HOW TO STAY IN THE NOW – SKILLS ESSENTIAL FOR HAPPINESS

received_963730106973138   gEESE

 

I can guarantee you’ve never read anything like any of these books before.

Neither have I !

SANTA’S GUIDE TO: SURVIVING YOUR PERSONAL FETISH! Dec 8 2013 | Kindle eBook by WILLIAM MILNE Kindle Edition CDN$ 0.00 Subscribers read for free.Learn more.                                    …
ZAPPADAT.COM
 Carol Leef Without looking, I guarantee it, too!
Unlike · Reply · 1 · 4 hrs

 

Carol Leef replied · 2 Replies · 2 hrs
Walker Ballantine
Walker Ballantine Ha! Ha! Yeah, well, you know me…. You can just imagine.
Like · Reply · 1 · 3 hrs

 

Carol Leef
Carol LeefOhhh, there are no words.
                                               *******************

HOW TO STAY IN THE NOW – SKILLS ESSENTIAL FOR HAPPINESS

HOW TO STAY IN THE NOW
__________________________This is a tricky business, but an essential
skill to have if you wish to be happy.

I’ll quote a few people from different paths
and different centuries – on this subject.

‘THE GREAT WAY IS EASY FOR HE WHO HAS
NO PREFERENCES.” 6th patriarch of zen

“ WHAT IS IT THAT YOU LACK THAT MAKES
YOU WALK BACK AND FORTH SO?”
(Master sitting in a big bird’s nest in a tree, at a
crossroads, shouting down at the people going to
town and back.)

“THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE
YOU ARE.”  Johnny Rock
(After hitchhiking ten thousand miles)

“BEFORE ABRAHAM WAS, I AM.”
Jesus Christ
(And then they threw rocks at him, saying.
“Blasphemy!”)

“AT THE STILL POINT OF THE TURNING
WORLD, THERE THE DANCE IS.”
T.S. Eliot

“TO LIVE, TAKING THE TIMELESS OUT OF
TIME, THIS IS THE OCCUPATION
OF THE SAINT.”   T.S. Eliot

“THE PAST DOES NOT EXIST. THE FUTURE DOES
NOT EXIST. ONLY THE PRESENT EXISTS.
AND THE PRESENT, WITH ITS MANY DAWNS,
IS A CONTINUOUS BIRTHING.”

Words of Heraclitus, cheerfully rewritten by
Walker Ballantine

“ WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, THERE SHALL YOUR
HEART BE ALSO.”  Jesus Christ

“THE HERO OF MY BOOK IS TIMELESSNESS”
(Henry Miller, “The Tropic Of Cancer”)

“WHEN THE LAKE OF THE HEART BECOMES
PEACEFUL AND CALM, THE REFLECTION
OF THE ORDINARY MAN BECOMES THE
REFLECTION OF A SAINT.”
Anonymous

Advertisements

BOOKS OF WILLIAM G. MILNE – HUMOROUS AND OTHERWISE

SANTA'S GUIDE TO: SURVIVING YOUR PERSONAL FETISH!

SANTA’S GUIDE TO: SURVIVING YOUR PERSONAL FETISH!

Dec 8 2013 | Kindle eBook

by WILLIAM MILNE

Kindle Edition

Subscribers read for free.Learn more.
                                                                          CDN$ 4.22to buy
Available for download now
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services LL
*****************************************************
  • SANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE

    SANTA’S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE

    Dec 8 2013 | Kindle eBook

    by WILLIAM MILNE

    Kindle Edition

    Subscribers read for free.Learn more.
                                                                                 CDN$ 3.16to buy
    Available for download now
    Sold by: Amazon Digital Services LLC
 Results for “Santa’s Urban Survival Guide” in All Departments (See all 11 results)
*****************************************************
  • THE SECOND COMING OF CHRIST, MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW

    THE SECOND COMING OF CHRIST, MOST ANCIENT GOSPEL FOUND ANEW

    Dec 12 2013

    by William Milne

    Kindle Edition

    Subscribers read for free.Learn more.
                                                                               CDN$ 3.16to buy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  •  

DON’T BLOW KISSES AT THE MOON (lyrics)

MUGGA MUGGA MUGGA Eddy’s ma died some years back,

Left him a message on a card…

He had to read it kinda slow,

And this is how that message goes:

 

*

Don’t blow kisses at the moon,

Don’t carry flowers down on Laraby Street,

Don’t open your umbrella on a bright a                     sunny morn,

Don’t blow kisses at the moon.

*

Ten years later he was in love

With Sara Thompson who has a job at night

Black suit and cowboy hat and he stands five              foot two

She’s the tall blonde who works the                        corner.

*

She never gets up ’til the afternoon –

He works the funerals at dawn;

She has her first cup of coffee after her                    second cup of booze

He stands in the graveyard til everyone

          is gone.

*

She never gave him too much time…

She said, “Hello,” and she said, “Hello”,

Some times they’d shoot the time

Once or twice they had a smoke

*

She said: “We’re not lovers, we’re just                    friends,”

He said he understood but he never did.

She said: “You’d better go!”

He said, “I can’t, I love you so,”

And this is what she said:

*

“Don’t blow kisses at the moon,

Don’t carry flowers down on Laraby Street,

Don’t open your umbrella on a bright and               sunny morn

Don’t blow kisses at the moon.”

*

He went to her corner down on Larabie St

With a ring and a bunch of roses and that’s

 all

He waited seven hours ’til he heard                         something was wrong:

She was sick down at the hospital.

*

No one came to see her that last time,

Not her husband, not her lovers,

             none at all…

But she sees Eddie Logan, leaning ‘gainst

             the wall

He stands beside her

All night until the dawn.

*

 Sara knows, Sara knows she’s pretty sick,

And she knows.. Eddie’s not that smart;

He’s just a crazy, just a crazy little guy,

But all he has is heart…

All he has is heart.

*

So she wrote words these words down on a

card

Said, “Read this when I am gone.”

It’ll be cold comfort on these cold and

           icy dawns…

She wrote the words down to this song:

*

“Don’t blow kisses, don’t blow kisses at the               moon,

Don’t carry flowers down on Laraby Street,

Don’t open your umbrella on a bright and                  sunny dawn;

And find your true love when I am gone…

    *  *   *

And find your true love when I am gone.”

                           (C)2014-2016 by W.G. Milne

 

 

                                                     William Milne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SOME QUESTIONS YOU DON’T WANT TO ASK IN THE DEEP NORTH

cropped-self-logo-threescreenshot-from-2013-12-08-2156392

SURVIVAL HUMOUR – SOME QUESTIONS IT’S BEST NOT TO ASK IN WAIT-A-BIT!

 

It is said, “The world’s a comedy for those
who think. The world’s a tragedy for those
who feel.”

Like all such statements, this is a gross oversimplification.
There is one sure thing, however – you
need a sense of humour to survive the long
haul, the dementia, and the twisted logic
that passes for good sense – you need humour
to survive the madness of the northern winter.
And if you have no sense of humour, strong
drink just might get you through. In that case,
you might get the sense that others are laughing
at you.
It’s no fun being the butt of a joke, but think
of it this way… If there are times when you’ve been
on a bender and your neighbours are
laughing at you, consider that you are performing
a community service. Likely your neighbours
really do need the laughs.

Things you might not want to say when you
__________________________________
slide down into a bunker in Wait-A-Bit!
___________________________________

Is that shotgun loaded?

It’s winter.Why do you still have six tins of fly spray
on your  table?

Does that dog bite? Good God, IS THAT A DOG?

Where’s your bathroom?

It smells like motor oil in here…. Did you just
blow a seal?

Where do all those furs come from? Dear God,
is that fur in the corner moving?

It obviously isn’t English…What’s your
first language?

That’s a weird coffee maker on the table.
What’s the boiler for?
It smells like a still? Is that a still?

Where’d you get all those weird postcards?
They look like they’re from the fifties.

How’s the mail delivery around here?
DO YOU HAVE MAIL DELIVERY
around here?

Why don’t you turn on the lights,
so we can see each other?

Where’d ya get all those yellow candles?  Why does the year on that calendar say 1952?

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A JUNKIE AND A TWEAKER?

STRANGE PHONE CALL AT 4:00A.M.

A strange yet amusing friend of mine from earlier
twisted days in the music trade called me at 4:32 the
other morning. He didn’t bother with such mundane greetings as, “Hello,  Hi, or whatzzup”. No, the first
thing he said was, “What day is it?”
This struck me as funny but not that funny
because… I didn’t know the answer.
        I said, “It’s Tuesday… But I was wrong. It was
Saturday. And this is how the conversation
started off.
        Then he asked; ‘ARE YOU FUCKING
MY MOTHER?”
          “Oh boy,” I thought, “What kind of insanity
am I dealing with now?”
         “Jesus!” I said. ” What kind of deranged
congenitally unhinged fool are you? I refuse to
answer such questions.  First I want to know
what you’re going to DO with the answer!”
         
           “Listening to your voice gives me no
confidence.  You’re babbling….You say monstrous things.     You answer yourself in a high
giggle….then I hear gurgling sounds…. 
Then dreadful mucous & snotty sounds of snorting
pig-like…god-knows-what like some kind of African beast, an anteater snuffling around in the mud….
at the edges of a watering hole, someplace
where he has no reason to be… … Here!


        Some people would be offended by such a phone call, but not me. Oh, no, I’m particularly
glad that success has not gone to my head,
and I’m not some kind of twisted pansy
preacher. an upwardly mobile hypocrite!
No! My old associates still have a place in my heart. And the weird representatives of those
past days are still the source of affection and
wild humour in my lizard brain.
I know I need these people in order to maintain stability in my own life. And just to have a few laughs.
I have a few bizarre tendencies in my own life
that need  balancing.

Ah, right. Now where were we?
“What day is it?”
It’s a strange and funny question.
It’s no quite so funny when you have no idea know
of the answer.

Then some more snorting sounds,
and insane laughter to the beat of water dripping
and odd mutterings that echo… as if through
some distant pipe,,, a pipe through which water flow
as well as whispers and  strange gurglings.
Then silences… sometimes quite
long silences… and wisps of meaningless, whispered
imaginary conversations he is having with himself.
Like a tweaker on a fiver day meth binge… who
is now hallucinating wildly – seeing eight more people
undulating in his bed, and spotting a black evil djinn
transported telepathically from a distant land.

This reminds me of a joke:

Q:  “What’s the difference between a junkie

and a tweaker?
                  A: They’ll both steal your stuff. But the tweaker
will help you try to find it in the morning!
2016-01-11 07.56.06-1

KLEAN YOUR BODY! KLEAR YOUR MIND! KWIK CURE ORGASM CLINIC!

 PROBLEMS AT THE 2015-12-30-17-11-59-writing-in-salamancaFEMALE ORGASM CLINIC

KLEAR YOUR MIND —ORGASM CLINIC——KLEAN YOUR BODY. KWIK CURE!

OK, to be honest, the clinic was never called
the :  
      KLEAR YOUR MIND — ORGASM CLINIC
But a benefactor  called it by that name
and broadcast the name in a massive advertising campaign
that had my clients running for the hills faster than
my intensely surprising FAST-RELAX methods.
       I`m surprised our advertiser forgot the
words KWIK CURE! The clever, sophisticated professional woman
 realizes after a decade of misery, and after
several husbands have been shown the door, that
she has ORGASM REPRESSION issues – well, this calibre of
lady is not going to go for the type of therapist
who approves of the “K” in KLEANSE YOUR BODY, KLEAR
YOUR MIND — ORGASM KLINIC.
         No, certainly not, but my cousin Morty did the sign  “as
a favour” to me and at the urging of his mother.  As a
SURPRISE he purchased the acreage
above the clinic, and erected a GIGANTIC BILLBOARD that
can still  be seen from the highway. 
        And his considerate message to me was: “In business,
you can`t have too much publicity!”
          His mother comes from an extremely wealthy family
in mining, building construction and leasing – and having
been cured by my clinic, she insisted Monty give the whole
therapy team “a Bonus we`d never forget…”
          “`A Bonus for the Boneman` was how she put it,” Morty
assured me. `That fucker deserves it!` was exactly what she
said.
             I can’t discuss too much of her case, but
suffice it to say I cured her orgasm repression
syndrome. But in doing so… (I freely admit it now)
I used a little too much current in the electrical
stimulation wand I used to effect the cure.
             Now she can achieve orgasm… but only
through a constant application of electrical stimulation
The aspect of her treatment that no one could foresee
is that, as the years pass, more and more current
becomes necessary in order to please her and give
her relief.
          Now she can receive pleasure only after a significant
jolt of pain, and she says she thinks of me each
time she has to apply the electrodes.
          If she doesn’t engage in sexual activity, her
stutter becomes worse and she develops a tic in her
left eye, which is noticeable to the point of becoming
ungainly.
            Her lawyers have assured me that she never did
have a stutter before I cured her with my somewhat
surprising treatment – though this is the sort of thing
that can never be proven in a Court of Law.
           She still harbours a certain resentment of me
and my methods. The phrase, “deep and abiding hatred” was
used in one letter I received from her barrister.
Note:  My only comment on the case is that many of us
need to feel an intensity of pain before we are permitted to
feel pleasure – as we labour under the tyranny of whatever
complex afflicts us.

        At 7:00A.M. I take a drive down the valley to where
the clinic is located, and I see the second billboard:
KLEAR YOUR MIND ——-ORGASM CLINIC
BODY KLEANSE IN TEN! ——GUARANTEED!
WE’LL REALLY FIX YOU!
          I open the clinic door and walk into the
hallway. Dr Laura, my assistant hands me a bright yellow
pamphlet.
        It’s early morning, before coffee… She is almost
always charming and gracious about saying “hello” quietly
not knowing what delicate state of mind I might still be
enduring at this hour.

           But what’s this? No hello and no coffee, and…
and is she snickering behind her hand…? Are those tears
tears of laughter? Is she about to scream with GLEE??
           She hands me a stack of about 500 more bright yellow
pamphlets.     I read the promo Morty had written. First
the handwritten scribble, “Not to worry – 22,000 of these
are already distributed… On the porches of everyone
you know, everyone you might one day want to know!”
            I open the bright yellow brochure. 
  It’s an advertising jingle. The words are written in big purple
letters, about half-inch high letters… big purple
letters against a vibrant yellow background! Ye gods!
I don`t even have to read the words to know
the message is disturbing…!
                                                

”  KLEAR YOUR MIND, SHAVE YOUR PUBES,
   LET THE DOC UNLOCK YOUR TUBES!
   GIVE A CHEER WHEN YOU HEAR THE THUNDER,
    IT`S “SURPRISE!” FROM THE LAND DOWN UNDER!”

            
            I call Laura on the intercom:   “Ah, Laura, how many…”
            “Morning, sir!” she replies. (She never calls me sir…
she is floating  on a cloud of her own hilarity…)
      ” How many  of these delights….how many have gone
out?”
      “Well,Sir…
      ” DON`T CALL ME, SIR!” I am losing whatever thin
veneer of respectability I might have… ever had…`
      (I don`t like to shout in the mornings…. I prefer to fall
to my knees and beg forgiveness for my sins of the night
before, whether I committed them or not…)
       “Ha! Ha! Yes, well Morty`s Note  says: “DON`T
WORRY, BOSS, I`M ON THE JOB!” 
       “That`s not  reassuring…what else does the little 
bastard have to say?”
       “His next words seem to say… “NO SWEAT, PAPERED
THE NORTH-EAST SECTOR!”
       I have a sinking  feeling in my chest and a rising feeling
in my stomach… “WHY ME? I ask as I run to the sink on my
knees…. I vomit six or seven times…tasting last night’s
bottle of rye whiskey.
       I’m  shuddering, half-naked on the lino… shaking  with the
dry heaves…
      Returning to the phone I choke out,  “North-East SECTOR! What does he mean…. SECTOR”
       “It seems to be a rather large sector, sir.
Here we have it – written on the back:
                            
                             ` From Forest Hill to Beverly Hills,
                              From Ocho Rios to Hay River`….”

       “That helps,  thanks Doctor….


        Having the personality I have, and the few highly-
inventive bad habits, I have awoken many mornings
only to face disasters on the Richter scale.
       I intend to handle this crisis the only possible
way I can – Lock the doors, close the drapes, turn off
the phone and the television, and start living life
under a different name… 
        Who am I this morning?
       
          None of us  need to know.            

      

        Unfortunately the local papers did know
put a photograph of Morty`s Billboard on the front page, and
the New York,  Miami, and Toronto papers followed suit.
           I observed a number of expensive vehicles peel out
of my lot in reverse, soon as they observed the
special “K” in Klear…
            As a result, the misery of a a number of troubled
women continued longer than necessary… all because of
Marty`s misguided enthusiasm and his mother’s evil glee.
                 I asked for a discreet sign – small official letters in
a Bronze plaque  beside a not at all ostentatious black front
door with brass handle.
              Imagine the delight of a rather famous movie star
when she was flash-photograped by dozens of members
of the press,  soon as she stepped  discreetly
out of the Clinic side door… 
            To have her profile exposed between the words, 
“KLEAR”   and    “ORGASM CLINIC”
She was not at all pleased –
especially  since the parts she played suggested in 
no uncertain terms that having an orgasm was the
least of her problems… In other words she was moaning
and rocking her head back and forth, burbling in baby
talk and cumming like a freight train at least twice a night
in all of her “Action Films.”
           There was action, all right, just
not sufficiently RELAXIN ACTION in her own life.
In this unwitting  promo, she about as hot as
her accountant drinking iced water, counting cool percentages.
       PUBLICITY – the two-edged sword!  The actress felt it
and the politician`s wife; and now my team, we`re worried
about it as well.

           I have found a charming spot way north of Rio –
a relaxing no-name resort at Wait-A-Bit.  The rooms smell a bit, 
but we get no news up here.



       

      Oh yes, and the wife of our high level politician
was not happy either… But, knowing the politician,
everybody  assumed it was highly likely that anyone 
close to such a demi-man in the haute monde was going to
 have  orgasm problems at the very  least – 
not to mention major difficulties with a psychotic break 
over the sudden appearance of STDs.

 
Essstee…Tabernalk!

                                                              (C)2013-2016 by W.G. Milne