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Thursday, March 16, 2017

expressions, sayings, paragraphs A WRITER'S NOTEBOOK



expressions, sayings, paragraphs A WRITER’S NOTEBOOK


Walker Ballantine I love the early morning mists on Trout Lake at this time of the year. When the sun breaks through, you’re in a golden moment in your canoe; and because it is early morning, there is silence everywhere.
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Truth of the matter, I was hanging on to lots of these songs, until I got em properly copyrighted etc. Is this any attitude for a rock musician to have? No, it’s not. I got some sorta bad news from the doctor,,, so I figured, FUCK IT!” I’m gonna release ’em all!
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PIMPER’S PARADISE by Bob Marley
I always found this to be quite a sad song. “Now she’s laughing when here ain’t no joke”.. drug addicted lady of the evening. I knew many of them…and I never judged.
At least the hookers are honest – they’re supporting a child, or (more likely a habit).
I was, too, and I very often ended up alone sitting on the steps of some post office in the rain at 3:00 A.M. These gals were my friends… and we lived similar lives.
I played and sang on 1000 stages. I’d meet the ladies again at FORD DRUGS at about 4:00 AM, just before the dawn we had breakfast, eggs sunny side up and bacon and a double order of toast. It was
right next to the Zanzibar strip house and tavern. That’s where I slept at night. That’s where I learned to sing the blues and play rhythm guitar with bass runs and quick melodic leads. A lot of these women disappeared…
I never saw these ladies again. I never heard and laughed at their clever conversations. They ended up dead in dumpsters. They were vulnerable and I wasn’t. I wish I’d helped them more. No one knows where they have gone.

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                  Millie was offended by a poem I wrote. I tell her and       I tell other people, “The poem’s a joke.  It’s crazy to take it

 personally.”
                   Here’s the poem:


“My first wife tried to use a                     club on me,
My second wife she tried a                        dagger;
My third wife is working with                   attrition:
I think I’d better bag her;

I’ll keep her in the basement,
Make her work real hard,
I’ll let her see the sunlight,
When she’s done her chores.”
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See what I mean?
They are hardly immortal lines, but the poem’s good for a bit of fun.

“She attacked your oak door  with
a ball peen hammer. Yesterday. She was
mumbling obscenities all the time – like a
madwoman.

        So I’m thinking, “Hell, she is crazy! What am I doing?”

        Charlie comes in. “It’s like she’s got
some personal vendetta against you. “You
shouldda heard the things she said about you yesterday, when you were out!”

         “Yeh, I know what you mean…”

Charlie says: “She’s talking about physical violence against you. She vows to pull your balls off with a hay hook.”

            “That’s why I hide… Behind double-locked  oak doors. TWO oak  doors with dead bolts and sliding bolts… And one bolt in the floor… For fuck’s sake, don’t give her this
address!”

             “Don’t worry,” sez Charlie.
              “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
               “Positive,” he says.

               “I just need a little silence, some space
in which to breathe…”

                Two minutes of blessed quiet. We sat and looked at the wall. The pattern of cracks in the plaster… looked a little like Africa… no thoughts… Ah, silence at last.

                Then a voice from the parking lot below shouts

               “I KNOW YOU’RE UP THERE,
PIG-FUCKER!”

          
A gun shot rings out. I recognize
the sound. It’s the sound of a 12 gauge shotgun.
                              
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  • Up north here, we have the notion of the Trickster God. I’m writing stories about a community close to the Arctic Circle…. Up there if you go into a bar – you can make fun of the Protestant/Catholic God, but if you start making fun of the Trickster, people will avoid your for months. you’ll clear the bar in ten minutes. And no one will talk to you. It’s the same thing in Jamaica (where I grew up). If you make fun of Duppys in an overproof bar, you’ll clear the place. and people with think you’re an idiot for a long time, maybe forever. These people know what these ghosts and gods can do.
    I like to think we were brought together by the Lord of hosts, or Vishnu perhaps….. A Lord of beneficence.

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