WAIT-A-BIT          Part 4
_________________NO MAPS IN WAIT-A-BIT___________________
       “My name is Frank”
       “I`m glad you remembered,“ Hank mutters to himself

        I start writing again … now not saying the words out loud as I

write them:

                 I  woke up this morning with my head on a small desk

right next to the wood stove. I heard a scratching noise behind me,

and that is usually not a good thing in the Artic, when you`re living without  a door.

       I go to bed with my gun at night and I rarely clean my
clothes – so I am always ready. And I can leap out of bed and start firing like a Bonzai warrior
      You can strap that tarp down pretty tight, tho, and you can hear him if he`s on his way – the Devil Beast. I read:
   “The red eyed devil who hates us and knows out minds – the
beast with great claws and teeth who digs  better than we can
because he wants to return to Hell.”
       “The beast who eats our food and who pisses on the rest
of it, so only he can eat it later.  The beast who hides the urinated food deep in a hole of his own choosing;
who scatters our possessions. ……..Who then rapes us
improperly after the despoiling is done.”
        “Would you stop TALKING LIKE THAT!”  Hank shouts:
“It`s giving me the creeps, this Devil Beast business…. when
did you write that shit? I hope you`re not writing any more…
I don`t think I can trust you – if you`re going to keep writing stuff like that!”
      “  You sound like some evil  monk in a
subterranean cell….reading out loud by candlelight… in a
monk`s hood..” He looks over at me, he gets
down almost to his knees to look. He falls to his
knees, presses his forehead against the cool clay
of the dugout wall. He  turns and looks at me again:
“Shit! That`s what you look like, too!”
he says….
     “What you were reading out loud – It sounded vaguely liturgical”, Hank says
       ” I think we have to assume it was liturgical…” I say  “that it was a prayer of sorts…. seems like  Thomasino was praying to the Devil on Four Legs….I say.
  …..He was certain there was no escape from the Beast, the beast was surely and inexorably coming to  devour him…  …” I`m having trouble with this last bit… He`s scribbling like he didn`t have much time:   Thomasino was praying to the GREAT BEAST ON FOUR LEGS:  “Please eat my brain first!, it says, “Please eat my brain first…PLEASE! Don`t start with my testicles!“
I say,  “What!  Me? You think  Me?  I didn`t write this stuff… No, no this was a vet from South America – came up here to protect the animals..I”
          “A war vet?`asks Hank.
          “No,  a doctor…from South America, a veterinarian.  Like I said, he came up here to protect the animals.
           “THESE ANIMALS?  He came up to PROTECT…..
THESE ANIMALS!“ hANKS  shoulders are shaking, he`s laughing.. I gotta get this down… This is crazy… this is
is too crazy…. Hank is scribbling again, “A veterinarian! Ha! Ha!”
      “Yeah!      I just found his diary. I was reading it to myself..”
        “OUT LOUD!“ He turns to me.   “You were reading OUT LOUD!   It sounded as if you were saying a prayer… it sounded like you were praying to the Devil Beast…?”….  „„ “You weren`t, were you?”
           ” Of course not!”“Do I LOOK as if I`d do something like that?”
             “In that hat with 4 screens, you look as if you might
do anything at all!”
             “When we fix that door,  I won`t have to sleep in these screens. Then I`ll look normal,  you`ll see… and Matilda will, too.” I said.
              I nod my head and whisper to him the name – “Matilda.”
           Hank`s got his note pad out again, which delights me! I used to do the same thing exactly – whenever I smelt the whiff of a story.
             He still thinks he`ll get a story out of this.  And when
the story`s finished, he`ll give it to the newspaper  And,  after that?”
           “After that you`ll hit the road, eh, Jack?”„, C-U-LATER!“ Is that what you`re thinking
            “Yeah, I have to.. I got my story… too bad about
 no job, no boss newspaper building, no school,
no A&P… no…  ….But I never knew him….”
           “You got a map?” he asked.He`s standing again, almost.
                “Maps, we had maps galore…. But
after the blast, there weren`t no  maps no more.”
                  Hank had started to untie the tarp;he`d walked over to the tarp hole
                   “No maps… no more…. no maps by the door.“I said
                 ” Do you think you have brain damage?“ Hank asks
                   “That`s a hell of a question to ask, just as you`re
trying to leave!  Do you mean me?” I say
                  “ I mean  everybody here in town, but you especially,”Hank say
                   “We coulnd`t find anything…. except twisted up re-bar  for our  foxhole walls… without the rebar… and all those beasts in the lowlands before the River, we would have been fucked!   They can`t dig thru re-bar, you see… So now we`re better off – we`re not totally fucked.  We`re just completely screwed…”    I`m saying.
                “WHAT?” he shouts.  His eyes are crazed.
                  “Soon as the ringing in our ears cleared, we remembered we were hungry” To tell the truth. we couldn`t remember our own names , let alone the name of our town… and so  WE CAN`T FIND ANYTHING ON A MAP…    EVEN IF WE HAD A MAP, which…….. we…………don`t….we don know what names to match on the map….
                 “WE DON`T HAVE A MAP!“ i shout back at him
                    At least that was clear.
                             ***  ***  ***

 END OF WAIT-A-BIT  – Part 4




WHO ARE THESE DEAD FOLKS?                                                           (

          This hangover is SPECTACULAR! Don`t get me wrong,
I feel bad… but I also have that crystal clarity
that makes me think I can see for 100 miles
and call the ravens out of the white pine from way back
An old pal is getting out of the Inuvik Jail, where they`ve had him in the hole for that last 72 days.I guess they`ve had him there for the last eight months.
He`s a quiet fellow, never makes a fuss ho! ho! and
will hit town like a Okkie tornado and freight train all rolled up in one and come whistling down the river hopefully in a bush plane – he`s not high enough for travel by levitation just yet. I imagine we`re going to fix that.
  1.       We have a tragedy on our hands at the moment –
    we`re out of hooch, internal bug spray – let`s call that
    High Mountain Moonshine Overproof Special Yahoo! That`s the name of this blend…but it`s almost gone.

    I woke up this morning because I was buzzed
    by a Beaver.
    I`m not talking about a blonde in tight jeans
    about to sit on my nose – no! I`m talking about
    a Canadian bushplane/floatplane which makes quite
    a roar when it`s coming in –  buzzing your cabin, or coming
    down to land at a ridiculous speed.
    I knew who it was.  It had to be
    Bobby Carl Wildman, who had just been sprung from a jail
    only 400 miles down river.
    He`d be  rarin` to go.
    Problem with Bobby – he gets an idea in his head
    it stays in his head until something is done about it.
    Most of his ideas involve motion for everybody else.
    You could say that`s part of his charm, and sometimes
    you`d be right.
    His last name is Wildman and he acts like a Wildman,
    and every time he comes by: I have a near death experience.

    We usually follow a plan, take off in some direction
    and see what the hell`s going on over there. If nothing`s happening; that changes pretty quick.

    Once I was lying on my back  relaxing in a canoe in at Trout Lake in cottage country. The waves were rocking me like a little baby in his cradle. And the sun is warm on my face.I was listening to the song of birds.
    All of a sudden there was an
    was an explosion on the shoreline, much much louder than a firecracker. It was Robbie arriving.Robbie showed up with a couple of suspicious looking fellas in a white limousine.
    Next morning at 5:00 A.M. I wake up in New York City. With no memory whatsoever of how I got there.
    I look up and admire the plaster moulding between ceiling and wall . It`s good carved work. Then I hear the constant traffic flow… WTF?
    Then I forced myself up onto all fours – and I started
    to crawl. It seemed like a long journey across an
    endless desert.  What drug gives you tunnel vision and
    and totally fucks your depth perception, too… so that a foot
    can seem like a crab at the bottom of a cliff… What drug can make a luxurious rug at the Hotel Pierre look
    like the Gobi desert?
    What FOOL would take such a drug„,Am I that much of a fool… Oh, no! No negative script right now, revolving in my swollen brain….I don`t have time to be depressed.  Yes,
    I might be an utter shit; I might be spit on a windowpane –
    but if we don`t clear this room they`re gonna put me away forever…
    In one of those cheap government asylums,
    where all the patients are numbers walking around with their asses exposed.  Eight AM and they bring out the firehose –
    they start hosing the `residents` down with cold water…
    No need for showers…. and when they put you in immaculate white solitary confinement, that`s when, under the bright lights they let the spiders loose on you..! You can see `em real well against the bright white floor and sheets… then you`ll scream…. yes, then…scream….  you will!
    There are certain parts of YOUR body they like to eat when you`re sleeping.
    STOP IT. That`s all in my head.. No one`s turning the spiders loose on you – not quite yet,  anyway…. Now open your eyes and get a grip….

    Not acid, not cocaine, not crystal meth or MDA, not
    herb… although herb sometimes can do amazing things
    with colour… not Haldol, methadone or amitriptyline, not most of the prescription drugs… although there are
    some exceptions if taken to excess…not PCP„, not PCP….
    oh God!  Not PCP!!  What have we done?
    Why are all these bodies lying in our room.  On PCP
    you can do any monstrous thing… you might think it`s for the good of society that you`re choking the life out of your high school teacher…
    You might feel sorry for homeless people, then kill them all and drag them to your room in the Hotel Pierre
    so they`d be warm and not feel so alone anymore.     Schostokovitch! Is that what we have done?  Are any of the people alive? Am I  a certified monster, after all? 
    Were my friends in primary school right all along about what
    I would become?  On PCP, all of the above is possible
            “THEY`RE GOING TO HUNT US DOWN LIKE DOGS! “I whisper to myself.

             “get a grip…. first of all you`ve gotta go and catch that prick over there….“   I`m crawling again, trying not to puke… He can`t hear me.  I`m too quiet.

    The bastard`s over there in the corner hunched over the telephone talking rapidly.He looked like he was 100 miles away…. I had tunnel vision. WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?
    I have a wad of money in each of my front pockets… Have we robbed these people then terminated their lives?.
    Did we chop them up? I had a horrible taste in my
    mouth just then…it tasted like last night`s  liver and
    onions.Did we eat their LIVERS! Are we harvesting organs?

    I can`t crawl far or fast… from all fours I collapse on my stomach. In the rug I smell something sweet. My…

  2. My nose is in something soft… Dear God,it`s a hand! It`s perfume I smell… With my eye I follow  the hand along the arm up  to the head. The eye in the head opens.  The eye is huge
    and seems to be following me as I attempt to crawl away
    I`m about to make an exit on my knees…
    It sees me: “HEY, COOCHIE!” It shouts at me.
    “Thank God!“  I`m thinking. It`s alive! Do I have to kill
    it again?”
    I clutch the back of Rob`s collar and pull him
    onto the rug with me. So he`s at my level: “YOU FOOL! WHAT HAPPENED? “ I hiss.
    “No one`s sure.  Remember those two honchos in the limo.
    “Just barely.
    “Well, we rode in the car with them for five hours.  You told all kinds of funny stories….
    “OK OK. what happened!
    They gave five pills of that date rape drug.  They told me to try it out.
    You gave it to yourself?
    Sure, why not?
    “You give the pill to your date, not yourself You`re supposed to give that pill to the woman and SHE passes out. Then you jump on her and do your evil deeds…  And then you`re facing ten years in the slammer…
    The way you did it: “WE passed out. You can tell the guys it worked! too well…It turned us into killers, also!

    He looked at me for a long time. I was just about to pull out one of his teeth  with my bare hands if he didn`t speak up.
    He said: “That pill really got on top of you, didn`t it?“
    I say:  “What pill, you fool!  What the fuck happened?  Our room looks like Cambodea after a massacre!  WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING WITH THE BODIES!”
    Rob looks at me as if he`d never met me before,
    “Those aren`t bodies!   That`s Shula and  those are her friends! They`re all alive, I think, anyway.
    We met last night…. drank several gallons of beer.
    You must remember Shula.  She was giving you oral love under the table!“
    “I`m hallucinating are you?” I ask I`m not mentioning
    the evil grin the HEAD had given me?
    “Yeah, quite a bit actually… How about you? You took three times what I took… oh yeah, and the boys said there
    might be a little PCP mixed in it just to keep you awake… so any weird thoughts you`re having – forget `em.“
    I didn`t say a word. So he continued his explanation:
    “You climbed up onto the stage and did a slow striptease.Shayla got up, too, and stripped with you. The whole place went wild; the bar was mayhem.  The bouncers and the bartenders were freaking. Then you got up on a table and…things settled down when you were least at first….
    “Then you made a speech about “LIBERATION” and  things got way way worse…everybody got up on the tables throwing their glasses against the wall… Cops were called. We got out quick  We have a room here…”
    “OK, I understand.  But there`s something we`ve gotta do first. Come back into the room with me and we`ll check their vital signs.“

    I woke up this morning full of doubt and recriminations.Guilts of all manner were trickling past my ears into my enlarged mind.  I can`t drink a bottle of whiskey straight without water and expect to survive.  I could do it when I was twenty-one but even then it was a bad idea.
    These days it`s damn nearly suicide
    I have that clarity that means you`ve just dumped about a billion brain cells.

    Another time we ended up in Peru.
    That another story, one for a more adult audience. Ho! Ho! Joking, of course.  You can imagine what Bobby got up to in Peru – with Peruvian flake cocaine selling for $10.  a gram.
    I`m admitting nothing, naturally.  We went up into the Andes and we were consumed with snow.
    I remember that sudden vacation a whole lot better.
    I have a very Klear memory of it.

    Another time six of  us were just arriving back at Pearson International Airport (Toronto). I was with a bunch
    of Danes (Gerd, especially). They had just introduced me
    to Aquavit. I had six glasses of it then fell asleep behind the wheel. (Wish I had a glass of it now!)
    I drove into a concrete abutment, attempting to leave the parking garage. We weren`t going fast, but even

    at 10 MPH you can have quite a collision.There were six of us in the car.
    I drove an Oldsmobile Cutlass straight  into a cement  abutment   I WAS AWAKENED BY THE SCREAMS OF MY PASSENGERS.

    Usually within three days of Wildman`s arrival, some disaster happens

    Bobby kicks the door open  and shouts: “I NEED SOME HEROIN!”
    I just stared at him from across the room….   ….  …  You son of a bitch? YOU MAD BASTARD! You know there`s no heroin in Rat River! For the last month
    we haven`t even had salt!“
    “Fuck that! I came to pick you up!  Time for a party… I`m just out of jail and you look out of your mind.
    “What`s wrong with you — you look like you`re dying!”
    “Isolation sickness.  Mad Po left for a booze purchase
    three weeks ago.  At first the silence was wonderful…now, not so much.

           “Forget that! It`s time for a party I`ve got $32,000 and I want to spend it!

    Bobby waves to the pilot.  An engine starts up

    down the river.



(1)In all forms of mystical endeavour a one-pointed mind is essential. A one-pointed mind
means a focused mind.

(2) It is also necessary to find a sacred or blessed site on which to ground yourself.
You can have a spot cleansed by yourself,
and sanctified by the Lord of Hosts. The
site, the locus is important and getting grounded in this place is even more essential.
You must be grounded when you begin
your sitting.

Jesus said: “Among those born of women, from
Adam until John the Baptist, there is no one superior to John the Baptist that his eyes should not be lowered (before him).Yet I have said, whichever one of you comes to be a child will be acquainted with the kingdom and will become superior to John.”

In all the activities of man, no one is more focused than a child at play. His concentration is not dualistic or divided. So we work towards the focus of a child at play.

This is what we want when we begin a mystical endeavour.


(C)2019 BY W.G. MILNE



All the great questions end up with a journey to yourself.

    There is no beginning nor is there an ending… but there is an infinite place where you are, a timeless place where the eternal speaks deep within you.

     The final frontier is your Mind,
and you don’t have to take a step to explore it.

     Learn your sitting and you can travel distances in the galaxy within.

     The difficulty is not grasping complexity. It takes genius to grasp simplicity.

     All the journeys are within in you, all your lovers, all you love is birthing here in the present dawn of each new day.

    The second coming of Christ is at hand. He is already here within you.

    The dawn of Maitreya, the new Buddha rises within. Deeper than oceans, more vast than space is the unexplored Country of your own soul.

    I am waiting here to greet you. When you see me, you will Know yourself.

(C)2019 by W.G. Milne



People have asked me about the realization experience, the enlightenment experience, foundation experience.

Many of you have read zen. The satori experience is essentially the same – as what I’m writing about. Kensho, satori, living in a state of samhadi. All the worlds great religions have the same path in different ways – hidden in some cases, revealed in other instances.

 And people, monks etc. will argue incessantly about the differences. I don’t care much about the differences of the separate paths. I no longer have much time for intellectualizations.

Why is this experience essential? It brings certainty into your life. You no longer wonder about whether you must go left or must go right,
or must go or do anything at all.

        You are free to go your own way without guilt or doubt or second-guessing.

         You are aware that you know all there is to know, yet in a different sense you know 
nothing at all.

         You don’t need to know all the names of God or argue about such things. In the most fundamental way, you have walked with God,
and wandered with Him in His miraculous creation.

         Ego no longer plagues you. You might be aware that you were the best at all possible endeavours… but nowhere and at no time were you ever better or more pure than  THIS!

(C)2019 by W.G. Milne




I’m out of hooch and I haven’t had food for a
couple of days… I have to go see Artie – so I head over
early, at 10:00AM an unearthly hour
in our little town.
I open the twisted oval door to the bar,
and when I step inside and close it – darkness!
And not a peep except a curious snuffling sound that
sounds like a blunt-nose puppy ( a boxer or a lab) is
looking for a place to sleep…a bit of a wheeze..
and, what’s that? A hic-cup? And a snort…
And a terrified, mewling sound… so it’s not
a wolverine – wolverines don’t make mewling sounds…
even expressing affection, wolverines tend to snarl…
Then I heard a heavy thump. Did someone deliver
a proper front kick at the bar? By proper I mean heel first….
Not a puppy then…
Matilda has a big great Dane – dumb as a post. It sounds
kind of like him – bewildered, confused
and begging for something he never quite understands
he wants.
I reach out… and feel,,, what feels like a horse’s
tail hanging all the way down to my knees… hanging
over the edge of the bar…. this is too weird. And
nasty. The tail isn’t entirely dry.
A horse! What would a horse be doing
in Artie’s bar? I’ve seen many a horse’s ass here,
but never a horse…then again, at the moment I can’t see.
I search for more of those yellow candles…
I find a wooden ‘safety’ match snap it on my
thumbnail. There’s a flash of light… For a split-second
I see it…there’s either a large dog or a small
horse kneeling on Artie’s bar…
And the noises it’s making. Rather like
someone goosed a moose, or moosed a goose,
or… or what? I don’t know what… My imagination
is vast (or so I’ve been told, and I’m not at all sure
it’s a compliment).
But this is unimaginable!
The eyes looked strangely human.
But animals’ eyes often look this way, I’m sure
you’ve noticed.
However these eyes seem to be
bulging, as if the creature has been caught
in a surprising situation – a distressing situation.
I’ve got to find another match.
I don’t want to touch that hair again,
hanging down over the edge of the bar… it’s
just too creepy. Did I detect a stickiness to it…?
Oh, God! No!
You don’t want to be placing your
hands on just any sticky fluid! Imagine
crawling along the floor of a bus station bathroom…
well, that’s not the place to put your hand in
something wet… nosiree!
I once saw a pale white palm reach
into my stall in a pay-as-you-go toilet stall
in a bus station bathroom in the City…downstairs, of course,
it had to be downstairs!
Oh, sticky hair! No! Maybe I’d better
leave. Better find some alcohol first to wash
my hands.
“OOOOMmmPH!” it made a sound.
It wasn’t a deep-voiced male sound.
Tho the sound had plenty of gusto in it…
this is not a small creature. This is a large
dumb brute… in the midst of consternation…
Distress? Aw, now I can’t leave!
And my insulated green rubber boot just got stuck…
on something… sticky… on the floor.
OOooo… I almost throw up. And that
won’t help the general stickiness situation!
I find another match. I flick my thumb… I see
his eyes. It’s not a horse’s head! It’s a dog’s…
head mask… A mask? Oh, too weird! Too
sticky, and stinky too… I’m gone!
I work my way along the wall… one, two,
three moose heads… I’m out of here! I snatch
open the door… A glimmer from outside helps a bit.
No question. A large dumb brute is kneeling on the
bar, with a big hairy tail… making Great Dane sounds
if you stuff the dogs nose under a pillow…
I step out onto the Main Lane and let
the door close behind me. I light a cigar and
stare up at the gorgeous imperious stars…
the peaceful stars, the clean stars. The air is cold and sharp.
I like it out here.
The arctic air does not feel depraved.
The air of the arctic feels pristine. Not like the ugly
scene, the monstrous situation all-too- present
in Artie’s Elegant Bar and Grill.

I wire a rag to a pole of driftwood. I pour
some naphtha gas on the rag. I reach into my
bunker and pick up the Bic lighter. I light
the rag and push the pole into the mud at the
edge of the Mane Lane, just outside of Artie’s Bar.
I keep the door propped open.
Now I can see inside. Yes, it’s a beast
with a dog’s head… no wait, is that a horn emerging
from the forehead of the dog? No!
Yes! It is. And some kind of a cone
is rising atop the dog-head mask… The dog has
a pig nose and a dunce’s hat. A dunce’s hat?
It’s got to be Artie! You think Artie, you think
dunce’s cap!
IT IS! IT IS ARTIE! In the pointy hat of a fool!
As I say, it’s not that big a mental stretch… to think of
Artie in such headgear… although, the forehead-dildo
is a bit of a surprise, I must say.
And something’s written on the fool’s hat.
I enter the bar and light one of the
oil lamps. Good God! What have they done to
our poor bartender? I’m concerned…
I’ve got to get a camera!
I walk back in with my flash camera.
I can see what looks like Bruno the Great Dane,
only with big wide eyes, shake his head, “NO!”
Artie’s saying in mime.
I flash the shot from one angle. Then
I flash two more of his pig-face. Ha! Ha! That
pig’s nose looks cute on Artie! And what are
those words written on the dunce’s hat?
PIG… Yes, right above his ear. PERVERT!
higher up and. “FOOL!” And right above the dildo
emerging from between his eyes…!”
I snap another shot to the sound of
Artie grunting in denial!

Enough’s enough. I peel off the duct
tape strapping the hat onto Artie’s black hair…
I pull off the head-dildo. It comes off with a suction
sound – a pop! Has someone glued that to his
I cut the cloth of the dog mask
away. And there’s Artie! Wide-eyed and
ridiculous in all his glory!
His trying to say something, but
he can’t. There’s a bright red ball in his
mouth, strapped there. I pop this out.
Artie gasps. “Untie me!” he wails.
I’ve got cramps!”he grunts.
Then I see it, his wrists and legs
are tied to the bar… his legs are tied open
at the ankles…. and on no, the horse’s tail
is attached to a broom stick. The broom stick
appears to penetrate up Artie’s ass!
I cut the ropes loose…. I give a tug
on the horse’s tail at the end of the broomstick,
“Do you want this out?” I ask Artie,
trying not to laugh… “Or are you enjoying it?”
“Argrolff!” Artie shout’s back at me
from over his shoulders… His arms and legs
are quivering… I pick him up and lay
him on his side on the polished bar. I try
not to notice, but certain body parts have
been shaved, clean as a baby’s bottom!
Time for me to leave. I want to digest this
monstrous scene in peace and tranquillity.
I wish to think of other things. Like salmon fishing
in Yemen.

“I’ll let you take care of the rest of
your outfit.” I say to Artie; “I’m not sure what
you want where, what costume parts are annoying
and which parts you are enjoying!
I’d hate to interfere!
I say this just as he’s reaching behind
him with both hands, attempting to remove
the duct tape from his shaved ass..
“UCK OORF!” he shouts loudly… but once
again his voice is muffled because now
he’s lying face down on the bar, squirming
like a caterpillar ((with dreams of distant

He looks confused, bewildered… not
sure how to extract himself from his present
His voice is shaken, muffled. I wonder
just how far the broom handle penetrates up his
ass. I’d like to know, but it’s not the sort
of question it’s polite to ask.

Write a comment…



North West Territories,,, only sixteen left in town

The town was so completely destroyed by Friendly Fire no one can remember the name of the town, or exactly where the town was…..We know it  was east of the Mackenzie Rover – but the River moves around a lot and can sweep away sandbars overnight.  The JUICY ROOST HOTEL is only a fond memory in the minds of those of us who still have memories.

A Canadian pilot bombed us returning from the “dance” at Normal Wells the night before. Perhaps he saw something move fast out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox like the rest of us —(My evil Uncle Elmer Wilcox was the judge… And everybody knows he was a monster.  But… Henry, no, honest! Henry was the fun guy… as his demise would point out to you. He walked off into the muskeg, perhaps seeing attractive buttocks in a cloud of flies, why knows? He

disappeared with a hard-on and a Walkman… and the thoughts in his head are only speculation)  This is ART in the Mackenzie River drainage basin….

        When you can see the hand in front of your face, despite the ravaging

humming, chittering (and are they laughing?) flies…. when and if you can see your

hand you may have an instant to witness a VanGogh… if you can hold the page

still of the reference book from the decimated Wait-A-Bit Library. If you can

hold the book still for a calm instant, and not scratch any intimate parts… maybe

then you can see the beauty that much of the rest of the world knows…but don`t count on it… better to look at Art thru the uncompromising light of a Coleman Lamp…like light in a surgical matinee… then maybe you see the colours… (if your drug-addicted mad slattern isn`t howling at your with barely noticeable articulation and you can put the reference book on your kitchen table for a moment of rest, then you have a chance… if your door is solid and nailed shut and you can forget the 100 pound weasels just down the shore… the wolverines reputed to have inherited Human  sex glands, intelligence and perversions, changed by some genetic experiment made during the time of the DEW line. THEN maybe you can

look at a Van Gogh painting, but don`t count on it….

EDIT 2X????C((((((Most of this is legend.. some of it is merely rumour, tho quite recent rumour….tapes exists – the words of several horrified and astounded victims)

Officially, none of us believe them… But we know the truth when we       hear it… ((some drunks have gone missing))))))))))Perhaps the pilot saw something move  fast out if the corner of his eye; perhaps he hated the architecture of the Town Hall or the A&P, Perhaps he hated Judge Wilcox , too…. he definitely had that perfect hand to eye co-ordination some of are lucky enough to have, no matter how drunk we might happen to be…One thing ya gotta say about the kid, no matter what psychotic thoughts were passing thru his brain, he was a hell of a shot… His aim was pretty terrific

            There was also the rumour that he fired at Artie`s Bar because he`dheard that Artie was screwing one of the Arctic Dixie Chicks… the flyboy`s favourite….young men can be hot-headed at some times…. I heard the first building that went up was THE  BUILDING RIGHT BEHINDArtie`s HOLE IN THE GROUND BAR…where Artie did indeed nail TRIXIE more times than I can count.

         She was the hottest of the Arctic Dixie chicks…. and she danced

extremely suggestively with a body to launch 1000 jets… great rolling buttocks, short skirts knee high leather boots with chrome stiletto heels….. a bit of whimsy which… always endeared herto me and to Psycho Fly-boy, which is now his handle… and will be`til he becomes legend in Hank’s one page newspaper… put out at unpredictable times. So twelve minutes later, I attended at what presently is our city hall, jail,,,  It`s that board and baton ersatz brick-faced structure that  rises up out of the roof of Artie`s bar.

        I knocked and knocked and then craned my neck and looked thruthe twelve-paned, wooden framed window… which isthe biggest picture winda on the Main Lane… I saw the mayor passed out in what was my nagahyde Lazy-Boy armchair, which I donated to the Town of Wait-A-Bitone long winter night with Matilda…. Matilda being electedmayor after me, I thought it was only fair to create a traditionof a comfortable mayor chair. Of course, I was intoxicated at the time, or I would have remembered it was the only chair I had.

     Matilda was passed out unconscious after having performed her mayoralty duties the night before.I noticed she still had the soccer pads on her knees…so I knew she had been hard at work til dawn doing the municipal works.

            It was hard to begrudge her my chair at a tender time like that.

           Later Hank was reading this passage  about falling in love with Matilda`s Ass, and 4 inch chrome spiked heels.

          “Endeared her to you ! That`s rich.. I caught you licking and sucking those heels in her closet – sitting in the dark by yourself…”

           “That wasn’t me,” I say. Was the man a spy? I don`t like spies – they catch me… doing things….I hate to ask this, … I know Trixie`s dead”… but ”What happened to..?”.“WHAT HAPPENED TO HER BOOTS?!!!

You are one sick fuck, Santa…”

“Maybe so… but,,, ANSWER MY QUESTION, FOOL!” “Hey!”

      How did that happen?… Where did my gun com, from… in my hand and  pointed right between his eyes?”

      Hank pants…. Standing with the gun, “You`re not serious.


So he told me pretty quick….I don`t know where all these remembered moments come from… must be the flies….or Maybe it`s because I haven`t even seena woman`s ass in 13 months…. and some stupid fuck burned all my “Real Ass” magazines…He blew up  all my computer connectionsAnd by the time you get LEG ACTION  up here…….the copy is in tatters.

                                     *    *     *


%d bloggers like this: