really happened. Only the names have been changed and/or omitted. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but it is to my taste.
        I have always had a sadistic sense of humour and being cast naked into solitary confinement for ninety days didn't help.   Being fed at groin level by a big-hipped woman guard in a tight grey flannel skirt , what does it do? It can make you fall in love!
        But it also takes an already twisted sense of humour and twists in more. Ferments it real good – so much so that after a while you don’t care if you speak the bizarre truth - however socially unacceptable the truth may be.
         The first scene describes how to survive an attack by a 260 pound expert in the martial arts, who for years now has been lifting weights at night on major hits of speed. Lifting all night long. How to escape this monster when he’s on a near-fatal dose of PCP (Angel Dust) which really intensifies the situation, if you happen to run into him at midnight in what to you is a public park, but to him the park is a much darker reality…He's in Rome 2,000 years ago, and you're not.
        Yes, how to survive this and how to survive that – arrest while you’re hallucinating – what not sign when you wake up restrained in a forensic clinic – how to pay your criminal lawyer when you’re out of money, and what to pay him with!
        How to survive a demented fiend who is pretending to be your dentist. How to build a BONG as big as a Volkswagen. How to pretend you’re drunk in the bullpen, when really you’re extremely happy and HIGH on a massive hit of DMT or LSD 25.
         And much much more written by an author who can only laugh this way because he has formerly been in many untenable and dark places, which he is surprised he survived.
        Right now “SANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE” is available at,  author William Milne, as an e-book for $2.99.
        You can also get the very same book under the title, ‘A COMIC’S APPROACH TO HALLUCINATIONS AND TOXIC PSYCHOSIS”  by Walker  Ballantine for the soon to be new price of $10.00.
        This just one of my books at There are two others which I’ll write about another time.
         Enjoy the book.  (You can read the first chapter without paying a cent!) And see if you like it… 
         There is much more material to come under other titles. Only I know exactly how much.


The Rose Could Not Such A Beauty Be


The rose could not such a beauty be

If beauty did not pass away and die;

As love, the joy of love's burgeoning

Is taunted by the desolation of decay.


What was shall be again,

The future, such an ancient song,

Allows the aged - Grace in their passing

And youths to be the dancer in the song.


In summation, all words that are said

All are erased like writings in the sand;

All the mighty works of the dead

Have passed away. And what remains

For memory's sake: the sun, the sea,

Pearls, stars, rubies - these

Are not created by the hand of man.



(C)2015 by W.G.Milne

        This poem came to me all in one instant, all in one piece,
once again at 4:00 A.M.
         I remember years ago I had a crises of identity. I was awake
early in the morning and had the thought: "What am I supposed to be doing? What's my job?  What is the work I ought to pursue?"
          So I sat in my chair and looked around the room and saw
a stack of about sixteen books of poetry I had written on my shelves and on the tables and floor before me.
          "Well, I must be a poet!" I said. "I guess I'd better focus
on writing songs and poetry."
           I started living by myself, going to bed early in the evening
and waking up at 4:00 in the morning - just before dawn. It's
no hardship if you get enough sleep.
(Note: I insert the " * " between verses only because otherwise
           this system will collapse the writing into one
           long boring-looking paragraph.)

Monday, August 31, 2015


In the immaculate heaven of the Lord of Life,
There is neither gain nor loss;
To we fools lost in mundane wandering
Each day seems the same.

Those who seek the Ultimate
Have nowhere to turn for guidance;
In the West we are bereft
Blinded by materiality.

It's just one small step to lift the veil
So that the sun will rise within you;
The Son will rise within your mind
And you'll be One and not two.

Words can mar most things,
Names are a great deception;
The names for God, the devil's names
Have been wrong from the inception.

The names of poets matter not,
One poet only has blessings;
One Name disguised as many names
Only the nameless can undress you.

And guide you to the holy place
Between the forehead and the breast bone:
The crucible is right here
To transmute lead to gold.

Only one Cosmos, just one Mind
At the core of the holy fountain;
There are ten thousand paths to dawn
At the peak of the silver mountain.

Words cannot, will not express
        what is worth expressing;
The magic circle of the Mind rests on the
         eternal stone
Rock of ages, rock of the soul
The world resides on a river of stone;
A friend will take you hand and lead you
To the magic temple.

This very night as the full moon throws out
        dancing angels,
10,000 spirits in their dreams come
        to swirl around;
The holy source of everything will accept
        no names
The changing Spirit won't be called
         anything but change.

There is a genius at the core everyone 
But marred, distracted by commercial games
No one sees the Way;
If I can't penetrate your mind
What will you ever see?
In the lineage of Osho
The fields are ripe for planting.

There are 10,000 paths to dawn at the peak
         of the silver mountain.
But you will never see the Source
          deluded by so many passions;
No name will persuade you; no name
           will set the mark,
 A billion new illusions will keep us
            in the dark.

                               (C)2015 by W.G. Milne

        I just spent three days on an island in the middle of Lake Nipissing, a lake that is ninety miles long at
North Bay, Ontario. I was on a friend's property. Obviously the Spirit of the place is quite strong for these words just poured through me
at 4:00 A.M. when I had no thoughts at all in my head.
        The silence was unending and magnificent. Only the sound of lapping water could be heard, and the sound of birds and wind in the pines.

                                        Thanks,    Tim and Greg.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Loudon Wainwright III - Carrickfergus

          In that I'm a writer... I have to spend long periods

of time alone. I've accepted this, and I don't really mind
it to be honest with you... And I always try to be honest
with you, dear reader, after all you're not a hanging judge.... Or
at least, you're not my judge - so I can be honest with
         In all this time that I spend by myself, I tend to listen
to songs I love.  And I cry in my beer during the love songs.
Only sometimes...
         But this song is problematic... OK, this song renders
me, occasionally, to my hands and knees... and to crawling to
some corner where I cannot be observed... sobbing in a
most unmanly fashion.

        Carrickfergus is a TRADITIONAL IRISH love song.
And if you listen to it five or six times in a row, you'll
notice certain facts that make the gorgeous melody, the story
even more disturbing.

         The singer is drinking all the way through the song.
It's important to understand this - for the hopes that he
"I would swim over the deepest ocean"
"With gold and silver I would support her"... these
are unrealistic and impossible dreams which make
the song even more tragic.

        For there's no  way our singer is ever
going to swim far over or support her.  "My childhood
friends have all departed".... That means they've
died.  So the singer is no longer any
spring chicken - and even if he were a spring
chicken, there's no way he's going to make
it across that body of water between Ireland and
England North/Scotland.
        Ah, but he loves her.  And there's no doubt about that!
How do I know?  Because it's a rule.  If the melody
is beautiful - he loves her!
         "I am sick now..." well, yeah. He's not going
to make it, but the romantic dream of his love fills
his heart, and that's true. Otherwise there's no
way he could sing about her with such a beautiful melody.
At least this is my belief. And I'm sticking to it.

           Images of death are all through this song
(Kilkenny - marble stones as black as ink)... "My
days are numbered."  Yeah, well all our days
are numbered... as a specialist explained to me
in the hospital this morning.

           The deepest ocean... the deepest ocean -
my love to find...
            (Now "the handsome boatman" suggests
to me that once this song was sung by a woman...
But let's not worry about who sings it, now.)

           At any rate, a great song! I hope my few
comments do not detract from the beauty
of the ballad.

                                                      Cheers!   Bill Milne

Thursday, July 30, 2015


             This slideshow is of random pictures,
but the next one won't be. I don't know how to combine audio and video yet for Youtube. Please excuse repetitions and photos of typed pages (?)  Where did they come from?

           Since I'm writing about music so much,
and the joys of playing on stage, together with the scuzzy backstage dressing rooms and rooms under the stage and rooms up a circular ladder above the stage...and the parties we had there
and in nearby hotels; and serious conversations
into the dawn, and laughter and comic routines
all night long, and laughter, laughter and
loud music... after already playing for hours...
a good jam always made sense.  And some of the best songs were written in the wee, small
hours of the morning.
            The idea is to tell the stories around each song, as a sort of living framework  put together into a musical round... playing
guitar and learning how to use the mike, and
how to keep a crowd interested, how to hide behind towers of amplifiers, then creep out
on your hands and knees and start to sing a love song.... How to use all the stage equipment
and the psychology of dealing with the crowd -
until you are an expert.
             My memory isn't great about
a whole lot of things... But I remember where I was and what was happening, and who was where, when I wrote each song.
            So I'm going to do this - a partially audio book.  If the wind don't come up and
the waters don't rise!

            Problem is, when you put a song on Youtube, the songs need a video component.
So I'm starting with slideshows.
            Tho I don't know how to add the music -
add original music, which seems to be more difficult than just grabbing a tune from a list.
            So this is my first try at adding a video-like component. Unfortunately, the audio track has not yet been added, because I don't know how.
            Many songs to come.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015


So I'm riding down Main Street
on my smallish, rusted red woman's bicycle.
Apparently my silver hair flies behind
me about 2 feet, which looks funny to some people; and it look's horribly offensive
to other people. Some of the burly truck
loaders and box deliverers, they
are horribly angered by my very appearance.
And the fact that I appear to  be
quite satisfied with my meager means of
          Granted, my bicyle is not a car.
But the wind is in my face when I ride
it and weave thru traffic, I like this.
But some people are deeply offended - like this
less than intelligent 300 pound
delivery boy, an errand boy really
despite his appearance as a man.
          Now I am master of one martial
art, the kindest one on earth - judo.
And I am highly proficient fighting
with staffs, steel pipes, 12 inch blades
and full long swords.
          I happened to have a sword with
me, tho no one could tell by my
elderly, apparently weakened demeanour...
I could have circled around and removed
his head as he was bent forwards trying
to read the words on his delivery form.
          Shout in my ear, will you?  As I
pass by on a pleasant shopping jaunt,
with my former lady, ex and sometimes
not so ex woman who was riding her bike
right before me, as we both pedaled down the
           No one would have been the wiser.
No one was watching. No one cared.

(1) It is best if your enemy underestimates
      you drastically.

Monday, July 13, 2015


I give a happy shout out to Terrence

He,too, has found conscious entities through various membranes beyond time - riding the wave of semi-legal BRAIN CHEMISTRY.

I'm told he's dead: I expect to see him at any time.


The little people exist
all right. And there are more of them
than anyone ever imagined!

The problem is, it took me three days
with no sleep in order to see the little people
And I was usually drinking something, too

I never saw them otherwise - unless I had
gone without sleep for the requisite three nights - and that's not easy. I used to do it frequently. "Exhausting the brain."

Terrence found an easier way to enter into
forbidden and unknown realms. He used D.M.T.,
which is a natural chemical in the human brain.

If you starve yourself for about a week,
you will start to experience the same kind of
visions you will experience if you boost the
DMT in your system. 'Exhausting the body.'

I have done it and it's not pleasant -
the streetcars get very annoying as they squeal
around corners when they make their turns.

Sometimes it's better to ingest a medicine
in order to effect the improvement in brain
chemistry, rather than engage in extreme practices.

The shamans have been doing it for thousands of years.

Why not we?

The early Christians ingested
the Sacred Mushroom ("Eat this, this is my body").

After that the knowledge of the sacred mushroom was repressed. Mushroom use is esoteric knowledge.

Not for the masses. Ho! Ho!

And look where we are now, because of this repression. The churches are screwed. Communion is meaningless.

When Christ said, "Eat this, this is my body." He
was being literal!

I am talking about the nature of the original Christian Communion. They used wine and the flesh of the sacred mushroom. If you ate the flesh of the gods,
you yourself would undergo an experience of divinity.
You didn't have to take some priest's word
that holiness was real. You embodied it.

??Many of the words in the New Testament
are code mushroom words.

SEE: for his brilliant delineation
of the hidden mushroom words. See especially the INDEX in the back of his book, "THE SACRED

John Allegro was brilliant in his methods, sussing out the derivation of language all the way back to the Sumerian. His thesis is now ACCEPTED by most independently
thinking etymologists working today,

including one well-respected Russian
professor professor, who affirms Allegro with gusto.
It is generally accepted these days
that John Allegro's perspective on the
meaning of words in the New Testament
is the correct view, however unpalatable
Allegro's findings may be to the churches.

(Despite being right, John Allegro's

honesty about the Christ and the mushroom

being intimately related, this courageous

truth-telling resulted in him being mocked

and rejected. It ruined his career.)


We have to discuss the basic right of PERSONAL CONSCIOUSNESS DEVELOPMENT. We must encode it into our CONSTITUTIONS and BILLS OF RIGHTS.

For this is the paramount right. The right to explore and control one's own mind, and make meaningful decisions.

Without having this right and encoding it into law, all the other rights we supposedly have become meaningless.

This is a topic for another day. I'm having way
too much fun writing this article to get bogged
down in a legal argument.

This is a central legal issue. And
it is always much more pleasing , in the realm of Constitutional Law, to argue a principle that is
entirely correct.

The right to explore your
own consciousness and think independently
goes to the very foundation of the law of nations

I am extremely serious about the necessity
to encode this basic right, but let's not
make the argument now.

Exploring Inner Consciousness itself, the FINAL FRONTIER is far more interesting than making legal arguments. Though

the above mentioned argumnent will have to be made,
and it will be fascinating to make it.

Think of this: in a democracy
one man is required to vote. But how can a person vote
without totally exploring the ground of his being. The very principle of democracy is based on the freedom to derive one's own opinion - freedom of thought and freedom of speech without restriction or restraint.

Certain medications, fuels and foods are necessary for deep thought
for the individual to fully form his own
opinion - in order to properly make the democratic decision.

Medicines that illuminate the mind and increase the vision of the brain, we must use
such substances. It is necessary that such medicines be legal.
Why should we restrict ourselves from using

these necessary shamanistic plants?

Chemicals are important.

Emotions are carried through the human body
as chemicals, peptides.

Is it so strange that
an organic chemical messenger should gives us
our first taste of holiness? Our first taste of the Lord who rides the clouds, the Lord of the Meeting Rivers, the Lord who is the mirror within us, the sacredness of all things?

God uses chemicals. Why is it improper
to find Him with the assistance
of chemicals?

To find the Universe of the Mind within us, explore the ocean of the real...the God Molecule
exists to help make us see the nature of the sacred.

We have been taught such utter crap. It
is necessary to unlearn all one's upbringing, all one's schooling, in order to be able to begin
to see.

It is urgent that we begin to know the divinity
around us, the incandescenc
which is the spirit-heart-mind burgeoning within us.

Consciousness travels in mysterious ways - but it does travel. And it reaches into our innermost being.

Distractions are not enough to nourish
the soul, we must have the vision of what is precisely before us, exactly in the here and now.

Whatever fuels are needed, we must use and
approve them.

The Sacred Mushroom - it is essential to use
it in the Christian sacrament of Holy Communion. It is necessary for
the religious use of an indigenous sect -
the Christians. Because it is essential
for a religion to perform its most
important sacrament, it must be approved
by the Courts.


(C)2015 by W.G. Milne



      The more we are different
the more we are the same.
Each generation believes it is going
to change the world.

       I suppose this is  supreme
arrogance; but at the same time it is

  each generation's Grail quest...
contained within this beautiful, caring arrogant dream.

The earth does not need to change...
 we need to change;
we have meditative work
to do to
to attain to the wisdom of dogs!

let alone  meet the level which is the
sensitive, inter-related

wisdom of the earth.


Some work can be done in the spirit of
play. Dolphins play in
the deep blue sea. Why can't
Dolphins have bigger brains
per body size then we do. But we
make up for that. We have hands,
Fingers with opposing thumbs!

We can throw things over an
intermediate distance with
amazing accuracy.

Dolphins might be smarter
than we are, but we are more dangerous.

Have you ever seen a dolphin
light a fire?


         Elizabeth used to travel 150 miles
in order to visit me and clean my kitchen.
Then she'd get naked and run a bath and we'd b
hop in. She was a very attractive
woman... so I'd want to have sex.

More than once she said: "Oh, no!"
"Billy, Billy, Billy!......Man is a playful creature."
She wouldn't have sex with me.

She said:

        "If I have sex with you now, you'll never 
          write about me."

         Well, we had no sex,
and I'm writing about her now
thirty years later.

       I guess she was right about
a few things.

        The more things change, the more they
remain the same. Talking about the passing
of generations,
I was amazed when I discovered that
bellbottoms were in fashion once again in the 1990's.
         I was running a large bar at the Concert Hall
in Toronto (Davenport and Yonge). That's
where I saw the returning bellbottoms
on folks attending the concerts.

Those pants hadn't been in fashion since the late sixties.

          Also, I swear I saw a clone of Lionel Ritchie!
            The clone was singing exactly the
same kind of songs that Lionel Ritchie used

to sing. The same party was going on,
but a different generation was doing the

         Things recycle and return in human

....    even  people. Archetypal
identities recur.
        I used to sit by the sidewalk and
watch the crowds pass on Yonge St., Toronto.
The crowds passed and I watched them and I saw
the same   karmic  groups strolling past,
with almost identical faces as those I had seen decades before.

         The same groups recur.
        Again and again they pass... and it seems as if I
am watching again.
        Maybe I am fulfilling

an archetypal role also.  The role of the poet-
observer. This role has a long lineage,

going all the way back to Homer.
        I was sitting by the sea once, north of

        The earth does not need to change.

       The human world, of course, does need
to change. We can't keep shitting in
our water supply.

I'm using the word, "shitting"
as a metaphor for all the nasty

twisted chemicals and substances
we create in city dumps... to leach
out and poison the groundwater.
And the sources of our food.

A large pipeline company
analyzed the chemicals leaching
out of the old city dump in North Bay
and they found thousands of chemicals -
including chemical compounds that are unknown
to man!

            It's not fair to point at just North Bay.

 All of us know this.
             The mechanical
monster we made to serve us - this monster
can do much to effect the clean-up, if we have

the will. The clean-up
will take time - maybe fifty years - before tuna
can thrive again in the ocean's depths.
          And if we only live once, we can say,

"Fuck it! I'll be gone. Who cares!"
           But what if we don't live just once?
            What if the eternal return is a certainty?

             Chemicals are important.

The emotions we feel
are carried through the blood as
chemical messengers. We embody hundreds
and thousands of chemical processes, most of them

We have to change our way of thinking and
That's not easy.

"Be the change you want to make
in the world"                 *

Michael Jackson's song, "Man in the Mirror,"

is apt.

 Most of the mystics are very aware.
  It really does come down to the
Man in the Mirror.

The mirror, amazingly enough,
even if it is a metaphorical mirror, the
mirror comes into evidence
in most mystical pursuits, after a certain

amount of sitting is done.

I see the shining face of Philip
Kapleau, zen master of the Rochester
Zen temple, the man in large part responsible
for bringing zen to the west...

I see his face
when I talk of the mirror and
mystical pursuits. He comes
to me and confronts me one more
time, with an understandng smile.

The first time he saw me, he frowned.

He appeared just now. What a joy
it is to see him!

So it is all true, after all, is it not
wondrous teacher? It is said you died
years ago... But somehow you  are alive
and you come to me across distances,
still conscious. You just proved

there is really no death.

One smile from a Buddha or a Christ
can teach you more than all the conversations
you have had in all your days with other people.
Peoples' minds are distracted... Not so
the mind of master  Philip Kapleau.

He is one of the saints and bodhisattvas
who make up the CONSCIOUS NO-OSPHERE
around the earth.

I hail them every morning: "O you holy saints
and bodhisattvas, I honour thee!"

"O Great One who is creating us, I praise thee!"

 Each time  I have a difficult task
... this communal array

of conscious minds thinking as one -
any name will be insufficient -

THIS GANG OF GOD-MINDS, incredibly, inexplicably
they help me, and after my task is done, I know I have had their help.

How do they help me? I can't say.

In the same way E.S.P. works... in the
same way sub-atomic particles can be conscious...
That's how they help me.

I have no idea how the universe works! Or
How the earth is inexplicably conscious in
various places... I have no idea how. I know only that I have been there...
that this consciousness exists.

In my lifelong pursuit as

I have had many deep experiences of weird shit
and also experiences of transcendental

 realms where the past and future are
known in one burning presence.

                             PART 2      


         I give a happy shout out to Terrence

     He, too, has found conscious entities through various membranes beyond time - riding the wave of semi-legal BRAIN CHEMISTRY.

NOTE - Part 2, "Chemicals, Folklore and the Bill of Rights"   will be continued in the following
                        * * * * * * * *

on a peacock's tail

On a peacock's tail there are many eyes,

Within you, jewels are hanging from the trees

Pearls and rubies of worth beyond imagining.

There is not one Big Bang, there are many!
BOOM! There goes another one!

In the frucktifying Mind of the Multiverse,
Crystals and diamonds twist in the galactic wind.   

I may see the same view through an electron
microscope as I do through a telescope.
Inner is outer - literally.

You don't have to go anywhere else
to buy your true love jewelry.

You don't have to go half way around the world to find the answer.

The answer is within every
molecule of all things, both inner and outer.

The answer is within you, and it is out
in the midst of the rollicking stars,

Oh boy! What fun!


 What you have to do sometimes is go
a little crazy... in order to join the dance.

"Some people never go crazy, what horrifying
lives they must lead" **





                                              * Ghandi

                                             **Charles Bukowski

(C)2015 by W.G.Milne                                         

Thursday, June 11, 2015



           I've been working at popularizing the
Source Gospels for some years now*. And
writing articles about them from about 10 different sites.
       One thing about the internet - new ideas
flash through the synapses of collected
minds, like wildfire in the tops of trees
on a windy day.
        When I talk about the Source Gospels,
of course I'm talking about
the miraculous and devastatingly real
conveyance of the earliest Christ Consciousness
into this "modern" day and age.

          There are mysteries that we have
not delved , there are daily miracles
that we do not see, there is the vast
field of interpersonal and cosmic telepathy:
we have hardly stepped into this field!

          What if we ask questions about
our identity or the meaning of things?
What if the One Who Is Creating Us
can answer these questions telepathically?
What is logical and rational then? When
you hear profound answers in the silence of your mind?
          I have seen the phrase the other day
"Quantum Spirituality."   Is there consciousness in the quantum world?
Do we know? Can we say?

 Of course, we can't!


Or how deep the rabbit hole goes...
Or the way earlier cultures worshiped
the spirits and divinity of this earth!

Nothing! We know nothing about the
 vast  extents of consciousness - how it
works and how it can work
when listening to silence of the mind,
when travelling along untold paths!

We are a species which has lost its
memory. We are a 'species with amnesia' **

We don't have a clue about what great
things might have happened in the  4 1/2
billion years the earth was alive before us.

Don't let anybody characterize for you
life's great pageant of the past.
No one is qualified.

And I hear people blithely say they
don't believe in God. And they laugh!
It's modern to be an atheist.

Well, which God are you talking
about? The God as taught in the churches?
I don't believe in that God, either.

But the God of the quantum world, the God of outer space, the telepathic God, the holy One
who is creating us, the Trickster God - a whole
lot of research ought to be done before we're atheists about these Faces of God - we just don't know enough to be atheists.

And unless we have experienced God
through deep forms of mysticism, or maybe just through  simple acts of love - we don't know enough to be theists, either.

That is why voyagers go down the longest rivers before us, rivers of the psyche,
oceans of the unconscious, and tales of
mystical revelation emerge from some of these heroic voyages.

We can't talk of  frontiers of the future. But as for now - the final frontier is the Mind;
as discovered by some of these great travelers.
Only with the mind... very few have voyaged there before us.

It is rude to disbelieve all their reports.

* "Most Ancient Gospel Found Anew"
Also, Blogger sites: "The Second Coming of
and "The Whip and the Cross",
plus other sites.

** Phrase coined by Graham Hancock

(C) 2015 by W.G.Milne