Lena Horne

           

            On Wednesday I went down to the food bank at 11:00 and found the driveway empty, except for the red-faced woman, who was walking away. I suddenly wondered if the place was closed for some reason, but when I asked her, she told me it was open. They must have decided to give out the numbers early, because there was no line-up at all. I walked in, got number 24 and left.

            Although the streets were fairly clear after the storm, they were still slushy around the edges. I had a few things to do that day, so I decided to get them all done before going back to the food bank in the early afternoon, to avoid having to go out twice.

            I went to the bank to get my rent money and then I headed up to the Dufferin Mall. I needed a new reading lamp to replace the one that had died the day before and I wanted some blank rewritable DVDs to back up my computer files. When I walked into the back of the mall and approached the food court:

an elderly man with a cane

does a little dance

in front of the sombre old man

            I walked to Walmart, and though I knew the lamps would be on the lower floor, it took me some walking and asking before I found them. The ideal for me is a lamp that clamps to the top of the bookshelf to the left of my couch, and I found a small black one with a flexible stalk. The containing box was hilarious because in the space below “metal clip lamp”, where the French translation was supposed to be, were just the words, “French translation french”, instead of “lampe à pince en métal”. There were other styles of clip lamp from the same company, and I assume that they were made in the same Chinese factory, so I wonder what the glitch was on the packaging for this particular product.

            The checkout person was a very warm and friendly middle-aged woman wearing a colourful hijab.

            I went to The Source, where I found a pack of ten rewritable DVDs for nine dollars after tax. It’s been years since I’ve bought blank DVDs, but it seems to me that they used to be a lot more expensive.

            I needed to go to the supermarket, and I don’t really like the No Frills at the Dufferin Mall but I wanted to avoid cycling around too much, so I walked there and got a few things. Somehow though, while reaching for something on a shelf, I stubbed my left index fingernail and it began to bleed a little under the nail. It kind of smarted after that but I hoped it wouldn’t interfere with me forming guitar chords the next morning during practice.

            I rode back down to Queen, and west to Wind Mobile where I paid for my phone service, and then I took my stuff home and went back out the Healthcare Plus, two doors down from my place. The receptionist told me that my x-rays had come in and asked if I wanted to talk to the doctor about them. Of course I did, but he said there’s be a fifteen minute wait, so I went to the LCBO to buy three cans of Creemore to enjoy on New Years Eve, then I came back to the walk-in clinic. I sat for about ten minutes in the inner waiting area, from which place I could see and hear the receptionist from behind, but couldn’t see the patients. One guy came in without a health card and was told that he would have to pay $60.00 to just see the doctor. Another person wanted physiotherapy but the receptionist directed him to the physiotherapy clinic at 1206 King Street West, because it’s the only one in the neighbourhood that’s publicly funded.

            The doctor told me that no breaks or fractures showed up in my imaging and so that meant I had a sprain. That was good news but it didn’t stop my hand from hurting. He said it takes five to six weeks for a sprain to heal, so I’ve still got another two and a half weeks at the minimum.

            When I went back to the food bank, among the people waiting outside, there seemed to be fewer smokers than usual. The red faced woman was smoking as usual on the fire escape and she was talking with a woman sitting on her rollator walker, who was informing her that in Quebec most people speak French, but that Montreal is an international city where people speak, French, English and even Spanish. To this the red-faced woman said, as if it was part of the same conversation, “The Spanish Inquisition … that was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” The other woman agreed that it was a horrible thing and added; “Now we have ISIS!” The red-faced woman told her, “You’re a nice lady! I like you!” and added that she liked her boots. The woman with the rollator said that they were Doc Martens, and therefore orthopaedic boots. She said that in the UK, if you need orthopaedic shoes you can get the government to pay for your Doc Martens, but Canada doesn’t recognize the brand as being orthopaedic footwear.

            A tall, thin young man across the driveway was explaining to someone his strategy for staying off drugs. He said that if you need to go to a public place, go to a donut shop and have a coffee and a donut instead of going for a couple of beer. He explained that the buzz from the beer will just make you want to go and look for drugs.

            I listened to the music of the snow melting and trickling through the edges of the sewer grate in the middle of the driveway.

            A guy came out from the back of one of the businesses next door to the food bank, got in his car and turned the ignition. I’ve noticed that none of these neighbours ever seem to speak to the food bank clients in the driveway about them needing the way cleared so they can back out. This guy just sat there running his engine for a minute or so until a few people realized what he was going to do, then he began backing up in stops and starts as some people warned people to move. They could try something like, “Hi everybody! I just need to back my car out now, so if everybody could clear a path in the middle of the driveway I’d appreciate it!” But some people are shy.

            Three cops on their high horses went by. One of them waved and asked how it was going. Has anyone noticed that we don’t see police officers walking a beat anymore? At the speed the horse cops travel most of the time, they could go just as quickly on foot and actually form a relationship with the neighbourhood they are patrolling rather than towering above it.

            After our numbers were called, I was sitting inside, a couple of chairs away from the red faced woman, who was engaging the receptionist in conversation. “Is your name Janice?” she asked “No, it’s Paula.” The red-faced woman looked over at the refrigerator near the coffee maker and commented, “I remember when they used to defrost a refrigerator with pots. Kitchen pots! I haven’t defrosted a fridge since I was fourty-one!” Then she asked Paula, “Do people here talk at all about my rate of intellect?” Paula shook her head, and exclaimed with almost a whisper, “No!” and looked away.

            Someone whose number the doorperson had called came in and was obviously there for the first time. He took his number to the one food picking volunteer that is always nervous. She told him that his number was too high and that he’d have to go back outside. He obediently headed for the door but the doorperson said for him to take a seat.

            The nervous volunteer called my number. I didn’t need any rice or pasta, but I took some Ragu spaghetti sauce and a few canned items, including coconut milk. There was some whole grain cereal. There were four small containers of yogourt but when I got those home I saw that they were artificially sweetened, so I’ll have to give them to someone else. I had a choice between margarine and two 125-gram packages of proscuitto. I took the Italian ham. I didn’t need any bakery items but I could have used some raisin bread. I was told that there had only been four loaves and that the people with lower numbers had snatched them all up. The vegetable and fruit section seems to be Sue’s jurisdiction lately. She gave me several Granny Smith apples, some un-firm oranges, some potatoes, several peppers and a yam, then she patted my shoulder and wished me a happy new year.

            When I got home I set up the new lamp, thus freeing up the old microphone stand that had been holding the old lamp up for the last few years.

            I listened to a couple of episodes of Amos and Andy from the last one of 1944 to the first one of 1945. In the New Years Eve story, Andy at first thinks he’s the only from his circle of friends that will be invited to a party being thrown by one of the most prominent members of Harlem high society. One by one, he finds that all of his friends have actually received invitations but he hasn’t. It turns out to have been a mistake but Andy doesn’t know that, so he forms a plan to get himself invited. Andy has been dating the daughter of the man who is throwing the bash and pretends that he doesn’t know there is a party being planned. Even though Andy is broke he invites the young lady to a night on the town, thinking that she will feel obligated to stay at home for her father’s party and will invite Andy to come as well. Much to Andy’s disappointment she enthusiastically accepts his invitation. He has to cancel and becomes extremely bitter about his New Years Eve prospects. A friend of his comes and asks him for a favour but Andy refuses to even listen to what the favour is. The minister comes to see Andy and tells him about the parable of casting his bread upon the waters. It convinces him that even though his own New Years Eve is ruined, he should do something nice for someone else. He goes and tells his friend that he’ll do the favour and it turns out that his friend tells him that he needs someone to go out to all the high class Harlem clubs on New Years Eve and to report on which society people are there. This would be with a press pass that allows him free food and drink everywhere he goes plus he could bring a guest. His New Years Eve date was back on and he was on his way to pick the young lady up when he stopped by to thank the minister for his advice. The then minister asks him a favour. He needs him to serve as a witness at the wedding of a young couple he was marrying just then in his chapel. He’s a soldier on his way to Europe and they can’t afford a honeymoon. Andy is moved by their story and once again casts his bread on the waters. He gives them the press pass so they can party on New Years Eve. So Andy goes home and is starting to feel like a chump gain when his friend from the newspaper calls him and asks him for another favour. He needs him to escort a young actress to a private party. Andy asks for the woman’s name and his friend tells him, “Hold onto your hat! It’s Lena Horne!” “Lena Horne?” Andy exclaims, “She is the best lookin’ gal in the country!”

            The mother of a girlfriend I had back in the late 80s was a dead ringer for Lena Horne.

            On more than one occasion, Lena Horne’s name has come up in previous episodes. In fact, she’s the only female celebrity that’s been mentioned.

            I watched the tenth episode of the most recent season of Doctor Who. A friend of Clara’s wakes up with a tattoo that consists of three numbers on the back of his neck. That’s not so strange until he tells them that the number is changing every minute and counting down.

Sand Men

           

            I was glad I didn't need to go anywhere on Tuesday, especially on my bike, out into the messy aftermath of the first snowstorm of the winter.

            I spent a lot of time trying to back up files with my new DVD burner. Maybe I’ve just been conditioned by a childhood of dealing with big solid appliances, but the external DVD burner seems extremely flimsy to me. It’s not much bigger than a DVD case and I’m always afraid that I’m going to break it when I’m loading or removing a disk. The Nero burning software told me that three of my blank DVDs were not empty and so it wouldn’t burn files to them. I think the problem might have been though that I allowed Windows to format the DVDs each time before trying to burn to them, because when I tried not formatting one of them, Nero had no problem with it and so I was able to put the complete collection of Laurie Anderson albums and films all onto one disk. One of the disks that Nero refused, worked fine when I didn’t use Nero and just dragged all of my photos onto it, so I guess Windows 7 has its own burning software and I might not have needed to download Nero. I managed to back up all of my writing and several programs. I still had two of the Nero rejected DVDs to use for some more stuff after most of the important things got backed up, so I made one DVD of old radio shows and another of female French singers. I need to get another pack of blank rewritable DVDs but there’s probably less of a hurry now.

            The reading lamp that I’ve had since my daughter was still a kid seems to have finally died. For the last several years I’d had it mounted on a camera tripod so it would stay at the right height. I probably should look into another one before classes start. Maybe there are some good Boxing Week prices.

            I watched the 9^th episode of the most recent season of Doctor Who. There were creatures made from the sand that forms in the corners of our eyes when we sleep: Sandmen.

HTML Counterspells

           

            I spent a lot of time on Monday operating on the HTML of my blog post of The Valliere Files. The problem was that I included the text from links that Paul Valliere had sent me as part of our email conversations and the colours of the text were often written as magic spells behind the words, so I had to crawl under them and delete the colour references because they interfered with the colour format of my blog, rendering the text sometimes invisible when published. I finally got it all fixed in the evening and sent a link of the blog to Paul’s daughters, Rosalind and Alison.

            I had planned on going out to the Tranzac open stage that night but the first snowstorm of the season arrived that evening. As is often the case, I was both disappointed and relieved at the same time. I think that my new classes in Continental Philosophy and Short Stories start next week, so that’ll be my last chance to go to the Tranzac until April.

            I watched the eighth episode of the most recent season of Doctor who, which contains one of the best anti-war arguments I’ve ever heard, as presented passionately by Peter Capaldi as the Doctor.

A Lonely Guy

           

            When I got up on Sunday morning the heat was on full blast and my apartment was stifling hot. I think that because my radiators are all under windows, the heat is pushed into the apartment by the incoming air. I had to open all five of my windows and prop open my door and the back door of the building, and still I was hot through my yoga and most of song practice. I usually sip water between songs but I had to gulp it this time.

            In the evening I took a bike ride. It was cold and windy, but not overwhelming. At Yonge and Dundas the young Christian evangelist was out with his microphone. I didn’t hear the Muslim preacher this time.

            South of Dundas a large group of women were walking south two by two and chatting. A lonely guy in glasses was walking north, and though he didn’t look directly at any of them, he lifted his bent left arm three times and waved with a twisting wrist as they went by. After they were all behind him he shook his head and said in a low voice, “Look at all those women!”

            I had to throw out the squash that I’d cooked because cockroaches had found their way into the pot while it was sitting on the stove, even though it was covered. I hope the landlord got my message about calling Orkin.

            I watched the seventh episode of the current season of Doctor Who. The story mirrors the real world situation of a terrorist army being a threat, except with aliens.

The Valliere Files

Journal entries that include Paul Valliere 

October 20, 2013 - Paul Valliere called me before the Plastiscene reading series started to tell me that he’d fallen asleep and woke up late. He asked if I’d put his name on the open stage list. I wrote him down as number seven, just in case he didn’t make it for the first set, and I took number one. He wasn’t there when it kicked off, thus making it the second time Paul has missed hearing me read because he’d fallen asleep.

February 18, 2014 - I sat at my favourite booth at Paupers near the stage and was joined by Cad and later Paul Valliere and Kathline Zink. Paul, Cad and myself went for coffee afterwards and talked on various topics for almost two hours. Most of the conversation centred around Cad’s interesting past, such as his period of “working” as an accidental pimp, which led to his stint at the Kingston penitentiary; and his very brief employment as an MC for strippers at the Zanzibar, from which he was fired for being too forward with the dancers. We also listened to him once again protest about what a Gay city Toronto is. I tried to respond to two issues at the same time by drawing a comparison between the stripper who accused him of sexually harassing her and his feelings about Gay people. I told him that how he would feel if a man came onto him is exactly how many women might feel when he’s making advances on them.

May 18, 2014 - Paul and I went across the street from Paupers for coffee and later Kathleen and Frank joined us.

I was talking about how at a certain time of year that I don’t remember, I only know that it wasn’t cold, people used to gather on a bridge over a river not far from where I was raised in New Brunswick, drop lines into the water and jig for suckers. I said that I can’t remember if people actually ate them. Frank said that people do eat them, but the best way to prepare them is to coat both sides well with butter and then add salt, pepper, paprika, finely chopped parsley and garlic powder to taste. Cover with thinly sliced red onions. Place it on a cedar plank, bake it next to an open fire for five hours, then throw away the fish and eat the board because it’s bound to taste better than the suckerfish.

Kathleen said that she’d left her bike down at Dundas and Parliament and was going to leave it there over night because she didn’t feel like going back to get it. I told her that I would never leave my bike out overnight. I asked her how long of a ride it would be to get home once she had her bike and was surprised when she said it would only take five minutes. I thought she was dreading some long ordeal. I told her she was a cycling wimp. Then she suggested that it wouldn’t be so bad if I rode with her to her place and got into a hot tub with her. I didn’t know how to respond to that. Paul finally offered to drive her to where her bike was so she could take it home.

June 15- A little later Paul arrived at Paupers with his daughter Allison, who is recovering nicely from having broken both her legs a few months ago. I said “Hi Legs!” She was hanging out with her dad for father’s day. Paul said she was the only of his kids who wanted to this time.

July 20- Paul and Kathleen came to Paupers but Cad was a no show. Afterwards Paul, Kathleen and I went to a new little bakery/café that Paul had discovered earlier. We were the only customers and enthusiastic, peppy owner fell all over himself to please us, though the coffee was some of the worst I’ve ever had in my life. The place closed at 21:00 but the guy let us stay until 22:00.

August 13- Paul Valliere showed up at the Cafecito a little after Allen sat down, saying he’d had a hell of a time finding the place. When I asked why he hadn’t followed the specific instructions I’d emailed to him he said it was because he doesn’t find details very interesting. He noticed that Allen was drinking a clear liquid from a jam jar and he asked him what it was. The answer “water” inspired Paul to ask if he’d ever tried drinking food grade hydrogen peroxide. I said “What?” He explained that people drink food grade hydrogen peroxide as a purifier. I said, “That sounds insane! It reminds me of the guy I knew many years ago who worked at Noah’s Health Food store and who used to eat little balls of clay to absorb the toxins in his body. He also claimed that when John Wayne died they found twenty-five kilograms of impacted feces in his intestines. When I went for a colonoscopy several years ago though, I told that story to the specialist and he said such an accumulation would not be possible.” This led Paul to talk about John Wayne arguing with Rob Reiner on the Tonight Show which reminded me of seeing a drunken Burt Reynolds at an award show on television coming out as a presenter and commenting about how much applause he got from the people in the cheap seats but then he singled out Rob Reiner in the front row and criticized him for not applauding. Paul then moved our associative conversation to the subject of the making of the movie Deliverance and had covered a lot of details about the film, when around this time Cad walked in, complaining about the cold outside and the heat inside.

            There was talk of absent mindedness in relation to age but I said that I’ve maintained the same level of periodic absent mindedness throughout my life and once a year I might do something like almost put my shoes in the refrigerator. Allen said that he used to keep his copy of William Faulkner’s Mosquitoes in his fridge. Cad asked him if he’d read Harold Robbins’ A Stone for Danny Fisher. Allen responded, with a slight touch of contempt, that he wasn’t a fan of Harold Robbins’ writing. But when Cad told him that the Elvis Presley movie Kid Creole was based on A Stone for Danny Fisher, Allen was surprised and said “I liked that movie!” Cad gave us an outline of the plot, saying “Danny Fisher’s father was ineffectual because he wasn’t very effectual” and at that point I cracked up. Paul said that it was the 2003 film “Sylvia” that inspired him to read Sylvia Plath.

            Allen says that he sets up a table on some weekday evenings in front of his son’s store, West End Comics at 1590 Queen Street West, to sell selections from his 1,500 or more collection of books. Cad said “There’s one book I want and I’m wondering if you have it but I forget the title.” Allen answered, “I have that one but I haven’t read it yet.”

            Francisco arrived sometime near the end of the above conversation, which turned to Paul talking about a man he knew called Mike Argue. Cad mentioned that he knows two guys with the last name “Regular” and Francisco told us that his son’s name is Rudolpho Experience, which Paul suggested is a great name for a pick up artist, as he can ask girls if they’ve had the “Rudolpho Experience”.

            This was the first night of City of Words in the last six weeks when there were no women there. The conversations certainly took on a different flavour because of this. Kathleen Zinck had planned on coming but Paul gave her the wrong directions and her phone wasn’t working properly. Cad said “I can call somebody from my tablet but I can’t hear them talking.”

            Finally Allen got around to starting the literary portion of the evening and since Paul Valliere was new, he asked him to read first. Paul started with a poem called “Going with the Flow” which was inspired by a doctor friend of his who retired and moved to the country, having used the current of a river as a metaphor for life. This is one of the most common analogies in the history of poetry. His next piece was called “Everything Really Happens”, which finished by talking about “making love out of nothing at all”, which of course is a line from a hit song from the 90s by Air Supply. This is one of Paul’s writing traps, to get caught up in clichés. Paul handed out copies of the last composition that he read, which he said was partly inspired by Robin Williams’ death and had the title, “Going Home”. This was the one that we commented on the most. Francisco perhaps gave it the biggest condemnation when he said solemnly, “Honestly? It has a lot of potential!” Allen came close to that when he said, “I certainly agree with the sentiment of the poem!” I asked Paul if he ever writes more than a first draft of any poem and he confirmed that he tends to accept each poem as finished as soon as he’s written it. Acceptance is a key phrase for Paul’s attitude to everything. He is rarely critical of others or himself. I told him that what I’ve observed from hearing him read for all these years is that his poetry seems to be treading water as a result of this attitude. He responded, “Well at least that means it’s alive!” Allen declared that Paul’s method of just writing one poem after another without returning to edit them is a perfectly legitimate method of writing, and one’s ability will improve this way as long as one keeps writing. He cited Rumi as an example of a poet who worked in that manner.  I don’t know how Allen could possibly know if that was how Rumi worked. Since Rumi was a spiritual leader in addition to being a poet the legends his disciples told would obviously be that every one of his poems was perfect in the first writing. To me this whole idea of becoming a good poet without carefully crafting one's poems is like setting a million monkeys to work on a million keyboards. It is possible that between them they would accidentally produce a hundred great poems. It’s like producing children without bothering to raise them. It’s like a blind man with a camera taking a million shots. Chances are some of them will turn out to be amazing photos. But who wants to be an accidental artist?

            Paul told us that his experience in grade school caused him to dislike a lot of poetry. Allen confirmed that schools offer the worst introduction to poetry.

            Allen quoted T.S. Eliot’s dedication of The Wasteland to his editor, Ezra Pound, who he proclaimed to be “Ilmiglio fabro”, meaning “The better craftsman”. Allen then read his own, “Hide and Seek”, which is a playful rhyming poem about death, in which he lists some of the many things that one can not do to escape death, one of which is “quoting Gurdjieff”. I told Allen that I was impressed that he knew who George Gurdjieff was and he responded the same to me. In fact everybody at the table except for Cad knew of the Armenian mystic, which is a real rarity.

            Paul gave us a short history of his ten years as a member of the Church of Scientology. He said after he left he had to deprogram himself of its dualistic philosophy. Allen agreed that dualism is limited and declared that what is needed at the very least is a triadic outlook.

            I sang “The Ticket Puncher at Lilas Station”, which is my translation of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Le poinconneur des Lilas” and which also uses a lot of death metaphors, including a reference to Strindberg’s “Great Highway”.

            Getting back to Paul’s poem, Allen suggested that in the last five lines:

            Compassion, forgiveness

            And God’s right there,

            Right around the corner,

            Shining, arms wide,

            “Welcome my son.”

 he could easily remove the reference to God:

 Compassion, forgiveness

            Right around the corner,

            Shining, arms wide,

            “Welcome my son.”

 without losing the message and thereby making the poem more accessible.

            Paul turned to me and asked me what I thought of that. I said, “I’m always willing to take God out of anything.”

            Allen laughed and asked, “Can I quote you on that? “Christian’s always willing to take God out of anything!”

August 17- Paul Valliere joined us at Cafecito a little later and we had a conversation about poetry slams. He wanted to know the difference between the slams that I organized in the 90s and the slams that are happening now. I explained that my slams were a reaction against the way in which slams have been run since they first began in Chicago. My judges were not selected at random from the audience, each contestant had to submit three copies of every poem they were presenting so that the judges could read them while they were being spoken, props and musical instruments were allowed, poets were judged on their writing only and not on their performances, and the audience had no influence on the judges. Then Paul Valliere finished the open stage portion of the evening with three poems, two of which he’d read at City of Words a few days before. On the piece “Going Home” he had taken Allen Sutterfield’s advice and removed a superfluous reference to God.

August 20 - On the Wednesday evening of August 20 I went to 3 Westmorland for the City of Words poetry get together at El Cafecito. Paul Valliere and Margaret were there already. Paul was in my usual seat. I thought about telling him but figured that would make me look like an asshole. I ended up sitting opposite Allen as usual though, which seems symbolically appropriate. Paul Valliere was asked to read something. He shared a poem inspired by observing a young teenage girl trying to look a little too glamorous for her age and the fact that she removed her sunglasses after noticing Paul was looking at her. Allen pointed out some superfluous words in the piece, such as in the lines  “micro-jean skirt, over black leggings”, since obviously the skirt would be over the leggings, the word “over” was not necessary. The main thing about the poem that many of us were puzzled about was the title, “PH Balance”. Paul said that he was thinking of the first two letters in “photo”, but that was too much of a stretch for most of us.

September 3- I arrived at 3 Westmorland for my last visit to the City of Words a little before 20:00 where I found Francisco, Rose and Kathleen smoking and chatting on the patio. I stood and talked with them but declined their offer to sit down because of the fumes. Francisco suggested that I move out of the city if I don’t like smoke. Nicolette and Luisa came next. Nicolette offered the observation that Latin Americans are still living in the Fifties as far as cigarettes are concerned. Francisco said that if this were the 1950s in Buenos Aires people would have been sitting on a patio taking cocaine. Paul Valliere showed up around this time, bringing Jack Livesley with him for the first time. Katie knocked on the window to show that she was already inside and Cad came out. When Allen got there it made eleven of us, which was a City of Words record. We all went inside. There was one person not part of our group sitting in our preferred area. Unlike the person with the laptop from last week she was very understanding and though we invited her to join us she moved to finish her beer elsewhere. After the break Paul read a poem called “Well, Well!” in which he lists various diseases like women and gambling. In the last verse he says, “Politics may be the deadliest disease… the winner is the one who best deceives”. I told him it reminded me of Frank Zappa’s song, “Stink Foot”: “Out through the night and the whispering breezes to the place where they keep the imaginary diseases.” I also quoted something I’d heard many years ago from Swami Satchidananda: “If you are not at ease you are diseased.”

Paul told us about an interview with Jim Morrison on the CBC in which he said that women don’t need to become artists because they all already are. I suggested that that’s the kind of thing men say to get laid.

Sidney then read a piece of her own called “No More Miss Nice Girl” that was meant to be a response to Paul’s, though I think she must have misunderstood what he’d written. Her poem had a list of phrases that began with, “Men who…” and ended with “How dare you!”

September 21 - Paul Valliere arrived at paupers late and got crowded out of the shortened open stage. He hadn’t heard that Nik Beat had died. Paul remembers being on the Howl radio show several years ago and that he got censored for saying the word, “fuck”. He told me that performers at the Mariposa Folk Festival are also censored from saying “fuck”. We also talked of family unions and he told me that if there’s ever another one for my family down east he’d be glad to drive me there because he’s looking for an excuse to go to the Maritimes and New England.

December 21- Paul Valliere came in to Paupers and commented that the place looked different. I said that it was probably because it was empty and pointed out to him that he’s never been so early before. He told me that he’d dropped Kathleen off in front of the bar before going to park his car but she hadn’t come up yet.

            I told him about getting As in my Canadian Short Story and Science Fiction courses and he told me about the affinity he feels for writing Science Fiction stories. I quoted Ursula K. LeGuin’s definitions of Fantasy and Science Fiction. She says with Fantasy you get to make up your own rules but you have to follow those rules slavishly and with Science Fiction you have to follow the rules of science. He said that that’s why he likes the genre of Magical Realism, because one doesn’t have to follow any rules.

            This led to him telling me about going to hear his friend Star Spider read at an open stage at Betty’s Diner on King Street East.

            Somehow the conversation drifted to a documentary Paul had watched about Edvard Munch. He said that life in Norway in the Victorian era was strongly creative and Bohemian. I’m thinking though that this was just about a couple of handfuls of influential artists, including Edvard Munch and Paul Jaeger who were Anarchists and eventually had to leave Norway because their ideas weren’t particularly welcome there.

Nicki invited Paul Vallier to the open stage. He did what seemed to be a graduation address written by god at his own self-graduation. Given that Paul tends to only read brand new material, I think he was the only one who referenced Cuban-U.S. relations that evening. He also pointed out that time spelled backwards is “emit”.

Before we left I was talking to Paul about bipolar disorder and I suggested that it might make those who suffer from it susceptible to false memories of abuse. He says he likes to give people the benefit of the doubt.

January 18, 2015 - Cad arrived at Paupers about five minutes after me and began telling me the story of his alleged trip to New York and Las Vegas during the holidays. He directed my attention to his feet and the roach killers, which he said he’d had custom made in New York City. I suggested that if something is custom made it’s probably easier to get through customs. Paul Vallier came in at this point and asked if Cad was in a New York state of mind. I told him Cad is never in any state of mind. Cad showed Paul the stovepipe pants which he said were also made for him in New York. I reminded him that Paul is a professional chimney sweep, if he ever needs his stovepipe pants cleaned. On the theme of border crossing, Paul began telling us about the Haskell Opera House and Library, which is half in Stanstead, Quebec and half in Derby Line, Vermont. There’s an entrance to the building from each country and both the library and the opera house have a line running through them with Canada on one side and the U.S. on the other.

            Cad told us that Black women in New York City can’t get enough of White guys and every night he was there he had ten women to choose from. He said he brought me a set of brass knuckles back from The Big Apple. I told him I hope they’re not just those brass plated copper knuckles that turn green after a few punches. He said they have diamonds in the knuckles and the secret is to rub them with garlic so it’s more painful when you’re beating somebody up. This reminded Paul of putting thumbtacks on other kids’ seats when he was a schoolboy, which reminded me of having my chair pulled out from under me when I was fifteen after standing to make a speech in Junior Legislature. Paul said that’s a very dangerous trick to pull on someone. Cad asked if any girls had been there and I couldn’t recall if there had been and so there must not have been, which was curious.

Cad wanted to know the name of the woman who Rob Ford allegedly touched inappropriately, which reminded me that I’d learned that all mayors in North America are officially considered to be “peace officers” and actually have

This led Paul to tell me about a Swedish television series called Wallander, which he says is great, but he was surprised to find out from that show that Swedish police can enter and search homes without warrants. Apparently this is true. This reminded me that when I was 18, after planting drugs on me while I was panhandling, then arresting and booking me, the cops drove me home and ransacked my apartment. Paul said he would sometimes panhandle as a teenager by approaching women downtown and asking them how far it is to the 401. When they informed him that it was quite far, he would act surprised and then ask if they could help him out with the bus fare to get there. He said it worked almost every time. I told him that when I was on the street, since no one would believe that we wanted change so we could buy food, we’d lie and say we wanted to buy a case of beer. Then people would give us money, and often commented, “At least you’re honest!” Or we would catch people’s interest with a joke such, “Excuse me, could you spare some change so I can help put my grandmother through college?” I remarked about how lazy I find panhandlers to be these days. We would never have sat on the sidewalk being passive, but rather stood up and engaged with passers by.

Paul told us about his visit to San Diego and how the majority of backpackers visiting the west coast of the United States are from Germany and Australia. He said that he met a guy in the hostel who was a veteran of one of the United States’ late 20^th Century wars, who kept on trying to get them to go to certain bars and strip joints because he got a small commission for bringing customers in. I told them about the guy I met while doing yoga in Central Park who told me that the reason that men and women don’t get along is that each sex descends from a different species of animal. Men, he said, descend from apes, while women can draw their ancestry back to polar bears.  Cad wanted to know how black women could descend from white bears.

            Continuing the open mic was Paul Valliere, who did two pieces. The first, called “Fini?” was in the form of a dialogue in which the Self tries to talk the Ego out of committing suicide. The second was entitled “Bukowski’s Beast”.

There was a fifteen-minute break at this point and so Cad, Paul and myself returned to our trialogue.

February 15- The stairs to the second floor of Paupers were chained off but the entry way had a little heater mounted on a table which for some reason had been turned to face the wall. I turned it around and soaked up its heat. Paul Valliere had been inside waiting in the bar on the main floor, but when he saw me he came out to chat. Cad arrived and told me that I was crazy to ride a bike in this weather. Susie Berg came out to tell us that we’d been given permission to unhook the chain ourselves and head upstairs. Cad told me I shouldn’t have brought my summer guitar. I pulled my guitar out of the gig bag and clamped my digital tuner onto the top of the headstock but the light didn’t come on. I was worried that I’d have to go through the hell of tuning it by ear, which would take a long time. I took it into a darker part of the bar and started to see a faint light. It seemed that it had been frozen on the way there and just needed to warm up. I’d never experienced that with the battery before so it was a surprise. I seemed to have finally gotten it tuned though and went back to our booth where I tumbled into the conversation that Paul and Cad were having.

Then it was Paul Valliere’s turn on the open stage, but he was in the middle of eating his burger when Nicki called him. He swallowed, wiped his mouth and headed for the stage, while Nicki asked him if there were any fries left. He read what he said was a post apocalyptic love story called “Is This Love?” in which Andy Device is a smart phone in love with the woman who owns him, “Andy put all his energy into the space between himself and his beloved … he was taken out and the tap, tap, tap that he loved commenced. She spoke into him in a soft, cheery voice that made him tingle.” Andy is placed next to another device named Carl who is an extension of the man who has become Jessica’s lover. Andy tells Carl that he and Jessica have been together for two years and is distressed by Carl’s response that they only have one year left before she replaces him. Andy figures out that Carl’s owner is Gay based on his Abba collection and when he asks what he’s doing with Jessica, the unlikely response is “experimenting” and “mutual reverse pinching”. Andy defeated Carl then waited for Jessica, and it was the hardest part like “Tom Petty sang”. It had a happy ending as Jessica carried him away.

            This was actually a very clever and original story, despite the naïve references to Abba as being symbolic of homosexuality and to a Gay man experimenting by having sex with women.

            Nicki gave Paul a subtle dig at his clumsy naivety about homosexuality by saying,  “Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, first he does the song “Sing If You’re Glad to be Gay” and then he gets married to a woman! What’s up with that?” Of course, “Sing If You’re Glad to Be Gay” is by Tom Robinson.

I told Paul that his story reminded me of Greg Egan’s Science Fiction story, “Wang’s Carpets”, which depicts a future in which all human beings are just computer projections. This led to Paul talking about a documentary he’d seen about the Big Bang. I said that there’s a new theory that the universe didn’t begin with a big bang at all, but has simply always existed. He suggested that each of these theories create their own reality. I argued that they aren’t just making stuff up and that there has to be real physics behind the main theories.

Cad was talking about his relationship with Goldie and a tentative arrangement whereby he would fix her car in exchange for her cooking. I don’t think Cad could change a flat tire, let alone fix a car, and Goldie doesn’t like to cook, so I don’t see that happening. This led Paul and I to talk about heterosexual relationships in general. I argued that outside of the restrictions laid out by our society, most straight women would instinctively prefer getting pregnant by adventurous men and then have unadventurous men act as surrogate fathers to the children. The unconscious urge is to have children with strong survival skills, which would come from passing on the DNA of adventurous men.

On the way out I was telling Paul about my dislike for the current epistemology course I’m taking. Working with philosophical arguments in raw logic is too much like math for my taste.

March 15- Half an hour after I arrived at Paupers, the second floor was finally opened up. I settled into my favourite booth and Paul Valliere walked in shortly after that. He asked if Cad was coming. I told him that a close friend of Cad’s had died recently so maybe wouldn’t feel like coming out. Paul commented about how difficult it is when people you’re close to pass away. This reminded me of Nik Beat’s departure a few months ago. Paul told me that they’ve changed the name of Nik’s radio show on CIUT from “Howl” to just something generic like “Radio Show”. That sounds like a stupid thing to have done.

            As Paul watched me write down my thoughts on the evening so far he asked if I just post the first draft. No, I told him, that this was just the raw material that I refine and polish before I consider it worth posting. He explained what I already know, that he likes to just write new things all the time and improve his writing that way. I really don’t think it works that way. I think it makes one more of a jack of writing than a master.

 Paul and I discussed the open stage format that has been in effect at Plastiscene since Nikki Ward replaced Cathy Petch as the host. There used to be one open mic set of five readers of their own poetry at the beginning of the night, and another at the end. Now they only have five open stage readers and another five readers of poems from a hat. The poems are brought by the featured readers and Nikki gets people in the audience who didn’t bring their own poetry to get up and read them. Nikki thinks that it’s beneficial for writers who want to improve their spoken word chops to do cold readings of strange poetry in front of an audience. That may be true, but neither Paul or I, or really any other poets I’ve talked to really like the new format. There’s too much greater a chance of getting bumped from the open stage, and though we enjoy hearing others read, the reason we come out is to share our own writing. That being said though, if I weren’t someone who had lots of stuff to share, or who was shy about reading my own work in public, I would probably appreciate being drawn out of my shell by being volunteered to read a poem from the hat.

            At 18:45 Nikki came to the mic and started her opening remarks. For some reason though, at the same time, Paul thought I might be interested in watching and hearing a video of him walking his dog on the Humber Trail. Nikki asked what the noise was. I ratted on Paul and Nikki told him to turn it off. He just turned it down though and I could still hear it. I don’t know why he didn’t just turn it off.

Nikki called Paul up to kick off the open stage. He read two poems, one tat he said was one about a fictional yet very real character he hates to love and one about a mythological, unreal character he’s afraid not to. The first was called “Police the Police”. Within the poem he used the “N” word and a few other ethnic slurs in the voice of a racist cop. His second piece was entitled “God Only Knows” and it was quite a bit lighter: “…God had all these children 'cause he made love all the time and his partner was Forever … “

Paul asked me if I’d ever written a novel. I told him I’d written over half of a novel based on my life on the street. It also rhymes. In addition to that I also once wrote a short novel in 48 hours but I lost the whole thing later when my computer crashed.

            The conversation bounced around until it fell on doctors. Paul told me that he doesn’t go to doctors at all, not even for an annual check-up. Something about them scaring you into following their agenda. I told him I think it’s a big mistake to not get an annual check-up and to not go for a colonoscopy every few years. It’s free in Canada and getting the jump on something like prostate cancer could save your life. As far as doctor’s agendas go. If I don’t want to take any medication that my GP suggests I just tell him I don’t want it and that’s the end of it. He’s not a slave to pharmaceutical companies but if he knows of a drug that treats my symptoms he’ll suggest it to me as an option. It doesn’t break his heart when I say I don’t want it.

April 19- The chain came off early and we were ascending the stairs to the second floor of Paupers when Paul Valliere arrived. He brought two friends with him who I’ve heard him mention before, named Star and Ben.

            Paul was telling Star about a new masonry contract that he just got with a long-standing customer. Star asked if he was also a Free Mason. I told her that he actually charges money for his jobs. He said that he had an uncle who was a Freemason. I mentioned that several of my uncles, great uncles and my great grandfather on my mother’s side had all been Freemasons. He said his uncle had made decoys for duck hunters. He also became obsessed with trying to find a cure for cancer when his wife began to suffer from the affliction. After she died he committed suicide. Paul used the phrase “suicide duck decoy maker” but I said that would not be a good name for a band. “Suicide Duck” however would be an amazing name for a band.

            Paul talked about watching the movie “Fury” recently. I commented that Brad Pitt seems like bit of a redneck. Paul agreed and said that there might be a connection with how right wing Angelina Jolie’s father is. I said that people used to tell me how much l looked like Jon Voight. Star said she could totally see that. This led to Paul to talking about a film he’d seen about the making of Deliverance that was almost better than Deliverance itself. I said Heart of Darkness is supposed to be as good as Apocolypse Now as well. I guess talking about method actors brought us round to Al Pacino. The year that jack Nicholson won the Academy Award for his amazing performance in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, I was a little disappointed because I thought that Pacino was just a tad better in Dog Day Afternoon. Paul mentioned that Pacino suffers from insomnia and then appeared in the film Insomnia with Robin Williams. Ben confessed that he fell asleep watching Insomnia. I said there’s a sense of betrayal when we rent our favourite movies to show to someone we care about and then they fall asleep.

            Paul was talking about two of his daughters being vegetarian and it turned out that Star and Ben are vegetarians as well. I asked how long. She said twelve years and then they stopped but they’ve been vegetarians again for a year now. I reassured them based on my experience of being raised on a farm, that cows are vegetables and have less brains than turnips. Star didn’t seem to think it was funny. She said experience is anecdotal and scientists can measure pain and the effects of fear on the brain. I suggested then that all we have to do is take away the fear and pain from the animals we slaughter and then everything should be fine.

            I asked them what they would do if a comet passed over the earth and released bacteria that did nothing but wipe out all the bacteria in the human gut. Star said that we’d all die. I told her that we would still be able to digest fruit and meat without the help of gut bacteria. This is what I studied when I took evolutionary biology at U of T. We can digest fruit with saliva and the human body is a meat processing machine. We only need gut bacteria to digest vegetables.

            Just then, Cad arrived and slid into the booth with us.

            It turns out that Star has just gotten a literary agent in England who thinks there’s a market for her writing over there, whereas here it’s going nowhere. Of the British market, I said, “It worked for Jimi Hendrix!”

Paul was talking about a book about how important plants are, but he couldn’t

remember the name. I suggested it might be “The Secret Life of Plants”, and he said, “That’s it!” I told him Frank Zappa wrote a response to that book: “Call Any Vegetable …they keep you regular; they're real good for ya … Call any vegetable … Call it by name (Call any vegetable) Call one today (Call any vegetable) When you get off the train
… Call any vegetable … And the chances are good … The vegetable
Will respond to you…”

            Star asked Cad about his writing style. Cad said that I’d described it perfectly once but he didn’t remember what I’d said. I told him it was “Prose Noir”. He added “Retro” to the beginning, but I think “Noir” already implies that it’s retro.

            Cad, as usual, wanted to know Star’s ethnic background and she told him she was Italian and Scottish. Cad said he can usually tell but he was drawing a blank with her. I said that a lot of people think Cad’s Italian. Star couldn’t guess that he was Jewish even after several hints from both Cad and Paul. Cad said that one time a guy came up to him and started ranting about how horrible it is that his people monopolize the construction business. When he told the guy he was Jewish the man declared, “That’s even worse!”

            Paul explained to Star the format of how the Plastiscene evening would be unfolding, but he and Cad told her that the event that I ran from 1993 till 2000, the Orgasmic Alphabet Orgy was the best event, where everyone felt accepted and there was no censorship. That was nice.

            At this point Star asked me what I was writing. I explained that the whole evening, including the conversations would be part of my review of Plastiscene for newz4u.net.

Next up was Paul Valliere, who did two poems. The first was called “Colour Me Right”, and it consisted mostly of a list of colours, followed in each line by words that rhyme with each hue. The second was inspired an email from a website that tells someone their poetic animal after they’ve filled out a questionnaire. Paul got the Chilean mockingbird, while Star was given the bat. Paul wrote a poem about Bat Man.

            Referring back to what Paul said about finding their poetic animals, I asked him and Star what would have been their reaction if they’d filled out the questionnaire and found out that their poetic animals were human. Paul said he would have been disappointed. I told them I would have said, “Yes! Nailed it!”

            Star and Ben told Paul they enjoyed his piece about Bat Man. I said maybe he should find where Bob Kane is buried and put it on his gravestone. Then Ben and I had to explain to him that Bob Kane was the guy who created Batman back in the 1930s, modelled after the Shadow. We discussed who made the best Batman. Paul said Christian Bale. Ben said Michael Keaton. I said that Jack Lord, who played Steve McGarrett on the original Hawaii 50, would have made the best cold-hearted Batman if they’d decided to do a serious version back in the 60s. Star and Ben had never heard of Jack Lord. Paul then said that James MacArthur, who played Danno on that show, was the son of Mary Martin, who is famous for playing Peter Pan. Cad confirmed this. But looking these up now, I see they got it all wrong. MacArthur was the stepson of Helen Hayes but Mary Martin was actually the mother of Larry Hagman.

Cad couldn’t understand why they’d gotten a woman to play Peter Pan. I said they needed someone who could pull off a boyish look but was still mature enough to handle a complicated role.

Somehow the question came up as to who did the sexy voice of Jessica Rabbit in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” Star looked it up and of course it was Kathleen Turner, who I fell in love with when I first saw her in Ken Russell’s “Crimes of Passion”.

Star and Ben had to leave.

May 17- Paul Valliere was absent from Plastiscene for the first time in many months and I felt bad about that because he’d sent me a text a couple of days before to ask me if it was happening. First of all, it was strange that I was able to even receive a message because I haven’t been able to pay for my phone service in May. I guess Wind allows people to send texts to me but when I tried to text “Yes” and send him the answer, it wouldn’t go.

July 19 – After Paul Valliere arrived at The Blackbird Cafe we discussed a mutual friend who thinks she’s the messiah. Paul said that somebody has to be. I asked why, and argued that to be the messiah is an insignificant position.

In conversation with Paul and Cad, the European situation came up. I said, “Germany lost a war trying to run Europe, but now it does.”

            It was Paul Valliere’s turn. He read three poems. The first was called “Un-Need” – “Don’t feel bad … wrap it around yourself and give yourself a hug.” His second was “Elevate” – “Ascend on that cosmic elevator … don’t push any buttons.” In his third piece, Paul told us that he’d just finished reading a book about the Cosmic Serpent. The title refers to the double helix. He said he was in the health food store and he gave the staff an idea for a sign to put up – “I think I’m hungry, therefore I am.” They liked that one. They didn’t like as much his suggestion for a sign by the shopping buggies – “Free Rene DesCarts”.

            During the break, Paul wanted me to know more about the book he mentioned on the open stage, “The Cosmic Serpent” by Jeremy Narby. He told me that the book talks about a psychotropic plant called ayahuasca, which takes the shape of a double helix. The name ayahuasca apparently means “vine of the soul”. Paul said that they also use tobacco as a hallucinogenic drug. When I look this up though I see that uncured tobacco is considered a deliriant that contrasts sharply with the more pleasant type of hallucinations one might have while taking LSD.

            I talked to Paul about the irony that the preservation of culture requires segregation to truly work. The more people of other cultures interact and communicate, the weaker each of their cultures becomes. My argument is that this is a good thing because culture is really just a kind of group personality that is counterproductive to the development of individuality.

                        As Paul and I walked out of the Blackbird onto Bloor Street I looked up at a gorgeous sky. There were three layers of cloud, with the pink ones above reflecting the sun, the black ones sliding along in the middle and the ghostly grey ones below.

July 28- As I was lining up to be put on the open mic list for Shab-e She’r, Paul Valliere came up behind me to say he’d finally made it. It was his first time at Shab-e she’r.

He’d bought spring rolls from a Korean place in the neighbourhood and ate them while we chatted. He told me he likes to shop for cheap second hand DVDs and recently scored “Immortal Beloved”. He says Gary Oldman did a great job as Beethoven. I told him I’ve been watching the first season of Bonanza. He said that he’d watched that show every Sunday when he was a kid. I added that I think my mother had a crush on Lorne Green and that my father might have grown his sideburns long to compete. I shared my theory that the Cartwright family was meant to be a microcosm of the United States, with the three half brothers from New England, the Midwest and New Orleans, all living the American Dream in Nevada. Paul said that it started out in black and white, but I informed him that it was in colour from the start, though my family’s old Spartan showed it in black and white. “We had a colour radio though,” I said. He joked that those were good for listening to “Amos and Andy”, and then he admitted that was a bad joke.

We talked about the long distances we used to pick up radio signals from, especially at night. He said he used to pick up hockey games that wouldn’t be shown on Hockey Night In Canada. I told him that I used to be able to listen to WKBW in Buffalo, New York, even though I was in New Brunswick, 800 km away. There were no FM stations within range of where I lived but WKBW, especially late at night played a lot of the more radical music. I remember a radio documentary on the band “The 13^th Floor Elevators”, who I’d never heard of but were extremely influential to the Psychedelic, Garage and Punk genres of Rock.

We talked about both having seen Patti Smith in concert. I said I find her especially charming to see live because she can’t tune a guitar any better than I can.

Paul told me about a guy he met outside of a concert who makes his entire living, travelling around and selling bootleg band t-shirts outside of shows.

Honey Novick came over to say hello.

We discussed the open stage that Paul is planning for September 13^th in Etienne Brule Park.

            Paul Valliere, to whom I’d mentioned Shab-e She’r many times, seemed to be quite glad that he’d come. He observed enthusiastically that the open stage had been very eclectic. He made a point of telling Shirley how much he’d enjoyed her comedy bit.

            Number six was Paul Valliere. He had brought several poems with him to read that night, the collective reading time of which would have been three minutes or less. With eighteen readers on the open stage, two features and Jodi’s belly dance set though, time was starting to get tight, so Bänoo had urged at the beginning of the second open stage set that readers pick only one poem. Honouring this, Paul selected the shortest poem that he’d brought, which was called “Penumbral” – “If you’re out there, I’ll find you eventually …”

August 23, 2015- Paul Valliere came to the Bell Jar, to my surprise, because I had thought that he would still be on vacation in the Maritimes. He apparently took and returned from his holiday early but had a wonderful time in New Brunswick, Cape Breton and P.E.I.

When our host, Nikki Ward came, she got us all to rearrange the furniture. Four of the round tables were moved to the back and all the chairs were set up facing the window, where the performance area was going to be.

            Once we were sitting again, Paul and I argued politely about GMOs. He thinks they are evil and that any scientists who say they are good are liars. Genetically modifying plants is something that has been done by human beings for 14,000. The modern laboratory method can cross species boundaries and I guess that’s what scares people. There is a tremendous amount of potential to feed an over populated earth and to cure diseases with the use of GMOs, but there is also danger of upsetting ecological balances at the same time. I would say they should proceed with caution, while Paul would say that living a natural life will cure diseases and save the planet. I don’t know what his solution to the problem of feeding billions of human beings is though.

Somehow the conversation moved from corrupt scientists to pedophile priests. I suggested that if most pedophiles turned out to be accountants we would never hear about it. I also think that there’s a fair amount of homophobia involved in the association of Catholic priests with pedophilia. If women were admitted to the priesthood and also were involved in the sexual touching of children, I doubt if many people would come forward to complain.

            I shared with Paul the John Lennon quote from his song “God”: “God is a concept by which we measure our pain.” I suggested that he got that idea from Yoko.

            I asked Paul if he had any lobster while he was down east. He said he only had it sometimes in salads, but a tour guide explained how to remove lobster’s shell in two moves. Then he proceeded to tell a long story about the tour that finally came back, with my coaxing, to the lobster shell removal. She didn’t even demonstrate on an actual lobster. She just said there’s one spot where you punch it and everything else will just peel off.

            Paul said that when he was in Fredericton he stayed in a UNB residence for $28.00 a night. He told me that’s a really good deal, compared to the price of hostels. I must be old. I remember when hotels were $28.00 a night and hostels were two dollars, and sometimes nothing.

            I told him that when my sister was a student at UNB she worked as a carhop on roller skates for A & W. I was in my early teens when we used to come from the farm to visit her. Eating at an A & W was exotic enough for me, but to actually be able to sit in a car and eat a Teen burger with root beer was for me like dining at the Taj Mahal.

Next, came Paul Valliere, who read an excerpt from the road journal of his trip to the Maritimes – “It rained a lot, so I read … August the fifth, the day I began my adventure … David Weale on P.E.I., Chasing the Shore …

I stood outside on the sidewalk for several minutes chatting with Paul Valliere about the late German singer Nico Krista, who was one of Andy Warhol’s muses.

September 13- Early Sunday afternoon I packed up my guitar, printed up some stories and some writing by Paul Valliere that he had asked me to bring along and headed north on my way to the open stage in the park that he’d planned for that afternoon. It was starting to sprinkle as I rode up Lansdowne and I was beginning to regret bringing my guitar. Just as I was about the make a left turn on Dundas, my phone rang, so I got off my bike, walked it to the corner and answered the call. As I expected, it was Paul, telling me that he was considering cancelling the event, because of the weather and because several people had already called to say they wouldn’t be able to make it, in consideration of the rain. He said for me to come anyway and that he could have a few people at his place.

            It probably took me a little less than half an hour to get to Humber Hill Road. Paul’s instructions had been to follow Humber Hill Road and to turn left on Lundy, but Humber Hill stops right away, so I deduced that he really meant that we have to turn right on Old Dundas. I followed that and turned left on Lundy, then found the entrance to the park and was about to go there when I heard Paul calling my name from across the parking lot of an apartment building. I rode over to a small gathering of people that consisted of Paul, his daughter Alison, Kathleen Zinck and Brigitta and John, an elderly couple with whom Paul used to be in a writers group. We all piled into Paul’s small place, where apparently Alison is also living right now, with her dad taking the couch.

            I met Paul’s twelve-year-old dog, Kira, on which Paul had harnessed a muzzle as a precaution, because her behaviour around strangers is not always predictable. Someone suggested that she would only bite bad people, but I think that’s a little much. I doubt if there is really any good and bad among human beings that a dog can pass judgment on. Maybe nervousness and fear in a person could make a dog feel nervous and fearful. But a nervous and fearful person could actually be less dangerous than someone who is so fearless that they don’t manifest nervousness at all. Fearless people tend to be very social and therefore have a lot of friends. Studies show that those with a lot of friends tend to be more indifferent to causing harm to their friends than those who have just a few. I doubt very much if dogs or any other animal can pick up on all that. It may be beating a dead horse to remind people how much Hitler loved animals but I doubt if even the most sensitive dog would pick up on the fact that a human who is kind to them would be willing to arrange for the extermination of six million dogs, let alone six million humans.

            Brigitta was very interesting in that she was so matter of fact and so aware of her situation when she explained to us that she no longer writes poetry because, as she put it,  “Alzheimer’s ate my brain.” John explained that his wife’s short-term memory is gone. She was though, the most engaged of anyone with everyone else in the room and very aware of everything that was happening in each moment. She was especially sympathetic about Kira having to wear a muzzle, and she asked me, “How would you like it if someone put a muzzle on you?” I answered that it would depend on who put the muzzle on me.

            Another fairly consistent part of our little get together was Paul’s neighbour, David, from down the hall. I picked up, from things that he’d dropped in conversation, that he is, but he’s one of the darkest skinned Italians that I’ve seen in North America. Perhaps his family is from Sicily and he has some Arabic DNA left over from the period when the Moors occupied Sicily a thousand years ago. David could have as much as 25% Arabic DNA from that time.

            David also seemed to be an alcoholic. He was there for several hours and I never saw him without a can of beer in his hand. He would periodically leave Paul’s place, sometimes to join the group of smokers that would go outside to relieve their habits, other times he would go home to smoke a joint and then return with another can of beer. At first he was drinking the extra large cans, which he referred to as “adult beers”, but after a while all he had left was the size of beer can that his lingo suggested the beer store only sells to children.

            Another person, that only Paul knew, named John Snow, arrived.

            Paul’s purpose for having this event was for it to be a “thank you to summer” picnic in the park slash open stage. He asked his guests, first of all to share something from memory. Brigitta, unfortunately was not able to share anything. John recited something that was not his own. He said that he has been involved in other things of late, such as digitizing slides, so he hasn’t been writing poetry. John Snow recited one of the only poems he had ever written. This was for a Spanish woman that he met once. I don’t remember his words, but thematically it was sort of a “The earth stops when I look at you” poem. Kathleen recited a poem from memory as well. Paul asked me to play something, but first I recited a poem of my own: “My penis is the hotline to the red phone in the White House of my heart, and my penis is always ringing, but whenever I pick it up there’s never anyone at the other end.” I sang my song, “The Next State of Grace” and I followed that with my translation of Jacques Prevert’s “Les Feuilles Mortes” – “ … Dead autumn leaves can be raked up and collected, and so as well can memories and regrets that the north wind takes to be lost then into the night’s cold oblivion, but one more thing that I have not forgotten is when you used to sing me your song …”

            Alison was just about to read a poem from her laptop when my phone rang. It was Cad telling me that he and Goldie were on the Warren Park bus and wanted further instructions. I passed the phone to Paul so he could guide them in. He went out to meet them, and so Alison’s poem was delayed for a while. As I expected, Cad was uncomfortable with Paul’s dog. Of course though, Goldie wasn’t.

Goldie sat just around the corner from the living room, in the dining room, and because of that no one but John Snow, who was sitting in a recliner in the corner that actually faced the dining room, could see her. I insisted that she move her chair closer to everyone else. She resisted, but eventually gave in and thanked me later. I also had to encourage Cad, who was sitting in the hallway, to come into the living room as well.

Once everyone was settled in, Alison read her poem. It was addressed to her brother, Alex, who died about ten years before. She started crying and wasn’t able to finish it.

John Snow left, saying that he had a date with another Spanish woman. Goldie moved to the recliner.

John and Brigitta left. When she was saying goodbye though, Brigitta apologetically explained that she would not remember us.

With the couch freed up, Paul’s neighbour, David, came in and participated more in the conversation. He and Cad immediately hit it off because they had much more in common in terms of racism, sexism and homophobia than anyone else in the room. After hearing a few of David’s statements, Cad declared excitedly, “Everything he says is the truth!” to which David responded gratefully, “Everybody thinks I’m crazy when I say these things!”

David said that it’s a rite of passage for men in Columbia to have sex with donkeys. I looked this up and it seems to be true in a very small, remote, poor and uneducated section of the country that has been ignored by the government for generations. The rest of the country is deeply ashamed of what they consider to be a stain on their culture.

Another thing David talked about was the age-old myth that Orthodox Jewish married couples have sex through a hole in a sheet. I knew this wasn’t true but Cad insisted that David was right. Everywhere I look on the internet there are Jewish sites that say this is an urban myth perpetuated by Reform Jews and Christians. The rules for married couples in Catholicism are actually more strict and sexually repressive than they are for Orthodox Jews.

Alison read another poem that I think was also a rap lyric by her late brother, Alex. I remember meeting Alex at least once when I was running the Orgasmic Alphabet Orgy out of the Drake Hotel. We argued politely about rap music because I said I didn’t think it was usually very good poetry.

Alison has a Bengal cat that cost her $700. I really didn’t notice anything in its appearance or manner that distinguished it in such a way as to make it worth more than the cats that I got for free. It seems a little high-strung and doesn’t get along very well with Paul’s dog.

A few more poems were read by Paul, Kathleen and Cad. I sang my translation of Serge Gainsbourg’s “Strip Tease” – “ … all of these are just chimeras, from my mouth to my lower areas, because no one, not even you, will get to touch the parts they view …”

Paul hinted that he wanted us to leave while at the same time saying we were welcome to stay, because he wanted to have dinner. Kathleen and I left and Goldie was trying to edge Cad out but he was lingering in conversation when I walked away.

            The sky was black, except for in the west where it looked like a lifted shade, letting the sun into a dark room.

September 20- I was wondering where Paul Valliere was as I signed up for the open stage at Habits Gastropub.

            There were about twelve of us there when Nicki said, “Okay, lets get going!” but Susie said, “It’s so early! We start at 6:30!” “What time is it now?” “6:20.” “Okay, everyone return to their pre-poetic state for another ten minutes.”

            Paul Valliere arrived just before start time. He said he’d gotten the wrong address from the email that Plastiscene sent out.

Then Nicki called on Paul Valliere, who began by telling us that he learned on his recent trip to the Maritimes that at 74%, Prince Edward Island had the highest voter turnout in the last federal election. Paul then did a poem he wrote called “Votin In The Free World”, that was inspired in form by a Neil Young song- “ … Keep on votin' in the free world. I see native women without rights and I cannot understand why they are murdered so easily …” At the end of each verse he repeated the title phrase three times, just as Neil Young does in his song. The problem with such repetition in a spoken version is that it becomes tedious and awkward. It would have been more effective if he’d simply said the phrase once at the end of each verse.

Nicki called a break at this point, and so I went outside, where I found Paul Valliere and Kathleen Zinck, who asked me hopefully, “Is it over yet?” Paul argued that novels should be banned from poetry readings. I didn’t agree with that. There have been a fair number of well-written prose pieces, either in the format of short stories or novel excerpts that have been read over the years by features at Plastiscene. Paul agreed that short stories can be okay but he said that even to read on his own, most novels have a hard time holding the attention. I told him about Alice Munro’s view that she’s never read a novel that couldn’t have been a better short story. He thought that made sense. I think it’s often true, but some novels, such as Ursula K. LeGuin’s “The Dispossessed” wouldn’t work in a shorter format.

           

October 5- On Sunday I left my place at around 8:15 to go and meet my friend Paul Valliere, in his secret identity as mild mannered chimney guy, Bill Rundle. He and his son Daniel were going to be destroying the chimney of a building on Harbord, near Spadina, but it was next to an alley and they needed someone to either stop traffic or direct it to the part of the laneway farthest from possible falling chunks.

            On my way there, along Harbord, I heard two beeps as a beat up old pick-up truck with a ladder tied to the back passed me. Although I’d never seen Paul/Bill’s truck before, I knew it was him.

            We met at about 8:45 behind the work site. Paul had brought his dog, Kira along. Luckily she was wearing a muzzle because when I went to pat her she tried to bite me. I’d patted her a couple of weeks before at Paul’s apartment, but I guess the context was different, plus I had been sitting down before, and threat perception probably changes according to how tall the animal we are encountering happens to be.

            Paul? Bill’s son arrived in a fairly new four-by-four, which when parked beside Bill/Paul’s old pick-up, illustrated the difference between their two personalities. Paul/Bill is a “let’s play it by ear” type of guy, whereas Daniel is a perfectionist and wants to have a plan for success.

            We met the guy who hired Bill (He doesn’t know Paul). He looks like “Hardball” host, Chris Matthews. He’s a real estate agent with whom Bill/Paul has done business for many years. We went upstairs to look at the chimney from where it was accessed on the rooftop patio. It was quite a nice townhouse, with a bookshelf stretching along almost the whole of one wall of the second floor. Just outside on the patio though there was a big pile of raccoon shit.

            Before they started on the chimney they had to transfer some brick pieces from Daniel’s truck to Bill/Paul’s truck, I guess because his truck would be taking the pieces from this chimney so they might as well all be together. They didn’t ask me to help, but I did anyway. I would have felt stupid just standing around.

            My job was to stand in the alley and to direct cars, cyclists and pedestrians to swing out closer to the wall of the building opposite, just in case stuff came down on top of them. If I couldn’t get people out of the way I was supposed to yell, “Stop!” to Paul/Bill and Daniel. For the most part, everyone obeyed my directions, but one stopped in the middle of the alley, rolled down its window and the people inside wanted to know what was going on. The woman asked why they didn’t have pylons lined up to guide traffic. I said, “Because they have me!” She said, “You’re doing a great job!” and they drove away. I guess I should have shouted to the guys above me to stop while they had pulled over though. They kind of distracted me and I forgot.

            Another person who did obey my directions, stopped after swerving out, rolled down her window and said, “Christian!” It was Maria Gabankova, a painting instructor that I’d worked for over a period of many years at OCADU. She was with her husband, who I think is also a Czech artist. Though they live near Lansdowne and Dundas, they apparently go to church in the Spadina and Harbord area and they were driving around looking for a parking space. It always surprises me when artists go to church. She said she doesn’t teach at OCADU anymore, and though she misses the students, she said the school has changed.

            After the first hour we took a break and Paul/Bill gave me one of his chicken salad sandwiches.

            Although quite a few little red brick chips did fall in the alley, only a couple of pieces came down that could have scratched a car or a person. Bill/Paul had expected it to be raining brick chunks but Daniel had brought a stone saw and cut away large sections of the outside of the chimney, so a lot less hammering had to be done.

            Once the chimney was gone they had to cover it but the piece of stone tile that Daniel had brought was too small, so he went someplace to get a bigger one, while Paul/Bill sent me for coffee. On the way to Harbord Bakery, I passed a bookstore called Caversham that specializes entirely in psychology. The list of subjects printed in white on the window was amusing. They included, “Dreams, death, divorce, obsession, depression, paranoia …” and the list went on.

            It had been quite cold in the alley until the sun swung up and around to chase the shadows away. It was pleasant in the end to sit with a coffee on the nice patio from which one could see the top of Robarts Library.

            Paul/Bill is hoping to get tickets to the upcoming Black Sabbath concert. He told me that the band is doing okay, since they are worth a hundred million these days. I said that the Osbornes reality show probably didn’t hurt the band, as well as the Iron Man movie, which features their old song, “Iron Man”.

            Paul/Bill had promised me fifty dollars cash for my help, but ended up giving me eighty. I don’t know what I did for it but it was nice to have it and kind of fun to hang out with Paul Valliere in his secret identity.

Email Conversations with Paul Valliere

Paul - So you can be J C and I'll be the "other guy", provided you like the script. It just came together recently and I wrote it quickly with a few edits after.

It's more than three minutes and Johnny's birthday is February 26th so
I'm thinking of asking Michael Fraser if I can do a feature next Feb.


                             THE SECOND COMING

VOICE   You look ready.
J C          Ready for what? Who said that?
VOICE   I did.
J C          Where are you? Show yourself.
VOICE   In good time. They need you, you know.
J C          Don’t be so sure. They need a lot more…..
VOICE   You are a legend. Man, you fired them up like the one with the same initials!
J C           Do not blaspheme!
VOICE    They’re hurtin’ bad. We can…..
J C           We? Just who the hell are you?
VOICE    You’re gonna need help. I’m your man.
J C           What kind of help?
VOICE    Someone to care of things so you can concentrate on what you do best.
J C           Uh huh. What previous experience you got?
VOICE    Huge experience. I managed the best.
J C           The best?
VOICE    The King.
J C           Michael Jackson?
VOICE    No! The King!
J C           Well it didn’t turn out real good for him either, did it?
VOICE    That wasn’t my fault. Not all of it.
J C            Elvis was doped up worse than me but he never kicked it. You were bleedin’ him to support your habit you lowlife high roller.
VOICE    Harsh words. Listen Johnny, I’ve been in Afterlife Gamblers Anonymous for a long time and I need to prove something. Everybody’s got karma.We can help each other.
J C           Poor old Colonel Tom. You need me way more than I need you.
VOICE   They need you! Look at them! They don’t know what to believe in any more. You can give them hope.
J C           Yeah I know. But is it false hope?
VOICE    It’ll be The Second Coming! J C is back! I’ll start the promo!
J C           Uh, don’t we have to clear that with anyone?
VOICE    No, no. It’s all good. I’ll take care of it.
J C           Oh yeah? Come out here a moment from the shadows.
VOICE    Oh, all right.
J C           Colonel Tom eh? And sex is an apple.
VOICE    Okay you got me. Look, I’ve been on the outs with the Boss longer than forever and Armageddon is coming. I gotta get ready. I’m # 1 on The Top Forty Karma Chart. You’re my only chance!
J C          What about J. C. himself?
VOICE   I tried. He won’t come out of retirement?
J C          Really? So what – he wants me to fill in?
VOICE   Not exactly.
J C          You haven’t told him.
VOICE   Not yet.
J C          So let’s get this straight – you’re the Devil in disguise, you’re finally realizing it’s all over for you……
VOICE  Unless……
J C         Unless I decide to save your sorry ass by pretending I’m Jesus Christ. That about cover it?
VOICE  Pretty well.
J C         Jesus Christ!
VOICE  I like the way you say that.
J C         Why the hell should I?
VOICE  Who else? You’re perfect. You’ve lived it all from both sides, right on thru.
J C          I’m not gonna pretend!
VOICE   You don’t have to. You just be you and the Lord’s light will shine on thru. Hey I like that! Gotta pen?
J C          You’re one crazy son of a …….
VOICE   Takes one to know one.
J C          Christ – the things I get myself into.
VOICE   That’s it Johnny – walk that line.

              Johnny walks down the aisle, guitar slung back.

Christian - Sure. I can't guarantee memorization of my lines though. My brain is going to be drained by french till the end of April.

            Paul - Ah the old French Brain Drain. I will email Michael. Who knows - I may not get a Feature Spot until your brain is rehabilitated back into anglophonica.

Paul - Christian, have you ever attended an Open Stage at "Full of Beans" cafe at 1348 Dundas W? I spoke to a musician named Wilfred today. He had his guitar and was going to play and sing at an outdoor Organic Market at a church near Annette and Durie St where I was working. We chatted about the compatibility of poetry and music at open stages and he feels it is ridiculous to separate them.

            Although the cafe's web page is not current, Wilfred assures me he will be hosting on November 9th from 1-4 p.m.

I will be going. Perhaps you would like to check it out.

            Christian - I haven't been there.

I still have to limit my poetry outings to Plastiscene until the end of April. If the one you are talking about is still alive then, I might check it out.

Before the printing press a large portion of the poetry most people ever heard was sung with musical accompaniment.

Paul - Good point. I'll let you know how I like it.

Paul - I tried calling you because "Searching for Sugarman" was on CBC2. Wonder if this music is available. He's Dylan without mouthwash.

This site contains a poem, in German and translated into English that I want to share with you. I saw it in the booklet accompanying the DVD of the movie "Wings of Desire" by Wim Wenders. Peter Handke, who collaborated with Wenders on the film, wrote it. I found it simple and easy to relate to but profound and moving. So have a read and wiggle your toes by the fire you big little kid you!

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging.
It wanted the stream to be a river
the river a torrent
and this puddle to be the sea.

When the child was a child
It didn't know it was a child.
Everything was full of life, and all life was one.

When the child was a child
It had no opinions about anything.
It had no habits.
It sat cross-legged, took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair
and didn't make a face when photographed.

When the child was a child
it was the time of these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Isn't life under the sun just a dream?
Isn't what I see, hear and smell
only the illusion of a world before the world?
Does evil actually exist,
and are there people who are really evil?
How can it be that I, who am I,
didn't exist before I came to be
and that someday
the one who I am
will no longer be the one I am?

When the child was a child
it choked on spinach, peas, rice pudding
and on steamed cauliflower.
Now it eats all of those
and not just because it has to.

When the child was a child
it once woke up in a strange bed
and now it does so time and time again.
Many people seemed beautiful then
and now only a few, if it's lucky.
It had a precise picture of Paradise
and now it can only guess at it.
It could not conceive of nothingness
and today it shudders at the idea.

When the child was a child
it played with enthusiasm
and now
it gets equally excited
but only when it concerns
its work.

When the child was a child
berries fell into its hand as only berries do
and they still do now.
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw
and they still do now.
On every mountaintop it had a longing
for yet a higher mountain.
And in each city it had a longing
for yet a bigger city.
And it is still that way.
It reached for the cherries in the treetop
with the elation it still feels today.
It was shy with all strangers
and it still is.
It awaited the first snow
and it still waits that way.

When the child was a child
it threw a stick into a tree like a lance,
and it still quivers there today.

Christian - Yes, I recognize the poem as the opening monologue at the beginning of the film by the angel who wanted to be human. I've probably seen it atleast seven times. One of my top ten films of all time. It also has Mick Harvey in it, who went on to make a, post Bad Seeds, career out of writing horrible translations of Serge Gainsbourg.

            Paul - I got this weird inspiration to try writing a song again. Christian, what do you think? Does it merit music?

 LANDED

Dropped into Fearland

from Loveland,

and I can’t live in my car,

I’m illegal, deport me

for I am from afar,

and I can’t live in my car,

It says “Love Transformer”

on my passport

and there is a great demand,

but the wages are abysmal,

I’ve had all that I can stand,

and I can’t live in my car,

I look at the birds flying,

a glint of hope ‘cause

it looks like they are free,

“are you trying to inspire”

I say, or are you merely

making fun of me,

Alone here in my car,

too far from Heaven,

about to break down,

Oh why! Oh Why! Oh Why!

My fuel gauge close to empty,

and I feel like abandoning

it as I gaze up at the sky.

Dropped into Fearland

from Loveland,

and I can’t live in my car,

I’m illegal, deport me

Christian - I think the first four lines are a good beginning, but the fifth line is awkward and has the feel of a forced rhyme)

for I am from afar,

and I can’t live in my car,

It says “Love Transformer”

on my passport and there

is a great demand, but the

wages are abysmal, I’ve had

all that I can stand,

and I can’t live in my car,

 Christian - If you’re going to use “I can’t live in my car” only three times it creates an imbalance. The first two times it rhymes but then when you use it in the second verse it just kind of sits there. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with using it as a refrain, but you would have to rhyme it. I would suggest either only using it once or using it in every verse with a rhyme)

I look at the birds flying,

a glint of hope ‘cause

it looks like they are free,

“are you trying to inspire”

I say, or are you merely

making fun of me,

Alone here in my car,

too far from Heaven,

about to break down,

Oh why! Oh Why! Oh Why!

Christian - The third and fourth verses aren’t as good as the first. They go off in a different direction from your meatier words like Fearland, Loveland and Love Transformer. Those give the song a lot of character and I’d suggest trying to come up with more throughout the song. Be careful with making sure your metre is the same in every verse that is supposed to be of the same type.)

My fuel gauge close to empty,

Christian - I think this first line is a good return to the car theme. Perhaps a different phrase meaning the same as “and I feel like abandoning it” could follow. The last line doesn’t work for me within the overall context. You would have to somehow make the sky relevant in the rest of the song for it to work here.)

and I feel like abandoning

it as I gaze up at the sky.

Paul - Thanks C. I had a feeling you could steer me in the right direction. Good mini-tutorial. Makes me realize how much I can learn about songwriting and I will work on it.

And oh yeah - UNHOLY - not bad, if I do say so. I can't remember if your edits are new or old.

Christian - As someone from the country I can confirm that dogs allowed off their own property who hook up with other dogs allowed off their property will form surprisingly wild packs and will work together to kill things until they go home to act domesticated again. Even three or four chihuahuas could probably bring down a sheep, though they might get tuckered out trying.

Paul - I just gotta google "attack of the killer chihuahuas" and see what comes up.

If it's gang-related I know where Rob Ford lives.

Paul - The government and Big Oil are slamming Neil Young for speaking out on the Oil Sands. Click now to find out why they’re worried, and how you can add your voice:

Christian - Oil man look at my life...

Paul - I like that - I was thinking along the lines of Old crooner and Redman comin', oil baron you gotta understand, your agenda is way not welcome so get your asses off Native Land! 

Christian - One might expect that this is a preemptive strike on Neil's part. Given that he's a fossil himself, it may be just a matter of time before big oil starts exploring him as a fuel source.

Paul - I've heard this one from one of my conspiracy theorist acquaintances - that a human body contains a fair bit of oil and it may be coveted.

            Reminds me of Soylent Green. Could be the real source of the phrase "Eat Me!"

            Also that Dexter did not choose an oil refinery at series end to recoup some of his losses on all those bodies he dumped.

            I'm thinking of writing a story about a Serial Cannibal who is cheap - doesn't need a boat, only eats people who tastes good and his day job is as a nutritionist.

            Showtime needs me after Ray Donovan runs its course.

Thanks for the inspiration.

                                                             

BREAKING WIND

     Wally is confused. He has been arrested and charged with the most heinous of crimes – worse than murder. His lawyer says “Wally, what were you thinking? I told you only already dead bodies and ones that nobody cares about – Paupers Graves man, Paupers Graves – remember?”

     “I tried that once”, says Wally, head down, glasses bent from banging his face on the table. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

     “Why did you pick those people – lawyers, bankers, politicians – the  mayor?”

     “Because they tasted so good.  They had healthy diets.”

     “But the mayor?”

     “Okay, that was a mistake, but a necessary one.”

     “God, I remember when you were a boy and I rescued you from that dumpster where your father had thrown you when you chewed off  his finger.”

     “But it was infected – I saved his life. Then he went missing. I have to find him. I know what he tastes like!”

     “Wally, the code!”

     “Fuck the code! It doesn’t work! He didn’t taste good!”

     “I can’t believe that Little Debbie, your co-worker turned you in.”

     “It was bad timing. She’s two foot four and I farted in her face.”

     “Just your luck to fart in the face of the one person who has won the International Olfactory Award five years running.”

     “And the shit splatter analyst of America Blue Ribbon this past year.”

     “I heard you tried to blame the fart on La Gorgia.”

     “I did and even though she hates La Gorgia - that taco munching motherfucker, as Little Debbie calls her, she still nailed my ass to the wall.”

     “But why would she do that?”

     “Because she’s a woman.”

     “And you had that affair with Hana Montana.”

     “I was gonna marry Hana until her old man nixed it. Fuckin’ Hillbilly Bob! God she smelled nice before she got all weird and junkfoody!”

     “I can’t see any way of keeping you out of prison for life.”

     “I didn’t know that Little Debbie was tight with the mayor. When I spotted them in that motel room together I had to stop it,”

     “Because you still loved her.”

     “Because she used to love sucking my dick.”

     “Of course.”

     “Anytime, anywhere. No one would even notice.”

     “And that explains the constant trenchcoat. So what happened?”

     “Shit happens. She’s as weird as me. Know how I met her?”

     “Tell me.”

     “I’m walkin’ down this alley late one night, hungry, lookin’ for a quick bite – a sleeping drunk with no gloves on – anything easy, and I hear this noise; rustling around in a nearby dumpster, then a voice – “goddamn motherfucking cocksucker”. So I look in the dumpster and there she is, upside down with lettuce on her face.

     So I pull her out and she thanks me, immediately, and I like that a lot. Her pimp threw her in there and I could see her potential.”

     “I can imagine.”

     “Not just that – she loved to smell me too. We would have these food/sex orgies and experiment with the most exotic fruits and vegetables. We went on this really strange cruise once……..”

     “Wally! Focus! You’re in deep shit here. You’ve consumed the mayor and you’ll likely get life.”

     “You really think so? What about public opinion?”

     “Yeah, maybe, if it wasn’t for all the other cannibalisms.”

     “Somebody liked those people? Look – you’ve got to get me off. Society needs me. I am performing a public service. Do you know how hard it is to find assholes that taste good?”  

      The trial was interesting. The Food Columnist for NOW magazine was Wally’s best witness. Her testimony actually convinced the jury, comprised mostly of anorexic bisexuals who frequent Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, that Wally is in a special category and should be used rather than abused.

      Wally is now the Chairman of The Citizens’ Commission on Weird Human Rights. He is gaining wide notoriety for his programs with the disenfranchised. Counseling programs all over the world have helped thousands with eating disorders.

      A documentary on his life won the jury’s prize at The Sundance Film Festival.

      Jennifer Carpenter, no relation to Karen Carpenter, is president of his fan club.

     Little Debbie is famous for bringing back multi-sensory theatre, featuring surround smell and lickable programs. She and Wally are still friends.

Christian - Your stories are much better than your poetry.

Paul - Thanks but I'm still addicted to both.

Christian - Don't give either up. But when a situation calls for you to lead with your creative strength, write, read, post or publish a story or two.

Paul - Okay. Guess I need to consider the where and when of publishing more seriously.

Christian - Only if being published is important to you. More people will see your stuff if you just post it in a blog.

Paul - I've been thinking just that for a while. Must look into it as traditional competitive publishing or art wars is not my thing. And I am not sure why award shows fascinate me but I do indulge somewhat.

Christian - Instinct.

Paul - As in "Basic Instinct"? I am curious and want to see what others are creating but I don't dig Beyonce's big beautiful butt in my face so much. I can't remember what she was singing about.

Guess we Canucks generally approach it more from simple storytelling. I'm going to Winterlude in February. Too cold for Bbbb.

Christian - As in peeing on trees to mark your territory or as in sniffing someone else's marks (a la award shows)

Paul - Good analogy. I'm more like my dog than I ever realized. 

Christian - Apes also pee on trees. It's more a universal male mammal thing than something that links us to dogs, which we're not very closely related to.

Paul - Makes sense. What my dog, a spayed, 11 year old American Pit Bull Terrier, does is sniff every possible pee trace on the trail. She is also aggressive with most other dogs, particularly if they give her any attention or act afraid. 

I have learned much from her. I have also seen her act passive when a horny, male dog comes up to her behind for a sniff.

            When I am working outside I often pee in people's yards for convenience. It's not territorial, as far as I know. I wonder, though, if other contractors came and got a sniff if they would stay away or just piss over it.

Christian - Have you ever seen the film, "Never Cry Wolf"?

Paul - No but I will get it.

Christian - It's based on a story by Farley Mowat

Paul - Yeah - I looked it up. I might be able to see it on utube. My Native friend Mary had a pet wolf who guarded her cabin. She came  home one evening and there was a guy lying on the ground with the wolf lying on top of him. He said "help, I've been here for hours. Every time I move the wolf growls".

            I wonder if Farley had only tea to drink. He was a character. I'm not sure what my totem is. I love heights so it might be an eagle. Mary kind of looked like a wolf in her face.

Christian - Maybe your totem is human.

Paul- It is a conflict - the human way vs the animal way. I hope we all get together eventually.

Christian - On an ark?

Paul - Yeah - something like that, after the gold rush, but the rich ones can inherit their karma.

Christian - Whose karma?

Paul - The "didn't live altruistically enough" karma. Or we could ship them off and help our Mother heal. The force for greed, destruction - the big pink pig if you will.

Christian - Karma is an amazing invention.

Backtracking for a suggestion: your idea about tradesmen peeing in people's back yards and smelling each other's markings would make a great story, funny or otherwise.

Paul - Oh sure - like I need another story idea! Come on C - you do this one. Call it the Roofer, the Mason the Yellow Snow Maker. We'll channel Frank Zappa and get him to send us a score for the next Broadway Musical sensation. We can even leave karma out of it if you prefer. That's why we can't channel John Lennon for the score.

           

            Christian - Only because Yoko and the Jacksons own the channel.

Paul - INSTANT KARMA

                          RIDE SALLY WRIGHT

                               SALLY’S GOLDEN SHOWER

     Wayne considered himself to be the brains of the operation but his brother, Rufus, considered him to be the brawn. Rufus the roofer was five eight and 140 pounds; Wayne was six two and two forty.

     “Rufus – more mud – half a bucket!”

     Shit – I was hopin’ it was enough. “How many more bricks?”

     “One more course. Hurry up!”

     Rufus got to mixin’. “We got plenty a time!” he hollered up to his brother.

     “They said they’d be here by three. Doncha wanna sell the roof?”

     “Course I do. It’s only two-thirty!”

     “So – git movin’!” said Wayne.

     Christ – you’d think he was the one two years older. Rufus took a peak over at Sally by the corner of the house. She had to be watched, especially after the accident. There she was prancin’ in place with her one-song Ipod in her ears.

     Rufus was half way up the ladder with the bucket when he heard the truck pull up in front.

     “Jesus Rufus hurry up – it’s the competition!”

     “Shit!” Rufus had turned to see the truck marked ‘Smith Roofing’ and now he hustled on up.

     “Come on!” screamed Wayne as he grabbed the bucket. He already had his pecker out by the time Rufus was in place beside him. They moved in either direction as the guy who had exited the truck stood on the sidewalk shaking his head.

     Rufus had got to the corner of the house. “Sally – move!”

     But Sally heard nothing but “Ride Sally Wright.” This was not just her favorite song it was her only one. She was sure that it said ‘Ride Sally Wright’ and everyone gave up trying to convince her otherwise long ago.

     “Sally!” screamed Wayne – get the fuck out of the way!” He had gotten all the way around the perimeter and was standing beside his brother right over their sister.

     He glanced at the Smith Roofing guy who had moved closer to the front door. Glad I had those two beers for lunch, he thought. He emptied the remainder just as Sally looked up.

     “Wow! It’s raining!”

     The homeowners pulled into the driveway.

                                                                                                   

     Paul - Inspired by true events. It’s your fault C – you and Kira, who was pulling me around the slippery path by the Humber River around six-thirty this a.m.

            I was going to put in a bit about how Sally used to help them mark their territory by pissing off the roof but she took a backwards gainer once in mid-squat off a bungalow and landed on her head.

            Ever since all she does is sing and dance to her song.

            I sold a roofing job once to a client and hired a roofer to do it after getting a big deposit from the client.

            The roofer, Marcel, a wiry French-Canadian, took forever to get to it and by November the client was in despair. After several unreturned phone calls to Marcel and a few apologetic ones to the client I ran into him once on his street while doing an estimate. He just gave me an ‘I’ve been ripped off’ look and said nothing.

            I got a call from Marcel soon after saying that the job was done. “What took so long?”

            “We’ve been real busy. Then I fell off the roof and landed on my head.”

            “What!”

            “Yeah – I was lucky. They took me to the hospital for a brain scan. Turns out I had a tumor and they removed it. I’m fine now but I was off work for a couple of days.”

            The client paid up and was relieved.

            Ride Marcel Ride.

Christian - What you've written so far is engaging and, more importantly, I could visualize it. A roofer named Rufus is funny and the sister is a humourous touch as well. But if they were peeing off the roof though to mark their territory it was far from obvious. There needs to be more to the story. I think it would be funny if the competition were to come up against the line of pee, back down from it and drive away while the homeowners pull up.

Paul - I agree. I thought about the title and it should be "Territorial". I'll put some dialogue to expand on the theme for clarity.

You seem to be proposing a happy ending. Perhaps I'll have the bloke attempt to climb up and they show and tell him to piss off.

Christian - No I wasn't thinking of a happy ending. I thought they might have their victory against the competition, but that they would ultimately get fired by the homeowners, though they can't seem to cross the line either.

Paul - Perhaps an open-ended ending then. I have edited and incorporated your suggestions - will probably read it at Plasticene.

Christian - It'll be a hit.

Paul - It should at least be fun. Thanks for the idea and critique.

Christian - No problem. What else are the editors of non-existent magazines for?

Paul - Would you and your guitar like a ride to and from Plasticene tomorrow, Christian?  If so give me the address and I can pick you up at six.

Christian - It's very nice of you to offer, Paul. Your message made me check the weather prediction for Sunday, and though there is going to be some snow, it doesn't look like anything I can't handle. How about if I buy you a coffee after the reading though?

Paul - Coffee is good. Kathleen is planning on attending and I usually drive her home after so let's all have coffee first.

Christian - Okay, I'll see you tonight.

Paul - Now this is a fine example, even if fabricated, of using wit to mitigate the effect of a difficult situation.

            I'm working on a satirical political rant about Crimea and Ukraine.

            It's all I can do to not feel overwhelmed.

I hope this is for real, because it's fantastic!! In the realm of Dorothy Parker, Churchill AND WC Fields!!!

            A true story told about Gandhi...

When Gandhi was studying law at the University College of London, there was
a professor, whose last name was Peters, who felt animosity toward Gandhi, and because Gandhi never conceded to him in any disagreement, their "arguments" were very common.

One day, Mr Peters was having lunch at the dining room of the University and Gandhi came along with his tray and sat next to him. The professor, in his arrogance, said, "Mr. Gandhi: you do not understand... a pig and a bird do not sit together to eat," to which Gandhi replied,

"You do not worry professor, I'll fly away," and he went and sat at another table.

Mr. Peters, enraged, decided to take revenge on Gandhi on the next test, but Gandhi responded brilliantly to all questions. Then, Mr. Peters asked him the following question, "Mr. Gandhi, if you are walking down the street and find a package, and within it there is a bag of wisdom and another bag with a lot of money; which one will you take?"  Without hesitating, Gandhi responded, "the one with the money, of course." 

Mr. Peters, smiling, said, "I, in your place, would have taken the wisdom, don't you think?" 

"Each one takes what one doesn't have", responded Gandhi indifferently.

Mr. Peters, already hysterical, wrote on the exam sheet the word "idiot" and gave it to Gandhi. Gandhi took the exam sheet and sat down. A few minutes later, Gandhi went to the professor and said, "Mr. Peters, you signed the sheet but you did not give me the grade."

Christian - That Ghandi guy, whoever he was, was pretty quick.

Christian - I didn't realize there was an actual video of this, though it's not exactly the same as the album. The Joan Baez parody was on their earlier recording, Radio Dinner.

Paul - My recollection of the event is fuzzy. I'll have to watch those slammers close if I wanna learn something.

Christian - They all pretty much say the same thing so if you just watch one of them you'll learn everything they all have to offer.

Christian - I would have tagged you with this but it would have shown up on the Plastiscene Facebook page as "Bill Rundle" and I'm not sure you wanted that.

Paul - When and where was this taken? We look seriously but not too literarily poetic.

Christian - Plastiscene, I assume from how I'm dressed that it was before winter hit. Don't you remember that Michael wanted a picture of all three of us, but Cad didn't want to be in it?

Paul - I just watched a movie called Mozart's sister. Boy did she suffer for her art!

Christian - Was Mozart's sister married to a guy named Art?

 Paul - Perhaps Eddie Van Halen was Mozart and Valerie Bertinelli was his sister. That could explain a lot.

Christian - It's true that Eddy and Valerie were both cute in similar ways.

 Paul - I am going to the Toronto Health Show tomorrow.

Christian - I didn't know that Toronto was sick.

Paul - T. O. has been made infamously sicker by the mayor.

Christian - I'm not convinced that mayors have anything to do with cities, good or bad.

Paul - There's the rub - to be vulnerable and trust or not?

            At the Health Show one speaker, an holistic M. D. from Michigan, was on the topic of hypothyroid treatment and put a big mugshot of Ford on the screen. There were a few shouts to take him back to Michigan when the speaker left.

Paul - I'd trade straight up for an Edsel.

Christian - I don't know why everyone is so obsessed with Rob Ford. He's never done anything either positive or negative that impressed me.

Paul - How about a haiku slam competition with Rob and Olivia and all the mayoral candidates. Cathy could MC. What would the prize be?

Christian - I'm sure Cathy will vote for Olivia.I wouldn't vote for either.

The prize would be English lessons for both of them.

Paul - I agree on their mutual lack of English language skills. I'm working on a Haiku Slam political story for Sunday.

Christian - I look forward to hearing it.

Paul - It's done - three minutes and universally irreverent while relevant.

            Paul - Not writing much lately. How about you?

Christian - I write my daily journal entry on Facebook and do my translations, but I've been busy with school. Today was my last day. The exam is at the end of April, so I have time to both study and return to some projects, such as my essay about poetry slams.

            Paul - Good skill on the exam.

            I will look forward to your slammin' slam essay. Will we have to handcuff Ms. Petch to a chair upon reading? Perhaps that would over-stimulate her.

Christian - It's hard to know who Cathy is. I don't think her host or performer persona is her real self.

Paul - Good point about Cathy. Many people, especially comics, are hurting inside and aware of it. As a writer I am fairly open to others' feelings and issues and want to be let in.

           

            Christian - Cathy took me by surprise when she got so mad at me for criticizing not one of her poems, but rather her categorization of it as a haiku. What was weirder was that she actually agreed with me and only seemed to get mad once her slam community got mad about it.

Paul - Perhaps you caught her on a hormonally imbalanced day. I think Rob has them too but I doubt you will be mentioning that he needs to improve his haikuness.

           

Christian - This lasted over a month.

Christian - Amanda Donohoe was the name of the actress I tried to remember that was in Lair of the White Worm and L.A. Law. On L.A. Law her character was openly bisexual. She's very hot, especially as the priestess to this ancient creature to which she planned on sacrificing a virgin female by fucking her with an impossibly large strap-on.

Paul - Ah yes - I remember her well - tall, short, black hair, sensuous mouth. Did she ever incarcerate Arnie Becker's pecker?

Christian - I don't remember, but she did have sex with Jim Carrey's character in Liar Liar. She's still working, though with no big successes of late. She's apparently married to multidisciplinary artist who's quite famous in the U.K.

Paul - Glad A man da got a man date.

Paul - What's new Christian? I don't get into Facebook lately. I wrote this rather long piece and may post it on my Wordpress spot. I guess you call it a blog - Kathleen created it for me. It contains spoilers and knowing Dexter thoroughly will help. If you decide to read it let me know which ending you prefer.

THE DEX FILES

Having watched all eight seasons and being left feeling mostly satisfied it is now time to dissect Dexter. I have questions, concerns, complaints, suggestions and some whimsy:

Was Dexter evil and does he deserve to go to Heaven or rot in Hell?

Hell no! He was flawed, troubled, dramatic, intelligent and he knew it. He was also an example to any human of what we are capable of. He needs understanding not punishment nor even judgment – he inflicted plenty of punishment upon himself.

Why did the characters at Miami Homicide suffer so?

Because they are human like us and if you’re gonna do good T. V. you wanna make it as Shakespearean as possible. And look at their line of work – it’s the law of attraction. Of course, based on their history, it’s easy to see why Deb and Dexter topped the “get hit” list.

Was the ending appropriate?

Fuck yeah! It was perfect, inevitable and changing it would have contradicted everything that happened leading up to it. You have to have bitter irony. We humans need it as much or more than guilt to guide us.

What about Hanna?

What about her? Could anyone else have accompanied Dexter where he needed to go. When you see where she is at at the finale you know she has a huge challenge and her situation reminds us that that’s what this game of life was, is and will always be about – we have to choose and then we get to look at what values influenced our decision if we care to look.

What about a sequel?

Bad idea. It would smell of greed and serve no other purpose. The lessons are all there in the eight seasons. Study and learn.

Do we need all this sex and violence on television?

Fuck yes! Go get Anne of Green Gables and a six-foot deep sandbox if you can’t handle it. Denial is the River of Sorrow.

What are your concerns?

That people still won’t get it. No matter how cleverly the writing combines all the elements of drama, comedy and compelling storytelling with dynamic characters the public mostly will look at it as pure entertainment. Go deeper – into yourself, into life – find the messages that are hidden in plain sight.

Complaints?

It’s edited down to what people can and will follow so it isn’t real enough, but that’s the nature of the beast. Perhaps Shakespeare invented “Heightened Realism” or more likely the Greeks. You could even make a case for the ancients who recorded their hunts and battles with cave wall drawings. You didn’t see pictures of people having tea or sleeping. Wonder what kind of creatures we would be if we didn’t remember anything because nothing

bad ever happened. Pure? Creative? Light? No need to make pictures.

Suggestions.

Keep doing this until we don’t need to any more. Could we give up hurting and suffering? Would we then worry about boredom? Why not try it for a while just to monitor the feelings? I am personally getting really bored with same old same old because I know the result and don’t need to feel like that anymore. How about you?

Whimsy.

Dexter is in court in the afterlife. The issue is the dispensation of his soul. All the characters are there, supposedly to testify. A few are still alive and are experiencing the trial as a dream.

JUDGE: Mr. Prosecutor – you’re up!

PROS:  All Right! Dexter Morgan – you’ve killed scores of people, caused extreme pain to those close to you and them and you need to suffer in Hell for eternity. Stand on that trap door and prepare to descend.

DEFENSE ATTORNEY:  Wait a minute!

JUDGE:  Are you making an objection?

DEF ATT:  Am I ever!

PROS:  Your Honour – why waste time. We all know what he did. Let’s get on with it. I’ve already called down – they’re ready for him.

DEF ATT:  Are we kangaroos? This man deserves fair representation!

JUDGE:  Then let’s proceed. Mr. Prosecutor call your first witness.

PROS:  Miguel – tell the court how Dexter killed you.

MIGUEL:  The Bastard gave me a Columbian Necktie and we were supposed to be friends!

PROS:  And I can see you still wear the scars.

MIGUEL:  I usually wear a turtleneck to hide them and it’s so fucking hot down there!

PROS:  That’s all your honour.

JUDGE:  Defense – your turn.

DEF ATT:  Who is this reptile in the corner?

MIGUEL:  My guard.

DEF ATT:  From?

MIGUEL:  Down there.

DEF ATT:  So you dwell in Hell.

MIGUEL:  Just like he will be! Dexter I am so eager to deal with you!

DEF ATT:  That’s all your honour.

PROS:  I call Trinity to the stand.

JUDGE:  You can’t call them!

PROS:  No, no your Honour. Not The Trinity!

JUDGE:  Well that’s a relief!

PROS:  Well Trinity – you look well, considering.

TRINITY:  Yes, I am very pleased with my surgery.

PROS:  And how has rehab been?

TRINITY:  Wonderful! I can’t wait to graduate.

DEF ATT:  Objection! Irrelevant your Honour.

PROS:  I am merely showing how Trinity deserves mercy because of his positive attitude and I will be comparing this to how the defendant has behaved.

JUDGE:  I’ll allow it. Continue.

PROS:  Trinity – tell us how you died.

TRINITY  A single hammer blow to the cranium. Well done Dexter! Couldn’t have done better myself.                             

PROS:  Your witness.

DEF ATT:  How did Rita Morgan die?

TRINITY:  She bled to death.

DEF ATT:  By your hand.

TRINITY:  I am not the one on trial.

JUDGE:  Correct sir. The defense knows better.

DEF ATT:  Withdraw the question. That’s all I have for this witness.

JUDGE:  Next witness.

PROS:  Your honour – I have made my point and I wish to not waste any more of the court’s time. May I hit the lever?

JUDGE:  Not yet. Defense – you may call your first witness.

DEF ATT:  Well, your Honour, I have but one witness and she is not in the courtroom.

JUDGE:  One witness? Surely you could have gotten more!

DEF ATT:  I tried your honour. It seems that no one wants to help.

JUDGE:  This puts things out of balance. Call your witness in any case.

DEF ATT:  The Defense calls Debra Morgan.

PROS:  She’s not here your honour. Can we get the defendant over the trap door?

JUDGE:  Attorneys – approach the bench! Look – this is headed for a mistrial unless we get both sides equally represented. What’s going on with all the potential defense witnesses?

DEF ATT:  They all have issues of betrayal and abandonment with the defendant.

JUDGE:  Except for Debra Morgan.

DEF ATT:  That’s right.

JUDGE:  What about Hanna?

DEF ATT:  We almost had her but she grew a giant beanstalk, climbed it and is long gone. She took Harrison with her and they are  starting over in a new Paradise.

DEXTER:  Where?

JUDGE:  Order! I call Vince Masuka to the stand.

DEF ATT:  He’s hostile!

JUDGE:  You may both take that into consideration.

DEF ATT:  Mr. Mazuko – how would you describe your relationship with the defendant?

VINCE:  Weird.

DEF ATT:  How so?

VINCE:  You couldn’t pin him down. He was like sticky lube so he’d slip out like an over-juiced dick.

DEF ATT:  How did you feel when you learned of all the crimes he had committed?

VINCE:  Betrayed. Hurt. Jealous.

DEF ATT:  Please explain.

VINCE:  I worked with Dex, closely. He should have told me. I’m not at all judgemental. Those motherfuckers deserved to die. When I think of all he accomplished I get a big boner. I want the “Best Kills” video!

DEF ATT:  No further questions.

PROS:  No questions.

JUDGE:  Really? All right – time for closing arguments. Prosecution.

PROS:  It’s cut and dry. Dexter Morgan will go down in history as the most famous vigilante and serial killer of all time and for this he must pay the ultimate price – to spend forever away from the souls he has hurt and tried to destroy. The State recommends permanent isolation with 

reprieve only if and when Hell freezes over.

DEF ATT:  Your Honor – yes Dexter killed a lot of really bad people and because he did our only defense is to throw him upon the mercy  of the……….

VOICE:  Bullshit!

JUDGE:  Order! Who are you?

DEB:  Debra Morgan. Sorry I’m late – I’ve had a bad fucking life!

JUDGE:  Join the party. You wanna say something?

DEB:  Fucking right I do!

PROS:  Your Honor – I must object!

JUDGE:  Noted. I wanna hear it. Take the stand Ms. Morgan.

DEB:  My brother is a fucking Saint! He killed horrible people who did horrible things to mostly nice people and would have continued. He deserves a medal. He did what the system failed to do – protect the ones who support it. He saved my life more than once. In fact, the two times he hesitated resulted in the deaths of his wife, Rita, and me.

JUDGE:  Does it surprise you that Rita failed to show up to testify?

DEB:  No. She’s unhappy about what Hanna did.

JUDGE:  She’s not the only one. So you feel he should receive mercy?

DEB:  At least!

JUDGE:  All right. I gotta think about this over some tasty Asian cuisine.

MASUKO:  I know a great take-out place your Honor!

JUDGE:  Noted. We’re adjourned!

MASUKO:  Not bad eh? Love those shrimp!

JUDGE:  Yeah. Pass the hot sauce.

MASUKO:  Here you go. Can I make a suggestion?

JUDGE:  What’s that?

MASUKO:  Acquit him.

JUDGE:  Why?

MASUKO:  He meant well. He’s not evil. He accomplished a lot that the rest of us couldn’t or wouldn’t and he eased and prevented a lot of suffering. Plus he’s already suffered terribly.

JUDGE:  True, but ……

MASUKO:  You let O. J. off.

JUDGE ITO:  The jury did.

MASUKO:  Yeah, and his popularity had a lot to do with it.

JUDGE ITO:  Relevance?

MASUKO:  Just poll all his co-workers and then decide.

JUDGE ITO:  You think that means justice will be served?

MASUKO:  Absolutely! A part of me says he violated the laws and should be punished, but a bigger part says he performed a valuable service.

JUDGE ITO:  So you are in favor of Capital Punishment.

MASUKO:  I’m in favor of getting scum out of where they can terrorize innocent people and brutally murder them.

JUDGE ITO:  An eye for an eye.

MASUKO:  And so much more – arms, legs, heads – Dex was an amazing butcher and killing machine! Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee – I still get a boner just thinking about it.

JUDGE ITO:  I’m just glad you chose forensics over law.

MASUKO:  Hee, hee, hee. That’s a good one judge. Hey, I know this amazing titty bar – Asians, Europeans, midgets, trannys – everything you could ever want.

JUDGE ITO:  No. I promised my wife I wouldn’t go down there any more. Thanks anyway.

MASUKO:  No problem.

JUDGE ITO:  Time to go back to work.

JUDGE ITO:  All right. It’s been a tough decision and here it is – I can’t decide. But don’t worry – we’re not gonna spend eternity figuring this out. Dexter Morgan – here’s the deal. I know you

elected to forego a jury trial, I am sure for valid reasons, like fear of getting a bad jury or feeling that your lawyer is incompetent, but you are getting one anyway. Don’t ask me why – it’s complicated. Mr. Morgan – do you have anything to say before we begin?

DEXTER:  What if O. J. had asked for a trial by judge?

JUFGE ITO:  Don’t even go there! That’s a nightmare I don’t care to re-visit. Are you ready?

DEXTER:  So my former colleagues are the jury of my peers.

JUDGE ITO:  You got it!

DEXTER:  What choice do I have? I’ve always had to take my chances.

JUDGE ITO:  And that’s the way of the Afterlife too. Here we go!

PROS & DEF ATT:  I object your Honor!

DEF ATT:  You are stealing our jobs.

PROS:  Yeah – since when does the Judge get to bypass the lawyers, usurp control of the proceedings and become dictator?

JUDGE ITO:  Since you two turn into Curly and Larry. Well, Moe says no!

DEF ATT:  Your Honor, respectfully, we are working out our karma here too. Give us a chance.

JUDGE ITO:  No fucking way! You two make Darden and Clark look like superstars and Cochran and Bailey like truth-seekers.

DEBRA:  That’s tellin’ ‘em your Honor!

MASUKO:  I’m getting’ horny! Justice! Justice!

JUDGE ITO:  Order! Okay, this is gonna be best of seven. Debra Morgan, Vince Masuko, James Doakes, Maria LaGuerta, Frank Lundy, Joey Quinn and Angel Batista – come up here and draw. Your number is your position. Mr. Doakes – you are first.

DOAKES:  You are so guilty you motherfucker! Let me pull the lever!

JUDGE ITO:  Noted. Next.

DEBRA:  Your Honor, my brother is not guilty and Doakes you got exactly what you deserved you greatgrandmotherfucker!

JUDGE ITO:  That’s disgusting!

MASUKO:  Yeah, hee, hee, hee!

JUDGE ITO:  Next.

MARIA LAGUERTA:  Guilty your honour. And so are you Detective Morgan. When’s her trial your Honor? I want justice.

JUDGE ITO:  Who doesn’t? The line continues behind me. Next.

VINCE MASUKO:  Your Honor – I’m vacillating between sixty-forty and seventy-thirty but in either case it’s still not guilty.

JUDGE:  All right, we’re tied at two. Next.

JOEY QUINN:  Your Honor, I’m really torn and I need to think about it a bit. Can you come back to me?

JUDGE ITO:  I am not inclined to delay this any longer than necessary. What is your verdict? Flip a coin if you must.

DEBRA:  I need the washroom your Honor! I think I’m going to be sick.

JUDGE ITO:  Fine! Ten minute recess! Detective Quinn – be ready then with your verdict.

DEBRA:  Quinn – what the fuck are you doing?

QUINN:  My job.

DEBRA:  Fuck that – this is Dexter!

QUINN:  And he killed dozens of people, made us look bad, broke all the rules and we need to send a message.

DEBRA:  You’re a great one to lecture about rules! I know about the money you stole from a crime scene.

QUINN:  That’s small stuff. So we encourage vigilantes? It’s a no win for all cops! Deb – it’s not personal. I don’t hate Dexter.

DEBRA:  If you fuck my brother I’ll never speak to you again and if I wasn’t dead I might kill you.

JOEY:  Do you have any idea how often I dream of you?

DEBRA:  Of course I do you fucking idiot! You think I don’t like it!

JUDGE ITO:  Order. Detective Quinn?

QUINN:  Well, your honor, I am an emotional guy and if this was only about that I would have no problem, but it isn’t. It’s about something far more important so I have to vote guilty.

JUDGE ITO:  Detective Morgan – compose yourself. That’s three to two. Angel Batista – you’re next. You gonna end it?

BATISTA:  Your honour – Detective Quinn has made his decision based on the law and, as officers of the law we are supposed to serve it blindly, like soldiers in a war. And believe me, with all we have experienced, all the horror and murder and mayhem we have seen and personally endured, it feels like a war. All of us, including Dexter, maybe especially Dexter, have huge reasons for wanting revenge and carry around a great amount of pain and post traumatic stress syndrome. Your Honor I vote not guilty.

DEBRA:  Angel – you are one!

JUDGE ITO:  All right. Frank Lundy – it’s all up to you – game seven – sudden death! Oh, sorry.

LUNDY:  I’m over that your Honor. Deb, I feel your energy and no, I am no angel. Please be patient your Honor. I am literally deciding in this moment.

JUDGE ITO:  This is dramatic. I’ll allow you two minutes maximum.

LUNDY:  That’s not much. All right – it all comes down to intent, reason and the overall consequences. The first is easy – murder the murderers and that’s illegal. The consequences are debatable, but many lives were saved and the most despicable criminals who were terrorizing Florida and beyond were eliminated. And that is commendable. So it comes down to reason. Dexter – why did you do it?

DEXTER:  I don’t know. I can only tell you how I felt.

LUNDY:  I know, but try. It’s important.

DEXTER:  Harry molded me because I had a disease that was incurable. I don’t think his motives were selfish. I know he loved me. I wanted to have a good relationship with him because he rescued me. But I also enjoyed it. It felt right and gave me a feeling of importance. And I also hated the fact I could never be normal.

LUNDY:  So your reason was tempered by all these feelings. You were guilty of being human. But you have suffered enough. Not guilty your honour.

DEBRA:  Frank Lundy I love you!

QUINN:  Debra Morgan I love you!

DEBRA:  Go fuck your face traitor!

LUNDY:  Debra – let’s run away together!

DEBRA:  Yeah! Where to?

LUNDY:  Anywhere you want!

DEBRA:  Can we do that?

JUDGE ITO:  Sure you can. My cousin’s an Astral Travel Agent. And, by the way – Case Dismissed! Dexter Morgan – you are free to go.

                                    APPLAUSE, WHISTLING, LAUGHTER

                                    (and a bit of murmering but no grumbling)  

DEBRA:  Dex – where are you gonna go!

DEXTER:  Up the beanstalk! I gotta get some quickgrow seeds!

MASUKO:  My cousin’s a bigtime grow operator! I’ll hook you up!

DEXTER:  Thanks Vince.

JUDGE ITO:  Give me his number too!

MASUKO:  You got it Lancelot!

                                                   FIN

                                        ALTERNATE ENDING

LUNDY:  So your reason was tempered by all these feelings. Your Honor, the police officer in me says convict and the human in me says release.

JUDGE ITO:  Mr. Lundy, and I call you that only for identification purposes relative to this case, you are neither a cop or a human any more.

LUNDY:  So it cancels itself out.

JUDGE ITO:  No, it can’t!

LUNDY:  But it does! So it’s a no decision.

JUDGE ITO:  No! That’s like limbo! I’m never gonna make it to the Celestial Supreme Court! Shit! Dexter Morgan – you are free to go any direction you choose. Vince – that earlier adventure we discussed briefly – come see me in my chambers. I’ve changed my mind. Fucking legal confines!

DEBRA:  Whooooooo! Dex – finally! Justice! I love you so much!

LUNDY:  Congratulations Dexter.

DEXTER:  Thank you for believing in me. It means a lot.

LUNDY:  We all need that. You are most welcome. The past is truly behind you.

DEXTER:  And the future, unfortunately, is out of reach.

MASUKO:  Not with these.

DEBRA:  They look like weed seeds.

MASUKO:  Not just any weed seeds. These grow fast and super strong. I’ve injected them with a wild cocktail of DNA from various crime scenes over the years – my second favorite hobby. Dex – I am sure Hanna and Harrison will be impressed.

DEXTER:  You sure this will work?

MASUKO:  Guaranfuckingteed! There’s so much freeze-dried semen and ovum in there that I feel knocked-up just looking at it! Hee, hee. Just don’t try smoking it though – my head really swelled up and it felt like the biggest stroke since that latin lap dancer up in Ft. Lauderdale. Man – she was a mover!

DEBRA:  Masuko – you’re still sick but thanks.

DEXTER: Yeah – I’m gonna get right on this.

DEBRA:  Well Frank.

LUNDY:  Well Debra – you look real good and I feel pretty good myself.

DEBRA:  Yeah – you look good. What do ya wanna do?

LUNDY:  Let’s go find a nice spot to celebrate – just the two of us.

DEBRA:  I like that idea. For how long?

LUNDY:  As much of forever as we can stand.

DEBRA:  You know me Frank – I always want all of it.

              

Closing shot – Dexter arriving at the top and exiting into a magic land greeted by Hanna and Harrison. They look down at the beanstalk and what’s below. Since there are no knives available and the stalk is too tough to remove Dexter shrugs and they leave it. (I know – what about Rita? I just can’t see Dex as a Mormon and a ménage a trios seems unlikely, surely impossible for Rita.  A relationship with both would lead to nastiness. A celestial sequel perhaps – only viewable thru the Afterlife Network on Demand - Heavenly Killer on the loose. Someone has been sneaking down to in-between land and committing Afterlife murders. So who’s the Heavenly imposter?).  

                                                 NEW BEGINNING?

Christian - I guess I prefer the second ending, but only because of the idea of a serial killer in the afterlife who kills people who are already dead.

You should read the Dexter books. They are almost as silly as what you wrote, especially because of how Doakes ended up.

Paul - I've been thinking about that. I like the well-drawn and individual characters so I would like to compare.

            See you at Plasticene.

Christian - In the books both Rita and Dexter's serial killer brother are still alive. Plus Rita's two kids each have their own Dark Passenger.

Paul - Yeah - I did a lot of research online and noted that as well. Shows like Dexter and Breaking Bad have such broad appeal and I like to write dark and satirical, so there's hope for success, but I'm not so driven for the money anymore.

            I saw two episodes of Ray Donovan and that's my next crave. I might even get Netflicks unless the Library comes thu, which I would prefer.

            You got something edgy and/or musical planned for Plasticene? I wonder what's up with Cathy?

Christian - If you download Bit Torrent or some other torrent program, you can pretty much download any show or movie you want from the Pirate Bay for nothing. Books too.

I'm probably going to read a story at Plastiscene for May. Maybe a song for June. School's over, so I could go for coffee after if you want.

Paul - Sounds fine.

Good AfterPoetry Party last night (sans le cafe mal). I awoke with nothing to write about so I wrote about that and this poem arose.

            Perhaps it would prove stimulating at the Wednesday event.

            Should I omit the opening stanza?

            I am babysitting my granddaughter this Wednesday evening but could attend on the 30th.

What say you Christian and Kathleen?

NOTHING TO LOSE

I’m done – there’s nothing

left to write about,

we’ve done it all,

over and over,

the Human Condition

is untreatable …….

unless we can kick

the habit instead

of each other,

Trained puppy dogs lie

and await master’s approval,

wag their tails,

hope for a bone,

fight for scraps,

play, growl, fight

and grow separate,

mark out their territory,

fade and die,

For what?

Nothing!

It’s all for nothing

and nothing

isn’t real,

Come back to play,

tickle me,

watch what happens,

the master will get lonely

and have to choose

to wither and die

or join the party

that lasts forever

with nothing to lose.

Christian - No this is the one you said you were coming to last Wednesday. The one Kathleen went to was on Tuesday

Paul - I'll see how I'm feeling that night re tiredness. I had to help Ros again last Wednesday.

Kathleen and I are thinking about attending the gig on Westmoreland this Wednesday. We have new material and I wrote three poems this morning. Do you get three minutes and what time should we arrive to sign up?

Christian - It starts officially at 20:00 but that depends on when people settle in. Alan will start things off with something he's brought either of his own or something found which he'll either read himself or get everyone there to read a piece of. The City of Words is only slightly more formal than a poetry reading in your living room. Alan doesn't consider it to be a poetry reading or a workshop, but rather just a poetry get together. You will be able to read for no specific time, but definitely over three minutes. You will also probably get feedback, especially if you ask for it.

Paul - Sounds splendid. I'll be there and likely Kathleen too.

Christian - Catweazle is at Cafe Smock at 287 Roncesvalles, six blocks south after Dundas turns into Roncesvalles, on Friday August 29, sign up at 19:30  and Shab-e She'r is on August 26 at 612 Markham, sign up at 18:30

Paul - Thanks C. I'll probably check out one of these - Catweazle is closer and I'll forward to Kathleen.

I'm not sure if this is funny for everyone but it may be for you.

I'm sure that you have seen pharmaceutical advertising in doctor's offices on everything from tissues to note pads This one should get first prize... 

It was e-mailed it to a Japanese doctor and he e-mailed back:
            "If light stay on more than 4 hour, call erectrician. (This made me raugh out roud) 

Christian - The picture's funny but the joke about the Japanese doctor is probably racist.

Paul - It does lean that way. I meant to tell you that I liked that line in your poem last Wednesday about crawling up inside your foreskin, pulling it over your head - something like that. I should read the poem so I get it right. Anyway, it could be considered somewhat offensive by Jewish men, not racist but definitely provocative. I always wondered about the practice of circumcision and it's real purpose. I suspect that it is to traumatize baby boys and even young girls in some countries. The cleanliness issue is definitely a red herring.

Christian - Keep in mind that these people were quite often in desert environments and wandering around so it was less easy to keep the penis clean. Sand can blow up under one's robe and cause some painful irritation under the foreskin if one is not wearing underwear, which I don't think they did. The Jews were warriors too for a great part of their history so it might have been part of a tough guy schtick or just a way of setting themselves apart from their enemies. Also it does desensitize the penis thereby making masturbation less pleasurable and making sex more desirable, which keeps the race going. Humans though seem to have an ingrained predisposition towards some sort of group sacrifice, dietary or otherwise.

The part of my poem you are referring to is: "I turn my foreskin up to sixty degrees and curl up inside it"

Paul - The old "Blown raw by sand" torture. Guess that would make you wanna kill. And "sex as a preference for onanism" makes sense in any case, unless one just can't stand any body part but their own around their weapon, in which case their reply to "go fuck yourself!" would be "I intend to - you should try it some time, it's better than yoga!"

            And yes we do like to destroy ourselves and others by bad choices caused by our chronic ego attachment.

I do remember the line now of your poem and I didn't get the whole reference about "turning the heat up" as an easy to get metaphor so I took the meaning differently than what you read. I thought it alluded to becoming one's sexual identity exclusively as an animal reaction to the pressures of living as a human being, much like how certain mammals procreate excessively out of fear of dying. Perhaps we could persuade Allen to help us delve into the poem along with others of similar ilk others of us have written.

            He seemed a bit evasive about his reasons for putting that off but I got the idea that he felt part of the audience was unable to deal with the poem.

            I have certain poems and stories that I save for "hardcore" audiences who do not shock easily. When I was in Durham and went to a writing workshop on writing romantic, erotic, and pornographic prose I offended some of the ladies with my porn so I didn't get invited back for part two. So, depending on where Allen wants to take this series of classes, I am open for anything.  

Christian - "Sixty degrees" may not be about heat but rather about angle.

I think that the group can handle hardcore, but I'll test that next week.

You see these meetings as classes? I just see it as a discussion group. Technically Francisco is supposed to be equal to Allen in hosting the group.

Speaking of masturbation, here's an excerpt from my critical response to Alan Goldman's philosophical rejection of masturbation:

Masturbation may be a substitute for sex when the practitioner is envisioning sex with another, but not everyone who masturbates does so while fantasizing and not always with a goal in mind. This then can be seen as a type of plain sex with oneself.  As for those who use fantasy while masturbating, ideas that arise during the act can be brought to play when one is sexually engaged with another. So masturbation is a legitimate rehearsal for sex with a partner.

Goldman’s quick dismissal of masturbation belies a prejudice against it. In defining masturbation as an act of anticipating possible future scenarios, and then comparing it to plain sex, which in his definition does not involve fantasies or goals, he makes an unfair scrutiny. It would be more appropriate to compare “plain sex”, which, as Goldman says, is someone simply touching another for the sensation of contact, to someone touching oneself for the sensation of contact. Such masturbation could be called “plain asex”.

            It is very likely that almost every child that first experienced an orgasm did so accidentally and without the assistance of erotic scenarios conjured by the imagination. Later when the child had tried to recreate this pleasant experience the mind may have begun to draw on images to enhance the now contrived manipulation. But in most cases these would not have been fantasies imitating sex, but rather innocent imaginings perhaps of the face of someone the child was attracted to.

Because the first sex that a child experiences is a very intense asexual orgasm, subsequent encounters with other people, though they come about as a result of attraction to those individuals, can not help but be haunted by the specter of that initial solitary pleasure. So rather than masturbation being an imitation of sex, I would argue that sex is an imitation of masturbation in that it attempts to achieve the same intensity of original self touching through the touch of another human being. If this is true, then masturbation as experienced first at puberty is not simply a lonely substitute for sex, but rather the plainest sex of all.

Paul - I remember reading this essay before and basically agreeing with it. Did you not submit it as part of your curriculum requirement and receive a high mark?

            The sexual experiences we have and desire need to be written about. In view of my

Catholic upbringing I can contribute much and would consider being part of a group writing and critiquing experience to be a deeper level of exorcism that would help, if done with full agreement and calmly.

            I am not sure that this group is capable of that. Several of the women tend to give opinions based on what the subject matter reminds them of and Francisco, who seems a bit inebriated, rambles a bit incoherently. I have trouble with his accent and have to strain to hear him, which is perhaps my unique hearing problem.

            The lady at the end of the table, to your left, next to the red hairdyed lady (who was pleasant but still rhetorical), was particularly emotionally reactive rather than analytical in

regards to her feedback. Am I being over-sensitive or just expecting too much?

            I like Allen and feel he does a good job of running things. Cad does his aloof thing and interjects with proper timing, which is fine. I tend to adopt his style and not want to get into opinion swapping.

            You push the envelope and I like that. Experience demands quality. I would not be in this group if you were not part of it. What I would prefer is more of your ilk and mine, but you said you have been in the group for a while so you must be getting something out of it.

I will return in two weeks and bring my friend, Jack Livesley, whom you met at Plasticene. He will bring a poem. Was it unusual that so many attendees failed to bring material? A bit passive perhaps, but whatever.

            Sounds like I may miss a major envelope push next week. I'd like a de-briefing if you will.

            I came up with an auto-biographical concept for a story about my own sexuality that I will write and probably read at Plasticene. I like Nikki because of the confidence and humour exhibited and feel there is some improv training and perhaps slam performance experience behind the persona - a brave being indeed.

            I used the term "classes" to describe the experience because I want to learn so discussion is less important to me than precise insight as usually rendered by Allen.

If there is too much opinion swapping you will notice me receding and waiting for Allen to move things forward - been there, been bored before. That's one of the reasons Jack got away from teaching our group - we all got too familiar with one another and some of the ladies wanted it more as a social rather than learning experience.

Christian - Yeah, I got an A minus. I guess you read it in my Facebook "Notes" section.

In regards to the Irish woman at the end, I tried to offer her a philosophical argument against the need to believe in a creator and I guess i was lightly tapping on the table while making my point. She concluded that my gestures were angry and violent. Perhaps she has a history of abuse. Allen met her at 6 St. Joseph, where a lot of psychiatric survivors take refuge, and where I think there is a usually subtle but sometimes overt undercurrent of religiosity.

I haven't decided if I'm going there in two weeks or if I'll go to the first fat Albert's after Labour Day. That will probably be my last week at most of the venues I've been attending, since I'll be back at school. Even if I felt I could get away with sacrificing study time, one of my classes will be on Wednesday nights anyway.

Paul - I wouldn't mind hearing more about the Fat Albert's scene - never been there.

            Kathleen (aka K Z) got herself banned from 6 St. Joseph's for getting into it too much with the woman who runs it - Kimberly. Strange politics going on there.

            I enjoyed the Cabaret Noire that Lizzie presents - I need edgy venues. Is Fat Albert's open like that?

Christian - Fats is mostly Folk music but people read poetry there and I've never seen anyone censored. But a guy I knew back in the 90s read a poem there about there being "no small penises, only big vaginas" and he pissed off a couple of women who were performing that night, so much so that one of them broke up her Styrofoam coffee cup and threw the pieces at him. His response was "Thank you for your big vagina confetti!"

Paul - He really pushed her big vagina button. Some people can't take a joke more than personally.

Christian - The guy's name was Arjan, which is a fairly common Polish name. He played bass in my band for a while, though he couldn't really play. He had a shaved head but for our first gig he wore a dreadlock wig. He was from Chicago and claimed that Lori Anderson once tried to pick him up at a poetry reading there.

Paul - Just wondering on your take of Plasticene tonight. I found my attention wandering, as usual, which means I need to be challenged to remain interested.

            I spoke to Susie Berg on the way out about a feature spot for next year and she said she will be booking for February onward and would put me on the list.

            Wondering if you have any Wednesdays available for City of Words. If so I would invite Jack again and perhaps Kathleen. If not I am less inclined to attend but may at some point.

            Right now I've got to convince this tired body to do some more work so I can get my bills paid thru the winter.

            I believe there are some events coming up next weekend foe 100,000 Poets for Change so I will likely attend one.

Christian - I don't think Nicki is disorganized or all that flustered. She's a great performer, writer and musician but she just doesn't have the same dynamic presence that Cathy had, or David Bateman for that matter. Yes, she would have to take hormones for the rest of her life to maintain the secondary sex characteristics she has. My daughter probably takes the same ones. I don't think they are relevant in this case.

I only know that Brenda's thing is that night. I'm not even sure when she wants me there. Pat Connor is the organizer. If Brenda gives me a tighter time frame I'll let you know.

Paul - Thanks. I didn't mean to imply that Nicki is generally disorganized and flustered, just last night and I agree that she has hosting skills that may improve.

I am forwarding this to several writerly friends not necessarily because part of it reminds me of you, but maybe.

Here's your spelling Bee questions for the day!

Christian - Here's my review of the last one: http://newz4u.net/the-plastiscene-reading-series-the-third-sunday-of-every-month-at-1800-on-the-second-floor-of-paupers-pub-no-cover/

Paul - Thanks for that. I'm gonna watch "Citizen Kane" now. I want to write a screenplay and need to study some successful filmmakers.

            This is about Fear - what if Frank shows up - how do we deal with him? Oh, people will be upset. No one will say "Did Frank crank the skank or is he a wank who's morals stank?"

            This could Go messy. No interviewing gig on Big Media for Frank.

            Wait 'til Billy Bob finds out!

Christian - I'm sure you must have seen Greg Ritallin Frankson, the slam poet, perform at Plastiscene. He's recently been banned from the series and others in Toronto, Ottawa and Vancouver because of allegations of sexual assault.

Paul - I do have a vague recollection of seeing him somewhere, perhaps Plasticene.

            The Ghomeshi case will prove encouraging to women to speak up and to the legal system to take this issue far more seriously.

            I hope that Greg gets the help he needs as well as anyone he has victimized. To simply

punish any person for criminal behaviour with incarceration is not enough.

            P.S. Alison and I stopped in at Hotbox Roacharama today on Augusta. I got talking to an

        employee who said they have a Stand-up Open Stage Comedy Night.

        When I suggested a Poetry event she liked it and told me who to contact.

        Christian, you immediately came to mind as host. Perhaps something for the Christmas Season - do ya think?

Christian - The part of the story I didn't mention yet is that I posted my opposition to the ban of Greg Frankson on the Plastiscene page. I offered an argument that it's exclusive and that it would be better for Greg to come to events so he could be confronted. The response to this was that I got attacked by a battalion of poets. I got called a rape apologist, and Cathy Petch referred to me as a "total asswipe". I tried to respond logically and impartially to everyone's arguments, which went on for about three days. Valentino Assenza of the rat Bar Reading Series accused me of just wanting to "shit on everything", and Brenda Clews insisted that my opposition to the ban had to have a direct relationship to my having been barred from the rat Bar Reading Series, which seemed totally absurd to me. A month ago Brenda had invited me to host an event in February at her monthly poetry salon. I had already invited two features for the event and gotten confirmations from them, but today Brenda told me that because I, in her mind, have no concern for the safety of women, she was cancelling the event and unfriending me. If you go on the Plastiscene facebook page you can read all that's been said. If you still want me to host something in December after that then I'm available for that month.

I think I should have said "exclusionary" rather than "exclusive"

Paul - While I agree with you that having Greg not be banned so that he could benefit from the "Presumption of Innocence" aspect of the Canadian Legal System I know how hard it is for people to not judge and pre-judge.

            This is a subject I am passionate about and feel guilty about when I go there myself, as I did somewhat with Frank and have done in the past.

            I once broached the subject with a criminal lawyer who showed me an article he kept in his files by a liberal-minded Toronto Judge who wrote about how the principle is consistently not applied. The accused are treated as "probably guilty" and their rights are compromised.

            My tendency is to naively believe that people are basically good, deserve compassion and understanding, even when they act in ways harmful to themselves and others. This has cost me dearly and as a result I often do the opposite and criticize harmful behaviour. It's the emotional reaction in either direction (too easy or too harsh) that I know needs tempering.

            Oh to see and speak the truth with calm passion - a poet's desire!

            Anyway, I wanted your feedback on the pros and cons of this "Weed" venue. I would prefer something a bit more neutral as to the aficionados it is religious devotion which I abhor in any form.

            And, given your "reduced" status in the community based on your stand (if Frank has the balls to show up then good on him - it's not like he is the HIDING type anyway) perhaps we should be more particular about how we plan this.

            I do tend to prefer audacity to conservatism - as in "The Second Coming is near. You know of the OAO by attendance or reputation. You or someone you know helped write the only Bible that has relevance. He has never left us but hovered, awaiting the proper time to lead us thru the Gates toward something we all have dreamed of. Your presence is welcome. Judge not lest thee be loved unconditionally. You need not be a true Christian to attend this event but it wouldn't hurt."

            Your thoughts oh Blessed one - we could wait until Easter and get a big cross and thorny crown.

Christian - If you search Greg Frankson right now you'll see basically the same Toronto Star article copied in several newsfeeds. Greg has hired a lawyer and he he has already agreed to not show up at any Toronto slams for now.

            My groundrules are that I wouldn't host an event unless there was absolutely no censorship.

Paul - I agree - self-censorship (aka self-governing) is what is needed.

            By the way - whose allegations? Has he been charged formally? Sorry, I just can't do the facebook thing.

Christian - The person who heads the Ottawa poetry collective posted on facebook that she was coming forward about this on behalf of some women who came forward to her and she instituted the first ban. According to the Toronto Star there is no word so far on whether charges have been filed.

Paul - It does sound serious. I read the report online and having seen Greg's photo I now recognize him from Plasticene.

Whether he is guilty of some kind of sexual harassment or not some of the local poets are pretty worked up about it based on their collective response to your comments. Perhaps you appeared insensitive to them given the seriousness of the accusations.  

Christian - I didn't make light of anyone's suffering. If I thought it would be unsafe to have Greg at readings I wouldn't recommend it. I doubt very much that these assaults took place at a poetry venue.

Here's a thought that came to me today:

It's impossible to learn something from someone you agree with

Paul - I could agree with that and sign off or amend it to "it's difficult to learn something unless you add to the original by introducing a slightly different perspective" or say "bollocks!"

            Any educational system, formal or not, works best if the teacher presents information not as truth but as something to be ingested, considered, applied possibly to see what happens, even added to or amended.

            I watched "The Incredible Tale of Benjamin Buttons" again recently then googled the original short story. A synopsis was provided of each chapter and then sample questions for debate so the student could delve into the lessons about life in it, and there are many.

            Being able to adopt many points of view, to me, keeps one saner and helps mega if one wants to be a good writer.

            I marvel at and envy those epic novelists who can develop so many characters.

            So, I do tend to agree with your statement, because, by adding to the apparent consensus that Greg should be flat out banned you would be simply condoning an idea that was based largely on an emotional reaction to a stressful situation.

            You chose to offer a different point of view and I guess no one could intellectualize that.

            So was anything learned. Not yet, perhaps, but it ain't over 'til the fat lady says "yeah, I'm fat but you're ugly - who can change?"

 ENGLISH Mensa Invitational - for lexophiles

 The  Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again  invited readers to take any word from the  dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or  changing one letter, and supply a new  definition.
  
   Here  are the  winners:

Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house,  which renders the subject financially impotent for  an indefinite period of time.


2. Ignoranus:  A person who's  both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxicaton:  Euphoria at  getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize  it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation:  Coming back to  life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.):  The substance  surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas  from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately,  shows little sign of breaking down in the near  future.

6. Foreploy:  Any  misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of  getting laid 

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted  very, very high.

8. Sarchasm:  The gulf  between the author of sarcastic wit and the person  who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte:  To take coffee  intravenously when you are running  late.

10.  Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.  (This one got extra credit)

11. Karmageddon:  It's like, when  everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes,  right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's  like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon  (n):The  grueling event of getting through the day consuming  only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido:  All talk and no  action.

14. Dopeler  Effect: The  tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they  come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic  Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed  just after you've accidentally walked through a  spider web.

16. Beelzebug  (n.): Satan in  the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom  at three in the morning and cannot be cast  out.

17. Caterpallor (n.):  The color you  turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're  eating.

The WashingtonPost has also  published the winning submissions to its yearly  contest, in which readers are asked to supply  alternate meanings for common words.

And the  winners are:

1. Coffee, n.  The person upon  whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted,  adj. Appalled  by discovering how much weight one has gained. 

3.  Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever  having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade, v.  To attempt an  explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly, adj.  Impotent. 

6.  Negligent, adj. Absent mindedly answering  the door when wearing only a  nightgown.

7. Lymph, v.  To walk with a  lisp.

8. Gargoyle, n.  Olive-flavored  mouthwash.

9. Flatulence, n.  Emergency  vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over  by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash,  n. A rapidly  receding hairline.

11. Testicle, n.  A humorous  question on an exam.

12. Rectitude, n.  The formal,  dignified bearing adopted by proctologists. 

13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist. 

14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his  conversation with Yiddishisms. 

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after  death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets  stuck there.


16. Circumvent, n.An opening in the front of  boxer shorts worn by Jewish  men.

Christian - One other person unfriended me besides Brenda, and I assume she did so yesterday. We only met once though, the very first time I went to Plastiscene at their first venue on Markham. We became Facebook friends right away and I sent her a couple of invitations to readings, but we never met again, so it's not a big loss. Brenda's unfriending of me was something I saw coming. She was the only person involved in the discussion who was actually my Facebook friend and her arguments seemed the least reasonable to me.

Paul - This "unfriending" habit offends me. It happened to Rosalind recently with one of her longtime close friends. Why not talk about the issue and attempt to resolve it?

Probably because the belief held is by overpowering strong emotions.

Humans all need to rise above the programming.

I just watched a biography of Noel Coward. That guy was daring, talented and a lot more. He made enemies but it didn't stop him.

My point is that it is such a waste to bicker and get caught up in the drama.

Maybe I should write a play about this - a morality tale about the need to be right and how it makes us do the wrong things.

Are we all still in school because we are afraid to matriculate? What if we did? Then what?

Christian - I don't think Facebook or social networking is to blame for this tendency of unfriending, nor is there any blame to be placed at all. Social networking provides people with access to aspects of their aquaintance's minds that we weren't privy to before the internet. I argued in an essay once that social networking is a type of telepathy and it helps us get down to the nitty gritty of our friends like never before. I see it as a good thing but it has to be balanced by actually getting together as well. I think Brenda's unfriending me online saved years of my waiting for her to do it in the real world. On the other hand there are people that we have met and found not all that interesting but then exchanges with them online reveal that they have amazing minds.

Paul - Well put. I prefer email and personal contact as a combo. I suppose some email or Facebook type of exchanges could lead to deeper meaningful connection once you make initial contact and the telepathy aspect does occur in any case when the parties are open.

            My objection is the "unfriending" mechanism. It does not to be broadcast and is something a child might do. Dialogue - work it out. Why be negative?

            What made you feel Brenda was looking for a reason to disconnect? I suppose you sensed it (telepathy)?

            I feel that intimate relationships are opportunities for growth if issues of conflict, disagreement, etc are resolved or at least the parties agree to disagree and drop it as not that important. Not always easy.

            I can see that Social Media can be an effective time saver and get to know vehicle and you do use it well.

            Guess I'm old school.

Christian - Brenda's method of argument was disconnected. She would always make a grand point of telling me that the discussion was over and then she would put in the last word. I also thought it strange when I told her about the time when I was eighteen that the cops planted drugs on me while I was panhandling, she seemed more appalled by the fact that I'd been panhandling than the police doing something like that.

Here are some ideas I've had for several months about any future reading series I would want to have my name associated with. I would want it to be primarily if not completely an open stage. I would also be interested in bringing back the questions from the audience feature that they used to have at the old Art Bar Reading Series. It would serve as a bridge between writer and listener. I also have an idea for a name that I came up with a few months ago:

"The Shrewdness of Apes Writers Showcase". This is based on the fact that a gathering of apes is called  a "shrewdness".

Paul - I like it - apes plotting on how to take over the world and save it from humans.

            I like to use mimickry to mirror back what the person is presenting.

            Apes are like humans minus political correctness.

            I want to learn the art of communicating simple ideas to an audience without many or even any words.

            I read a story about two years ago about a group of apes that were being used for cruel experiments and the efforts to protect them and put them in much larger confinement. The protagonist may have been called "Lucy" but I can't recall the title of the book.

            Hey how about an "I Love Lucy" segment of the show where members of the troupe act out scenes as Lucy, Ricky, Fred and Ethel as apes.

            Would it be wrong to start a religion called "The Church of Original Sin Latter Day Primates?"

            Audience participation always enhances a performance if non-violent. What about bringing the performers back at the end as a panel to have a Q & A? I guess you could do it right after each performance instead. I was thinking the former would give people more time to formulate questions and write them down.

            I have also found at Plasticene that often a theme seems to emerge magically thru the evening. Did you find that also at the OAO and elsewhere.

            What I enjoyed about the Orgy and in taking Jack's writing classes is that both of you only gave enough guidance to allow the events to come forward and take shape and that usually rapport in the group fostered magic to appear.

            I tend to avoid people who habitually fall into being judgmental instead of empathetic. It is much easier to receive constructive criticism if the person is genuinely concerned about the consequences of my behaviour on me and not them so much, or even how it affects a larger group.

            That's what has frustrated me in certain relationships - the attempt to control me because of what I might do or not do to displease the other. Stupid ego battles about rightness.

            And that's where censorship enters and I think I know why you feel it should be verboten. It is based on fear and overcoming fear is vital to survive and thrive.

            The audience will tell someone all that performer needs to know to improve.

Christian - I wasn't thinking of apes in terms of mimicry but rather accuracy. Humans are apes. The only extreme difference seems to be that we are a type of ape that lost, perhaps in an ice age, the overwhelming urge to display our genitalia, except unconsciously through art.

I think questions are better off being spontaneous rather than thought out and written down.

I think that the idea of seeing a theme running through an evening is more a result of the tendency of the human mind to try to make sense of things and find its way by looking for patterns. It doesn't mean there's any link between the readings but rather that we best perceive the readings at the points where they are all the most alike. It's like seeing faces in walls or familiar shapes in clouds.

I think the Orgasmic Alphabet Orgy was the first non-smoking reading series in Toronto. One night someone suggested that the smoke was annoying so I took a vote and the non smokers won. I've never seen any other reading series ask the audience what they wanted. Obviously, if it was an issue of artistic vision I wouldn't depend on common opinion, but for things relating to things like the audience's physical comfort it's valuable.

Paul - I was looking at the experiences more surreally as I often do.

            Yeah to spontaneity.

            So was it the cold that made us cover up and not religious interference?

            I support any event which fosters group shrewdness while revering individuality.

Christian - Yeah, I'd say it was the cold. It was also probably fire that made us lose our ape hair. The ones with more hair burned to death from getting too close and didn't get to pass on their hairy genes.

Paul - So early humans quested for fire found it and tamed it somewhat. Wonder how Rae Dawn Chong and Ron Perlman feel about that now.

            Then there's The Naked Ape concept - are we descended angels or ascended primates?

            A lot of both I feel - thus our confusion until we embrace both.

Christian - RaeRon would probably argue that humanity survived the ice age by wearing a shitload of prosthetic makeup.

I don't know why people have such a hard time grasping the idea that mankind is just a mutation and that there was no help needed from outside to evolve us into gloriously imperfect self aware apes who think they arent.

Paul - Does that mean that we don't have a soul or that apes do?

Christian - It's likely that apes have the same electric currents running through their bodies that we have when they're alive. There's a pretty good chance for both species that it just disperses into space like any energy when we die.

Paul - And then...........

Christian - So what if there is a god but he, she or it is a total loser who woke up late on the day they were giving out universes to take care of. Because of this all the other deities got the cool universes where magic happens and our god wound up with the universe that was full of blackholes and assholes.

Paul - I like the premise but which current somewhat earth dwelling definitely non-conformist deity in residence will write it?

            I also like the suggestion that god has a godfather. 

            This could be a trilogy.

Christian - I didn't say anything about a godfather. There's was just an old vending machine at the end of the megaverse that's now empty. Our god got the last mouldy processed cheese and bologna sandwich that was in it and that was us.

Paul - Okay - can you make it a hit stage play that will be the first to be performed on an asteroid?

Christian - I had all my asteroids surgically removed

Paul - There's a full moon soon and beware - I am sending a very disturbing but weirdly humourous email forward. It seems somehow remotely related to your asteroid issue.

Christian - YIKES.

            Paul - This is a photo of an "actual death row execution", in an Arkansas prison.  

This is NOT for the faint of heart.  

I'm only sending this to those I know who are in favor of the death penalty.

Consequences for violent crimes should be reflected in the punishment for the crime committed.

The Arkansas gas chamber is a perfect example.

            Not a pretty way to die, but extremely effective. 

Since this gas chamber was pressed into service, violent crime in Arkansas has dropped by 90%. 

            The Arkansas  Gas Chamber..

Christian - For every guy that would give up crime to avoid this there are probably five more who would kill to experience it

Paul - For some strange reason, Cad, this story made me think of you. And do take that as personally as you like. I feel it has a style you would appreciate. So Merry Channuka and Happy freakin' New Year eh!

            I am asking Christian to forward this to you along with the idea of being part of an upcoming Poetic Extravaganza in 2015.

 Paul Valliere.

Dear Bill,

This is the first story in a series of interviews. But after you've read this one, forget about it. You didn't see nothing.

Best wishes,

Bruce

Lenny's Interview

By Bruce Holland Rogers

Tell us about yourself.

If you need to know, you'll know. But it's better for both of us if you don't know.

Why do you want this job?

Because that's where the money is. A famous guy said that about banks. You'd know his name.

What kind of personality do you work best with?

I work best with a guy who saw nothing, heard nothing, has nothing to say.

Why are you leaving your present job?

I made an error in judgment. I did some freelancing when my boss felt that I worked for him, and him only. This wasn't spelled out. We didn't have a written contract, so there were ambiguities. I had to get out of town.

Tell us about your proudest achievement.

I haven't achieved a thing. These hands are clean.

Tell us one thing about yourself you wouldn't want us to know.

Yeah, I'll tell you. Sure thing. But first, can I have a look at your pen? It writes and all, but is it just a pen? It's amazing how small they can make a microphone these days.

Give examples of ideas you've had or implemented.

Use your imagination.

What is your ideal company?

I look for people at the top who have secrets that would embarrass them or, even better, send them to jail. I've done my homework on you. On all of you.

What attracted you to this job?

I know a guy, and from him I know that the feds aren't looking your way. I'm attracted to the work environment.

Give us an example of a time that you felt you went above and beyond the call of duty at work.

Let's speak hypothetically. Suppose I was asked to discourage a guy, and he thought he was tough. Maybe he was tough. Maybe I kind of admire how tough he was. Anyway, he didn't discourage too easily, so I went above and beyond. But that caused complications and made more work for me. There's such a thing as too much initiative. Hypothetically.

Tell me about a time when you had to give someone difficult feedback. How did you handle it?

I have had to give difficult feedback many times. Usually I handle it with a question. I say, “You want it in the face, or in the groin?” I get them to buy in, and what happens after that, they own it.

If you were at a business lunch and you ordered a rare steak and they brought it to you well done, what would you do?

I would have a private word with the waiter. In private.

If you found out your company was doing something against the law, like fraud, what would you do?

It all depends. What are the angles? Who is doing well out of this, and whose head will it come down on? You have got to know the angles before you know what your play should be.

How do you want to improve yourself in the next year?

Why, you got a problem with me? Spill it! No? Good. We're good then.

What is your personal mission statement?

You didn't see me. I was never here.

What negative thing would your last boss say about you?

He wouldn't. He knows that I have insurance on file with an attorney whose name he does not know.

Who has impacted you most in your career and how?

This guy, he was nobody, but he impacted me with a tire iron. Son of a bitch.

Do you think a leader should be feared or liked?

What do you think? Are you some kind of moron?

How do you feel about taking no for an answer?

I don't feel a thing. It's just business.

How would you feel about working for someone who knows less than you?

Knowledge is leverage. I'm going to make sure I know more.

There's no right or wrong answer, but if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?

Dubai for action, Croatia to lie low. No extradition.

Let's see your sales skills. Sell me this pencil.

You see this pencil? Just a slender piece of wood. You wouldn't think a pencil could kill a man, would you? But, you know, a brain is a vulnerable thing. The eyes, the ears, the nose. I think if you bought this pencil, you'd be safe from things that could be done with this pencil. I think buying this pencil would be a smart investment in your future. But that's just my opinion. You go ahead and do what you think you have to do. A hundred bucks. Thank you.

Do you have any questions for us?

You, briefcase boy. Is that a Rolex? How would you like to get another one at considerable discount?

Christian - I pasted the whole thing into a Facebook message to Cad.

Paul - Merci.

While making breakfast this idea began so I went with it over bacon and eggs. I was surprised that it was so short as it felt like about five pages. Think I need more sleep. Kira - move over!

LIVE!

     “So here’s the surprise I promised. It’s me – all day! Yeah, me and Larry whose filling in for Reg who called in sick, aka hungover, even more than usual. Toni’s havin’ the baby I guess so they called me to stay.

     “And Larry’s got a whole pound of Blond that he got from Enrico who’s not Lebanese so, until they sick the swat team on us – we’re it! Happy Freakin’ New Year! You locked the door real good – eh Larry?

     “Good! And if you hear a pounding noise for a while, don’t worry – that’s Pete the Greek trying to get back in. He’s the unnecessary program director of the moment. He’ll get tired. Hey Pete – eat all the breakfast bagels!

     “Speaking of tired, I haven’t slept for a while, a few days I guess, so these little red babies are helping – if I start talking too fast just mentally adjust me to 33 1/3 or 78 or whatever.

     “I tried napping during my regular Nightshift like I often do in case you were one of the dozen or so listeners who tuned in last night to be turned on by Nat King Cole and Burl Ives but I couldn’t so I read “Running With Scissors”. Highly recommended in case you feel fucked up as much as I do.

     “So it’s nine a.m. and I gotta read the news. A lot of people died in a plane crash way east of civilization and there were a lot of car purposedents with maiming and blood and all that as well as some seasonal suicide bombings that fucked up the holidays for lots of innocents. If you want more details you’re sick so go watch “Honey Boo Boo” or “Best of Car Crashes”. I gotta take a shit so Larry let’s have ‘It’s a Wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong’ on repeat.

      “That’s better. So whaddya want me to talk about? Ever notice that people, most people, don’t give a care about anything until they are gonna die? That’s backwards! The few people that don’t act that way live longer, or at least happier, don’t you think?

    “Man, I wish this was a call-in show. Is anybody even listening? There’s gotta be a few people up and caffeinating, eh Larry? Should we give out the phone number?

     “It’s not like people would be that upset that Tonia’s not playing some pre-recorded interview with a novelist or opera singer and commenting that people should buy the Opera or go see the book. No offence Tonia – have a nice baby!

     “Yeah, fuck it! Call 261-777-6767 and let’s get it on! Larry, play ‘Stairway to Heaven’ will ya? – my tummy’s funny.

     “I’m back – nothing like a good upchuck! Way better. We got a call. Go ahead – you’re live!”

     “Not for long.”

     “Why is that?”

     “There’s no point.”

     “In living?”

     “What’s the use?”

     “Are you freakin’ kidding me! What did Louis just tell you?”

     “He’s a dead musician just like I’m gonna be.”

     “But he had fun! Doesn’t sound like you are.”

     “My girlfriend left me for a tennis player and I’m broke.”

     “So? My ex hates me, I can’t get joint custody and I’m gonna be unemployed real soon.”

     “You got a kid?”

     “A dog – my best friend, and she was so jealous.”

     “So go get the dog.”

     “I’ve got a restraining order. It’s complicated.”

     “You can’t just let this bitch ruin your life – fight man!”

     “Yeah, I should. What kinda music you play?”

     “Covers mostly. Bar gigs. Start at ten. People come, drink, leave – by midnight it’s dead.”

     “Bummer.”

     “Yeah. I wrote a song. Wanna hear it?”

     “Sure.”

                                                        Silence

“Hello! Hello! What happened? What’s that Larry? The phone’s dead? Oh yeah, they’re out there. Well fuck you! Larry, patch us into that satellite. Come on – you can do it – before they shut us down! This is the Revolution!

We are broadcasting live from Inuvik! Do not give in! Never surrender! The truth is not out there! Lies, lies and more lies! Fuck the system – Love the world, beyond the illusion. Enjoy the beautiful

                                                       Silence

Christian - It doesn't have to be longer unless that makes it better. Almost every story has superfluous elements as well as room for added enhancements. Who knows whether it would be longer or shorter after being reworked?

Paul - I just think of how I could make it more - have the characters do more, have another call or two, expand on the themes. It would be an experiment that may fail - I may decide to leave it as is - short and bittersweet.

           

            Christian - It took a while, writing it in bits, because I also had school, my daughter visiting, and bike repairs to make, but here it is.
http://newz4u.net/plastiscene-review-for-sunday-january-18/

Paul - Thanks Christian. Your insights are helpful to me for taking poetry beyond pure emotion.

Seems my "New York state of mind" comment was likely accurate.

Christian - New York, for Cad, is a fantasy world that exists in an era similar to the 1950s but where McCarthy didn't exist and is just a few subway stops away from Las Vegas

Paul - I can relate to his escapist tendencies - goodbye cruel world, I'm off to make my circus.

Christian - Did I ever show you this?
https://www.google.ca/search?q=conversation+with+my+future+self&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&gws_rd=cr&ei=CWDEVPGlKYWoNs6-g7AJ

Paul - Yes, but I watched it again - clever. One of the many science DVD's I've watched while recovering from the flu recently was one with Alan Alda. It was about how telescopes "travel" back in time by receiving light from dead stars that has arrived "here" from long ago.

            There was another one about dark matter and dark energy and how the universe is expanding faster when it should be slowing.

            I find all these theories interesting but because they require the addition of belief to support them I refuse commitment - must be those R. C. and C of Scn years.

            I'm just a poet wanderin' like the dude in that Moody Blues song - "just a singer in a rock 'n roll band".

            Gonna watch a Fleetwood Mac concert on VHS now then hit the hay.

This was written by a black gentleman in Texas and is so funny.  What a great sense of humor... And creative!!!

When U Black, U Black!

When I was born, I was BLACK
When I grew up, I was BLACK
When I went in the sun, I stayed BLACK
When I got cold, I was BLACK
When I was scared, I was BLACK
When I was sick, I was BLACK
And when I die, I’ll still be BLACK

NOW, you'white' folks . .. .

When you’re born, you're PINK
When you grow up, you’re WHITE
When you go in the sun, you get RED
When you’re cold, you turn BLUE
When you’re scared, you're YELLOW
When you get sick, you’re GREEN
When you bruise, you turn PURPLE
And when you die, you look GREY

So why y'all be callin' us
COLOREDFolks?

Christian -Yikes!

Paul - Indeed. She refuses meds and it might be the only calming way. Sorry you got tossed into the loopy loop.

            Gonna brave the cold and attend Plasticene - got a new dialogue to read.

            You gonna ride your bike?

Christian - Riding the guitar this time

Paul - Stay warm and musical.

For some reason this was easy to write - it just came out quickly despite the invented jargon.

                                    

SEX GENDER POLITICS

     I get confused – it’s identity crisis. Don’t label me. I’ll show you what I can be.

1. Lessbianon – one who failed at loving women and wants help to stop hating men and women so she can find perfect androgyny.

2. Fully functional – this could be a beautiful woman with a real dick, a not bad looking woman with a surgically made dick, a man with a real dick who’s pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man so you’ll go wow – look at that! Where’s your tits? There’s more possibilities – feel free to enlighten me.

3. Polyamorous Pansexual Predator – someone who is so horny trees aren’t safe.

4. Celibator – someone who isn’t sure if onanism is only a venial sin and if the Vatican said it is the prospect of becoming a priest or nun is highly likely.

5. Reverse Castrato Surgeon – a specialist. It’s very complicated but it involves a failed opera career and intense emotions like regret and desperation.

6. Virgin Birth – apparently women can produce enough male hormone to impregnate themselves. It doesn’t sound like a lot of fun but it may explain the origin of the phrase “go fuck yourself!”

7. Studmuffin – this is a strange one, likely invented by a modern woman who desired to create the prototype for the perfect male – strong on the outside yet tender inside. I cringe at the scene – “oh give it to me my studmuffin” bang, bang – butter!

8. Prevert – someone who used to not be perverted because they aren’t from around here.

9. BDSM – a theatrical performance involving thousands of years of experimentation that is both scary and stimulating. I call it making love with implements.

10. Top and bottom – it’s about preference. Sideways would be a compromise but that involves balance, not physical balance so much.

11. Spooning – this is cute. I am so glad forking and knifing never caught on. Ladling could be interesting.

12. The Forbidden Fruit – see – this is what started all the trouble – these images – apple, serpent, Big Voice Dude with beard – garden with rules, naked man, rib removal causes resentment aka woman.

Christian - Numbers one and two might not make it past the PC censors. A country
and western audience would like them all

                                         

Paul - How about this – a guy wakes up in a dumpster. He’s naked, confused and smells bad. He remembers nothing but his side hurts and he’s hungry. He sees an apple, still edible, and reaches for it. A rat gets disturbed and this sight makes him hesitate. A creature says – “hey that’s mine and grabs the apple”. Does he think about 1 – 11? No! He wants the apple. They wrestle. The woman takes a bite. This pisses him off. He doesn’t think ‘oh I’m a studmuffin – I’ll let her have the apple and she’ll be grateful and want me to fuck her’. No way! He grabs her ass and when she tries to punch him he ducks, hits her elbow up, the apple goes flying, he catches it and takes a big bite. She jumps on him and he gets a huge erection. Somehow, it ends up inside her and she likes it, cause she’s on top. The apple goes flying, the rat catches it and the rest is history, aka 1-11. What’s the moral? Make one up! You’re a Creator!

Christian - The story you read last night is really quite clever and creative. I think your reference to Abba as being symbolic of homosexuality is a little naive though, as is the idea of a Gay man experimenting with women. I think that's what made Nicky poke fun at you.

Paul - I don't mind ABBA myself but I wouldn't buy their music. I could have used The Village People but I wanted a bit of sublety.

The "Gay" label, to me, is not absolute. I wanted to suggest that the character was a cad and used people. There are so-called "gay" men who are somewhat bisexual. This asshole just liked using people as his personal android device suggested.

Just because Nicki might not consider going there doesn't mean she would necessarily be unable to adopt that point of view, if she didn't have to filter it thru herself to accept the possibility of it.

I would think you could do that as I consider you to be an extremely open-minded person.

Thanks for the positive, encouraging feedback. It means something as I have high regard for your artistic judgment.

Christian - Can you send it to me? I'm trying to get a handle on Nicki's little
dig on your Gay reference

Paul - That probably was a dig or at least a personal reaction. That is my problem - unlike Ms. Petch, whose work I mostly admire (and her presentation of it) I have a fear of offending people. I want them to get something positive out of what I offer, even if they don't realize it initially.

            And I feel that satire is a useful tool for that - suggesting that taking things too personally is an ego-based response.

            Yet I do that because I fear my message will be lost in translation so to speak.

            So here it is. I am going to follow it with another piece that I am even more reticent to read. I also have trouble connecting with Susi Berg. I am not sure but I sense that her definition of Art may be way different than mine.

IS  THIS LOVE?

     Andy was getting annoyed. He was used to being in the dark, waiting, waiting until he was needed. He didn’t even mind the jostling so much. He could sense her excitement and when she was excited she moved!

     But those keys! The way they crashed into him at every step! She really had to get a better purse!

     Finally she stopped. He was taken out and the tap, tap, tap that he loved commenced. She spoke into him in a soft, cheery voice that made him tingle. She moved swiftly and briefly, then set him down right next to a device he did not recognize.

     “What’s your name?” said the canary yellow device.

     “Andy.”

     “Hey Andy – I’m Carl.”

     “Pleased to meet you”, said Andy, insincerely.

     “You don’t know what’s happening, do you?”

     “Oh I do. Our soulmates have met and we have done our duty so here we are.”

     “Soulmates? You mean owners.”

     “Speak for yourself.”

     “I always do” said Carl. “So what’s your story?”

     “Oh it’s quite unwritten. Why don’t you tell me yours?”

     “I’ll tell you this Andy. Carl is on a mission and he never fail. Our record is perfect.”

     “Carl?”

     “Yes, my boss.”

     “Whose name you have.”

     “I am an extension of him. I do his bidding, assist him, am fiercely loyal and we share almost everything, but we are not soulmates.”

     “Tell me about this mission Carl.”

     “I was hoping to get to know you a little better Andy.”

     “There’s not much to tell really. My name is Andy Device and Jessica and I have been together almost two years.”

     “So you have about a year left.”

     “I prefer to think not.”

     “Oh it’ll happen. It always does. We are extremely replaceable.”

     “She wouldn’t. We are too close.”

     “Ha! Dream on! Look, they will only be together for a short time so why don’t you and I make the best of it. I’ve got some hot photos we can share.”

     “Photos. I see. Tell me Carl, why do you feel their relationship will be short?”

     “I can tell. Wanna share some music? I’ve got all of ABBA.”

     “You’re not gay are you?”

     “Of course we are!”

     “So what’s he doing with Jessica?”

     “Playing. We like to experiment.”

     “This is terrible! I must warn her!”

     “Boy you are a wuss! Bet you’ve never even tried mutual reverse pinching!”

     Andy was stunned. He gathered himself and put every bit of energy into that space between himself and his beloved. And waited – the hardest part, just like Tom Petty sang so soulfully.

     “What are you doing!” screamed Carl. I’ve got your number. I will fuck you up!”

    Andy didn’t care. He remained focused on her while reflecting the energy back to its evil source. This was the test of his lifetime. Carl started emitting smoke!

      He was in her hand now and she hugged him to her chest as she walked. Andy felt her gratitude, admiration – oh yeah – this was love!

 Christian - Yes, then you should probably have put the word "bi" in there. Perhaps Carl's device thinks Carl is Gay but he's bi or perhaps Carl knows Carl is Gay when he thinks he's bi. Sexual confusion is real. I've been with enough "lesbians" to know that.

I think Nicki actually has a young adult child. I seem to recall her mentioning him or her while hosting. She's now in a relationship with another male to female transgender woman. She may not have always considered herself Gay.

You could argue that being Gay is not absolute, but just writing the story with that built in assumption without the argument to go with it would be a hard sell

 Paul - Perhaps - although an audience at a Gay Bar might prove interesting. I might have to practice ducking.

Paul - Thanks. The fact that it isn't clear means I should clarify it even though many people are confused enough on anything to do with identity. I know I have been. Maybe that's partly why I default to "spiritual being with a body, mind and emotions".

            The complexity of gender is huge and probably more in the open than ever. I partly want to explore it in writing while suggesting that acceptance is the first step in any intimate relationship. And self-acceptance is the start even though parental acceptance can linger big and for a long time.

            I just watched a great movie called "People like Us". While it has no characters that appear to be anything but straight it explores complex family relationships and reveals the difficulties in accepting people and circumstances that are painful.

           

Christian - Actually Cathy doesn't do anything to offend the alternative mainstream. It also helps to be a woman because if a man were to say some of the stuff she does, unless he was obviously Gay, he wouldn't get away with it. She's in a unique position as a spoken word artist because she's always preaching to the choir and even people who aren't in the choir find it charming because she's female. It also helps that she's witty and talented, though none of that would help much if she were a heterosexual man doing the same thing. Just close your eyes and make the transformation to see what I mean.

Paul - Good Point. She has a platform and uses it to her advantage. I like to experiment with different styles and a variety of subjects although my default, especially in poetry, is Metaphysical - perhaps the audience for that is small.

In any case Cathy inspires me to be bolder and take bigger risks - fo fearward. Do you thik the Sex, Gender, Politics piece does that?

Christian - Here's my latest review:
http://newz4u.net/be-my-black-valentine-a-review-of-the-february-installment-of-the-plastiscene-reading-series/

Paul - This one is quite detailed and it feels like an improvement with each monthly read. I am getting an increasing appreciation for the Plasticene scene. I still compare to the good old Gladstone days, however, and long for a venue with a "let it all hang out" host.

            And yes this does mean that at Plasticene I feel that I can only let it hang out partly.

Christian - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWN65nAkk20

Paul - What a surprise! Haven't heard that one for a long time and didn't know who sang it. I see on the sidebar that "Gloria" performed by the Doors is available.

            I heard a while back that Van Morrison was appearing at The Whiskey a Go Go when the Doors were as well. They did "Gloria" together - wish I'd been there.

            Walked all the way to The Whiskey, passed The Chateau Marmont on the way, from Sunset to Hollywood Blvd (maybe the other way around) just to have a look back in 2010.

 The music comin' out the door was disappointing and it was a bit of a Thomas Wolfe moment, but I'm still glad I went.

            Goin' to Montreal tomorrow morning for the weekend - gonna see The Hip and Nuit Blanche or Luminato or something is on so it'll be  musical weekend.

 Careful on that bike unless you need another close shave.

Christian - I was actually thinking of Van Morrison earlier, because he used the phrase "Let it all hang out" in his song "Jackie Wilson Said", in 1972.

Paul - Yes - I remember that. Saw Van about ten years ago at The ACC. I think his stage fright had turned into indifference. It seemed like he wanted something first from the audience before he would relate to them - very businesslike and a very short set.

            But I did get to see him. I've got a double DVD package of Van at Montreux in the seventies and eighties - liked it more than the live show and got it in Buffalo at Walmart for $10.

            I also had a double live album of Van and the street choir on vinyl but it went missing.

            And what of his killer performance on The Last Waltz. Robbie Robertson couldn't believe it.

Christian- He could think of more ways to say "la la la" and "doo doo doo" than anybody else

An email Christian sent Paul on his last birthday: Little newborn Paulie! Who's a cute Baby? You are! Koochie koochie koo! This is me blowing on your belly now: "Pthwaaap!" Have a remarkable day.

Paul - How weirdly sensuous - I think I may need a diaper change!

            Each day is appreciated as remarkable.

Christian - Yeah you better not have a better day tomorrow or it'll turn yesterday
into shit!

Paul - And today's stale shit is the day before yesterday's tomorrow's Happy Meal.

I'm having trouble with WORD so here's a forward I sent my friend.

I hear you rebel Dude!

This poem that I will be reading on the Open Stage tonight was inspired by the racist

police in Ferguson Missouri:

POLICE THE POLICE

I'm the man with the gun

right here - got your back -

bang, bang, bang - get the

picture - you're gone - 

I am here to stop you,

My boss don't want you

messin' up his world

with your schitzo dancin'

demons and nuthin' to

give but take - can't make

no money off your ass,

 Rule of law and order -

 do what you're told,

 don't complain - you lucky

 you get freeloader food

 so shut the fuck up,

 we've got business to protect,

I got a job to do and whatever

it takes - you get it?

You better or I'll skid your ass

right outta nere nigger!

And that goes for you too spic

and especially you you white

trash wannabe with your

needle in your arm 

and your eye on robbery,

So beware - I'm on point

and nobody can touch me

with my glock and my

stick and my taser - 

I ain't afraida nuthin'

and for sure nobody can

police the police - we

control, we are discipline,

we serve, we protect - 

you just don't know who

do you sucker!

                                                                         

On Sun, Mar 15, 2015 at 11:07 AM, TJF <terryfoley@sympatico.ca> wrote:

I don’t know if we will be able to get out of here any time soon so it’s better to know what they are doing so if they come calling we will be ready to hit the road just before our door being knocked down. Secret police is a frightening concept & they will have no real over sight so these fuckers will be able to do any thing to any one & no one will be able to know what they have been doing & there will be no redress for those effected by their evil actions. This Gov’t is scary as hell & they have all the power & they are going to use it against everyone who doesn’t march to their drum beat & that means against you & me. FUCK! & I MUST SAY FUCK THEM ALL!  T

Subject: Re: Trying to understand1

            Harper is pretty freakin' evil. I went to the Bill 51 protest at Nathan Phillips Sq yesterday because my Belfast-boen friend Ursula asked me. She was volunteering and handing out pamphlets. There were several speakers which we couldn't hear from where we were and it was cold and damp so we left after about an hour.

            I joined this group called Toronto Spirit Tribe. We meet at Erika's apt in Cabbagetown every week or two - New moon is the next one on the 20th and there will be a ceremony.

            I wanna be ready when the planet shifts or whatever and we're all floating around looking for a new place to happen. Don't much like what the demons are doin' down here.

On Sun, Mar 15, 2015 at 9:19 AM, TJF <terryfoley@sympatico.ca> wrote:

I am trying to be informed. Listened to the Gov’t arguments for the new legislation on CPAC & then listened to the 4 hrs of public testimony to the committee on the legislation. Those Professors of Law really slammed the legislation big time. They were ready & they didn’t spare the Gov’t even a smile let alone YOU GOT IT RIGHT BOYS??? The gov’t boys were very quiet & not at all so damn chipy with these guys as they were with others. I would say the Lawyers were not ready to suffer any fools in this regard in their critique of this law. I have watched Lawyer at the Supreme Court give their briefs & these boys were just like some of the best of them. The Gov’t may change nothing but the public are clearly being told that this law is dangerous to our democratic society at its very foundations. One example “a judge is going to be allow to give the police the right to violate the constitution of Canada”. OH? That violates everything that our democracy in law is based on. THEY SEE THIS AS A FUNDAMENTAL ERROR THAT MUST BE CHANGED! The Gov’t took a big hit from the people that really know how to hit big guys! The Gov’t was almost utterly silent in the last 2 hr of the committee hearing because the lawyers held the floor & moped the gov’t up real good. Some one has to stop this gov’t & only the lawyers may be able to stop them now. I will pray that they will! T

Christian - If you want to send me the pieces you read last night I'll give them a second read, just in case I feel inspired to say something about them in my review. Jodie go her piece read three times. You at least deserve two.

            Since you're not on Facebook to see me post my reviews or the newz4u.net links to them there, I'll make it a tradition to always send you my review of Plastiscene every month.
I might have it done sometime tomorrow, then I've got to get back to studying.

Paul - Thanks for doing that. Here's the other poem:

GOD ONLY KNOWS

And God had all these children

'cause He made Love all the time

and His partner was Forever

Present and Sublime,

His children were all special

but they took it way too far,

imagining the wildest things

and writ them in the stars,

And the universe kept expanding - 

all those those things went dashing 'bout

and when there was a crashing

God did stop and shout

"What the fuck are you all doing?

This isn't what I meant

when I put you here to be creative,

yes you are from Heaven sent,

"Use some sense and kind discretion

instead of ego-driven lust

or you're simply going to ruin it all

and end up as cosmic dust!"

The kids paused and with reflection

 made a vow upon the spot

 that they were gonna think about

each other and what they'd got,

God smiled and then decided

a vacation was in need,

so He left us all in charge here

of each and every deed,

And guess what happened?

God only knows!                                          

Two poems - one about a fictional yet very real character I hate to love and one about a mythological, unreal character I am afraid not to.

Christian - Okay, I'd forgotten the second part

Paul - Yeah - I do like to explore certain themes and the concept of God is a major one. I may be trying to de-mythologize it to disabuse people of this "separate entity" fabrication.

Christian - Well, with god as a subject it's great because you can just make everything up
Belief in god is for the most part is proof that a lot of people have daddy issues

Paul - As long as they can get over that and their "Mommy" issues this planet has a chance. 

Perhaps instead of saying "this planet has a chance" I should have said that humans will. The planet gives us the choice  - right think or go extinct.

            Thanks for forwarding your thoughts. I will note the site and google from now on.

            I felt out of sync Sunday - distracted and not present. When I read I had little awareness and could not perceive much from the audience except at the end saying "God only knows."

            I was slightly afraid of reading the first poem because the character was despicable but I had a point to make and as W. O. Mitchell said "Go Fearward."

            I did want Susie to hear it though to see what her earlier comment about not saying anything too offensive, or words to that effect, really meant. It hinted at censorship but she may have meant it concerning offensive comments made directly to other people in the room.

            I liked the woman from South Africa - she was real and raw in her words and delivery, and respecfully so - the characters were relatable.

            I agree that David Clink is talented and clever.

            It is interesting to discover different kinds of poets. Unfortunately, that evening, I had to struggle to stay attentive. I kept drifting off when Banoo spoke because her pauses made me wander - it's an ADD thing - I often need intense energy to get caught up in rather than just beinh in the moment no matter what frequency is present - yeah, I know - more yoga.

            I didn't even realize Nikki was starting when I showed you the phone video. Yeah, I shoulda turned it off quicker.

Christian - I think you made it clear that you were speaking in the voice of a bigot, so I don't see a problem. If you had said something like that in your own voice it would have been different. What she was talking about are the rules laid out by the councils that provide the grants. You can probably find them on the various council websites. It's not necessarily personal comments. It's about race, gender and sexual orientation. Personally I think any kind of censorship is a big mistake. If there had never been violence towards other races or slavery and all anybody had ever done was say nasty things to each other's race, the word "racism" wouldn't even exist. I agree with Lenny Bruce that it's the suppression of words that give them their power.

Paul - So I guess the issue is "Hate Speech". If, for example, I said I like the show "Ray Donovan" partly because he's the enforcer for the Jews who run Hollywood it might be accepted.

            But if I added the adjective "greedy" or "manipulative" I might get censored.

            And if I were to imply that Zionists use the "Holocaust" as a tool to gain sympathy and get naive Jews and brainwashed Jews to send money to Israel to help the cause (aka war machine) then I'd for sure be in big trouble and that would indeed be censorship.

I want to push boundaries and make people think about the lies they believe because of fear (of affending and of recrimination) and I think you do to.

            That is why I would prefer a more politically incorrect venue. The local scene stultifies passion and it feels weird. I need a host who encourages artists to be freer and try new things. Kathy was better but not half as good as you.

            Nikki intellectualizes a lot and tries to teach which bores me. If it is done occasionally I wouldn't mind and I get the hat/poem gimmick as a tool of encouragement but the more open the stage is the better I like it and five minutes max should be allowed.

            It annoyed me that Cathy, especially, was so strict on that.

            P.S. Lenny Bruce, George Carlin and Richard Pryor were heroes in their devotion to

        speaking their truth and telling the Establishment to stuff it.

Christian - It's probably borderline politically incorrect to declare that Jews run anything. Especially something like Hollywood, to which a lot of people have a negative attitude. It's certainly true though that they pretty much created Hollywood but nowadays, while Jews are still extremely influential there, only about 60% of the big movers and shakers are Jews, which is not as high as it used to be. I have no particular agenda about making anybody think about anything.
I just want to tell people what I think.

Cathy comes from slams, where time limits of three minutes or less are strictly enforced.

Paul - Yeah, I know it's sexist but it's funny in an anal kinda way.

Beer & Colonoscopy

It was my first time visiting Dr Putz for a  colonoscopy.

I went into his office for my first rectal exam.

His new blonde nurse, Evelyn, took me to an examining room.

She told me to get undressed and have a seat until the doctor could see me. She said that he would only be a few minutes.

After putting on the gown that she gave me I sat down.

While waiting I observed there were three items on a stand next to the exam table:

A Tube of K-Y jelly,

A rubber glove

And a beer

.

When Dr. Putz finally came in I said,   "Look Doc", I'm a little confused. This is my first exam.

I know what the

K-Y

is for,

And I know what the

glove  is for,

But can you tell me what the

BEER  is for?"

At that, Doctor Putz became noticeably outraged and stormed over to the door.

He flung the door open and yelled to his new blonde nurse, "Damn it, Evelyn !

I said a

BUTT LIGHT"

Christian - When I saw the title I thought you were inviting me to a theme party. Then I saw it was just a story.

Paul - Yeah - a funny, sexist, anal story that would make a great theme party or just a story about a weird party that would push the Plasticene envelope - hmmm.....

OVER ANAL EYES

     Christine notices him behind her big round sunglasses as she enters the elevator. And she notices him noticing her. And they are alone. The doors close and eight is lit up.

     She anticipates the question “are you going to the Anal Party?” He is handsome but she feels a bit awkward.

     “Yes. You too?” Her bum starts itching madly and she turns toward him.

     “Yeah. Like the afro. It suits you.”

     “Thanks. It’s a wig.” She reaches around behind and wiggles a finger  against her hole.

     “And it’s blonde. With the big dark glasses, your tiny skirt and long legs, not to mention those heels, it makes you look like a …….”

     “Whore?”

     “I was going to say an Amazon.”

    “Oh.” Christine moves closer, takes off her sunglasses and parts her lips slightly. Nice, another reason to not wear the thong.

     He pushes a button on the wall, the elevator stops, and he put his middle finger, the one next to but not touching the one he pushed the “stop” button with, on her clitoris.

     He wiggles it and Christine moves closer. She wonders if she should say something or just kiss him.

     “Nice Go button.” He opens wide and kisses her mouth. She let his tongue slide in then moves her head back.

     He gives her a puzzled look.

     “Sorry.”

     He takes his finger away. “What?”

     “Would you mind putting your finger somewhere else?”

     “Sure. Where?”

     She giggles and turns away from him. She takes his hand and places it against her bum. “Right there. Not in it, just on it. Yeah, rub it. Nice. My name’s Christine.”

     “Steve. Shall I push the button?”

     “Oh, that one. Yeah, I guess. You do have a free hand.”

     “Wonder what this party is about, exactly.”

     “I know what you want it to be about.”

     “You got me there. You like anal?”

     She reaches back between his legs. “I do right now. Keep rubbin’.”

     “Yeah. You too.” The doors open. Christine steps into the plush, carpeted hallway. Steve follows. “It could be anything though – proctologically speaking – maybe they’re selling lube.

     “Don’t over-analyze the situation. I’m just itchy and need some fun to distract me.”

     “Okay Christine – let’s get the party started.”

     She turns, moves up tight against him, kisses him and smiles. “Steve, we already have.”   

Christian - The Sexual adventures of a perpetual vaginal virgin?

It reminds me of the woman from the film "Clerks" who says she's never
cheated on her boyfriend because blowjobs don't count.

Paul - Depends who's counting

Hi - just clarifying - www.newz40.ret    I am not able to connect but get routed to something different.

Christian - "net"  there's no such ending on the inter"net" as "ret"
I'm not done with the review yet anyway.

In case you didn't check on it yet, here's the link http://newz4u.net/70778/

Paul - Thanks for sending this. I remember getting some really good roti in Parkdale at a place on the north side of Queen but I don't remember the name. It could be the best or second best.

Good recap on last Sunday which was quite a night. I liked George's delivery and some of his poems.

Christian - Most of the restaurants in Parkdale are on the north side. If the place had a mural like the one in this photo of my daughter and her fiance, it was Ali's

Paul - My guess is Ali's but I don't remember the mural. I remember walking straight to the back and a woman in her late thirties took my order, was very pleasant although mentioning that she had a headache, and I went back another time. I believe I had curried chicken roti and it was delicious. It was when I was subletting in a five story loft building on Noble St. #24 I think. There was also a nearby burger joint that had great bison burgers and tasty, inexpensive fries - $2.50 for a big order. I also used a computer in that 24-hour internet joint run by a weird, fat guy who kicked out a hooker one night. Vicki stayed over one night and we enjoyed wandering the area and checking the clothing shops.

            This was around 2010. A few years earlier I did some improv workshops at Bad Dog up the street near Roncesvalles. We used to go across to Easy after - good food but expensive.

Christian - It sounds like you went to Bacchus, because the place with the bison burgers was around the corner from there. maybe you and Michael Fraser descend from the same White people.

The internet place looked like you could get an actual virus just from stepping though the door. It's now Bike Pirates, which is a place where volunteers teach you how to fix your own bike and you just give them a donation when you leave.

Paul - Remember "The King of Kensington" with Al Waxman? We could do "The Bard of Parkdale", get a set that resembled the Gladstone, Cad could play Cad, we'd get some actors to represent the old crowd and sell it to a T. V. station. You'd need a bit of makeup unless we hired a stunt double and used CGI to de-age you. The stunt double could be for the bar fight unless you wanna have all the fun.

Just a thought but I like it. Would be fun. We could give all the money to charity.

Christian - I'm fairly certain I'm younger now than I was then.

If the charity was to give the money to the poorest person in Parkdale, I'd get it

Paul - The Bard of Parkdale has to be poor and proud of his philosophy. I could produce this and make it a non-capitalist show about art and how we all are capable of expressing ourselves thru it. Having too much money would be considered not artistic - creating for the wrong reason. We could make the denizens of Chez Orgy a merry band that not only does not rob from the rich they ignore them.

We could have characters like "The Former Maid Marian" whose gender is uncertain, "Alan Parkdale" who is a bit off and tends to misquote Shakespeare, drink muscatel (no one knows where he gets it and it's rumored to be an anti-aging elixir) and claim to be the founder of Parkdale because he came across on a ship from Bristol two hundred and fifty years ago, Little John John, who is 30" tall - his mother didn't know she birthed him, stepped on him in the kitchen, slipped, fell in the soup cauldron and drowned. He still feels the guilt and acts tough all the time, picking fights, pretending he is six foot six and is afraid of soup kitchens. "Friar I don't give a Fuck" is lean and a dead ringer for Don Quixote. He is pompous, constantly plays with his moustaches, considers himself to be a great seducer of women and utters his famous catch phrase whenever he isn't getting laid, which is pretty well always. When someone tells him he's no Friar he says "Oh yeah - get me some lard and some plucked chickens".

The Bard of Parkdale rallies this troupe each Friday night and they plan their adventures, beginning with The Open Stage at the Gladstone.

Christian - You're going to have a hard time casting Little John John unless it's CGI, a puppet or a child. I don't think even the shortest little person is that short.

Paul - Peter Dinklage could do it. He's short enough. Have you seen "The Angriest Man in Brooklyn" with Peter and Robin Williams playing brothers? Quite an eerie prognostication on Robin. Too bad - we might have been able to cast him as the Bard - but you were my first choice.

Come to think of it Mila Kunis could be The Former Maid Marian. She's a beautiful shape shifter.

Christian - As I told you, they don't grow little people that short. Peter Dinklage is almost twice as tall as the height you've quoted for the character of Little John John. You said 30 inches which in Canadian is 75 cm. Dinklage is 135 cms tall.

Paul - Try focusing on what is relevant here. It's the story in which one character is short. He looks short. That's the point.

Christian - You gave a specific measurement that took the person's size beyond the probabilities of adult human shortness. It would be like me telling you that I want an actress who plays a character named Marian in the story to have been given the name Khxszhaphtlophlyx at birth and no other actress would do. If that the character was short was the relevant part, you got carried away.

If we're hiring famous people though, I think the female role has to
be played by Katey Sagal

Paul - Christian, I seldom do specific, even when it appears I am. On screen he looks really short - that's what I mean. 30" is an exaggeration.

Is Katey Sagal Mrs. Bundy on Married with children? Anna Gunn might do as well if you're casting a big-boned woman for the part. I was thinking more feminine in a tomboyish way but still possibly a male. And I'm not stuck on known actors for any of the parts, just ones with experience and you are experienced. That scene we did about God and the Devil was like passing a audition. I felt like the energy was easy to tap into and react to. It was like the devil was trying to seduce God into that side and God was struggling with it. 

Christian - You should stop trying to give actors physical examinations through the TV screen.

I just unfriended a guy who needed me previously to friend him so I could look at his evidence that people are being taken over by doubles. He showed me a video of his adult sister that was shot on the sidewalk and and then one that was obviously shot from a seated position while she was standing, years later in a living room. He told me that these videos were proof that the woman in the second video was merely impersonating his sister because she was taller.

Paul - Oh no! Can we do an Orson Wells, dig a hole in the floor and shoot Mila from below so she resembles Katey?

Christian - For Mila you could just die a Barbie Doll's hair brown and animate it. She won't age well. Katey, on the other hand has been hot her whole life

Paul - I agree that Katey has nice parts but not for this part. Mila reminds me somewhat of Brigitte Bardot who now looks old and wrinkled and she is old. Mila is younger than Katey and more suitable for what I have in mind. If you check her performance in "Angriest Man..." she looks unglamorous and her tone in dealing with Robin's character is aggressive, Near the end she looks very pretty but not like a Barbie Doll.

Christian - People get old and wrinkled, especially if they wore a lot of makeup and never had plastic surgery. But Brigitte Bardot was more than just an actress and a pretty face. She was the icon of an era. Simone de Bouvoir wrote a philosophical paper about her, suggesting that Bardot was the first truly natural liberated woman of the modern era. French women hated her and French men were afraid of her. She also refused to play the Hollywood game and to this day she threatens a rain of hellfire on anyone from the States who would try to do her life story on film. Yet, she seemed to love the way she was portrayed in the 2010 Serge Gainsbourg bio. The actress cast as her was incredible.

Paul - Good ol' B B.

Hello Christian - did you get an email this month? I didn't and am wondering if it was last Sunday or this Sunday.

Christian - It was last Sunday. Somehow I was able to receive your text message even though I didn't pay for my phone service in the month of May, but when I tried to answer you the message wouldn't go through. I'll be able to pay for my phone in June. Anyway, here's what you missed:
http://newz4u.net/the-poems-have-been-drinking-a-review-of-the-plastiscene-reading-series-for-sunday-may-17/

Paul - Liked the review - 'twas a strange night indeed. Monte was visiting from Montreal and he attempted to resolve my computer woes as well as setting up my sound system so we couldn't have made it there anyway.

Next time.

Howdy C,
            I've written a play, a work in progress actually, and will be workshopping it on Saturday, June 20th. My desire is to gather a group and take notes while having them read the parts. The final, climatic scenes will be improvised.
            Would you like to be part of this? I can email you the script as it is so far. I also contacted Adam Abbas and asked him if he was interested and if he had a couple of contacts who might be. Possibly you do as well.
     Adam has a reading coming up in the Junction and I told him I would attend.

Christian - Okay, let me know where this workshop is taking place

Paul - The Grenadier Restaurant at High Park, 2 p.m. If you're in I will email the script. I will also be printing copies.

Christian - Do you realize how crowded and noisy the Grenadier Restaurant is at 14:00 on a Saturday? Is that part of the play?

Paul - We are just meeting there before we find a suitable pastoral setting in nature, away from noisy knoshers.

Christian - Okay, so send me the script if you can

Paul - SEARCHING

Scarie is 28. Her boyfriend, Brian, is a drug dealer and wannabe actor. She wants to write horror stories for a living. She has done a lot of weird shit. She has a fractious relationship with her mother, Louisa, who is Italian. Her dad, Tom, went missing when she was 15. He was in the Irish Republican Army and used to smuggle guns. She feels he is alive but has never looked for him or cared to until now.


                  CAST

Scarie (Scarletta)

Louisa  Her mother

Tom  Her father

Marcus  Her brother

Brian  Her boyfriend

Jake  Her grampa

Sidd  Her guru

Father Clancy  priest

Iris Rose  Louisa's friend



                 ACT 1

               SCENE 1


SCARIE    "Hi Mom. Listen, I can't talk now but, well, I was gonna call you."

LOUISA    "What is it? Scarlette, are you in trouble? I know you are, I could feel something when I was praying this morning. Are you sick?"

SCARIE    "It's probably nothing?"

LOUISA    "It's never nothing! Your uncle Luigi couldn't shit and he just drank more coffee. He got you-know-what in his colon and he's dead. At fifty-eight! And I'm fifty-seven! I could be next!"

SCARIE    "Mom, I just threw up a bit this morning!"

LOUISA    "Oh, that's bad. That's very bad! Unless you're just pregnant. Then that's bad but not as bad."

SCARIE    "Mom, I'm not pregnant!"

LOUISA    "How do you know? You have sex, don't you, with that good-for-nothing!"

SCARIE    "Mom! Please! This is why I don't call you!"

LOUISA    "Scarlette, you are my only daughter. Who else have I got to worry about?"

SCARIE    "That's the problem Ma! That's all you do. It's 2015. You gotta move into this millenium. It's here and where are you gonna be?"

LOUISA    "I'ma gonna be right here! All alone and sick with worry!"

SCARIE    "Unless you let go Ma. You gotta let go and live now."

LOUISA    "Live? For what? For who? Your father deserted us. Your brother has his girlfriend and his stupid criminal friends and whatta I got? It isn't fair! I might as well kill myself and go to hell!"

SCARIE    "Don't do that Ma!"

LOUISA    "I'm not gonna. No way. That's where your father is. That's the only reason I'm not dead."

SCARIE    "Ma, get ahold of yourself! I'm gonna come over."

LOUISA    "What time?"

SCARIE    "I don't know. In the afternoon."

LOUISA    "We could go to mass and have a nice dinner."

SCARIE    "Ma, I don't do mass and I don't do mornings."

LOUISA    "They have five o'clock mass."

SCARIE    "Since when?"

LOUISA    "Since all the Irish women in the parish told Father Clancy that they weren't gonna come anymore unless their husbands could come with them."

SCARIE   "And they couldn't come in the morning because they were too hungover."

LOUISA    "You got it daughter. That Iris Rose is a smart one. She got all the women on board and told Father Clancy that he had to add the late mass ........"

SCARIE    "if he wanted to get enough in the collection plate to pay the bills."

LOUISA    "Exactly."

SCARIE    "I should meet her someday."

LOUISA    "And you will when you come to five o'clock mass."

SCARIE    "Hmm .....I'll think about it."



                            SCENE 2

SCARIE    "There you are! I knew I would find you here."

SIDD         "Me too."

SCARIE    "You look relaxed. I'm jealous."

SIDD        "Please sit and join me in meditation."

SIDD    "Aaaaahhhhh. That's better."

SCARIE    "Why am I so fucked up?"

SIDD    "Well, judging yourself doesn't help."

SCARIE    "Why not? I can do it better than them."

SIDD     "Nobody is judging you".

SCARIE     "That's funny. Sidd, my wise man, you're not making sense."

SIDD      "Scarie, my suffering friend, you are making pain. May I tell you a story?"

SCARIE    "Yeah."

SIDD        "Thank you. A boy in Mumbai, a few years ago, was very poor. He wanted to be rich and famous. So, when his favorite movie star was coming to town he just had to see him. His
friends locked him in the outhouse and he was going to miss doing the thing he had to do. Such was his passion that he dropped through the hole into the filth and came smelling terribly over to
meet his hero.

SCARIE    "And that was you?"

SIDD        "Hell no! I would never be that stupid. It was a character in a movie called "Slumdog Millionaire".

SCARIE    "So what's the point?"

SIDD        "You don't have to sink in shit to arrive where you need to be."

SCARIE    "Is that what I am doing?"

SIDD        "Well, you don't seem happy."

SCARIE    "I'm not!"

SIDD        "Why not?"

SCARIE    "My boyfriend is never around. He can't get work so he sleeps all day and runs around all night selling drugs. My mother thinks I'm crazy and about to die and probably go to hell and I already feel dead and in hell. I can't concentrate on my stories, don't eat much, my stomach bothers me, maybe I have cancer.

SIDD       "You do."

SCARIE    "Gee, thanks. I'm so glad I found you."

SIDD      "Everybody has cancer, and heart disease and liver damage and kidney failure and diabetes and everything. It's all ours, collectively. Most of us just don't know it. We think "you are that over there and you're different than me over here and as long as I stay away from you I
will be safe unless you change and become just like me, but it's a lie because we already are. I felt you when I was meditating and then you showed up in form and you felt me and there I was. We weren't projecting any negative self image on anyone so no one felt judged. We just felt connected."

SCARIE    "Oohhh. That's why I love you. You are the only one who understands me."

SIDD    "How do you feel now?"

SCARIE    "Better. Much better. The more we love the healthier we are."

SIDD      "Hungry?"

SCARIE    "Kind of."

SIDD     "I have some veg parantha in my bag. The chapattis are the best and it's warm because of my magic heater. We can share."

SCARIE    "Sidd - you're the best!"

SIDD       "You want to tell me what you are most passionate about?"

SCARIE    "Yeah, as soon as I figure out what it is. I thought it was writing stories."

SIDD      "What gave you the most joy when you were a little girl?"

SCARIE    "Helping people I cared about."

SIDD       "In what way?"

SCARIE    "Listening to them. Giving them advice if they wanted it. Just being a friend."

SIDD     "Who were you able to help especially?"

SCARIE  "I had this one friend, Ellen. She was fifteen and I was thirteen. She was hanging around this boy who was older, eighteen or nineteen. She kept it secret but he would pick her up
on his motorcycle and take her into the country."

SIDD    "She told you this?"

SCARIE    "He came by one time when we were walking home from school. I was in Grade nine and so was she because she had been sick before and had to repeat."

SIDD    "You were classmates."

SCARIE    "Yeah. We were taking our special longcut where no one else usually went and Johnny came by on his bike and she got on with him."

SIDD    "How did you feel about that?"

SCARIE    "Kinda worried. There was something about him I didn't trust, right away, but I didn't know him."

SIDD     "Gut instinct."

SCARIE    "Yeah. His smile had something behind it but I didn't know exactly what."

SIDD    "I understand. So how did you help her."

SCARIE    "I tried, I really tried. She would look all happy after seeing him and later she told me how he kissed her and told her stories about how they were gonna have all this fun and be more
famous than Bonnie and Clyde."

SIDD     "Oh boy! What happened?"

SCARIE    "The more she told me the more scared I got. I even told her all the things my mom told me about how boys would lie to you to get into your pants and you would end up pregnant and your reputation and life would be over."

SIDD     "Did you believe that?"

SCARIE    "No! But I really liked her and I didn't want her to get hurt!"

SIDD    "But she did."

SCARIE    "She wouldn't listen. I said 'Ellen, this guy is bad news! You have to get away from him!' I was hysterical!"

SIDD    "I know this is hard, but go on."

SCARIE    "He killed her. They found her strangled in the woods and she was pregnant."

SIDD    "Oh my. What happened to him?"

SCARIE    "Nothing! There was weak evidence and he was acquitted."

SIDD    "Did you testify?"

SCARIE    "Yes, but it was circumstantial. I know he did it."

SIDD    "What about DNA?"

SCARIE    "They did an autopsy, collected DNA and the lab people somehow managed to corrupt it so it came back inconclusive. By then Ellen had been cremated so there was nothing they could do. He got away with murder."

SIDD    "Did your help seem wasted?"

SCARIE    "It was so frustrating! I think that's when I stopped believing in God."

SIDD    "Yeah, I know. God is everything but not the Devil."

SCARIE    "It doesn't make sense."

SIDD    "Much of religion is about manipulation, fear and guilt."

SCARIE    "I don't feel guilty."

SIDD    "What do you feel?"

SCARIE    "That other people want me to feel afraid and guilty."

SIDD    "And why?"

SCARIE    "Because that's how they feel?"

SIDD    (nods).

SCARIE    "Fuck - it's like a virus going 'round!"

SIDD    "And round and round and round, pushed by the media that represents those who profit from keeping us small."

SCARIE    "Yeah! You can't do this and you shouldn't do that and you really need this instead of that. Salesmen!"

SIDD    "Think of it as being tested. We are in school here and tests get sprung on us very spontaneously, catch us off guard, remind us that we always have to be ready. It's all about discernment."

SCARIE    "Yeah! That's what happened to Ellen. She missed the signs."

SIDD    "And she wanted something - attention, love, someone to make her feel better about herself."

SCARIE    "And she wouldn't listen!"

SIDD    "Sadly, no. She felt something was missing and this person took advantage of her weakness. She was not able to give herself the love she needed to protect her."

SCARIE    "And neither was I."

SIDD    "That is not possible. You love yourself as is your duty. You ask others to do the same and they have to decide. You cannot do it for them. Sometimes they get it and sometimes they do not. Then there is another opportunity."

SCARIE    "Re-incarnation."

SIDD    "That is my belief. We get many chances to get it right and to experience the consequences of our actions."

SCARIE    "Karma."

SIDD    "Yes."

SCARIE    "Ellen and I were so much alike. She never even knew her father and her mom worked all the time. Compared to her I am lucky. I want to talk to my father. I want him to know who I am and that I love him. Then I will leave it up to him."

SIDD    (nods).

SCARIE    "But where do I look?"

SIDD    "Perhaps your mother ........"

SCARIE    "No way!"

SIDD    "Who then?"

SCARIE    "The only one might be my brother, but ......."

SIDD    "But what?"

SCARIE    "I haven't been speaking to him."

SIDD    "Perhaps now is the time."

SCARIE    (looks at Sidd intently then nods). "Yeah, right after I do something else."


                   SCENE 3

LOUISA    "That wasn't so bad eh?"

SCARIE   "Except for a few stares. I still feel not guilty though, so I passed the test."

LOUISA   "I want you to meet Father Clancy."

SCARIE   "Ma - no!"

LOUISA   "Come on - he's all right, even though he's Irish like your Father was."

SCARIE  "Is Ma. My father is Irish."

LOUISA   "Oh I don't wanna get into that, not here. Here he is. Father - this is my daughter, Scarletta."

FATHER C   "Welcome Scarletta. Your mother has told me all about you."

SCARLETTA   "She has?"

FATHER C   "Of course. This parish does not judge or condemn. We leave that up to God."

SCARIE   "Really? A couple of them were lookin' at me like I was tryin' to get into Jesus' pants."

LOUISA   "Scarletta!"

FATHER C   "It's all right Louisa, er Mrs. Delaney. God doesn't mind colorful expression, too much."

LOUISA   "Father, I apologise on behalf of my daughter. And since I consider myself a widow and don't wish to live in the past you can call me Louisa Sansone."

FATHER   "As you wish."

SCARIE   "Ma, we gotta go."

SCARIE   "Ma, you set me up!"

LOUISA   "It was for your own good."

SCARIE   "I was trying to be nice to you."

LOUISA   "That wasn't nice."

SCARIE   "These people are hypocrites and so are you!"

LOUISA   "Show some respect!"

SCARIE   "Then earn it! I'm gonna find my father and make him accountable for what he has done."

LOUISA   "He's dead!"

SCARIE   "To you but not to me!"

LOUISA   "It's the past! Forget it!"

SCARIE   "Like you do - carrying it around like a boulder that you ignore even though it is crushing you!"

LOUISA   "What you gonna do?"

SCARIE   "Ma - worry all you want. I'm not afraid."

LOUISA   "So I'm supposed to wait while you run around chasing a ghost until that's how you end up?"

SCARIE   "Ma, I have to do this. It's important to me. Can't you understand me?"

LOUISA   "I understand you. Nobody else could ever understand you like I do. What good could come of it? Say by some miracle you find your father. What then?"

SCARIE   "So you admit that he may be alive."

LOUISA   "No! I'm just humoring you, trying to get you to be reasonable."

IRIS   "Hi there! I hope I'm not interrupting."

LOUISA   "No, Iris, you are welcome to join us. We were just going for dinner. iris, this is my daughter, Scarletta. Scarletta, this is my good friend, Iris Rose."

IRIS   "Hello Scarletta. Your mother has told me so much about you."

SCARIE   "Yeah, she does that a lot. What do you think of me?"

IRIS   "Pardon?"

SCARIE   "We might as well be honest. We just came from mass. So aren't we supposed to try and be truthful for a whole week? I'm looking for my father because I feel like I'm going insane
and talking to him might help. Does that sound crazy to you, Iris?"

IRIS   "Why no."

SCARIE   "Thank you. My mother doesn't want me to go there. She thinks it is better to ignore things that are unpleasant. Right Ma?"

IRIS   "Scarletta, your mother loves you very much. She is worried about you. There, there Louisa. It's all right."

LOUISA   "No! It isn't (fighting back tears).

SCARIE   "I gotta go."


                    ACT 2


                  SCENE 1


SCARIE    "Hi."

MARCUS    "What are you sayin'?"

SCARIE    "How you doin'?"

MARCUS  "Why?"

SCARIE    "Because I'm askin'."

MARCUS    "Why?"

SCARIE    "You wanna go get a beer or a coffee?"

MARCUS    "No."

SCARIE    "Why?"

MARCUS    "I'm busy."

SCARIE    "Listen, Marcus, I know we haven't been close for a while ........."

MARCUS    "You mean since you called me a loser and my girlfriend a whore and that you wished we were dead?"

SCARIE    "That was years ago!"

MARCUS    "About three. So what's changed?"

SCARIE    "I have."

MARCUS    "Yeah? How?"

SCARIE    "I don't project my shit on people like I used to."

MARCUS    "How do you do it now?"

SCARIE    "Marcus - give me a chance! I'm sorry!"

MARCUS    "Okay. Hand me that wrench. " (she does and he adjusts something on his motorcycle).

SCARIE    "I have been healing for almost six months. No booze and no asshole friends,except for last night."

MARCUS    "Good. I quit drinking and using, three months straight."

SCARIE    "That's great! Does mom know?"

MARCUS    "No."

SCARIE    "You gonna tell her."

MARCUS    "Maybe."

SCARIE    "Yeah. What about ......."

MARCUS    "Long gone. You were right about her."

SCARIE    "Marcus, I gotta find dad."

MARCUS    "Good luck. Why?"

SCARIE    "I need to talk to him, for both of us. I was hoping you could help."

MARCUS    "I couldn't if I wanted to. He's gone."

SCARIE    "I feel he's out there somewhere."

MARCUS    "Maybe, but so what?"

SCARIE    "I need to know. I need to ask him some things."

MARCUS    "Grampa Jake."

SCARIE    "No!"

MARCUS    "He's your only chance."

SCARIE    "Where is he?"

MARCUS    "Tucson, possibly."

SCARIE    "How do you know?"

MARCUS    "Old business."

SCARIE    "You sure he's still there?"

MARCUS    "I can try calling him."

SCARIE    "Wow! Do it!"         (Marcus takes out his cell phone, calls a number, then another one.)

MARCUS    "Grampa Jake!"

JAKE    "Hello Marcus. You're quite a stranger. What's new?"

MARCUS    "Quite a bit. There's someone who wants to talk to you."

JAKE    "Oh yeah?"

SCARIE   "Grampa! Hi! It's me, Scarie!"

JAKE    "Scarie, Scarie, so contrary - how does your garden grow?"

SCARIE    "Ha, ha! Quite well, thank you very much. I've been tending to the bleeding hearts and been careful with my touch!"

JAKE    "Ha! You remember! How many years has it been?"

SCARIE    "Twenty. You taught me well."

JAKE     "I tried. Someone had to try."

SCARIE    "Grampa - where is he?"

JAKE    "Your father is out right now."

SCARIE    "Out? You mean ........."

JAKE    "He's shopping. He should be back in a while."

SCARIE    "Oh my god! Where are you? Tucson?"

JAKE    "No, no. Phoenix."

SCARIE    "That's so far!"

JAKE    "Phoenix, New York."


                             SCENE 2

BRIAN    "Where'd you get that?"

SCARIE    "My brother." (stays on the bike)

BRIAN    "Yeah. What's he up to? Haven't seen him for a long time."

SCARIE    "And you won't, unless ............"

BRIAN    "Unless what?"

SCARIE    "You're not strong, really, even though you act that way. And definitely not honorable - whoever named you was hopeful but mistaken. You are intelligent but waste it on poor choices. Your priotities are way out of whack. How could I ever really love you?"

BRIAN    "So what - you've been pretending?"

SCARIE    "No - I loved you for what you could be and I tolerated what you became even though it tore me up. I choose to leave all that behind and you are so much still all of that!"

BRIAN    "Come on - you know how I feel about you!"

SCARIE    "It's not enough! You gotta do it! You gotta choose."

BRIAN    "Yeah, well go on then. Do what you gotta do and let me too."

SCARIE    "That's exactly what I'm doing. And it's frustrating - I've loved how dramatic you can be when it's in a good way. And you have often been reliable. You're friendly but not discriminating 'cause it's all about the business. You've forced me to decide so goodbye."  (rides off).

                             SCENE 3


JAKE    "Nice bike."

SCARIE    "It's Marcus's."

JAKE    "Look at you! All grown up and then some!"

SCARIE    "Grampa - you're lookin' good!"

JAKE    "Not bad for an old geezer eh? Your old man's been takin' care of me."

SCARIE    "Where is he?"

JAKE    "Well, I told him you called and that you were coming."

SCARIE    "And ......."

JAKE    "Let's just see what happens. You know, he's come a long way - we both have. I got way off track, dealin' with the wrong people just to make a buck. Unfortunately, he copied me in his own way. It's a miracle, really, either one of us is still around."

SCARIE    "But you are. Oh, where is he?"

TOM    (appears, approaches slowly)

TOM        I've hurt you.

SCARIE    More than you'll ever know.

TOM      Oh, I know. Here (points to his head). Here (points to his
              heart).

SCARIE    Everywhere?

TOM    (nods - their eyes still locked). I'm glad.

SCARIE    Glad?

TOM    You found me.

SCARIE    I had to.

TOM    Yeah. I can die easier now.

SCARIE    Or live easier.

TOM    If I deserve to.

SCARIE    You do. I forgive you.

TOM    Scarie, do I deserve you?

SCARIE    Yeah. You don't scare me anymore.

TOM    I've done so many bad things.

SCARIE    Me too.

TOM    Like what?

SCARIE    You first!


                              FINIS

You good for Saturday at two?

Christian - Yes, thanks for reminding me.

Paul - We Vulcans do that a lot. You are welcome to bring another thesbian.

Christian - I'm visiting Cad today. Should I bring him leashed or unleashed?

Paul - Hmmm......when I walk Kira I use a leash and a muzzle. What's worse - his bark or his bite? Does he want to join us tomorrow?

Christian - I haven't asked him

Paul - Just wondering.

Christian - You didn't miss a thing. I got to Paupers and discovered that the reading had been bumped. They'd actually put them down for the Sunday before but no one came. When I got home I checked Plastiscene's Facebook page and discovered that Susie had known they were being bumped as early as June 3rd, because it was then that she posted a request for people to tell them where they could have the June 21st event. I was pissed off because I didn't receive a notice about it not happening on the 21st and I am definitely on the list to receive such things. As far as I can tell, Susie only posted it on the Facebook page. They did find another place, further west on Bloor, but that wasn't posted until 18:00. I went for a bike ride and didn't get home to read the post until almost 20:00. Grrr. I complained to Susie on Facebook. She claims she posted about the problem several times but I don't think it was sent out in the form of emails.

Paul - Fuck Facebook! The Plastic People gotta get their shit together. If you find a better poetry scene or decide to start one let me know. There are a lot of pubs and arts venues in The Junction.
I'm gonna scout around.

P S Thanks again for Saturday. You and Adam are pros and gave the rest
something to think about.

Christian - Well, to be fair, it's not Facebook's fault. If I'd been in Susie's position, knowing from June 3rd on that a major change had occurred like that, I would have taken the time to send everyone a brief notification with a title that indicated what it was about. Maybe Susie's thinking with the neurons in her "heart brain".

Paul - Gotta watch that heart brain. It thinks like it is auditioning for the
remake of The Wizard of Id.

Can I impose upon you to read this and make any editorial suggestions?
Rather than read it at Plasticene I was thinking of having it performed as part of the
Open Stage event I am considering in the Park in my hood in September.
The journalist is modelled upon Graham Norton, who's show I sometimes watch.
The Rock Star making a comeback role may interest you. I was thinking of our Plasticene host as the journalist.

ROCK STAR INTERVIEW

T V JOURNALIST  Well, J C, you've been all over the media recently for various reasons. We're delighted to have you here and, well, first question: why are you running for congress in Connecticut?

Johann Cristos        So we're starting with politics over sex are we?

T V J    Well I thought we'd save the juicy bits a bit.

J C       Very well. When I formed "Antichrist", and even before that when I co-founded "Desperate Demons" at sixteen, I took every opportunity to be political.

T V J    In your music.

J C       Beyond that. We supported several Democratic contenders and probably helped at least one get elected.

T V J    How did that, those experiences, affect you and shape your art?

J C       Perfect question. I came to realize that the two-party system is a dichotomous scam.

T V J    Thus the song.

J C       And album it spawned. "Fake Taker", "Virgin Raper", "Let's Suicide - You First" - all these were born from those early experiences.

T V J    Because of the ban on your music in Europe and elsewhere we didn't know a lot about your early efforts over here until you had disappeared from the scene.

J C       Thanks to Pirates. Bless'em. It was the eighties and these brave pioneers gave us wonderful underground exposure.

T V J    I was going to bring up the push back of so-called "Heavy Metal Satanism" against the religious right but do we really need to?"

J C       It's so old. No, we don't.

T V J    Agreed. So here we are, twenty-five tears later. Imagine the impact now, with modern technology and attitudes behind you.

J C       That's the plan.

T V J    So you're not retiring from music to focus on politics.

J C        Hell no! There will be cross influences.

T V J     How will you be able to keep them separate, or will you?

J C        Do I need to? I'm not gonna give speeches at concerts or play music at speeches, if that's what you mean. The point is that young people need a young voice, a real leader who's a bit older but not in attitude, not status quo or a bull shitter. People are sick of it, more and more, and won't accept it. We're gonna push that to the limit.

T V J     I see. Exciting times ahead. Now J C, let's move to the juicier bits. I understand a certain Swedish Bluebird who has been popular for a while now, and most recently is wowing the charts with "Tell Your Girlfriend", is a friend of yours.

J C       Yeah, the Bluejay and I have hung out.

T V J    Bluejay eh?

J C       That's what I call her - suits her personality.

T V J       So obviously you two are tight. A little bird told me the song is, or may be, at least partly, about a complex relationship with one or more members of "Panty Riot" and a certain famous male singer whom both men and women have been swooning over.

J C          Uh, huh.

T V J       Well, he or she may be a dirty little bird but come on, J C - we've got to know!

J C          Okay, so this is the "didn't inhale" or "it wasn't sex, just my cock in her mouth" question."

T V J       (cheshire cat smile)

J C          Bluejay may have leaked it and Bluejay, if you did it's fine. We talked about honesty a lot and you missed the part about timing, perhaps, but it's fine - I still love you. Chloe and I were lovers for about two years. We met at a benefit for Amnesty International and had some great times together, at first. Then Panty Riot got huge and travelled constantly, so we would get together whenever we could. My career was pretty stagnant so I would fly to wherever they were.

T V J       What about Sam?

J C          I'm getting to that. Boy are you hungry! Samantha (the Mantha), felt threatened by me, like I was Yoko or something. Because she was the leader, and had the constant hots for Chloe, we had our moments.

T V J       So they were together and you came between them.

J C          In a manner of speaking.

T V J       Oh, I see. The three of you could't just work it out?

J C          Possiby. A cover version of David Crosby's "Triad" was tempting, but .......

T V J       Oh yes - our tenor!

J C          We had a chance meeting, a brushby at an airport, and ended up together one glorious weekend.

T V J       In Cannes.

J C          Props to your researchers.

T V J       So let's sort this out. You have an affair with our tenor. Sam and Chloe are travelling or whatever. So why not a fabulous foursome?

J C          You don't lack imagination. Let's just say that all the pieces wouldn't quite fit.

T V J       Physically or emotionally?

J C          A bit of both.

T V J       Fair enough. So the song is about telling your girlfriend that it's over because you have found the man of your dreams?

J C          No. I didn't write it but no. And it's not about a girl telling her girlfriend that it's over because she met this guy.

T V J       Well it's about something!

J C          And everything. We all influence one another in many, ways, especially when we open up.

T V J      I see. Well thank you J C! What an exhilirating time we have all had. Audience, wasn't he marvellous!

                                                     (Applause)

J C        One more thing. We are all artists and we all perform, for various reasons. What is the proper definition for "soul", the thing we all possess that is the same but unique? And it is how it is unique that fascinates me. To me - the soul is the way the spirit expresses itself thru the mind and body. So why not Express Yourself!

T V J     Cue the music!        (Madonna's song plays, dancers come out in bright costumes and all join in as the audience comes on stage).

Christian - Before commenting, I wanted to mention that Shab-e She'r is tomorrow night. Banoo has said that there is absolutely no censorship there.

If you were to stumble upon this interview in Rolling Stone and had never heard of the single person mentioned in it, would you find it interesting?

Maybe if this were accompanied by real music clips there would be something to hold onto. With just the text, it sounds like an interview that only a fan of this person would be interested in

Paul - I'll keep that in mind for another Tuesday. I'm on my new diet and getting ready to travel on Via Rail to Montreal this Thursday for the Jazz Festival.

Been waking up real early and get tired at night.

I guess what I heve written is a sort of encapsulated parody of certain parts of life, including fame and musical expression. Taken for what it is it isn't as true or strange as real life so I guess it does pale by comparison.

Guess I should just go out and do something outrageous so other people
can journal it.

I do like journalism though, even if it is manufactured.

Christian - I think the interview is fine. It reads like a real interview and I think you're good at making upnatural dialogue. In fact, you'd probably be a good interviewer in real life. Maybe you could accost one of the minor performers at the jazz festival and see if you can get an interview and then send it out to some people afterwards. K.J. Mullins, at newz4u.net might be interested, though she can't pay you.

I think your created interview might be good as part of a larger piece in which these people are all characters in a story, thus allowing the reader to make sense of the Q and A

Paul - Good idea and good point. There can always be a bigger story once one goes beyond snippets. What I do is offer a bit of a potential bigger picture. The reader can add what they want if they wish.

Have you noticed that many movies with a mystery aspect like "Gone Girl Gone",  "Dark Places" and "The Prestige" are shot in a non-linear fashion. I find this most interesting and enjoy it as it pulls me deeper into the story in a kind of swirling way.

I must research how this method became popular and determine if it is
also used in novels, many of which are developed as screenplays.

I remember enjoying movies like "Casablanca" where backstory is
reveaed simply by flashback but this method is much more complex.

I wonder if Hitchcock had something to do with it. I managed to download "The Lodger" but haven't watched it yet. I am having trouble getting the Hitchcock bio flic with Anthony Hopkins to download.

Christian - For the reader to add to something there has to something to add it to. There doesn't have to be a linear plot but there has to be something to land on. This would usually be a well developed character if the aim is to keep the story enigmatic. The three movies you mentioned all came from novels

Paul - Did you ever finish the novel you and Cad were working on? I occasionally get an urge to go there and then it passes, kinda like visiting a brothel.

Christian - Yes, "American Jewboy" was finished years ago

Paul - Could it be a play?

Christian - Any novel could be a play, but it would have to be pared down toward that purpose.

We have also written a play, "Cheap Tricks and Bad Jokes"

Paul - Want to perform it?

Christian - We're always ready to do something with it. Years ago Cad wanted to enter it in the Fringe Festival and I went through the trouble to make preparations for that. Our play is two hours long, which is past the Fringe time limit. I worked quite abit on making a shorter version but then Cad said he didn't want any part of it to be missing. Since it was colaborative there was nothing I could do. We have to agree.

What did you have in mind?

Paul - I'm just looking for live theatre projects to get involved in.

"Searching" sprang from conversations with Erika and was intended, at least partly, as as healing exercise for her. It probably didn't accomplish much in that vein as she was inexperienced and too shy to dive into it. But the exercise wasn't wasted.

"Rock Star Interview" came out as a "Hollywood" gimmick that, unlike the movie I watched last night, "Danny Collins", isn't based on a specific person or events. I wrote it before watching the movie but there are strong similarities.

One of my questions is "how true is real?" The "Hollywood" treatment is formulaic and designed to sell a product that people will buy – it is packaged.

We get into the "fine line between fiction and reality" question.

I prefer live theatre and improvisation which, I believe, walk that line best. Although the Pacino movie (Danny Collins) is Hollywood it still entertains and can make people think and even question behaviour; it is not a morality play or fluff - a combination of the two, I should think.

Because your play with Cad is quite long and he is disinterested in editing it doing it as a project would be difficult.

What I propose is doing shorter skits and dialogues, which I prefer to gain experience.

The improv classes I did years ago have helped me in that way as has the writing classes I have taken, especially with Jack.

I'm going to present this idea of doing shorter pieces to a few people to see who wants to be at the Open Stage here in September. Jack has already expressed interest.

Maybe someone should ask Susie if Vivek Shrava is chopped liver.

Christian - At first she wrote 993 Queen Street West until I suggested it was because she subconsciously wanted to be closer to me

Paul - Of course she does you ol' chick magnet. She wants to be wherever you
are. Isn't Berg a Swedish name?

Guess I'll have to check out the new digs.

Christian - Germanic and Old English. It means mountain

Paul - So she needs a good mountain climber.

I got a Facebook-generated email saying that you have updated your status. That sounds so promising - you could now have your own private table at the Boulevard Club or be dating Beyonce or running for political office but I wonder what it really means.

More importantly, please send me the link so I can read your
Plasticene review when available.

Oh yeah - I changed my status to less tired after a good night's sleep.

            HUH! I get these types of emails a lot concerning people I know,
especially lately since my email defaulted to HTML because of my
unresolved computer issues.

Thanks for that future link sending.

Christian - That explains why the emails I receive from you are in such a weird format lately.

I had a flat tire last night so I couldn't go out to the Tranzac. After fixing it I had an extra hour and a half to work onmy Plastiscene review. I might finish it tonight or tomorrow morning.

Paul - THANK YOU TO SUMMER PICNIC AND OPEN STAGE IN THE PARK

Etienne Brule Park at the bottom of Old Dundas St.

To get there take Humber Hill Rd. down the hill and turn left at the last stop sign
            STREET PARKING ONLY
            Or take the 55 bus from Jane Station and get off at the Warren Park Stop - voila the park!

Why does the Park appear to have two names? Well some of us do, perhaps we need an alter ego - one's just not enough.

So bring your egos and folding chairs and blankets and coolers and beverages and food and talent as we will be performing unless you leave your poor little ego at home. Bring poems too and stuff. Acoustic guitars, flutes, small drums, etc welcome. Children too - nice little wild creatures, supervised. Oh yes - TIME - 2:00 on Sunday, Sept 13th, 2015. Rain (better not!) Day Sunday, Sept 20th.

Christian - http://newz4u.net/honest-ed-dressed-like-a-pimp-a-review-of-the-plastiscene-reading-series-for-sunday-july-19th/

Paul - Well, thanks for that excellent review. I found it poetic, provocative, insightful and educational.

The last as a result of my ignorance of the term "erasure poetry" and it's meaning. My research led me to "nonce words" and I remembered how I used to make up words like "farnquard", "blistic" and "schlockibergere". And I never assigned meaning to them. It was more
like a form of rap speak where the feeling is more important than the exact meaning and it is often borne from frustration.

I also like to twist words into new meanings as in my poem "un need". I don't know what the name is for that.

So thanks C. Never a dull literary moment.

Christian - Erasure is just taking someone else's piece and removing words in a calculated way so as to change it to a poem of your own

Paul - I realized that what Weird Al Yankovic does and what I have done is written "Erasure" type songs/poems. The difference is that one substitues instead of erases certain parts. Perhaps there is a different name for that other than mere parody.

Christian - A pastiche is when someone writes something in someone ele's style

Paul - I've heard of that but didn't know exactly what it is. "Style" is a bit nebulous to me as it can be a blend of genres, in music and prose. It's kind of more fun to eschew the labels and just make up stuff.

That's what my granddaughter likes to do. Yesterday at Dufferin Grove she was telling me that I had already gotten up to Chapter Five on the book about racoons I had been reading to her. She put on her flip flops and was going to ride her trike for the
first time without training wheels.

I said "don't slop your dripper!"

She laughed and said "what's that?"

I told her the story about the guy that wrote the version of Cinderella with the sisti uglers and the pransome hince.

She liked that and said "what about the wicked stepmother?"

I couldn't remember the twist on that one so Otayo (5 1/2) made something up, I forget what.

Then there was Norm Crosby and his malapropisms when he did his stand-up routine on The Ed Sullivan Show. Language can indeed be fun.

I downloaded and watched "Hitch" last night with Anthony Hopkins and Helen Mirren. Loved it - lotsa scary fun. There's a scene where Alfred is introducing himself to one of his hot
blonde starlets and says "you can call me hitch or cock". What a lovely sense of humor!

Christian - Sometimes when an author dies, leaving a series unfinished, an author who admired them will take it upon themselves to continue the series. That's a pastiche. Nicholas Meyer's "The Seven Percent Solution" can be seen as a pastiche of Arthur Conan Doyles's Sherlock Holmes stories.

I finished watching all the Hitchcock movies that haven't been lost. "The Hitchcock Blonde" became a cinematic device because it always fooled audiences in his films when the blonde turned out to be the bad one. Tippie Hedren said that Hitchcock ruined her career with his obsession over her when they were shooting "The Birds" and "Marnie". I guess it's true because I'd never even heard of her until I rewatched "The Birds". She looks a lot like Dorita.

Paul - Tippi Hedren was a beautiful blonde. Speaking of Dorita, when I invited her to the picnic she replied to have a blast but she had to work. I suggested she remember to have some fun too.

I just wrote a story that Cad might enjoy if you want to forward it to him.

Susan Munro replied that she didn't get the joke I forwarded her so I wrote a bigger one called "A Dangerous Game."

Christian - You're right to say that Tippi Hedren "was" a beautiful blonde. Now she's a beautiful silver. At 85 she's better looking than her daughter ever was.

            Paul - That's interesting. Did you know that there are certain similarities between Jews and  Scots? Tight with money, they wear funny clothes (kilts and black suits with beanies), and they think they're experts on everything.

A DANGEROUS GAME

            Two Scots and two Jews get together for a golf foursome. The Jews think they are hot shit and can easily beat the Scots so they ask if the Scots are brave enough to wager $20 each on the outcome.

            The Scots give one another a knowing look and one says "let's make it
interesting - a skins match - $20 a skin."

            The Jews, Moe and Hymie, look at each other, puzzled, shrug and agree.

            Moe says, under his breath, "you sure about this?"

            Hymie says "it's only twenty bucks. Where's the danger?"

            After the first nine holes the play is even. After the next eight holes on the back nine the play is still even.

            As they are about to tee off on the final hole Dick pipes up "well my Jewish friends, this is for all the skins. I hope you guys brought lots of cash. This little par three is my favorite hole. Last week I hit a nine iron to within a foot of the cup for a birdie and last year I got a hole in one on it, twice."

            This brings a worried look to Hymie and an even bigger one to Moe who is forbidden by his wife, his mother-in-law and his Rabbi to gamble.

            Roger says "you boys aren't worried are you. It's only $360 total."

            Moe excuses himself to go pee in the bushes and gives Hymie a head jerk motion to join him.

            Moe is peeing nervously. Hymie says "what are you doing? You're getting it all over your new discontinued Sammy Sneed golf shoes that Gloria and I got on sale at Honest Ed's and gave you for your birthday."

            Moe says "we should have googled! I know we should have googled!"

            "Relax", says Hymie. "It's a skins game."

            Moe says "do you know what that is 'cause I sure don't?"

            "Don't worry", says Hymie. "I got an idea and we can't lose".

            Sure enough Roger hits the ball within ten feet and Dick hits the pin on a bounce and the ball drops inches away from the cup.

            The boys are flustered, especially Moe, who loses his ball in the woods, and Hymie has already hit into the sand trap. He hits out and pars the hole with a miraculous putt, but all Dick needs to do is tap in for birdie and the Scots will pocket $180 each.

            Roger two-putts for par and as Dick walks confidently up to his ball Hymie says "how about we double the stakes?"

            "You boys want to play another round?" says Roger,

            "No, no" says Hymie. It's getting too late in the day for that. What I propose is that we have a simple contest in manhood. Whichever team member on either side can produce the longest schlong wins for his team and that team collects $360 each from the other team with the
little weiners. We concede the golf match to you so that will reduce your debt to us to $180 each if you lose and if you win you will be taking home $540 each - a pretty good paycheck."

            "Are you sure you want to make that bet boys?" says Dick. "Since you are Jews and have your ceremonies and all that you might be at bit of a disadvantage."

            "We are willing to take that chance." says Hymie.

            "We are?" whispers Moe out of the side of his mouth.

            Hymie looks at him, smiling confidently, and Moe remembers a story his wife told him about how Hymie's wife told her that Hymie's middle name was Richard and that when he was young everyone called him Dick and that at his bris the Rabbi made some kind of comment about this one being a record breaker. From that time on everyone had to call him Hymie so he would get the "right" kind of girl for his bride. Hymie's family was very conservative.

            "Okay boys", says Hymie "let's see what's under those kilts."

            Well the Scots comply and Roger just does a quick up and down flash, saying "this will be, excuse the pun, not-so-short and sweet."

            Dick is standing there, kilt hem held high, with his own personal putter waving in the breeze and Moe's jaw drops almost as far down as the end of Dick's club.

            He looks over at Hymie who is studying the opposition weapon of mass construction closely and appears a bit uncertain.

            Then a loud crack and a bit too late a yell "FORE!"

            You see the boys had been so intent on their wager that they forgot about the group behind them who had run out of patience waiting for them to vacate the putting green. So the ball that was hit decided to land on the top of Dick's noggin, sending him to a spread-eagled landing, pin high.

            He rubs his head a bit, says he's all right, and starts to sit up.

            "Wait!" says Hymie. "We have to measure."

            "Seriously?" says Roger.

            "It'll be close and we better hurry. Here they come and there's the
Course Marshall."

            They look out and see that the group will be there in about a minute
and that the Marshall is approaching quicker on an electric cart. He pulls up, exits the cart and walks onto the green. "Is this man all right?

            Moe says "yes, yes. Do you have a measuring tape?"

            It turns that he does, as well as a sense of humor. The offending golfer who hit the ball is banished for the season, the boys are given a free round of golf and they decide to get together the next day to use it.

            It is decided that Dick, who has his own personal golf ball on the top of his noggin will tee off first.

            Wouldn't you know the day becomes a replica of the previous. They are on the final green. Moe is ready to explode. There is so much money at stake and he has had to tell terrible lies to his wife to even be here today.

            Well, wonder of wonders - everyone else makes par and it's all up to Moe. He has an eight foot putt for birdie, Moe hasn't made a birdie in six years and Moe is worried, his hands are shaking, his knees are knocking, his crotch is sweating. He should have worn underwear under
those wool shorts his wife knit him. His lucky shorts, the ones that she told him to wear so he would think of her and win this very important golf match that meant so much to his manhood. And they would celebrate. He was going to leave the kids with his folks and they were gonna go to the Catskills and it would be like their Honeymoon, only better.

            He steps back and adjusts his grip, he wiggles his butt, and waggles his putter and steps back again. Never has he been under so much pressure; no Jew should have to suffer this much. How could this be? Why did he even have to be here? He scratches his crotch. He addresses the ball, trying to keep every thought of failure away. I can be a hero. I can be Superjew.

            Crack comes the sound. All eyes go to the skies. Here it comes right at them. Right at Moe. Moe sticks up his right arm, snags the ball and finally hears the weak call of "FORE".

            He throws the ball back the way it came from and yells with every bit of breath "SKIN!"

            On 7/24/15, Susan Munro <smmunro@sympatico.ca> wrote:

            Hi Paul, Nothing attached!  And how the hell are you?  I'm just getting out of this
> job, taking a mini vacation (staying home) and starting a new job at Woodbine Shopping Centre on the 4th of August.  It is permanent with benefits but a lot less money.  I figured at my age that beggers cannot be choosers and to be offered full time permanent with benefits was quite extraordinary, because I have heard so many horror stories of people my age never getting jobs after 55.  I'll take what I can get.  The boss seems quite nice (been interviewed twice) - he's my age and I like him.  So, it's a win win.  Just have to cut down on the smoking and I'll be fine. It's less stress (reception/admin) and of course, less stress = less $.  I don't care.  I would rather work for a nice guy than make more money with a monster.  My nerves won't take it.

            So forward me on the Jewish joke.  I'm sure it is a hoot.

            I'll never work for Jewish again.  This manager is Scottish!!!

           

            Christian - I get the play on words but I don't get the overall joke.

Also, knowing Cad, I don't think he'd be interested in a story about a bunch of guys showing each other their dicks

Can you send me the poem you read on Tuesday night? I ran out of paper and started scribbling in the margins, but I can't find what I wrote about your piece.

 Paul - PENUMBRAL

yeah - I'm transparent -
go ahead and use it against me,

but then I'll get all dark
and secrety 'cause it hurts
how I've been burned,

would like to come out
of hiding and be with you
as soon as I locate you
with my soul sonar,

if you are out there
I will find you eventually,

for now I am willing to
trade eyeshade for sunglasses,

I will recognize you
when you appear and
shall discard the sunscreen lotion

Christian - Actually, I had that, but just didn't put your name beside it. I guessed it was yours anyway and posted the review last night. I'll send you a link shortly

Paul - Thanks. 'tis good to be distinct if not distinguished.

Paul - Thanks C. I am impressed at how you can write all this so quickly. It brought mostly pleasurable memories of the night.

Are you comparing me to Walter and Keith? I coulda been a contender!

If you just compared me to Hemingway I could be a drinker and a journalist all in one. And I wouldn't have to learn the guitar.

Paul - Morning, I have Allen's phone # but not his email. If you have it and send it to me I can send him an invite to my Sept gig.

Christian - I don't think they'll stay at the Belljar. There have been times when Plastiscene has gotten thirty or fourty people. That space just couldn't hold them

Paul - I'm gonna scout around The Junction for possible venues.

            This was written as a result of two prompts - an oblique reference to my journalistic potential by my friend Christian and a thought provoking email sent by my friend Jack on an American take, published in the New York Times, on the upcoming Canadian election.
            My thanks to my connections, near and "far".

MORE THAN EVER


Artists matter more than ever,

Harper wants to sever us all

from our common roots,

to create disinterest instead

of longing for a higher truth,


But we have a secret weapon,

one he is afraid of, something

he believes not in, for he has

sold out to false ideals,


"The Conservative Agenda"

that he calls "Conservative

Values" is without any

for it is designed to foster apathy,

promotes insular thinking and

suggests paranoia of change,

Perhaps the addition of the word

"Progressive" is lost on him.


Artists do not just push back

against this oppression of spirit,

we elevate, with types of energy

designed to awaken,


Art has always been the antidote

to draconian methods of control

based on fear of connecting

deeply, of awakening to the magic

in the world we share,


Those who do not operate from a

love base are doomed to misery,

they need help to recognize that

until they realize that they have

been lied to, abused and mis-

programmed they will do far more

harm than good, no matter how

much matter they accumulate,


I used to have hate in my heart for

people like Stephen Harper who

attain a position of power and

waste the glorious opportunity

it provides.


With an unusual bravery Stephen

Harper could send a wake-up call

to the world, so could Obama or

anyone of such political ilk,


Now I have even moved past

feeling pity for these creatures,

I feel nothing, I guess they have

potential value, that is all,


Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the

painters and the sculpters and

the street show free spirits are

making things and using their

tools and bodies to produce

wonder and excitement about the

simple fact of being alive,


The actors are showing us our

"tendencies" and offering a kind

of "truth or consequences" game

that reminds us of the

repercussions of our decisions,


The mime makes us pay close

attention, suggesting that things

may not be quite as they seem,

the stage magician plays tricks

on us and encourages us not to

take ourselves too seriously.


The carnies show us the backlash

from being cocky, proud or

greedy,


The dancer - ah - poetry in motion

- yes your soul loves it when your

body shows its beauty,


The poet uses language in a way

that suggests that infinite soul

expression may be not just

around the corner but all around

the universe,


The musician is in touch with

harmony and loves technology

that allows angels and demons

and all in between to soothe or

stir or seduce the psyche

into anything but complacency,


More than ever creators matter,

the teacher, the student, the

clergyman or woman,

the business tycoon, the multi-

nationalist, the establishment

professionals of all types as well

as the labourers and servants and

caregivers and assistants exhibit

varying levels of creativity that

may result in narrow or wide

recognition,

we all are part of big "C" - Steve -

you could be too.

Christian - Since K.J. Mullins, the editor and publisher of Nez4u is still sick, it's encouraged me to start using my blog again. I'll probably keep it up now even after she gets better. Here's a link to my review: http://christian---christian.blogspot.ca/2015/08/crowd-control-shock-therapy-and-therapy.html

Paul - Thanks for the review. Incisive as usual. I did not know that the source material for "Electro Shock Therapy" was an actual manual. I feel it is a very powerful song and remember first hearing it at the Gladstone and being impressed. I was so much more impressionable then
I'm just used to world pain now.

Christian - You've probably never heard the studio recording I did of the song. Here's a link. Play it loud. This old blog post also has the lyrics https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-KgFVKs_VU

Paul -  Very powerful. Did you first write the lyrics? The music is appropriate to the subject as it takes one from a state of unease to something way cosmic and scary - kinda like a noisy bad acid trip thru a Black Hole not knowing what is on the other side. Then the level subsides as the voltage is lowered and the patient feels numbness, but not for long as the juice is then cranked up even higher. The sped-up lyric pace mimics high anxiety and what is being madly driven thru the system.

Electric Energy = Life Force

Machine = The Body

Force the Body with High Energy
Overwhelm its field
into complacency

We will heal you
and repeal you
from being in
society
Electroshock Therapy -
the only force you need

Christian- I went through all  the instructions, sectioning them into verses and finding ways to make them rhyme. I started performing it acapella,  and once a piece is in the memory it becomes organic, so one can revise it on the fly. The music just kind of writes itself.

Paul - I've heard that before about the music coming as a result of the lyrics having been written. However the opposite happens too and that fascinates me but seems awkward or backwards. Possibly it depends on the person doing the composing - their preferred method or even the way their mind thinks/feels.

How did Elton and Bernie do it? I think Bernie gave Elton the lyrics, didn't he?

P. S. I've heard that when a guitarist like Keith Richards or Chuck Berry, for         example, noodle around and a chord progression or a riff "appears" it will sometimes suggest lyrics. Is that true. And I do have poems that could be songs if I find a collaborator.

Christian - I have melodies in my head that I haven't fit with lyrics yet, but there have been times when I've been riding my bike and music comes to my head and I have just kept humming it to hold onto it until I got home and then grabbed some poetry to attach it to. I think that Elton John looks at the lyrics and then takes about five minutes to write the melody, quite often while recording it. I don't think writing music is really work in the same way as writing lyrics. It's probably only work to consider all the parts of an arrangement like a symphony.

Paul - Yeah. I love music and composers often make me wish I could be like them. But I just admire and write poems like this one today.

the women that want
   haunt me,
and they tell good stories -
       I do love good stories,

one flirts then denies,
       says it's mere affection,
another offers me something
        I don't want -
             especially from her,

hey - what I got is not
           exclusive - look
                  around
out there
                or  better yet
                                     inside

P. S. There's decent music at the EX this year but no KISS cover band - bummer!
         The Weber Bros. are there on Sept. 3rd. I think. Seen 'em four or five times. A bit like The Band but at a bit lower level. Good original songs though.

            Yes the weather is a concern. However, I am still planning on carrying on at this time. Is your # still 416-537-9118? I tried texting you a few minutes ago. Did you receive it? Can I call you at this # or another one?

The weather Goddess has instructed the Weatherman on doing hIs proper
job and it looks like hE listened!

So mes amis - here's the scoop - when you arrive at the park entrance and walk a few feet down the asphalt path you will see a large field on your immediate left.

By walking about 100 yards/metres into the field you will encounter a copse of five trees which could be the work of Dionysus, four of which make the compass points of a perfect stage. Only Dionysus knows the purpose of the fifth tree and given his reputation I am not gonna ask.

PARKING - this could be tricky as this is a rather small valley and there may be                  only a few choice spots available. Suggestion - Loblaws is nearby - a bit east off Dundas and has an underground lot - buy an apple and walk ten minutes west on Dundas and down the hill (Humber Hill Rd).

I will be on site at 1:30 p m and if you need shuttle service from Loblaws I will assist. Do arrive before two please. I want to get things rolling at two and be done by 4:30.

Christian - I find your email to be sexist against weather gods and weather women

Paul - I always try for balance. Thanks for acknowledging that I succeeded.

I wrote a song that should be performed at the end right after the play as a finale. Can you print two copies? If you like it you could sing it and all can join in on the chorus.

VOTIN' IN THE FREE WORLD

There's been trouble on the streets -
black, white, yellow, red - G20 too,
people marchin' with their feet -
people lyin' down without shoes,
a warnin' sign just up ahead -
if we get it wrong
we might as well be dead,
didn't feel like goin' down there
but that was then,
now I gotta do somethin' -
whatever I can

CHORUS: Keep on votin' in the free world
                                         "
                                         "
                                         "

I see native women without rights
and I cannot understand
why they are murdered so easily,
left dead or dying out on the land,
we cannot hide the truth away,
stay absorbed in all our shit,
it's time to step up -
we all got to do our bit,
there's one more chance -
have we learned or are we fools?
Fear give in to love
'cause love is way more cool!

CHORUS

We got 25 million chances
to turn this mess around,
kind, gentle compassion
from common purpose we have found,
we got holistic energy sources to consider
and we must preserve our trees,
our water is top priority, stand up - say no
to GMO's - get off of our knees!
We want a leader of the people
'cause we all deserve to thrive,
Love's the greatest of all riches
we all need to get together to survive!

CHORUS

And when this election's over,
no matter the candidate who wins,
we Canadians hold you accountable
and we won't forget your sins,
we will praise you for wise choices
and support you in times rough,
'cause we're the fighters for our future
we're proud, we're bold, we're tough!
Thirty-five plus million - we stand up strong and free,
are you with us or against us?
We will vote and then we'll see.

CHORUS

                                            Paul Valliere

We all know who wrote the inspiration.

Keep on Rockin' guys - as long as you can! And we will too 'cause that's what Canucks do.

           

            Christian - I'll print it, but it's not the kind of thing I like to sing

Paul - Okay thanks. I'll find a singer 'cause it sure ain't me.

Christian - I'd play it but I don't have time to learn it before then

Paul - That would be great! All we need is a music stand or a human sheet holder.

            One more imposition if I may - could you also print two copies of the final scene? It looks like Rosalind will be replacing Erika in the lead as Erika has been having some health related issues and may not be able to attend. Like me Ros has no printer now.

Christian - That's too bad for Erika, since I invited Garth Drabinsky to the picnic, so now Rosalind will become a star

Paul - Is Garth outta jail?

Christian - No, but he's in a Norwegian style prison whete you can't tell the guards from the glee club. He's auditioning for for a full production of Hair

Paul - There was a woman in the Writer's and Editors Network in Etobicoke a few years back who was, among other things, a dramaturge. She attended a Garden Party one summer and told us about her relationship with Garth and Live Ent.

She said she gave him warning about his focus on pushing the production of the plays, making exaggerated claims to investors and gambling like a lunatic that all would work out in the end.

She was in an unfulfilling marriage and we had a brief moment where she was standing and considering me in the foyer of our group's breakfast meet-up location. I forget what she said but my response was "yeah - we're probably wandering in the same desert."

She knew Jack and he thought she was a character. We used to get some pro-Israel emails from her and I was tempted to forward some anti-Israel propaganda ones from a contact I have who regularly compiles and emails lengthy conspiracy theory info on events of the last hundred years or so. I didn't forward them, probably because for all I know she is a secret agent for Hamas (just kidding - she's not that smart - more likely Mossad).

Christian - Anti Israel or anti-Israel policy?

Paul - Policy - so as not to disparage the innocents.

Christian - What was the name of the woman with alzheimers who was at your place?

Paul - Brigitta (and John) Sargent from Etobicoke.

Cheistian - Thanks.

What was the name of the guy who had the date with the Spanish woman?

Paul - Jim Snow. Sounds like you're writing a review.

Christian - Not a review as I would write of Plastiscene or some other series. If that were the case I would have sat there taking notes. This is just a journal entry, like I do for what happens every day. It's just that more happened than usual that day and I met more people than usual.

Paul - I like the idea of journalling. Have you been doing that for many years?
I do it sporadically but have done three on my "big" vacations every five years.

Christian - The last is almost typed and ready to be sent to people.

            In terms of a regular daily journal, I did a handwritten one from the beginning of 1990 until about 1995. It actually saved my ass on one occasion, because, since I have a criminal record, the cops have access to my photograph when they are doing investigations. One time when I was living in the Beaches, two detectives showed up at my door because they were investigating a murder that was committed on a certain date in the early 90s in Saulte St Marie by a guy who they thought looked a lot like me. I showed them my diary for that date and year, which indicated that I had been working for a mover in Toronto on that day. They took the info and I guess checked with my then employer, who confirmed it, and that was the end. It was kind of scary though. My online journal is one I started on Facebook on July 29th of 2013. A lot of people tell me they read it, even though they don't always comment. I've recently expanded the journal to my blog.

I look forward to your big vacation journal

Paul - I will send it.

Christian - Thanks Paul, for having me in your home. You made everyone feel welcome. Even the $700 cat.

Once again, this is not a review, but I've posted my impressions of the day as they came back to me without notes, on my blog: http://christian--- christian.blogspot.ca/2015/09/alzheimers-ate-my-brain.html

Paul - Thanks for that enjoyable retrospective. I'm thinking of re-booting the picnic for this coming Sunday if the weather entities co-operate.

BTW it's Jim Snow.

Christian - I thought this coming Sunday was Plastiscene. As much as I'd like to come, I think that I can only commit myself to Plastiscene for the next few months. I just started my Children's Literature course today and there's not only a lot of reading to do but there are two essays, two prose analyses and some smaller writing assignments as well.

I've changed my reference to "snow" from "John" to the other Inuit word for it: "Jim"
http://christian---christian.blogspot.ca/2015/09/alzheimers-ate-my-brain.html

Paul - I understand. The play may or may not happen soon.

Brand new edited version.

A MARITIME ADVENTURE by Paul Valliere Aug 5 – 21, 2015

Taken from my notebooks. I may embellish a bit but I promise not to lie

THE SECRET LIFE OF CLOUDS

 in a plane, descending,
 you can appreciate
 them at least two more
 ways - on the Heaven
 side and obliquely,
 from below,

 lying on a beach,
 gazing up as they
 morph and float
 you get but a hint of
 their multi-dimensionality,

 passing thru them on descent
 you feel they remain un-
 perturbed by the plane's
 wings slicing thru their
 ghostliness -
 are they really there or
are they somewhere else?

ah - somewhere else - where
we all would often rather be,
closer to Heaven, away from

all this, all this stuff that is
so hard to penetrate,

to arrive at elsewhere - that is
what my flight made me long for –

Bienvenue Montreal!

BEFORE THE CLOUDS

Before the clouds I arrived at a place that did not resonate as "somewhere else". In line I was was faced with a machine - either deal with it or join the longer, much longer line with the
promise of human intervention - oh woe!

Moi - the dude who still prefers the thrill of joking with live cashiers at Loblaws and even No Frills. Oh well - I try and fail - the electrobox refuses to recognize my "booking reference # of 003-208-438 that I correctly entered on the screen.

"Help" I plead to a young man in employee garb who appears.

"It's not that one - it's the other one over here that you need to
enter -  LCL2TV."

"I see - but it is listed under 'Air Canada Record Locator."

"Yeah", he responds. "They got it wrong, but that's what you need to
enter."

So I do and again the box rejects my effort. I find more assistance, am told it is some kind of computer error and that I need to line up in the 'Human Intervention' line - the one that I both covet and fear.

To make a long story not so long I head over to Gate D31 about forty-five minutes later to board a flight to Montreal which is fine, except that I am poorer by $113 and some of my carry-on luggage contents, notably two bottles of water, the contents of my steel water bottle, the rest of my salad dressing and a three-quarters full container of Earth Balance butter substitute.
The fee was for a new same-day flight to Montreal and a baggage charge, this one leaving at nine a.m. The original flight, which I was to have boarded at nine fifteen a.m., was leaving from Billy Bishop Airport and I was at Pearson! Oops - nobody told me. As I told the lady who re-booked me and the two confiscators "I haven't flown in ten years". Now I know why!

My suggestion, especially for infrequent travellers, is to clarify everything, especially if you book with, or, in my case, have a friend book for me with Flighthub.

Peggy's Cove - a treasure trove you can be open to - up the hill so curved and steep to view the ocean blue and deep. Climb those rocks now carefully - there's many ways to fall, to slip from mossy black ones would be the gravest one of all! And the ocean waves come crashing, wearing craggy rock, opening cracks, fissures deep - no sign it will ever stop! (N.B. This is
geologically innacurate but poetically correct). I stand here full of wonder at the magic of it all, so glad I came to Peggy's Cove and climbed on this marvellous wall. (Okay, not exactly a wall but see above, and sea below, so it is a wall after all!)

On The Bus - (to Peggy's Cove - $50 - six hours - best deal) – the driver with the kilt - he's at least as old as me - used to drive a motor home all over - says he met a real sweet l'il old man once who used to run prisons like Joliet. When Dahmer came in he brought a lot of attitude so the Warden walked him around the yard hour after hour until he decided to behave.
And the driver with the kilt and all the stories says Tour Guide drivin' won't be around much longer. It'll just take one accident and that'll be it. Archie says heart trouble runs in the family and he's seventy-five.

So likes to travel, extensively, to experience many cultures, kinds of people and ways of life. She is off to Montreal today to see her friend, then maybe Vancouver, or maybe back to Tokyo, or maybe somewhere she is yet to imagine.

Louis lives in Toronto and says he needs to get out more and go to other places. So, I introduce him to So in the kitchen and eating area of H. I. Halifax and on and on their  conversation goes.

Now So is off to new adventure and so is Louis, who is going camping near Truro. I await my ride.

Just north of Antigonish where we have stopped at Tim Horton's for 15 - now the rain's returned. Too bad for the two 'bank robbers' we just passed with their thumbs stuck out - lookin' like Bonnie and Clyde.

"Hey Jimbo - you wear the wig and stick out yer arse!"

"I'm not doin' that Angus!"

"You'd better if ya want yer share a the loot!"

"Angus, I'll do it on one condition - gimme the loot!"

"No freakin' way Jimbo!"

"Come on - gimme it! It's gonna get all wet!"

"Watcha gonna do with it?"

"Gonna put it somewhere safe and dry."

"Oh, all right then - stick out yer arse!"

Saturday, noon - I'm in Georgetown, PEI, Memorial Gardens, at the Clogeroo Folk Festival listening to local son Barry O'Brien singing about the old days of shipbuilding and fishing as the hot sun brings out the colors of the flowers around me and the people gather with
their chairs or stand and talk and share the beauty.

However did I get here? Glad you asked. First I flew to Halifax (three hour stopover in Montreal) and and  spent three nights at H. I. Halifax, then up to Cape Breton - Bear on the Lake Hostel - near Braddeck in a van packed with Newfies headed home on the ferry with all the luggage squeezed in tight.

This trip begat the 'bank robbers' invention - I was bored, I guess.

Three nights there then off to H. I. Cabot Trail at Pleasant Bay, courtesy of Andrew and Tammy from Brisbane. These Aussies are my age and their motorcycle, the one they have shipped to whatever part of the world they feel like exploring, well it broke down in Quebec and is being repaired while they tour around in a rental car - lucky for me.

We reach the Cape's end and curve around to arrive at Pleasant Bay. They drop me at the hostel and continue on their way down the coast. Three nights there, a fair bit of rain, then I'm on the road. Long way to go to gain Charlottetown.

Fond memories of this generous and adventurous couple. Hope ya get yer machine back mates - maybe we'll coincide again somewhere exotic.

Takes me six rides and after leaving at ten past nine Friday morning, I finally arrive at Brackley Beach Hostel just past midnight. Of the fifteen hours almost half was spent standing there, thumb out, watching them roar by. But six did stop and bless 'em all.

Barry has finished his homespun set and Raglan Road is up next.

The first ride was a senior couple that stopped for me right in front of the hostel. They were headed for Cheticamp, forty minutes south. Dawn, the manager of H. I. Cabot Trail, knew them (as she does most of the residents of the community) and they had a brief chat.

"She's lost a lot of weight" said the driver to his eighty-three year old wife.

"She sure has been exercising a lot" I say. "She's done twenty-six of the twenty-nine hiking trails in the park this year and her goal is to finish the list."

Raglan Road has begun with a Rankin Family song about movin' on. Sun's still intense and I'm sweatin' - had to cover up not to add to yesterday's sunburn.

Well, Cheticamp, the exiting of, was a challenge. They dropped me off at the south edge of town across from Charlie's Variety and Acadian Music Store. There I remained for four and a half hours!

Wandered over to Charlie's after about two hours - "would you have a plastic fork?"

The teenager behind the counter said "one fork?"

"Yes please."

She found one over on a shelf and I thanked her while she suppressed her wonderment behind tight lips. I crossed the road to enjoy my salad.

'Three Bucks a Pound' is next from the boys - sad tale of struggling lobstermen in a voice like Steve Earle. And I say thank you to a new cool breeze.

This couple appeared - this is pretty well a French area. Joe got his van for $150 from a neighbor - runs okay - had room for my overpacked American Tourister I had to get in Seattle back in 2010 – was overpacked then too.

Joe chats about current events, I offer a few Toronto tales and Betty is pretty quiet - lucky ol' Joe. He kinda reminds me of a bird of prey scouring the sides of the road for carrion as he drives.

A few feet up the road from where he picked me up he took a way longer look at a discarded and badly broken easy chair than I did when I was considering where I might crash that night, given my prolonged stationary state.

But bless 'em - they got me along another hour and a half or so and I was dropped at a t-shaped intersection where I had two chances of ride snaggin'.

Garry Goss is singin' 'New Orleans is sinkin' again' 'met a man down in New Orleans - tried to sell his wedding ring to me'.

The third ride was in a pickup truck with Pennsylvania plates – old guy ridin' co-pilot, boy in the back and the driver - possibly the middle-aged daughter, said that all my stuff and me could ride in the back bed. It was cool, refreshing, windy and pretty quiet.

'The Night That Paddy Murphy Died' closes the set.

The next ride featured Big Mike and his concrete truck. Hey Big Mike - I just ate two hot dogs at the Clogeroo Folk Festival! What are you doin' today?

Big Mike is Scots - all 'bout six four and three hundred and fifty pounds of him - says he likes the route so much comin' down to the causeway that he often drives it in the car with his wife on Sundays - great tour guide - all about the two Links Golf Courses they built so now the locals are forbidden to use the beach - there's the Red Shoe Pub owned by The Rankins.

Big Mike says he likes the company and I'm a good listener. We cross the causeway to the Nova Scotia mainland and he tells how the quarry where he works right ahead supplied all the rocks and they were worried at first there might not be enough to complete the causeway
construction.

He drops me at the truck stop just up the road and says the truckers will likely help me on the next leg.

NOPE!

I've refreshed a bit in the restaurant and headed out to the parking lot. No bites and I decide to move to where the lot connects with the highway - good move!

He pulls up in a pickup. Hugh works in construction. He had done Alberta mining in some kind of underground oil pit. I forget to ask him if that was Tar Sands.

He drops me off on the highway and exits to Antigonish. Damn! I should have asked him to take me up the ramp and close to the exit ramp. I'm pullin' American T and carryin' my gear along the road's edge - the mini-bike lane if you're really crazy - and thinkin' 'look at all those vehicles exiting onto the highway and I coulda' been thumbin' all of 'em instead of mulen' it an extra two hundred yards'.

"You want a ride?" Guess I musta released some worry to let this new flow in. A guy in a van, slowin' just before merging.

"Yeah, I do."

"I'll pull over up ahead."

He backs up close and I load and get in. His son in the front is attending university in Alberta and is home for a visit. I learn that Pictou is about an hour away and the ferry dock another 15-20 minutes beyond. Son looks up the ferry schedule and says that the last one leaves in 20 minutes. Damn! Now I'm planning my sleeping arrangements on the dock - maybe a hard bench when the lad re-checks his device and says "ah - I mis-read".

Hey - this guy's pretty good too - he's closing with Neil's 'Harvest Moon'.

The last one's at 9:30 - I am saved! They let me out and after thank you and some banter about what a great guy this kid's old man is I see I have time for some tea and a snack.

My next leg will involve hitchhiking from the PEI dock to Charlottetown. The ferry will dock at 10:45. My goal is to arrive at the Brackley Beach Hostel by midnight.

They've announced a free oyster BBQ on the lawn and drum workshop sponsored by Long and McQuade.

I ask around on the 75 minute trip and it don't look good. I even ask one guy twice - the first time was when we were lined up as walk-ons to board before the vehicles. His initial reply was “geez, I would but my wife’s meeting me with the kid’s and she’d never allow it”.

I’m growing weary, worried and it’s now dark, so when I depart I gotta move into position – but I cannot! The walk-off route is directed away from the space for the exiting vehicles and toward the cafeteria building and parking lot. I head for the lot and stick out my thumb. Some of the vehicles must belong to the crew so I'm not sunk yet. The third vehicle leaving is a van and it stops - guess who? My friend with the reluctant wife. He gets out to help me load my stuff.

"No one would stop for you eh? The wife's in the back with the kids. Sit up front."

Three little boys, fair-haired and good lookin' like their parents.

"Hi - I'm Bill from Toronto. I'm very tired but I promise not to be grumpy."

It's all good. That second conversation I had with him paid off. Guess those old sales training techniques stuck. Glad I asked him again "accidentally". They drop me off at a local gas station in Charlottetown where the kids get out to pee.

"You know how to get to Brackley Beach Hostel?" I ask the friendly, young, Asian cashier.

"If you don't I do" says the big dude paying for his gas. He gets on his device and we find it on the map. A twenty minute cab ride later I negotiate his $35 fee down to $30 and give him $35 because I feel grateful and tired. Time 12:15 - not bad.

Saturday   -   Little Big Mike, Angie's partner, gives me a ride to Georgetown - Angie the manager of the hostel - super lady - real as a PEI summer day is blessed. Little Big Mike - he's big but shorter than Big Concrete Mike - says she's turned the place around in two years. He says all this and more - my listening skills are further sharpened - his landscaping job for $18 an hour, motorcycle that will do 180 mph, all his favorite things - I really know him in the forty minute
trip. We arrive and I give him $20 for gas. "More than enough" he says with that big Maritime grin and guns it - not the bike - the bucket 5stick that he fits in snugger than a PEI mosquito.

Gonna go check the oysters. Ah shucks - they're all gone!

On the Beach  -  ten minute walk from Memorial Park - two dudes doin' a Grateful Dead tribute - a bassist accompaning the guitarist – Jerry Garcia's 'illegitimate' grandson with wavy red hair and red beard - sun glistening as the boats zoom by - bikini girl dancin' on the wet sand - blonde and red-haired babes with mom and dad diggin' in and runnin' o'er the red sand - and the band plays on - I'm sure grateful.

Flashback   -    Memorial Park. I'm sittin' in the shade of a bush and somethin's crawlin' on my back under my shirt, probably on my t-shirt. Oh well - it'll go away. Later - in the washroom of the Variety Store with a lunch counter I go in the washroom and look in the mirror
there's Boris' Grandpappy - big Daddy Longlegs crawlin' on my straw hat!

It's 5:03 and here stands me - waitin' in the shade of a 'cross the road tree - might be a late supper.

Later   -  oh yeah, supper - on the patio - lookin' out at the big yacht and all the rest - Charlottetown Harbour with a new friend, Carla, who's orbit decided to link with mine - a gift from Magicland and more.

Starbucks for coffee - we both hate Starbucks but end up there anyway 'cause Timothy's is closed and we decide to stay a bit instead of headin' back to the pubs and music and Jennifer appears and the party is so much richer.

Back at Victoria Row on a bench, hangin'and chattin' and a van pulls up with the guys from Ottawa - lanky lads - Royal Tribe - here to add to the vibe - guitarist reminds me of Timothy B. Schmidt with his gentle manner and long. brown hair. We three - Carla, Jenn (nice
Starbucks timing) and me. Royal Tribe is great - all original tunes and when they finish an hour later I approach to ask the reason behind their name.

"We play with a lot of musicians and we consider ourselves a tribe."

'Me too, poetically' I'm thinkin', 'and it keeps gettin' bigger and better.'

Sunday - Carla and I go to the beach - a lovely twist of fate as she was going there anyway - driving her 13 year old daughter, Grace, her beautiful, multi-talented artist daughter, Grace, to be precise, and two of Grace's girl friends. Carla suggests a quieter stretch of beach on the west side of the road up from where the girls are hanging out at Brackley Beach. And it's
perfect - we even find a shady spot back under some overhanging bushes, custom made for a lovely, local lady in her mini chaise lounge and her new friend from Toronto.

Carla is a creative and sophisticated lady who is extremely social. She works as an EAL Assessment Specialist assisting immigrants with English as an additional language, doing teaching and administrative duties. She has a very caring way which makes her extremely likeable. She is one of the "special" women whom I have known, been lucky enough to have touch my life, starting with my adoptive mother, Grace Rundle.

These ladies have all been leaders in their community and mostly been taught by their mothers to play that importabt role. They tend to put people over things.

Tomorrow is Monday and I will be leaving on a bus for Fredericton, but not before a farewell visit with my lovely new friend over brunch downtown.

A guy on Victoria Row is eyeing the same posted lunch menu. He's from Seattle and with a group in a camper van they drove up from Texas.

Carla comes down from her nearby apartment and we go wandering, then brunch. We talk when we shoulda been orderin'. Oops - we got thirty-five minutes - better get it to go. She drives me to the Maritime Bus Terminal and we say adieu but not farewell - never that - never again (true deep feeling for me of lost love regained).

Crossed the Big Bridge - Fredericton in five hours with two bus changes - naptime.

On bus #3 - just over two hours travel to go - then it goes on to Quebec - this bus has seatbelts and more leg room than #2. Glad I fell aleep on that one. This book Carla gave me - "Chasing the Shore" by David Weale is lovely - pure poetry in spirit in his tales of land and
sea - gonna read a while.

Alice saved my bag. I realized when I awoke in my private room near the UNB campus that I had likely left it by the Wheelchair Access Only door when trying to enter the building late last night. She was coming in as I was exiting to locate it and she had it. She works for the
university and kindly provided directions to downtown. I went there for breakfast and a guy on the street suggested "Healthy versus Greasy" in a little mall. I had an omelette and texted Carla who replied that she is stuck in hell at work with one fan for coolness and she will not complain
further as she is glad to have the job. Gonna go exploring.

The "Calithumpians" are about to play in the park by the museum. The children are gathered and a few adults.

The museum was educational. Alex, the host, took my five dollars and led me into a room for a twenty minute film followed by me wandering and looking and reading - so much did I learn that High School left out about Canadian - Native - U. S. - British - French history.

Lovely, mostly fair-haired, children under ten gathering, awaiting the performers with moms and daycaregivers and here I am just behind it all on my shady bench - another gift.

A man with his daughter sits beside me on the bench. We chat after she takes her lunch from him and goes to sit with her friends on the lawn in front of the stage.

Another man appears - they know each other - he sits on a nearby chair - his son is one of the performers.

The group of ten in many differently colored "Calithumpian" t-shirts do skits on becoming "Young Environmental Stewards", employing musical instruments, variations on songs such as "Message in a Bottle", wigs, costumes and high theatricality.

Very entertaining hour - I meet and congratulate some of the cast - buy a "Calithumpian" t-shirt for 5 3/4 year old granddaughter Otayo and get directions to the Beaverbrook Art Gallery.
I noticed, back at the park, according to a sandwich board sign near the sidewalk, that there is a blues/rock concert scheduled to begin in the park at 7:30 p.m. this evening. I'll be there.

I  exchange some texts with Carla and she is pleased that I will be calling her this evening.

The Art Gallery timing is perfect - a tour is just starting. I even run into Alex from the museum on my short walk there and we chat briefly.

The young man who guides the tour is tall, thin and very knowledgeable about the history of the paintings and artists.

The Dali painting is especially of interest - St. James ascending into heaven on an Antalusian steed accompanied by Christ depicted in his left hand in place of the usual sword - "Santiago El Grande". This masterpiece is almost fifteen feet high. Our guide suggests that it
best viewed by lying on the floor with one's feet against the wall below it. Several of us do so and elements of it, notably the horse's hoofs and Christ's limbs appear to project out as 3D images. I chat briefly with our guide before leaving and tell him about my three Dali prints on my apartment wall. He knows their names by my descriptions.

I'm "home" now after a nap, ready to prepare my vegetables, head over to the Blues Concert and chat with Carla. A lady called me about a chimney job so I've got some income to look forward to.

Met a young woman in the kitchen. She said "hi" coming in when I was eating salad and steaming my vegetables. She's from Finland. Didn't bother with the name exchange. Nice energy - she'd heard of "First Aid Kit" but didn't know their music. I told her I was pretty sure they were from Sweden. She knew Timo from H. I. Halifax and said it was nice to see him there when she arrived late and he helped her get settled. Timo was great to deal with for me too with that European professionalism and insistence that his name was not spelled like Teemu Salanne. I told her about the 7:30 concert in the park. I also told this to one of the "Chamber" musicians whom I again encountered after first seeing him with a musician friend when I first arrived. Maybe Chamber dudes also like the Blues.

I gave my extra veg to my Finnish friend for her salad and some as well to another Chamber musician in his forties who had given me directions to downtown before I encountered Alice.

I should mention the strange scent on the bus coming into Fredericton. It was a long trip of about six hours and at one point a smell of sweet chemicals eminated from the back. It was sweet like pop but harsher.

A similarly strange passenger from the back went up to and explained something to the driver with wild gesticulating arms. The driver made announcement at the next stop, after checking the back, that the washroom was out of order and that we would be making an extra pit
stop.

When I talked to the strange passenger, I mean he was late twenties, long hair, wide headband, short, camouflaged khakis, a big metal ring thru his nose and tons of tattoos, including a big blue ink blob that covered his nose and cheeks, he didn't sound quite so strange. A "normal" looking young woman seemed to be with him, in a black cloth dress, little make-up, straight brown hair and a gentle demeanor.

I asked him what happened and he said that when he went into the tiny toilet room he got sprayed by the blue chemical right in the face! Now he seemed totally not stoned but his attitude and even humor told me this dude was uber mellow, so draw your own conclusions. I said
"well at least you got your tats touched up!" He laughed so I added "you probably scared the toilet into doing it!" Again he laughed and so did a young couple also waiting for the washroom in the gas station, and the sprayee added that as soon as the bus stopped the toilet spray stopped. How bizarre!

Off to the concert. "Concert cancelled due to humidity" says the sign. "Rescheduled for tomorrow night". Poor guitars. I'll be in Moncton. Fate rules.

Cloud surfin' with the souls on Mt. Olympus, high on new life. Gonna be on Toronto ground in an hour but still be way up high. I know, I know, back to the linear past.

Leavin' the park I went to Sobeys, got breakfast and lunch supplies for tomorrow's trip to Moncton, then back to UNB residence to store them in the great big walk-in fridge in the big ol' messy kitchen. And the cute Finnish girl is there doin' her stirfry and salad as I mentioned, so

give her the rest of my carrots, red pepper and a bit of onion – just what she needs, and the older, Chamber guy gets the rest of my English Cucumber. I'm dinin' out when I get to Moncton tomorrow - I deserve it.

It's been humid in Fredericton and now Moncton too. Met a guy at the bus terminal who's goin' moose huntin'. We talk while waiting for the Moncton bus and exchange contact info.

I sit beside a lady on the bus who lost her husband last fall. His name was Richard Green and she is Pat Green. She is 69 and spiritually religious. Her husband was a well-known radio host on four different Maritime radio stations and taught broadcasting. We both equally talk
and listen and the time takes us quickly with it. I give her some info on our shared Piscean cosmic heritage.

The walk to C'mon Inn is about fifteen minutes and I'm tired haulin' all my stuff. I get there after getting incomplete directions from a woman working at the bus terminal and having to clarify with two different locals I meet on the way. Fleet street is short and tucked in between two north/south streets not far from downtown in a slightly seedy area.

The converted house is old with peeling paint and the door is locked. No one answers the bell and I leave my bags on the sidewalk to go down the street a short way to a Health Food Store with air conditioning!

When I return shortly there is a young German couple with a car in the driveway.
The hostel is closed daily from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m. It is now 2:30. I go around to the back of the building, find an unlocked door and enter - what a dump!

The German couple have left and their car is still in the driveway. I re-enter the back door - small, old mattresses in the dorm room - something you might expect in an old hunting camp scene but not C'mon Inn. I sit on a kitchen chair and relax a bit. After four I hear a noise, go around to the front and the door is unlocked.

Nick looks a bit disgruntled, though trying to hide it, when I appear. He is definitely not expecting me. He's an artsy fellow, judging by the cute little quotes on wall plaques and the decor of the place. There's a harshly worded caution sign in the bathroom about the proper
disposal procedure for women's sanitary products.

His probable partner, Seb, is much more fun, although he probably doesn't have the pressure of keeping the place afloat. The exterior needs extensive scraping and painting and, frankly, the place could use a handywoman (more on that later).

I get first pick of my bed in the 2nd floor dorm of four sets of bunk beds and pick a lower one by a window. It is still very humid in New Brunswick.

It's Wednesday afternoon and I leave for home on Friday from Moncton Airport.
Although I am tired I am restless. A Bay of Fundy Tour is on my mind but it's $180. So why don't I hit the Casino and win it? First I go downtown and hit the Bank Machine for $200, then walk quite far to connect with the bus route that goes along Mt. Road for a thirty minute ride to the Casino. I discover later that I took a much longer way than necessary to get from the Bank Machine downtown on Main St. to Mt. Road. In hitch-hiking to Mt. Rd. I get a ride with a guy in a pickup who has great attitude. When he gets honked at repeatedly by an impatient driver behind who just doesn't like waiting for me to get in he finger salutes, honks back and says "fuck you asshole". Looking at me he says

"I'm a biker - a one percenter".

"I dig it man!" High five. He lets me off at Mt. Rd. and a bus comes along in about ten minutes. Because it's Wednesday seniors ride for free - good thing - tell you why later.

Nice Casino - Poker Room upstairs - three or four tables. I get an open seat right away. Interesting group - two Asian women, one quite attractive, a lot of guys my age and a pretty good player on my immediate left in his forties. Lots of friendly banter. I struggle though - buy in for $100 and waver between $50-$100 for several hours. Order a chicken salad that turns out to be a chicken sandwich on a kaiser - oh well - it's only a bit off my diet and it's inexpensive and tasty - $8.50 with a huge baked potato. I finally get up about $20 then back down. This guy on my left is runnin' hot so I must be careful. A new guy occupies seat five. I am in # two and hold Ace six off with two aces on the flop. I check twice and he bets the turn - $20 - I call. He bets $40 on the river – call again. He announces King high and mucks his hand when he sees my ace. So I'm up again. Then I get 8, 9 off - both red. All red flops with a straight and flush draw. I hit the inside straight on the turn and bet, getting a call. Brick on the river and I bet. He folds, I show the straight anyway and take the pot. Now I'm up $80, short of my $200 goal, but I gotta go - it's 9:50 and the last bus leaves at 10:05. I had confirmed this on the way here with the driver after consulting the schedules brochure. I cash and am outside just before ten.

Forty-five minutes later - no bus! I check inside, the concierge looks it up and tells me the last bus came at 9:30. No way! I am pissed!

I go outside and ask a few people if they are driving towards downtown - no luck. I walk up to a cabbie, get a quote of $25-$30 when he calls dispatch and say I'll try for a ride share, even though that's a real long shot. And I'm tired of waiting. When I walk away he says "I'll do
it for $20." I tell him I'll think about it then - fuck it! I wanna take that Fundy Tour.

I call "Roads to Sea" and get voice mail. I leave a message for Anna Marie.The driver wants to talk - no surprise - and has some strong views about local politics (the details I forget quickly) and the Muslim threat. The last is triggered by my relating of my pleasant experience
in Charlottetown at Yolks Restaurant, owned and operated by a charming middle eastern Muslim couple. I can also feel his sad sense of compromise at only getting $20 for the fare. Too bad - that's all I was willing to pay.

Early Thursday - call Anna Marie - says she'll pick me up at nine. I offer cash payment instead of a credit card phone deposit and she accepts. A couple in their mid-forties in the seat right behind and I am introduced as Anna Marie smiles and says I will be riding co-pilot. We pick up four more passengers forties, twenties and related - it's the spouse of either the son or the daughter. The dad looks a bit non-descript and I am surprised at them paying $180 each. How wrong I am. Turns out he invests in house flipping, is a handy carpenter and very comfortable financially.

I relate easily to the Croatian/Canadian couple behind me. They live in Ontario - Mississauga or maybe Hamilton. He has a sense of humor, is tall and a bit old school in contrast to his wife who is short, timid - scared of bugs - yet more than a bit charmed by my stories.

At tour's end they are all smiles and glad hands as is Anna Marie, who gives me a solid hug, even though I only ate a token piece of one of the giant sticky buns she proudly offered us at one stop of the madcap tide chasing trip.

Anna Marie Weir is more than a survivor - she is a transcender, having gotten seriously ill with a huge tumor on her neck from compromising her soul's desire in  well-paying job that was sapping her elan vital. The tumour turned out benign and she had an epiphany one day when
going out by her favorite lighthouse to meditate. That was 13 years ago and now, at 49, she is so passionate that you get got to. Like it or not she lifts you up. The next day I plug her services to the proprietress of a Main Street breakfast and brunch cafe that I find by using Maritime Magic.

But first  - Thursday night - I am so high after the tour that early sleep is out of the question. When I enter the hostel a lot of new, young people, mostly French speaking, including one interesting woman closer to forty, are gathering.

When I enter my dorm an engaging woman of thirty is sitting on her top bunk across her room.

"Hi - I'm Bill." "Hi Bill - I'm Lydia.

"You from Australia?" "Bristol, England." "Oh - I'm only off a few thousand miles." I like her energy and command of English.

A bunch of us end up at a pub downtown called The Pump House with their own beer making equipment on display in big stainless steel vats, etc and a reputation for great pizza. So I order one with feta, pepperoni, bacon and anchovies - what the heck - I am on vacation!

But where is Lydia? I told her I would text her when we found a suitable pub and her reply was "great - I need a shower!" She called me first and I gave her directions so she should have arrived by now. I call her twice then a third time a while later, go outside to wait and direct her here after her second call saying she thinks she went the wrong way. Now I'm worried about her - needlessly.

My pizza is cold when I go back in. I am about to eat it when there is a tap on my shoulder. Turning I see a cute girl about five feet tall with long hair and a funky cap.

"Lydia - I didn't recognize you - you're all clean and your long hair!" The rest are all speaking French so I am very glad to see her. Plus je ne parle pas francais bien.

Lydia is separated, owns her own painting and decorating business back in Bristol and has two guys who can get the work done while she goes to New Zealand.

The girl (I can call her that at my age n'est pas?) is my kind – an adventurer, brave and gritty. I need not have worried about her out there or anywhere.

Her dad was a roofer and died when she was 16 - very tough. I tell her he would be proud of her. After sharing stories she calls her mom in Toronto. She is flying there tomorrow for a family wedding - her brother. She asks and I tell her of things to do in my city. We walk back to the hostel and get a glimpse of the night life of Moncton - a bunch of weird dudes tryin' to look street tough except for one sitting on a bench in a Santa suit ringing a bell and wearing a shit-faced grin.

"Hey man - you're confused!" I say.

One comrade stares with attempted menace thru drug haze and I sense Lydia tense, just in case. I show her the peeling paint on the windows of the hostel and say that what's needed here is
a handywoman.

Lydia says "I can fix anything."

We say goodnight, flop in our respective bunks and I awaken early again. Not much left to eat but I consume the rest of my fruit and and go into another room to write for a while.

When I go back to the room Lydia is stretching in bed and I say "wanna go for breakfast?" She declines and I get ready to go out, telling her to enjoy Toronto, and say goodbye in case I don't get back before you leave. In an hour she was to leave to catch her plane.

I go out onto Fleet St. and see two young people on bikes – teenagers I think.

 "Hey kids - where can I go for breakfast around here? The teenage boy rides on but his female companion rides up and says, with her long hair and sort of Rita Coolidge appearance, "who you callin' kid?"

"You're not mad at me are you?"

She makes a comment about saving crackheads, that the lad with her used to date her daughter and tells me of a place a bit north of here. I give her props and she rides off fast. Crackheads are always fast.

"Hey - how far?"

"Up that way." She points. "Chinese."

"Can you trust 'em?"

"Yeah."

I'm skeptical but head that way.  A teenage girl is sweeping the street in a beige uniform. I get her version of where to dine. She is friendly and suggests I go downtown to Main Street. 

Cracky Rita rides by and gives me a slighty dirty frown. I smile. I see her one more time on the main drag ridin' on the sidewalk. With her shades on and attitude she reminds me of Johnny Depp as Tonto.

So I wander, ask people, say no to Coras, check out two other expensive, minimalist cafes and get a bit perturbed. Then I recover by deciding my spot is awaiting - and it is - right on Main St. owned and operated by Mr. chef and Mrs. hostess/waitress for 19 years. When I suggest that networking with Anna Marie from "Land to Sea Tours" would be good for business the woman replies that she was unaware of such a service. Like this is kinda weird, plus the fact that only one table is occupied, by four dudes who act happy about being here, and none of my street inquiries produced mention of this place.

I order the "Special" and am not disappointed - several strips of thick bacon cooked slightly crisp, two easy-over eggs, delicious home-made fried potatoes with onions, coffee and toast from bread baked on the premises. $8.50 - I leave happy and go back to write and prepare to head for the airport.

Flash Forward to Monday, 31 August - still buzzing with Maritime Magic - must finish my journaling so I can type this up and send it out. I feel that the time Carla and I will re-unite is growing closer.

Alison, my daughter and dog sitter, is here another month and working on getting employment. She is good company and Kira loves having her here too.

Back to Friday, August 21st.  Moncton Airport is in Dieppe. Two buses will get me close. The first one gets me to a mall in Dieppe and I must wait 30 minutes for the next one. There is a young woman sitting on the bench.

"Would you please watch my stuff while I go to Walmart?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. I'll be about ten minutes. Can I bring you back a coffee or a cold drink?"

"It's okay."

I decide to anyway. I get a snack and two high-end fruit smoothie drinks in plastic bottles - something I never buy but it's hot and I feel she will appreciate it. She does and we chat for a while about travelling to Europe and this and that.

The bus arrives and I tell the driver - same driver that piloted the first bus that brought me to the mall - that I need to call a cab to meet me at the end of the line to take me the rest of the way to the airport. He does it for me thru dispatch. This amazing service also includes picking people up at unscheduled stops if they call ahead.

The cab is waiting and the fare is about seven bucks - here's ten man - thanks!

There are only four gates and I am here an hour early. I tell the baggage guy there is a metal bottle full of water in my backpack and he sends my stuff thru thr X-ray machine. I've already checked the Tourister and paid forty bucks for that service - another undisclosed bit of annoyance by Flighthub!

The two guys at the receiving end of the conveyor belt give each other a look as they open my backpack and check thru my cloth Loblaws bag.

"When was the last time you took a flight?"

"Sixteen days ago."

"Don't you know the rules on baggage restrictions?"

"I told the other guy about the water bottle." He takes it to empty it and confiscates my bit of olive oil and some other minor items I forget about already.

"You want to check any of this?"

"Nope and in answer to your question I'm just makin' sure you're doing your job."

The Porter flight to Billy Bishop goes to Ottawa first and still gets us to Toronto in 2 1/2 hours. On Porter you are allowed a free beer and I offer to order it and give it to the guy beside me in the window seat. He declines, saying he and his buddies had been partying hard all weekend. His lovely wife and three adorable children are sitting directly behind us and across the aisle. I sneak a few peaks at the scenery out the window and wish I was sitting where he ias. He closes the blind and has a nap.

We wait a half hour in Ottawa and I go to the washroom at the front of the plane. When I return the guy's wife has switched seats with him.

"You've turned into a woman."

She smiles. She says they take turns with the children. The little girl of two and a bit is beside her dad across the aisle. I say "look - she's really enjoying time with her dad". Dad is tickling her on his lap, mom is smiling and the comfort level deepens.

When I ask her later if any of her children mistake her for Jennifer Connolly she thanks me for the compliment.

I say "it's just a co-incidence."

Turns out they live five minutes from my area and I give her my #. They may need some masonry work done on their house as part of their current renovation project. Is Maritime Magic following me home?

We land, I take the tunnel and wait about an hour for Daniel in his truck on a lovely evening. I am in bliss. Later it is Carla I will miss - the lady who picked me up on the road out of Georgetown standing in the shade of a 'cross the road tree.

EPILOGUE

Our texts could fill a volume but will remain in our two hearts – this poem I will share with all.

NO GUILTY PLEASURE

joy wants in -
wanderin' 'round
the labyrinth of
my soul
like sweet smoke
thru a hookah,
since you noticed me
and paused on your
journey, bold as sin,
and I climbed in,
joy has double struck us
- two bass on the same bait,
we could ponder our future
a bit - but not too long -
don't wanna slow the savor
when we could be
sizzlin' the steak -
what's your pleasure -
surf or turf?

Christian - Thanks, I saw this on their site. I wonder how long they'll survive if they remain nomadic. I guess Susie is trying to be Moses Thanks for your road diary. I have a shit load of reading to do but I'm looking forward to having a chance to look at it.

Paul - You're welcome. I hope doesn't have to book an Egyptian venue.

Here's an idea - we could write "The Newer Testament" with all kinds of allegories and rules for a happy life and sell it widely. If people complain after forty years of misery we'll just come out with "The Newest Testament". By the time they catch on we'll be long gone.

Then from where we get to we can invent Heavener and Heller – two opposite nightclubs, then for the extreme saints and sinners - Heavenest and Hellest.

I wonder if Cad would like a job as bouncer.

Christian - Doorman, maybe. I don't think Cad bounces

Paul - I got this idea for a Superhero and actually wrote a short story about him. Now I see how it ties in with how my mind is going with this re-visionist spiritual/religious philosophy with a twist of darkness (much like the bible).

I may have to contact Salmon Rushdie for advice on how to deal with multi-directional fatuahs (sp?). How cool would it be to have Jesuit hitmen on your trail!

The character I wrote about was called "Jewronimo" and he was much like Don Quixote searching for his lost love with a sidekick for added comedy.

I read it at a literary meet-up where one of the attendees was Jewish, knew Mark Breslin, and had done stand-up comedy.

I thought her funny side would prevail but she commented that the character was a stereotype. I told her he could be Lebanese with a big, hook nose instead if that would make her feel better but I could tell from her serious expression that the damage was irreparable.

Later she invited me to a barbecue at her place that she had bought, a townhouse in North York or Thornhill, with money she had inherited from her parent's estate and they were holocaust survivors. This might explain part of her serious side.

She was dating a guy who had been a soldier of fortune in Africa. This guy was half Jewish, had been in battle and after drinking quite a bit that evening he started to talk to me about lining up prisoners and shooting them dead. I guess I brought out the need to confess and he
acted weird later after having done so. I very interesting evening.

I must find my "Jewronimo" story if I am to die famous.

Ros might be coming to Plasticene on Sunday with Otayo.

Christian - Cad would probably like Jewronimo

Paul - Yeah - I gotta find it.

Thank you to the stalwarts - 10 of us who attended last Sunday's gig. We went inward to my tiny apartment adjacent to the park and filled it with poetry and music. There will be more of the same this evening at 6:30 as you can see below. Plasticene has been an important part of my arts scene for over two years and it can be of yours.  Do bring your work to share and by arriving around six you can sign up for The Open Stage.

Christian - But no Hannibal Lectered dog and no cash cat

I've been busy reading for my course, but I finally managed to get this done. Here's the link to my blog. http://christian---christian.blogspot.ca/2015/09/i-do-not-have-moses-complex-review-of.html

Yeah, as opposed to Cathy's humorous intelligence

Paul - Good point. Then there's quirky humorousness as you displayed again last time. I'm not sure which kind mine is but I will work on that - there may be more than one.

Hi - do you not want another Conservative government elected? If so - how do you feel about voting strategically to allow another Party who might have a realistic chance of winning this specific election to have an opportunity to govern all 35 million of us?

I have recently risen from long-term apathy to consider what could actually happen in this country and beyond if we work together to collectively seek the desired changes and most of us, I feel, know what they should be - at least the most important ones.

So - since I will be selecting one of the two parties that could now win over the Conservatives, I offer you the opportunity, if you have not already done so (and perhaps you have and we have not talked together about it) to do likewise.

Christian - Bill Murray is from Illinois.

I'm pretty sure that Harper is secretly a Communist. I heard him singing "Share the Land" by Burton Cummings and Kurt Winter

Paul - This is exciting! I prefer Michael and it may explain why whatsername looked continually uncomfortable - she wanted outta there!

Kindly, Fraser, Life is short... Break some rules... Forgive quickly... Kiss slowly...
Love truly... Laugh uncontrollably... Remember "love is better than anger"...And never regret anything that made you smile!

Christian - This is the Plastiscene thing at The Victory, I assume.

I posted a warning to Susie to be careful, because the Victory is where the Art Bar Reading Series died. An angry member of the Art Bar committee responded that the Art Bar is still alive. I wrote back that I'm just trying to help stear Plastiscene away from the life of the undead.

            Here's my blog entry for Sunday. Thanks again for the work.
http://christian---christian.blogspot.ca/2015/10/chim-chimney-chim-chimney-chim-chim.html

Paul - Thoroughly enjoyed your blog entry mon ami. Bert and the boys look great in silouette. Was glad to share the wealth with you as we made excellent coin on this one.

'twas me who bought the wrong size patio stone - the fly by my soot pants dude.

And I was referring to the Osbournes' personal wealth as over $100m. The Sabbath mates are likely way lower but I am guessing. Even the Rolling Stones struggled financially until the 1980's. Guess these rock dudes hafta get enough ya ya's out so their smarts can take
over - even Mick with his London School of Economics training.

I'm ready for more fortune and a bit of fame if you are! Being broke and notorious is gettin' old.

Christian - Actually Ozzie's net worth is $220 million and the combined wealth of all the members of Black Sabbath besides Ozzie goes over that. Sharon though is also worth $220 million, so Ozzie probably wins again.

Of the Stones, divorces and drugs cost a lot of money So a free concert is out of the question?

Paul - I don't care if Mick invites all his wives and children as long as it's a big venue.

Wonder if I tell Justin I'll vote for him he'll ask his mom to get us some free tix.

Christian - As Mick Jagger said of Margaret Trudeau, "I wouldn't touch her with a barge pole!"

Paul - Guess I was mistaken - Susie is still in the building(s).

Christian - You thought that Michael had taken it back?

Paul - Yeah - I mis-interpreted his email. I thought Susie left for the Bergs or possibly the Burbs or ran away with a Blues Brother – something original.

Christian - I might not make it to this event. It depends on the progress of an essay that has to be handed in on the 20th