one sonnet and various lines



O never say that I was false of heart

Though absence seemed my flame to qualify



Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediment. Love is not love which alters

Which alters when it alteration finds

Or bends with the remover to remove

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark

   That looks on  tempests and is never shaken

It is the star to every wand’ring bark

Whose worth’s unknown although his height be taken

Love’s not Time’s fool , though rosy lips and cheeks        Within his bending cycle’s compass comes

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks

But bears it out to the edge of doom

 If this be error and upon me proved

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

                                                       William Shakespeare

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Ozymandias – Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an ancient land

`Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear —

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.’   SHELLEY


I met a woman from an ancient land

She  dusted off her clothes and then reclined;

“You look as if you’ve traveled far,” I said,

“Have a cold drink and then some peace of mind”

  •                                                                                  ME




Pleasure and action make the hours seem short



The stroke of death is like a lover’s pinch

Which hurts and is desired


Brevity is the soul of wit


Men’s vows are women’s traitors


The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief


“Touch me once more, she smiled and said to me:

“Touch once more my tits,” she said to the man,

“I’ll give you a pair of   acres.”

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are

Of imagination all compact


What’s done is done and cannot be undone


False face must hide what the false heart does know


In time we hate that which we often fear


The devil can cite scripture for his purpose

There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind

Women may fall when there’s no strength in men

Forgiven thieves may be strong time in time

False face must hide what the false heart does know

Though all his loves go rushing down the Rhine   (whoops!)

In time we hate what we always feared

At the Temple finding time out of time






    on a stormy night


I’m sitting here alone, a storm outside,

As flesh and bone all disappear to dust,

I think of  the unholy things I tried;

And wonder near the end now what will last.


I loved a woman who eluded me

Amid the dust, noise, frantic in the rain,

Around each corner of the Paris streets

I watched her disappearing by the Seine.


She’s not a lover of earthly climes,

This gorgeous apparition of my dreams;

My love of her exists now beyond time:

She’s what is true, while all the world just seems.

Through hours and weeks as sorrows come again,

Unknowing Her I’d never lift a pen.

                                              (C)2016 by William Milne



“A hundred Keyboards you may play
Always, always, every day,
But I say, a bird sounds good,
That sings in the untouched wood!”

from a poem by Mari Muthu




William Milne's profile photoMari Muthu's profile photo

William Milne

Sep 23, 2016

Great stuff! Good going…. perhaps an edit.


 2015-12-22 01.38.15 (2).jpg NIGHTSCAPE AT THE CLIFF

Our loves, desires, thoughts of who we could be,

Thoughts of the muddy earth all turning red;

Dreams of a silver moon as full as spring,

All this shining path is lost by grasping.

Sounds of the trees at night in the forest,

The whisper of the pines when no wind stirs;

Bird songs before the dawn in this magic hour,

 A voice comes in the dark and calls you home.

Youth is born and bright and celebrates you

With sunlight dancing on the ocean, too,

Splendour in the grass, the completion hour,

Kneel with open arms in the morning dew.

Once it was that life moved beneath my hand

And I could breath the starshine as evening came,

The twilight  air is everything I need;       

Amidst this cosmic dance I call your name.

                                                       (C)2016 by William Milne
                                        3:00 A.M. September in North Bay





I passed through a mystical experience
at 4:30 A.M. today… and it carried me a step towards my goal of unifying the split
in the psyche between the spirit and the flesh.
       Make no mistake, the spiritual and the
erotic both partake of the infinite atoms
and energies of the same universe. There
is nothing, not even E.S.P., not even union
with God, nothing that is not corporeal.
       Atoms and energies take part in both experiences, in fact in all events that happen
through the medium of the human brain…

       So why do we revere the spiritual
and denigrate the physical? (Same old
question on this site.)

        I had a transcendent experience
this morning. I felt Aphrodite smile
within me. I felt Her smile with mercy
within my heart…I felt Her tender
         What had I been doing before
this? I had been obsessing with
sexual desire focusing on psychological
fetish. I had been focusing for hours
on various aspects of the beauty
of women, the beauty of womanhood,
feeling passion and devotion.
         It was then I felt the transcendent
presence of Aphrodite within me.

         The sense I got was that the energies
of the Father God, God of Abraham, God  who
opens the clouds,Lord of the meeting rivers;
the God of Christ and the prophets…that the chaste communion with the one who is creating us
could meld and merge into the love of Aphrodite – that the two divinities
were one in the same, especially
through the prism and the
mirror of FORGIVENESS.

            I felt this. I sensed this: that the
two energies partake of one divinity –
that He and She are of the Same.
            “I am he who is of the Same.”
Christ said this in the Gospel of Thomas.
And Christ forgave Mary Magdalene.
She was His beloved companion, so much
so that some of the other disciples were
jealous that He  spent so much time
 with her.  (see The Gospel of Philip)

           Mystical experiences are not
experiences that can be explained 
           I attempted to express
the feeling I had in the presence of
Aphrodite with the following poem.
I’m pretty sure the poem needs more
 work, more detail. But so far,
this is the attempt. 




I believe in spiritual love        

               the love of the one         

              whom we keep                      


                     denying the existence


                    of the one  we 




             I believe in sexual love

             the cruelties and the

              mercy of the Goddess



             I am not sure which is higher


              or sexual love

              and I don’t care which

              is higher


              She has taken

              every part of me

                my sex and

                 soul and heart


                 I have given you

                  all my songs


                  I am left standing

                   on the shore of the beautiful

                   River Lethe

                    watching the shades

                      race past


                    chasing what?

                    the corruptible?

                    feeding on what’s left
                    of the flesh?


                    I have nothing more to say

                    about higher or

                     lower love…

                     there is divinity

                     at every turn


                    blindly in the dark

                     I feel my way

                     towards you


                    feeling towards

                    the inner glow 

                    of your embrace


                     moving blindly

                     feeling my way

                      in darkness

                       guided by the warmth

                      of Your smile

                       within me.









              rubies are hanging

              from the trees.


               TO KNOW ITSELF


                I don’t pretend to have all the answers
re: the unifying of sexual communion and spiritual communion.
               It’s an expression  T.S.Eliot recorded:

         Toward the end of our lives, if mercy is

shown to us,  we  begin to understand the meaning of forgiveness.

                                       (C) 2014 by W.G.Milne




I have built up quite a traffic jam of unfinished drafts. This is the first of a series of short articles, called



The Mechanics of Shame:

Yes, it`s a strange world…strange and mysterious.
And odd things happen, too.

      This is so basic and simple, that it`s hard
to understand. Nobody sees the obvious.
When we get too close to a subject, we get
blinded to what is going on.

       Despite being a necessary act, sex and discussing sex is still  kind of taboo…   BUT it is the centre of our existence,  centre of our bodies, too, and the tree at the centre of the garden.
         And it`s  “bad” if we talk about it too openly.
I`m amazed that after all we`ve been through, this is
still the case.
        Yet the PLEASURE INCENTIVE  is how Nature
organizes and directs the things we do.

       We feed ourselves because it feels good to eat….
the Pleasure Incentive runs almost every aspect of our

        Even single-celled organisms follow  pleasure
as they  hunt down food and devour it.
 it feels good to eat food and to have a full stomach.
         Necessary activities, like sex, would be a chore
if there was not pleasure involved
          We are engineered internally so as to do the
activities that ensure the survival of our  species.
         Eating and procreating – two activities that we feel
pleasure doing:  two activities essential to our survival.

         The basic question – is this: how can we
feel guilt for something that is at the core of
our being, something essential to the species,
an activity that nature gives us the
         Feeling guilty for having sex is
like feeling guilty for eating, or feeling shame
because you need to take another
        We might as well say,


        And we do apologize

But this, exactly, is the SCAM:

     “We`ll absolve you of your guilt, we`ll wipe
your slate and your soul clean. But you must 
pay us for forgiveness.”
       We`re supposed to pay for forgiveness
to exactly the same people who convinced us
sex is evil.
          An analogy is this: a person shoves a 
grenade up your ass . And now the same
person is making you pay to
get it out.
          Does this sound reasonable to you?

           It`s like the protection racket,
only worse.

          Since you`ll always have to have sex,
you`ll always have to pay to be cleansed.
         The clerics have had an unending source 
of income – from the beginning, the dawn of man.
          With this sort of cash rolling in, you can
build things. Basilicas can be built.
          Basilicas and bank accounts.

                                                                                    (C)2013 by William G. Milne

“PRAIRIE OYSTERS BY SURPRISE” by the Mad Poet of Rat River


NOTE:((NEEDS AN EDIT!  Over 18 only – this seems obscene……. But ob seen worse.))



Poncho & Lefty messed up this hotel

I’m here, room service will not hear me yet;

The Mob they thought I had a certain debt,

I  paddled down to  Mexicali hell.


Bus driver doesn’t need a map, he says

He just might tell  the truth if I relax;

I better take a sail to Ja-make-eo

Push a bus uphill  chock full of ho’s

(Note: This really happened

Returning from Savannah La Mar

Heading to Negril. They weren’t hos

They wuz just party girls)


A tongue in both your ears will wake you up

                               real quick

I got back on the bus and I found out

“Meet us tonight at the Soon Come disco,”

                                they said

“We’ll give you something else you won’t forget.”





I need some sour-sop juice & that’s no joke,

I must lie down, pass out before I poke;

While Jenna leans so sexy  by the door,

My balls they be conflicted to the core.


Captain Jack he sails south just as we wrote,

A full moon on the Grand Bank’s not like this;

Banana trees are sneaking cross my  yard

                                           right now

While Davey G’s best lady rubs  my nards.

(NOTE: “nards” – one of Paddy’s favorite





I don’t care so much, I got my hoodie

Her buttocks blossoming gives me a woody;

I didn’t fuck her gotta tell you to be true,

I relieved myself four times into the dew.

(Editor’s note: WHOOPS!)


Did I get some thanks, no not at all!

I felt real true blue pressure in my balls;

Maybe I’ll sail north to Montreal

A lady I know there will give me  all


With three mobsters after my appendage

I tend to watch all night, see who’s around

The prairie oysters they collect from

             unsuspecting men

Makes em giggle all night long while chewing them.


(Ed. NOTE:  No! Shoot the poet!)

I grew up in the circus with my daddy

Where hookers were gals and also men

And with the appetite of all them  prairie folk

 Hide out in your jockstrap with a 4:10!


                                           ((editor’s note: OUCH!!))



Hi Willie!

(This is god awful poetry!

That prick’s gonna have to pay me more

And bring me another bottle quick!

yours truly,   Editor 666)















Sometimes it’s so difficult to know
You think you’re doing one thing but you’re                                                wrong
You talk of love like it’s some kind of song
While it’s sneaking up behind you with a gong

Maybe I’ll just move to Buffalo
I’ll head due south now to avoid the snow
I drove into a drift beneath a tier
And then I found I thought of you all year…

Who’d a thunk it while giving you advice
I found my heart and soul beneath the ice
And then I find my feelings start to thaw
A change like this is really pretty awesome

Scary scary scary, that’s what it is
And here’s me thinking love’s about the jizz
With all this wisdom how can I be wrong?
This melody’s way deeper than a song.


W.G. Milne


(Never count it out, we just don’t know

Those feelings working out below)




With Marilyn beside me on the floor
I loved her with no idea where I’d been
And sirens all around me out the door
I thought some fuckhead went and turned me                                        in

Real peace it greeted me quite 3 by 3
And 18 kittens tumbled by my head
The Tsars of Russia also on my couch
Shakespeare put a finger to his mouth
Some bugger beat the tambour to the south

I held a meeting of the council the next day
“Why you fuckheads treating me this way”
Sweet sister cut off half my hair
Before I put a footsie on the stair

Now melodrama’s happening in the trees
And some fuckhead in the bushes’s name is   Jesus
And Geronimo is driving in my car
And Nurse Annie’s stripping on the bar

Fuckee, fuckee. fuckee, that’s my way
I got this real sharp car too fast now
                  for the roll
I had to head around to Mexico
And Charlie MacNacracker …has my ho

Now I know the Circus came to town
She’s the majorduomo, I’m the clown
While Paddy’s now a bird, no casket yet,
Aunt Edith fucked my daddy in the net

I didn’t really have to fall this far
I only have a bike, ain’t got no car
We blew the doors right off the storage room
Owner tried a kick at my balloons

Miranda has an ass that makes me think
AS I am  goatherd of the town
And all my hair she cut just blocks the sink
As fuckheads from the foundry walk around

It’s lucky I have liquor here with me
She turned off all the lights and the T.V.
Ivan he’s sleeping on the couch
I’m trying to be quiet, shut my mouth

Polonious knew just where we’d met
Shakespeare in the alley won’t  confess;
As Ruthie and her doggie got me wet
While sleeping on her couch, the best one yet

Adolpho has her mysteries to be sure
Saramanka’s real sneaky with the cards
Last night  she had 4 aces five more times
I had to beg some gold from a silver mine

It’s very clear to me I need a drink
Not been here long before I hafta think
Some kitties dancing riight now on my car
My booze-bag’s hidden smart beneath the floor

Nagasaki was a terrible event
My best pal Yama cut off Freddie’s head
The judges and the lawyers in a car
I sing the Marsaille*   good now from afar.

 *((pronounced MAR-SAY-EH))
                                  who knows what this means
W.G. Milne
September, 2016, Fraser St


boats-in-harbous2015-12-22 01.38.15 (2).jpg NIGHTSCAPE AT THE CLIFF

Out of misery

May come strength,

Out of weakness

May come the Will;

Out of doubt

Comes certainty:

All hunger may be filled.



Spend a night

In the chapel

Of the Black Hand,

In your Grail Quest,

Solitary, without friends,

On your own you will stand

To atone, find home.



The inner soul

May touch  galaxies,

The most distant of journeys

Begins with one step.

Fear not,

You don’t need a car:


 Christ  resides with you

The cosmos from you, it is not far,

There is one Divine Mind in the Universe

It is your Identity.


The destination is not far,

Liberation will come to you.


There is nothing you need to know,

There is nowhere you need to go:


There is nowhere to go

But where you are.




(C)1980 – 2016 by W.G. Milne









           This is not the article I meant to write  this morning. But intentions count for little in this world. The question is, how soon can I get into the glow, the flow. Ho! Ho! That was a


                I likely should become awake before I bake this cake.


                   Paddy’s passing is a shock. And

the fact that he may have turned into that weird bird was most surprising to me. Nevertheless, stranger things have happened both in Paddy’s life and in mine.

                            And the possibility of a human mind, sharing a

bird’s brain with the bird , is not unknown in fine literature.

(Or in psychic, mythological and mystic writings.)

And it’s strangely appropriate to Paddy.


Many times, unexpectedly, usually in a fast-moving boat or vehicle, he’d leap up suddenly

and shout:





And now that I think about it, his howling

sounded very like that strange big bird honking and hooting yesterday.


        I’m not asking you to believe me. It’s

the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself. And everyone might experience the same event differently, depending on what kind of life you choose.

        I choose to live in a mysterious universe. And now that I’ve made that choice, I’m not sure I have a choice.


2016-03-17 00.13.34 (2).jpg LAUGHING BEAR use quote in article

  Paddy rides again!


                                               (C) 2016 by W.G. Milne




         My old friend and very good friend Paddy Gratton died last night, passed to the other shore.

               God bless you, Paddy. We’ll pray for you in this time of your passing and help you

with the voyage over the dark lands,

into the light of the New Dawn we’ve always

spoken of14207691_1191735704225570_1372996179357768310_o-van-gogh-lights-over-rhone



2016-03-17 00.10.30 (2).jpg BACK IN THE BUSH WITH MY UNDERTAKER

          The City is poorer today. God Bless

the sweet man and all his works.


* * *



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





I never used to be psychic, until I guess it was afterI went all over the globe searching for
Places of Power where I could engage in
 fundamental mystical practices…

I got older and I started having dreams.
Also I was working on the Testament of the Lord of Hosts on cliff-top…The words passed through me, like wind in the tree-tops.

Then I had a dream of an old friend of mine a senior banker – it was a very pleasant dream.
I hadn’t talked to the man in years, but we were always close, almost family.He was the president of the Bank of Nova Scotia.

I walked into Art’s office one morning and discussed putting a concert theater  on a ship.
It was Gary Cormier’s idea. And it’s a brilliant

Arthur said to me: “You don’t expect to walk out of my office this morning with 7 million dollars, do you Bill?

“No,” I said, “I just want you to tell me any problems you see in this project. What difficulties do you see?”

He said: “The problem I see with this plan
is, once we build the theater for you & prepare the ship, spending millions of dollars on the ship… … You can leave the country with it.”

“Gee, good for you! I didn’t catch that.
I missed it entirely.”

“NOBODY SEES THE OBVIOUS,” Father Belyea used to say.


Some years later I was in a deep sleep in the bed at my apartment on Main Street East,
North Bay. I had a dream

Arthur and I were driving in a limosene at night through Forest Hill, Toronto. Art was
happy. The mood in the car with me and him, was a celebration. It was joyous and we talked in a way we had never talked in life.

After the dream I checked the time exactly and phoned his daughter in Toronto. On her answering machine I recorded the specific time of my dream…. it happened that was exactly the moment Arthur Crockett was dying.

So we travel after death. There’s not much doubt about it.

I used to doubt everything, but I don’t do it so much anymore.

The consciousness that resides within our body
moves on.

Like a traveler from one motel room to the next, our bodies are husks –  the divine spark of consciousness is the  traveler
on a journey within to be free.  

All the weird stuff we do (and Paddy & I did plenty of weirdness for the pure joy of it). It is the strange dance we do in our pathway to


The native people here and certainly their shamans… they know what it means when it is said that the spirit moves after death. And the conscious spirit of our loved ones is quite capable of moving into the consciousness of a raven… temporarily on the journey home.

The Tibetan monks and masters, lamas etc, they know the conscious light travels on and inhabits the spirit-soul of an infant being born some days after  the  death of the adult. 

This knowledge is established as facts in these lands.

Why do I get into this abstruse reasoning?
It is because I know my friend is with us still.

                              * **

I was sitting listening to the wind in the trees
today, in a house near the hospital. I heard a loud hooting-honking sound of a big bird – some thing out of Jurassic Park – a bird sound

I’d never heard before

It was strange. I’d never heard a bird being that insistent.

Then I remembered Paddy loved to howl and hoot.   The aggressive hoots of the mysterious bird… Suddenly I though, this was Paddy
getting Tim’s and my attention – a raven hooting a loud, strange, unusual – a wild

bird in the treetops on a windy day,
hooting out a greeting from beyond the grave.


I have more stories about Paddy’s exploits, and I’ll post them in time. But right now for me,

sitting alone in my apartment,

his wake has already begun.

God bless you, buddy.

(C)2016 by W.G. Milne




      This song is about a passionate love affair
I had with Miss M over the years. We kept our lives apart, which was wise… But our interludes were hot!
         I’m not going to lie to you and say no S&M was involved. There were whips, ropes and riding crops – humiliation and radical delight.
        Krista Geden’s photo-art gives the song a more universal meaning.
        The beautiful little girl is my daughter Abby Rose and she is quite apart from the core meaning of this song… (Which has been banned once already, but we don’t need to discuss that fact here.)

        I recorded this tune in a garden shed with a 4 track Tascam. This is was my first attempt at playing bass. The raw lead guitar which is meant to emulate obsessive sexual frustration…
Well, I played that, too.  With no effects. I wanted to keep it thin, frustrated, sharp and raw.

             (C)1990-2016 by Bill Milne and John Rock Corporation




      He hasn’t spent any time whatsoever in the Places of Power of the earth. He’s spent no time whatsoever in the DEEP BUSH.

        He’s never been to Duppy Walk on the north coast of Jamaica.  Any without a little humility on Bill’s part, no one will show him the way.


            Even more important, he speaks as if he knows something. But he’s never met

the Trickster God.



The poor fuck!




                        (C)2016 by W.G. Milne












       “You’re getting close to the finish line,”

the Doctor said.”

       “When you say, ‘the finish line…’

What do you mean”, I ask.

       “I mean Death,” he said.

       “That’s what I thought you meant,” I said


Then the Doctor went on to say, “Maybe 
you shouldn’t be riding a bicycle anymore.”
      “What d’ya mean?” I ask.
       “Well, you passed out and hit a curb on 
Fisher street. Maybe you should switch
to a tricycle.”
       “Jesus, Doc!  This is turning into kind 

of a rough meeting… If I’m about to cross 

the finish line, I don’t think I want to go out 
riding a tricycle… Tho there is a Jamaican 
       “What’s that?” the Doctor asked.
       “Once a man and twice a child,” I said.
       “Very good,” he says…   “Think about
the tricycle.”
            Later that week,    I talked to a friend 
who’s a mechanic.
He said:
               “Go ahead, buy a tricycle.
I’ll put a lawnmower motor in the basket.
You’ll go like a bat out of hell.”
               “That sounds good,” I said.
               “Make sure you buy a tricycle
with brakes,” he said, “You’re gonna
need them.”
                                                    (C) 2016 by W.G. Milne
  1. What did you study at Upper Canada College?
  2. Intro
    Guitar, song writer. Ex- attorney, John Rock, Blues etc, “Roving Reporter Rants.” Books at amazon.
    'Abby walking in the bush.'
    Walker Ballantine's photo.
    Walker Ballantine's photo.
    Walker Ballantine's photo.


Screenshot fromSANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE 2014-05-17 17:54:38Friday, September 2, 2016

p.s.  You don’t have to have a kindle to order this book. You can order it as a regular e-book.


         O.K. I’ve published some books at amazon.com/author/williammilne. Two of the books do indeed have dark humour or gallow’s humour or black humour or horror humour or twisted humour or all of the above kinds of
laughter inducing stuff.
         I’ve been getting the odd ugly e-mail
telling me I’m a sick prick, a perverted monster…   among other
 unfortunate names, other
insults regarding the purity of my writing endeavours… or the lack thereof.
         (I can’t cut and paste with my new system,
so I’ll have to type up a summary.)

         I’ve been criticized for this dark humour.
But let me assure all readers of one thing –
the gallows humour is 100% intentional. How else are you going to survive horrendous
circumstances? If you don’t learn to laugh at
the horror, you are in serious trouble.
         I remember one time at College Park
criminal courts, I had just gotten one guy out on bail. I was walking him out of the Court.
I was saying to the guy, “Fly straight. Be careful with this freedom. If you pull one more assault ( especially when you’re out on bail) you’re not going to see daylight for a very long
time. Good luck.”  And just as I was saying this, stepping out into the hall with my client,
the police dragged me off and put the cuffs on me. Right in front of my client.

            I have always had long hair ( except for the time in Penetang medium security jail,
when I shaved my head – the whole range had lice in their hair). I was raised in Jamaica by a Jamaican woman, who taught me some very basic Biblical values.
           My parents were busy socially and threw
some very elegant parties, with plenty of famous people attending.
            But Miss Gwen talked to me every day.
Sharing her beliefs with me, always with a sense of humour. One of these values is: “A man’s strength is in his hair.”  She mentioned this to me many times, and now I believe it.      There’s nothing logical about this belief. I just feel better with long hair down my back… There’s also the myth about the Lion of Judah, which we won’t get into just now.
            However, having long hair in the criminal justice system does not always work
to your advantage. Some of my lawyer buddies,
when they came upon a really bizarre case, they’d refer it to me –  if there wasn’t much money in the case.
            I found myself defending one guy for fucking a sheep, but that’s another story for another time. The farmer caught him at it.
All of a sudden he flashed on the lights in the barn. My client was bare-assed, wearing nothing below the  waist but rubber boots.
The sheep’s hind hooves were in the rubber boots also. The farmer had a shotgun…
            You get the picture.

             Anyway, one day I was daydreaming in Court. My client wasn’t coming up on the list for about an hour. I was reading a novel, just relaxing, sitting in one of the chairs reserved for lawyers at the front of the Court, about 20 feet away from the judge. There were well over 100 people in the Court – defendants with their families.
             I was nodding off, still I heard the judge say, “TAKE THE PRISONER DOWNSTAIRS.”
            I went back to reading my novel, when  suddenly I realized the bailiffs were coming for me. One of them had a hand on my left arm, the other had a hand on my right arm. They were about to take me downstairs to the cells. I came fully awake pretty fast and started shouting, “NO! NO! NO!”
            The whole Court was laughing. It was a horrible experience, a terrible way to wake
             It turns out the whole thing had been arranged ahead of time by my lawyer pals, the guys I graduated with.
           I can still see all the laughing faces, even to this day, when I start to daydream, all the dreams aren’t pleasant.


          So you can see where some of the humour comes from.
           I hope there’s some humour in “SANTA’S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE”.
I was certainly laughing much of the time
when I wrote it.
          I’ve looked at law from both sides now. And the survival tips I give in this book are actually practical and useful. If you’ve been arrested while you’re in the midst of deep and disturbing, bizarre and twisted hallucinations,
           I have experience in these matters and I might save you months of your free time, if you read this particular book…Or even years, if you’re up to your knees in legalistic excrement.
           Feel free to ignore my legal advice, if it suits you. I don’t practice anymore ( though I can do certain referrals). 
           Laughter is the best medicine, so they say. I won’t be offended if you message me
about how sick my books are, or if you laugh…
where I’m coming from, that’s a compliment.

                                 (C)2015 by W.G. Milne