Tweet

Thursday, July 27, 2017

KEITH RICHARDS MEETS WITH RASTAMEN FROM STEER TOWN, ST ANN'S BAY --- JOHNNY ROCK AND THE ANGELS BORN IN MAMMEE BAY - SONG: "ACID RAIN"




 I was very interested to learn that Keith Richards
spent time in Mammee Bay, Jamaica. This is where I lived. My father built the first house in the subdivision and had discussions with Teddy Pratt who owned much of the north coast of Jamaica. They laid out the Mammee Bay subdivision.
         This is where I lived growing up for 8 years by the sea
          
        And so out of this area we also have Johnny Rock and the Angels emerging, playing our own style of rock-reggae. 

     Since I am a musician, what's most interesting to me is the music that came out of
Richards with with the Rastamen of the Steer
Town area, in the Parish of St. Ann, Jamaica.
        I am told that some of this music is on the Bridges to Babylon album of the Rolling Stones.
         I know the recordings exist. Recordings that were done at Mammee Bay and St. Ann's Bay. I can't find these recordings as yet. They're probably in a private collection so far.

        I do like this sweet rocker  from the Bridges to Babylon album. (C) the Rolling Stones: "Might as well get juiced." You can find it on the Stones' album or on on William Milne Channel on You Tube.
          Two other songs with heavy influence from the uplands of St. Ann Parish, Steer Town and St Ann's Bay are:

1.   You Don't Have to Mean It
                    and
2.   Too Rude.

              I won't post them here because of Copyright considerations. But check them out!

(C)2017 by W.G. Milne
      All rights reserved.


Monday, July 3, 2017

WAIT-A-BIT! FORWARD - VERY FORWARD! MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN







         WAIT-A-BIT! 

 


I don't know whether you know WAIT-A-BIT!,
if not it is of no consequence. For if you know
the North of Canada at all, you probably know a dozen
towns just like it.

There it lies in the Moonlight, sloping up from the Big River,
the Mackenzie River sweeping along its range of mountains
rolling down along its miles of woodlands, the wide river
runs rolling on towards the sea. And silence, the wide
wild silence of the Arctic, tempered by the caw of ravens,
sweetened with the howl of wolves, and seasoned through
all seasons, by endless light and interminable darkness.

There it lies in the Moonlight, sloping up from the
wild river at the foot of the hillside on which the
town is built.

There is a wharf beside the river, and a movable
section of floating wharf which forms a “T”
into the river.

There are three boats upturned beside the
wharf. The boats go nowhere. Men used to
go fishing in them, but the freshwater sharks
that come down from the ocean inhibit
the fish from coming to this corner
of the river.

The bears still catch fish north of here,
ion the shallows where the river runs
very wide. And indeed the 100 pound weasels,
known as wolverines; they have been
seen eating the occasional carcass of a shark.

There's a pair of binoculars at Artie's Bar...
And we watch the weasels cavort over the shark
carcass down the hill on the mudflats by the
river.

The boats go nowhere. The distances are
too great, the immensity is so vast...
So the remaining inhabitants of Wait-A-Bit!,
the ones who have survived ( and I am
lucky to say that I am one) we sit here,
sons and daughters of Intemperance,
and we observe the immensity...

The inhalation of solvents is
discouraged, but the use of alcohol
has been approved of once again,
as being indeed necessary to
contemplate the Eye of the Universe
which is looking back at us.







It's like some of the stories Leacock wrote in the last century, but the environment has changed. The

locus - the town that has been bombed flat by a crazed jealous flyboy. Now the village ( for most

people have left) the village lives in weird enlarged foxholes. Artie's bar still stands. And that's the

one place the pilot wanted his 2000 pound bomb to hit.
As I say the half-mad village of WAIT-A-BIT (they call it that because no one can

remember what the former town was called)
So they decide to wait a bit.... until their memories return.
Each year the village decides to spend its entire budget on alcohol - rather than get electricity.
You get the idea. Think of: "Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town"... then remember: this

place is far more remote and far, far more savage. And it takes an entirely different sense of humour to live here.
Here even the domestic dogs want to kill you!

And that's funny as long as you're inside --- in the foxhole --- 'indoors', as some people say.

Sunday, July 2, 2017

DREAMING WHILE AWAKE --- THE TWILIGHT WORLD OF MIND TRAVEL

       When you write you cast your mind back to the happenings of another time, & if you focus you'll remember completely, You absorb the feel of the place and of the person you knew then. It's a self-hypnosis in reality. And it works.
             Casting my mind back to my early days in Jamaica, if I think of the vegetation I can see every blade of glass.
              The hoodoo, the voodoo in this is a phrase such as:

        REMEMBER TO FORGET,
         BECAUSE YOUR UNCONSCIOUS MIND
          WON'T FORGET TO REMEMBER       

  I've forgotten the name of the brilliant psychologist who taught me this...But he used to work in sports medicine. Reducing pain through the art of self-hypnosis.
        You can use self-hypnosis along with meditation,  SITTING,
to coax the one universal common Mind
to travel to distant places that are deep within.
At first I thought I had to have actually been to a place before I 'remembered' it... But this isn't true. You can intuit other places and travel there when you are in the deep flux of sitting.
I also call this DREAMING WHILE AWAKE.
             No one believes that these fields are accessible to me, but they are. If you wish to travel in this way, it can be done. Sometimes you have to feel out past lives, if you believe in such things.
             As zen master Philip Kapleau said:

THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS ROOM THAT
HASN'T LIVED A THOUSAND TIMES.

And since he paid me a visit the other night when I was sitting here,  I believe him. I felt his presence. And I'm not mistaken about such things much any more. 

               You don't have to cast your mind back always when you write. You can also absorb yourself in the present moment. This might even be a better way to write.

               We're talking about the twilight world
here. And I must admit I love the place.






(C)2017 by W.G. Milne


Saturday, July 1, 2017

A WRITER'S NOTEBOOK - VARIOUS THOUGHTS, EXPERIENCES

 Hangovers help me not to take myself too  seriously.

I DON'T KNOW exactly what I went thru the last week or three days, except here I am at my desk and my testicles ache.

I have about 1,000 pages of erotica. I have to read this very eloquent stuff to see what's going into the upcoming collection called, "TALES OF A SADO-MASOCHIST"  Unless I think of a better title.

Problem is, I start reading my own script and I am taken off to other realms... I can't seem to control it. The sex is so hot I get carried away.
At this rate, the book's gonna take a long time to finish.

******

I have six hundred drafts of articles/stories. I have to put some of them to bed - so when I'm doing this Writer's Notebook work - please don't expect coherence.

*********
         66% of the prisoners in jail have Hep Cin Ontario. And too often it's three people in a small cell.The one of of three who doesn't have the disease can easily catch it in a month, or two or three months.
        So the government exposes these people to Hepatitis C.  And when a person needs medication to help cure the disease, which he/she caught caught in jail - the government refuses to help that person pay for the expensive medication he needs for a cure.
          Doesn't seem quite fair, does it?
******************
TIME WAS ALL AT ONCE AND FOREVER

In the dream time that has no time.


"The hero of this book is "TIMELESSNESS."   Henry  Miller

Observing the intersection of the timeless and time: this is the occupation of a saint.  T.S Eliot

**********************
His eyes maintain the expression of some unspeakable horror he has witnessed, seen at an undisclosed date... some monstrous reality
 

          He cannot report on...a dread he can't
express.


                                from WAIT-A-BIT!  writings

**********************8
        Hank's lips are moving. He's speaking
to himself. It worries me when he mumbles
like that - feels like some kind of stress
madness...And he's been mumbling quite a bit
through the last two nights of winter, fumbling
with the fetish papers he nicked from the preacher's
bunker.
           A lot of panting and heavy breathing
behind the curtain... I know what these sounds mean, and they're

 perfectly normal, far as I'm concerned.
            It's the frequency of his gasping wrist exercises, this is not normal... 

not doing it all the time like this. It's the obsessive look in his eye he has
as he returns to his corner...this and his constant mumbling.  These factors are irritating and a tad disturbing.

***************************

     It's Canada Day. It's been raining so there's a pond in the parking lot across the street. I notice a woman standing there.
     She's looking at a 2 year old boy wearing rubber boots. His boots are splashing in the pond. It takes me way back - to my own children doing similar things - running in the water little rubber boots on... jumping and splashing...
      The mother, with infinite patience, watches
her child at play. I watch also. A moving sight.
And memory takes me there. She stands there for a long time.
******


(C) 2017 by W.G. Milne