ASPECTS THE POETIC PROCESS

WHAT’S THAT? ASPECTS OF THE POETIC PROCESS


I’ve been working on a long poem for years now,
but there were stumbling blocks – because of my

poetic theory – which was to echo the waves of the

sea, rising & falling, ebb and flow tide…My theory

didn’t allow for any characters, any narrative.

A flux of rhythm and rhyme was my goal. And I

achieved that.

The problem was, no one wanted to read it.

It was necessary to work a story in as well as

poetic themes.

I needed an omniscient observer in my poem, but I couldn’t

figure out who it could be. The man of many ways

had been used. Treisias had been used…What to do?

I had to change my thinking… and line up my symbols

like ducks in a row in my understanding. It took a long

time. I must be stupid, I thought.

My psychiatrist informed me I was a long way from

being stupid. They had done several I.Q, tests on me because

they didin’t believe the results of the first test.

Dr Ben informed me that when Einstein lived in

row housing – he had to paint his door red so he could

find his way home.

I’m not sure how that helped me. But let me say,

an epic poem such as the one I’d been writing for decades,

a poem has to grow organically and it will reveal

itself when it is ready. The poet has to grow at the same

time and make himself ready to see, ready to receive

the divine message that he hopes to express.

The poet must empty out a space within himself,

so that when Grace touches him, he has a place

where Grace can come. He has a place, or no-place,

where inspiration may reside.

He must become an empty vessel in order

absorb the lines, in order to encompass the emerging

reality of the poem – to allow the symbols & characters to dance

with one another in his ‘dreaming while awake’.

I can’t explain the process. All I can do is

point a finger at the moon. All I can say is

it happens… how… is mysterious. But the poet

must be patient. He must be ready to wait,

and somehow dream while he waits.

Some of the poem the poet does himself.

Some of it is given to him. Even as Grace is given

to the pilgrim monk.

TEN THOUSAND PATHS TO DAWN AT THE PEAK OF

THE SILVER MOUNTAIN.

I made that one up myself. With a lot of other people

who have attempted to write on the same subject in

the past. We are all monks looking to see

the secret meaning, the meaning of the eternal.

But nobody sees the obvious. What is right before

our face is too difficult to absorb. An old Tibetan

saying goes like this:

“THE SECRET BOOK COULD BE LEFT OPEN ON THE

KING’S HIGHWAY, AND NO ONE WOULD READ IT.”

That fits right in with another one of my favourite sayings.

I didn’t make this one up:

“THE GREAT WAY IS EASY FOR HE WHO HAS NO

PREFERENCES.”

The Sixth Patriarch

I got off the subject again, but who cares!

Who makes the rules? We do!

How will I find a title for this?

(C)2016 by W.G. Milne

174 (2)

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HOWLING WITH THE DOGS, LAUGHING WITH THE MOON https://wordpress.com/meS, LAUGHING WITH THE MOON

ASSEMBLING COLLECTION OF STORIES FOR THE BOOK WITH THE ABOVE NAME

WILD TALES OF THE CANADIAN NORTH

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 CHAPTER ONE

 

 

RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS – SUPERSTITION IN THE DARK CONTINENT

CHAPTER ONE

 

                     Sighting of Blind Jimmy?

RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS – SUPERSTITION IN THE DARK CONTINENT

“I have immortal longings in me.”

“I will praise any man who will praise me.”                                    William Shakespeare

The doctor who lives next door was shouting over into my yard, when he saw me standing naked with coffee cup in hand, gazing off towards the vistas in the East.

                                                      *
He was shouting and he’s usually a quiet man, so this was significant.  He called: “WHO WAS THAT MANIAC DRIVING YOUR CAR OUT LAST NIGHT AT 3A.M? HE GOT SOME FOOL TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES ACROSS THE BAY!”

                                                       *
“THEN HE LIFTED A HUGE STONE OUT OF THE BACK OF YOUR CAR WITH ONE HAND!  HE KICKED OPEN YOUR DOOR AND THREW THE BOULDER IN! IT LOOKED
LIKE A HUGE INDIAN HEAD WITH FEATHERS!”

                                                         *
Then in a stage whisper  he says, “I was going to call – but some things shouldn’t be spoken of… So I’m maintaining silence, as we agreed.” Then he said something disturbing, he said, “He looked like some dark Caliban.”
                                                             *  

                                                               *
             People can get up to some pretty strange things up here in the dark, when there’s nothing to do except look at the ducks for entertainment.

                                                            *
The bad weather around here often comes suddenly from the east. Quickly lightning begins to strike along the shore, and if you’re in a tin boat floating perilously over this deep lagoon, you’d better get the hell out.

                                                              *
Actually, so far the lake is called bottomless. The crew hired by the government shows up every four or five years and they try to find the bottom with heavy measured chains – they  have never had enough chains to find the bottom.

                                                               *
I’m thinking, “In this ‘modern age’ surely there must be a way to measure depth more quickly.

                                                                *
But a family runs the business and I guess they are funded by the federal government, so they keep trying in the old way. I’m thinking, what about sonar? But the chains are too much fun. They provide a Gothic flavor to the whole operation… And who wants to find the bottom anyway?

*
*
*
*

           Sometimes sitting the local bar, 1,000 feet down a dirt road from my house, I sit quietly and listen. The people from along the peninsula keep whispering two tables over from me about, “the best place to hide a body.”

                                                       *
I already know, but I’m not about to interrupt the good clean fun of my neighbours.
This is the land of 100,000 lakes and a million miles of muskeg. Bodies are lost up here even when no one is trying to hide them.

                                                       *
I also hear them talk about the fresh water sharks that come and go across vast distances. After all, the caverns beneath our lake ( as everybody knows) are directly connected with caverns beneath rivers and lakes approaching the Gulf of Mexico.

                                                        *
I heard Suzie, a fine looking lusty lass with muscular thighs and knees that can crack walnuts, I heard her whisper to 3 girls from the northern volleyball team, she said: “In the winter, that’s where they go to feed. Those poor Cajuns! Should we warn them?”

(C) 2000-2016 by W.G. Milnee79e6-newpics2009rovingreporterlogo005

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

 

2nd STORY

_________________

            ON THE  WILD SHORES OF  NIPISSING

         I write this as  I’m sleeping by the Big Lake up here,Lake Nipissing… sleeping in a shack on the shore with 
   one blanket,  two dogs, and three bottles ofstrong wine (20% alcohol by volume).Have you ever given a dog some of your dinner?
And the dog wouldn`t eat it?                I have.

 

              
                                                        *
        
         In the story I`m  on the sandy shore of that 90 mile lake, and I`m tucked in…more or less with the dogs…and now  only two bottles of wine… Some prick’s been drinking my booze…           That bastard!I`m trying to get an article down to the office  ( THE TALK OF THE TOWN PRESS offices) and there`s no way
I can make it that far.
               The wind`s blowing up like banshees… I hope
no Wendigo howls tonight… Although I thoroughly like the howling of most beasts. I like the howls a lot. The inspire me.  Fact is, I often join in.                                                        *
               The sun rises over the hills to the east.Mist rolls over the waters by the shore.It`s morning and no one to talk to out here
on the sandy heath,no one to send on an errand. 
            I walk a mile to call a taxi…. except it`s more than a mile… It`s way more than a mile.  I feel I`ve fallen off the map…. and now I`m into a different time zone… 
I`m in a desert that has never been recorded, on a road
that no one knows… an empty quarter…through a time warp that no one remembers, I find myself here…crawling across the sand.
          I`m exhausted.  I`m hung-over like a motherfucker.          My mouth is so dry my tongue is looking around for company.  The tip of my tongue sticks to the back of a tooth.  It`s like I`ve been stuck in
the desert for 40 days…. I fall to my knees… rest
with my face in the sand… briefly go to sleep.       I hear a car door slam. The driver is standing over me… I see… I see the glint of something
smooth and fine… It`s a woman in a short skirt
and nylons… She has fine legs but I   cannot see properly up the legs. Gasping, I manage to sit up.I  give my head a shake.           I hand her the story and  say: “Don`t worry about me!Get this story in to the Talk of the Town Press. It has to reach the press by 8:45 this morning. ” 
        “Can you get it there for me?” 
       The mystery woman nods silently… She sets off
across the desert with her precious cargo… This time
I do  notice her legs….I scratch my head with incomprehension… As so often happens with a horrid, dry hangover, I  find I’m aroused with my groin in the warm sand.
                                             *       The first words in the paper the next morning I recognize, because I had scratched them down myself the day before.The words are:
       
           “I WAS GOING TO SEND THIS STORY IN BY PONY EXPRESS, BUT THEY SHOT ALL THE PONIES.”
                  That was the first line of the story.               
                This whole bit about sleeping on the shores
of Lake Nipissing (as terminal drunks have been known to do ) It’s part reality with a little  fantasy slipped in.                                           *
…Sleeping with  a blanket (that how you spell blank et??? surely not)
                Having my wine delivered by boat—- and
attempting to get stories off by return boat.
                It`s not so bad now I got a shack.    I stole
2 gallons of gas — so I can inhale the fumes. Ho! Ho!
            When my spirits fade — AS THEY`RE SURE TO DO
SOON AS I GET WET DOWN IN THIS PLACE…
                I’d  better dig a hole and light a fire,
do it in the shack… pretty quick. Steal 
a rack from a used  stove in a dump.

 soon as that fucker comes back with the boat….I`ll borrow his  22… shoot a few birds and muskrats, make a stew. Now I`m thinking!    (Yeah, right!)
*
              This is the kind of story that used to get those
cards and letters rolling in  to the editors,
demanding police action. 
*
            Hank staggers out of the shack…
           “I got a friend who boiled a pigeon for about
2 hours – he said, “Stink!  Did it ever stink!`
                 “Ya gotta take the feathers off em first!” I tell him, “You can`t just cook them like they`re some sort
of microwave dish…. there`s stuff you gotta
take out of those birds — the bowels would be a nice
start- take those out & ya got a chance…”
               The dog`s definitely hungry. I can
tell by the way he stares at me… those mournful eyes.
Perhaps tonight he won`t turn up his nose at my dinner.
JESUS, WHERE AM I?**********************************************

 

 

 

BELOW =

 

STORIES YET TO FIND AND PLACE IN CHAPTERS

 

 

 

3. BLIND JIMMY AND THE WRESTLER ***find

xxx NOVAR STORY

xx John Rock & the women   upstairs Wylders rock & ROLL WOMEN

 4.flies! FLIES! FLIES!                           check

       MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN

story here

BRANDING FETISH —story on this site

5. THE REAL BALL GAME IS THE GAME

     TO KEEP YOUR BALLS                   INSERT

 

6 THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS

7 BALLS NAKED IN A CHAIR                                                                                         insert

 

BLIND JIMMY & THE WRESTLER/ plus STORY WHERE I’M HOWLING

2ND STORY FROM FEMALE ORGASM CLINIC

NOVAR!

 

 

                                                                    CHAPTER TWO

ON THE  WILD SHORES OF  NIPISSING*********

         I wrote  as  I was sleeping by the Big Lake up here -Lake Nipissing… sleeping in a shack on the shore with 
 with  one blanket,  two dogs, and three bottles of

strong wine (20% alcohol by volume).

Have you ever given a dog some of your dinner?
And the dog wouldn`t eat it?               

 I have.
              
                                                        *
        
         In the reality-fantasy  now, I`m living
on the sandy shore of that 90 mile lake, and I`m tucked in…more or less with the dogs…and now  only two bottles of wine! Oh, dear…

I`m trying to get an article down to the office  ( THE TALK OF THE TOWN PRESS offices) and there`s no way
I can make it that far.
               The wind`s blowing up like a bastard… I hope
no Wendego howls tonight… Although I thoroughly

like the howling of most beasts. I like the howls a lot.

 In fact, I often join in. 

                                                       *
               The sun rises over the hills to the east.

Mist rolls over the waters by the shore

It`s morning and no one to talk to out here
on the sandy heath,

no one to send on an errand. 
            I walk a mile to call a taxi…. except it`s more than a mile… It`s way more than a mile.  I feel I`ve fallen off the map…. and now I`m into a different time zone… 
I`m in a desert that has never been recorded, on a road
that no one knows… an empty quarter…through a time warp that no one remembers.
          I`m exhausted.  I`m hung-over like
a motherfucker. My mouth is so dry my tongue is looking
around for company.  The tip of my tongue sticks
to the back of a tooth.  It`s like I`ve been stuck in
the desert for 40 days…. I fall to my knees… rest
with my face in the sand… briefly go to sleep.

       I hear a car door slam. The driver is standing
over me… I see… I see the glint of something
smooth and fine ,,,, It`s a woman in a short skirt
and nylons… She has fine legs but I  I cannot see properly up the legs. Gasping, I manage to sit up

and shake my head.
      

     I hand her the story and  say: “Don`t worry about me.

Get this story in to the Talk of the Town Press. It has to reach the press by 8:45 this morning !” 
        Can you get it there for me?
       The mystery woman nods silently… She sets off
across the desert with her precious cargo… This time
I do  notice her legs….I scratch my head with incomprehension… As so often happens with a

horrid, dry hangover, I  find I’m aroused with

my groin in the warm sand.
                                             *       

The first words in the paper the next morning I recognize.
I had scratched them down myself the day before.

The words are:
       
           “I WAS GOING TO SEND THIS STORY IN BY PONY EXPRESS, BUT THEY SHOT ALL THE PONIES.”
              
                This whole tale about sleeping on the shores
of Nipissing (as terminal drunks have been known to do for decades) it’s part reality with a  fantasy dream

slipped in.

                                           *
…Sleeping with  a blanket (that how you spell blank et??? surely not)
                Having my wine delivered by boat—- and
attempting to get stories off by return boat.
                It`s not so bad now I got a shack.    I stole
2 gallons of gas — so I can inhale the fumes,
when my spirits fade — AS THEY`RE SURE TO DO
SOON AS I GET WET DOWN IN THIS PLACE…
              Fuck!   I better dig a hole and light a fire,
do it in the shack… pretend I`ve got a stove. Steal 
a rack from a used  stove in a dump.

Soon as that fucker comes back with the boat….
 I`ll borrow his  22, shoot a few birds and muskrats,
make a stew. Now I`m thinking!  

 (Yeah, right!) “I’ll shoot a pigeon,”I shout out.
*
              This is the kind of story that used to get those
cards and letters rolling in   (to the editors)
demanding police action. 
*
            Hank staggers out of the shack…
           “I got a friend who boiled a pigeon for about
2 hours – he said, “Stink!  Did it ever stink!`
                 “Ya gotta take the feathers off em first!” I tell him, “You can`t just cook them like they`re some sort
of microwave dish…. there`s stuff you gotta
take out of those birds — the bowels would be a nice
start- take those out & ya got a chance…”
               The dog`s definitely hungry. I can
tell by the way he stares at me… those mournful eyes.
Perhaps tonight he won`t turn up his nose at my dinner.
JESUS, WHERE AM I? WHAT’S MY NAME?

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

                                         3

CASES/TALES FROM THE FEMALE ORGASM CLINIC     _______________________________________

WHIPPING MELISSA

__________________________

                  Soon as I can get to a scanner, I`ll 
scan some of the “Roving Reporter in the Bush” tales,
and the comic sketches drawn by Ernie Taylor of me in
hot pursuit of various stories.
               (He got the “mad intensity” which is hard
to get, I`m told.  Soon as someone points a camera at
me I smile like an innocent schoolboy.)
                 Of course, looking at me these days, I`m
not fooling anyone.
                  Maybe I wasn`t fooling anybody when I was
a schoolboy. I had one Grade 2 teacher who hated me
on sight!  Maybe she got a glimpse of the mind behind
the mask – the innocent schoolboy act…
*
    
        I wrote for 2 hours the other morning – a great
true scene of whipping my 2nd wife atop a cliff, near
a waterfall in the spring – with 20 tourists approaching.  That girl sure did have a set of lungs!
        I had to wrap things up fast….She was screaming…
like I hadn`t told her what I was going to do to her…

                                       *
Ah, but some of the tourists were running like
they were trying to “save” her.  They should have
saved me.  I was the one married to her…                                      *
        The problem with people who want tot try S&M,
they hear it`s sexy… that the PAIN turns to PLEASURE…
if you get caned in the right spot…       They’re right, but NOT RIGHT AWAY!
 It`s going to hurt a lot first… And that`s when you
spend a little quiet time alone and tell yourself
how sorry you are for all the evil things you`ve
done… (No!  I`m kidding!)
         Anyway Melissa was losing it, and tourists
were almost making it to the crest of the hill,  so I did the
only logical thing.  I put Melissa in the trunk of the car.
Out of sight, out of mind… 
*
       Then later I went on to describe my use of Mindshocks,
working with a trained psychologist, to cure tortured
women, tortured by their familial repressions… how
Mindshocks help to set these ladies free – by scaring the
shit out of them, if they need it.
       There knees are not pressed so tightly together
after that. And if the women have a tendency to look
at the floor – they don`t look at the floor so much
after the first Surprise.
       No, it`s too dangerous to look at the floor.  They
look behind them and all around them, and then they see
my trained assistants with notepad ,
padded handcuffs and a short cattle prod, which
is easy to hide when you tuck it up the sleeve of
your white labcoat…   when they see that…
      Some of them try to run, but they don`t get far. It`s
rare for anyone to get away, like Alice. After all, she`d already paid the fee.  Also, there`s the fact that I`m the
only shop in three cities who performs this sort
of high-intensity, quick-fix psychological procedure.
Hell, I might be the only clinic anywhere, who promises to
cure your orgasm problems in ten days, or you money
back guaranteed.
                                             *
       After several years, most of the women who have
attended the KLEAR YOUR MIND ORGASM CLINIC
after a year or two, I get thank you notes… sometimes
the letters are long and the thanks are effusive;  sometimes they even try to find me!
          But right off the bat after the procedure, they
usually   hate my guts…  That`s why I have to get
the money first.
          In my one unsuccessful case, out of 19 delighted and appreciative women I got a letter
that was not a thank-you note…It looked like she had
a lawyer or  an expensive secretary type it.  The words,
“a long and enduring hatred” appeared.
            I`ll be seeing her again, but it might take
years, and, all flippancy aside, she has a serious problem,
which will not get better on its own – even if she shoots
her father, or her uncle, whoever she`s sure has caused her such difficulties.                                           *
               Speaking of shooting, TRANSFERENCE can be a problem in this specific situation. When she turns her
compulsive spotlight in my direction, it`s quite likely
she`ll try to shoot me. This has happened to me with
members of the fair sex before, but never in a professional relationship.
              I can feel her now, prowling the side streets and
parking lots around my old place, a rifle with a scope in her trunk.               I should never have taught the lady to shoot.
             I  had nothing but her best interests at heart. However –  it might appear  different in her mind –  in her enraged,vindictive an extremely pressured state of mind.
             I`ll have to be very careful
when I leave the compound, any time soon.
*
               Alice,
 is an extremely attractive, wealthy, apparently stable woman… But she’ll be trouble for any husband.  Until she is cured, that is.  And she is so very close to a cure.  Just give me 3 more nights with her in the clinic.
               You see the husband, when he gets naked with her to have sex – and when sex turns out to be a disaster –it`s hard to maintain an erection if you are staring into the
eyes of a woman who looks suspiciously like a black
panther, preparing to eat your spleen.

                                   *
              

I have my assistants. Gentle Doctor Laura is
available to placate patients – Laura`s services are  always necessary after the initial Mindshock.
               The women naturally think they are in the
middle of some weird Machiavellian Nazi experiment
after I lay the electrodes down to tender parts
of their bodies.
               It`s almost all for show… Almost!
                                          *
                Thinking again of that poor naked man
before Alice’s glowering onslaught.
                Without my instruments I`d feel naked, too.
I use well-fashioned and durable sexual implements… An electric pulse and probe are frequently necessary… and of course there are canes and crops. Electric cuffs may be needed… restraints…prescribed stimulants… padded restraints.
                 Sometimes I bring in professional studs,
sometimes  distractions…    Sometimes I use power tools…                                        *
                  
                 My team are pros at quickly
treating any medical difficulties

                                          *
 

               Sometimes after the
first surprise PROBE and ZAP, the patient starts to shriek…
and the words LAWSUIT and CHARLATAN often come up… and she`s right.

With the amount of  of electrical
and medical lab equipment we have assembled here…
not to mention the powerful prescription drugs. She’s right
that all my methods are not approved.
                   When the patient starts to shriek “LAWSUIT” 
after the first blast of  current up her ass, I hit her with the
Haldol…
                   And soon as they awaken and she`s having
breakfast in her green backless johnny gown, I hit her
with the blast again….. ZOWEEE!  MINDSHOCK!
delivered to the lower unit…
                     I have doubled the current going thru the
electric probe this time ..  .
                              I told you, I get results, and I get `em fast!
                    I must break down all resistance. And we’re
experts at my lab. 
                                           *

         I`m the one who drafts the MEDICAL RELEASE
FORM, and if I do say so myself, it`s a beauty.
       I lost one lovely twisted soul 13 months ago… I
happened to spot her sprinting across the lawn.
Sometimes you overdo the initial shock –  but really the
shock has to be administered in a closed environment.
      An intelligent woman can often sense something
coming.   Maybe it`s the snickers of the queer male nurses.
(I keep calling them gay – they insist they`re not gay; 
they`re Queer. I`m not sure what the difference is 
and I`m not sure I want to know).
         William S.  Burroughs wrote the book, “QUEER!” 

 and we all respected him.
        I hired the male nurses because they did such a special job of nabbing fleeing patients at the research hospital –
they showed such gusto and skill.  (They nabbed
me more than once and I can run like a rabbit when
I`ve got a good head of steam up. Of course, with my
knees strapped together they had the advantage…)
                                            *
        Yes, I make fun. But these women suffer.
And, understand something about my methods:
I claim to cure you quick.  And I do.  I will.
My team hasn`t had a failure yet.(With one exception
and I`m not finished with her yet.) If my
methods appear to be more like theater than
medicine, well so be it!
         I`ve always wanted to get into the theater,
but this is a hell of a way to do it!
*
         As I`ve mentioned before, my clinic is not
sanctioned by the A.M.A. or even by the F.D.A.
I do get referrals from some doctors, but
it`s always on the     That should be enough
initials for one article.

                                             *
         Word of mouth provides most of my trade –
people who roam the City late at night in the
black-walled darkness of the more unknown bars,
 red flickering candles, vampire suits,
and laughter and shouts and confidential talk
when the band stops playing.
                                           *
           “It worked for Alice.   She feels a whole lot
better now… She says he was brilliant, a genius.
She said he quoted Dr Wilhelm Reich and his
orgone therapy as well as Mesmer and the Marquis
de Sade.
            ” Now she wants sex as soon as she sees a
white coat, or hears a certain song
only the doctor knows…”
            ” You`re kidding, Alice – that has to
be unethical – keeping a hypnotic trigger secret!”
           “It`s certainly better  keeping it secret –
than telling everybody what it is at the cross-roads!”

Alice laughs out loud and slaps her knee.
           “Actually, Jo,  that was a joke about the secret
song.”   She pats Jo`s hand.
             Johanna:   “What`s gotten into you?
You haven`t been snorting that drug, inhaling ha! ha! gas again?”
              “Relax!   I feel fine.  I feel great, better
than I have in over a decade. He not only
showed me how to orgasm, he cured my two
pack a day smoking habit….`
             “My God! How`d he do that?”
              Madelaine looked down… along the line of
her leg and boot:

            “He showed me how to put something
else in my mouth.”
                                            *              Johanna sat back and said:  “You don`t mean… …
Do you still see him?”
               “Oh, yes twice a week.”
               
               “For help with your orgasm suppression…
               
                “Oh no,  I`m cured!” Alice laughs  I can`t tell you how cured I am!”
              
                 ” Why`d you still see him then?” Johanna asks.  She`s looking a little flushed.
           
                “He`s helping me find a cure for my smoking!”Alice smiles.
                                               *

(C)2013 by W.G. Milne

RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS – SUPERSTITION IN THE DARK CONTINENT

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

RUMOURS OF ALBINO SHARKS – SUPERSTITION IN THE DARK CONTINENT

“I have immortal longings in me.”

“I will praise any man who will praise me.”                                    William Shakespeare

The doctor who lives next door was shouting over into my yard, when he saw me standing naked with coffee cup in hand, gazing off towards the vistas in the East.

                                                      *
He was shouting and he’s usually a quiet man, so this was significant.  He called: “WHO WAS THAT MANIAC DRIVING YOUR CAR OUT LAST NIGHT AT 3A.M? HE GOT SOME FOOL TO PLAY THE BAGPIPES ACROSS THE BAY!”

                                                       *
“THEN HE LIFTED A HUGE STONE OUT OF THE BACK OF YOUR CAR WITH ONE HAND!  HE KICKED OPEN YOUR DOOR AND THREW THE BOULDER IN! IT LOOKED
LIKE A HUGE INDIAN HEAD WITH FEATHERS!”

                                                         *
Then in a stage whisper  he says, “I was going to call – but some things shouldn’t be spoken of… So I’m maintaining silence, as we agreed.” Then he said something disturbing, he said, “He looked like some dark Caliban.”
                                                             *  

                                                               *
             People can get up to some pretty strange things up here in the dark, when there’s nothing to do except look at the ducks for entertainment.

                                                            *
The bad weather around here often comes suddenly from the east. Quickly lightning begins to strike along the shore, and if you’re in a tin boat floating perilously over this deep lagoon, you’d better get the hell out.

                                                              *
Actually, so far the lake is called bottomless. The crew hired by the government shows up every four or five years and they try to find the bottom with heavy measured chains – they  have never had enough chains to find the bottom.

                                                               *
I’m thinking, “In this ‘modern age’ surely there must be a way to measure depth more quickly.

                                                                *
But a family runs the business and I guess they are funded by the federal government, so they keep trying in the old way. I’m thinking, what about sonar? But the chains are too much fun. They provide a Gothic flavor to the whole operation… And who wants to find the bottom anyway?

*
*
*
*

           Sometimes sitting the local bar, 1,000 feet down a dirt road from my house, I sit quietly and listen. The people from along the peninsula keep whispering two tables over from me about, “the best place to hide a body.”

                                                       *
I already know, but I’m not about to interrupt the good clean fun of my neighbours.
This is the land of 100,000 lakes and a million miles of muskeg. Bodies are lost up here even when no one is trying to hide them.

                                                       *
I also hear them talk about the fresh water sharks that come and go across vast distances. After all, the caverns beneath our lake ( as everybody knows) are directly connected with caverns beneath rivers and lakes approaching the Gulf of Mexico.

                                                        *
I heard Suzie, a fine looking lusty lass with muscular thighs and knees that can crack walnuts, I heard her whisper to 3 girls from the northern volleyball team, she said: “In the winter, that’s where they go to feed. Those poor Cajuns! Should we warn them?”

(C) 200o-2016 by W.G. Milne

Uncat

CAWS AND HOOTS AT FIVE A.M. LOSE YOUR SHINY KEYS FOR HOUSE OR CAR? THE CROW KNOWS WHERE THEY ARE.

f

CHAPTER

CAWS AND HOOTS AT FIVE A.M…. LOST YOUR SHINY KEYS? THE CROW WILL KNOW



         The gulls sweep in from the island
at 5:45 A.M.  They come especially on
garbage days, when the fat bags are out for pickup…
          They beak and claw right through the bags
all right, and chew the tasty morsels. And then
the crows come down and there is a nasty
ruckus – fighting over the tasty bits… dragging
the garbage bags down the street, if there is
a bit of a wind.
         They come and wash their beaks in the small pond
on the roof in front of me. I’m not sure of the pecking
order between gulls and crows. I’ll have to watch
more closely.
          A hungry or pissed off raven will kill a pigeon
and eat its entrails. It’s not a pretty. Of course,
they don’t do such things in front of me
if they know I’m watching.  They might lose their pond
privileges. Not sure what these birds are
thinking, but, trust me, they’re smart.  With
fast beaks. They can remember 20 to 200 hiding
places, after they steel your car keys…. the ones you left
gleaming in the sun.  You won’t know where they
are… But the crow will know.
        So crows are smart and gulls are fast. Throw a
french-fry up in the air for a gull, he’ll catch it
as he’s flying by. No muss, no fuss.
I saw a gull eat a dead mouse once. I threw it in the
air. The gull let it land, then picked it up and dipped
it in my rooftop pond. Once he (she?) dipped the 
mouse in the water, he swallowed it whole… wet
and slippery as it was. It just slid down it’s throat.
       I caught 27 mice in a trap that day…threw them all
to the gulls. Half an hour later, all the mice had gone.
       I like their savage caws and hoots early in
the morning. They remind me  who I am.
Sitting by my window with a book and fluids
 at five A.M.



                                             (C)2016 by W.G.Milne

                        CHAPTER 3:

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN

FLIES!   FLIES!
__________

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A
PICKLED TOWN
_____________________________

(C)W.G.Milne
and John Rock
Corporation
(trademark pending)

(possible titles for this batch of stories…
a foxhole village in the vast Arctic wastes
East of the Mackenzie and West of Great Bear Lake)

______________________________________________________________

Chapter ONE – FLIES
________________________ This is a cartoon ( pencil and ink drawing) a
caricature
by artist Ernie Taylor (North Bay, Ontario)….Working for the “Talk of the
Town” Press, whenever I wrote a strange story (which was basically all the time) Ernie loved to capture the `mad act.`
My first article for the Talk of the Town Press was:
“ROVING REPORTER DISCOVERS FLIES” This story drew Ernie`s attention immediately. A line like – “Your Roving Reporter has ascertained that Flies do indeed exist outside the civilized areas.” This line got his attention immediately.

IF YOU WERE WONDERING WHAT I WAS doing with “moon-blind bitches of a Sickle Town” I was trying to make a rhyme, trying to get a title. Rhyme withwhat? With “Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town.”.
But that’s where the ressemblance ends – I am working under far more savage and extreme conditions than Leacock ever saw..
You don’t have to feel sorry for the animals
around here – because the animals WILL KILL
YOU– not just the polar bears and the menacing
100 pound weasels. But the wolves howling all around us… and trying to bite my ass when I have a shit!
Here, even the DOMESTICATED animals try to killyou!


 THIS STORY IS
TAKEN FROM
TALES OF WAIT-A-BIT

“MOONSHINED BITCHES OF A TOWN

BOMBED-FLAT”

 

Now I`ve moved farther north. Here in the CANADIAN Northwest Territories, you can`t tie up your horse outside for longer than an hour in fly season… If you stay in a bar too long and your horse is tethered outside, one of two things can happen by the time your return.
(1) Your horse has gone mad and he won`t let you near him… every time you draw near he tries to bite you – and there`s no way you can ride him. In his own crazy, eyeball-rolling way the horse is dead serious about hating you… and he won`t change his opinion about you for 2 years. You`ll notice you can see his ribs now,when you never could before. That`s because the clouds of carnivorous insects have been eating his tenderbits – and now they`re thinking of burroughing thru his hide to start devouring his internal organs…
You can be sure his ass hole will mostly have been eaten out so it is almost beyond repair… this will not have a calming effect on your horse, and it is likely he will hate you for as long as he lives. I leave my smokey burrough and and go outside to talk to the fool. I don`t like being outside at this time of day, but – after all, I`m the reason he`s up here, so it`s only fair that I talk to him….
… I can see in his eyes that he`s a long way from sober… He`s getting that “step n`a lurch” tourists get around here. It`s easy to spot… ((Bertie`s walking past: “Hey, Bertie remember that tourist we had a few years back?” Bertie: “Sure do… Nice fella…. Didn`t say much tho… Funny the way he ran after that plane!”
“Sure was.” Nice to talk to Bertie.Don`t see him much anymore… To tell the truth, I thought he was dead.
I go real quick over the lane to talk to the man. It`s obvious his horse is in distress… “Distress” is putting it mildly.
“Your best plan is to shoot him quickly and use his body for food.”
Fella whirls around on one heel and stares off at me as if I`M in the distance when I`m only ten feet away. Peers in my direction like he`s never seen a man in a hat before. He says,”WHAT?” He`s looking off to the south trying to see the plane. The Plane`s been gone for hours. Won`t see a plane for weeks now, maybe months, maybe a quarter year.
I SAY: “You`re going to need the food for survival in these parts. And nothing stands still here for long…” Just as I say this, a dog goes running past us down the street, as if ten children are throwing rocks at him. And they say God doesn`t have a sense of humour. Well. nobody says that up here. Up here everybody knows God has a sense of humour… Just… not a very pleasant sense of humour…
This guy. He keeps staring at me like he has never seen a hat before, keeps trying to reach up under my screenings…. I swat his hand away and kick his leg a light one. “WHAT?” he shouts at me again.
Spose he`s been down to Artie`s Grill That`s the only place you can get liquor around here. And the man hasn`t had time to make his own.
I say: “YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE!” “WHAT!” he shouts at me. He`s not asking questions now. Now he`s getting rude. And he`s standing there unarmed.. He`s sort of a big fella, but I was big when I first came up here, too..
I SAY: “The horses can`t stay out long this time of year…Usually they just run up and down the street a few times and peel right back into the barn. Then we lock the barn door tight.” He`s walking up close to me now. “What do you mean this time of year?” he asks…
“I mean the summer!” It doesn`t last long but it`s NASTY, LONG AS IT LASTS!”

He shouts,”Looking for a man called WILCOX!”
“You mean HENRY Wilcox?” I ask.
“I MEAN ANY KIND OF FUCKIN’ WILCOX AT ALL!”
“Ha! Ha!, Well, you came to the right place! I`m Frank Wilcox. Henry was my uncle.”

“WAS?” WAS? Did you say, WAS your Uncle? YOU MEAN I JUST CAME 5,000 MILES TO SEE A DEAD MAN?`”

“Yeah, that’d be right. But don`t be blaming me about Henry. S`ǹot my fault he`s dead… you can`t just go runnin`off across the muskeg around here! It looks like a field, I know, but it`s got HOLES in it… Just watch the moose they don`t stay on top long…. Course you won`t see a moose this month…”
Once again he made a grab for my hat….kicked him harder this time closer to the knee….This one `hurt-a-bit`. In Jamaica they got a town called “Wait-a-bit?” but that`s a different story…. …… …… Sure as hell wish I was in Jamaica now…. It`s hotter here —- and you can`t get a beer to save your life…
“DON`T GRAB AT MY HAT AGAIN!” i`m taller than this fool when I stand up straight, and you better believe I can choke the life out of him…. God knows, I`ve had enough practice! It`s just not smart to stand up straight around here – you make a better target…
HE SAYS: “You kick me one more time, I`ll rip your nose off!! Right off your face… that`s if you have a nose!!! Under all that screen shit. COME `ERE! I WANT TO GET A LOOK AT YOU””

Artie`s laughing so hard he`s rolling in the dirt… 3 legged dog keeps sniffin at him…

“WHERE YOU FROM, ASSHOLE?”

“Maryland…” he says
“””YOU DON`T TOUCH MY HAT! Takes too long to strap it on! Those screens are real important to me. I`ll tie em up when we get inside… Artie`s buying us a drink.” Artie, get up! You look like you`re enjoying what that dog`s doing to ya!!”…… a little too much.
We go inside and I get Artie to unsnap the back of my hat where it tightens around the neck… I hang the hat from a hook in the ceiling…. don`t have to reach too high for the hook. Ceiling`s only 4 inches above the top of my head
when I`m crouching…. which I do these days pretty much all the time. You get used to walking in a crouch… ask anybody who”s been in the army for about 4 years where people are shootin at yer head.
Now that I got my hat off and the tourist can see my face —- it`s too dark in Artie`s to see yer face…( I can write good english, but not always)
It`s cool in Artie`s Bar because it`s dug in the ground…like every other fukin place around here….after the Joint Canadian-American cruise missile tests… and that dumb NUK (I mean CAN-NUK – I`m not being racist, not that anybody`d notice around here… nobody gives a fuck and I tell ya…after smoking your skin a foot from a wood stove 10 months a year… nobody can tell what colour your skin is anyway… cause it`s too dark to see anywhere you can relax enough to have a drink…..after all, there`s only Artie`s.
This guy`s name is Hank and he`s not a bad guy – he`s going to have to learn some manners…. He just took the oil lamp off the bar and shone it in my face….
Nearly blinded me: “Relax, just want to see what you look like…see if you`re half mad or if you`ve gone all the way.” Artie laughs: “Oh, he`s gone all the way.. All the way and back!”

All the way round the moon —— only the dogs up here understand him cause they sing together.”
“SHUT UP, ARTIE!” It`s nice to see him – just not that nice.
” So what were you trying to tell me about my horse?” the tourist asks me.
I was saying…. YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE….Artie`ll lend you a rifle and sell you a bullet.
Artie pours us all a double shot of moonshine mixed with water, berry juice and syrop from farther south, flown up from NORMAN WELLS..
“OK, listen to me now: You`ll likely be spending the winter here, because people don`t like cruelty to animals in these parts, so no one is going to give you a ride south. Not that there are any rides south —- unless you can paddle 2000 miles up river….”Ha! Ha! Me and Artie laugh. After all, you`ve just lost your transportation. You`d better shoot him fast before he runs off into a lake somewhere and stands up to his neck in water for days, like the deer do.
“Every once in a while you`ll see a deer duck his head under the water to get the flies off. He`ll stand there in the lake up to his chin in water with his eyes closed and he won`t move.It`s hard to see em after a while – look just like a stump.”
“No, your best plan is to shoot him quick before he gets in too deep and then you`ll never catch him. But first you`re going to have to dig some holes – at least four feet deep, so they`re below the frost line. And don`t you put more than 20 pounds of horsemeat in any one hole!”
“Good God, you`re kidding!” he shouts, scratching all the while, and insisting on scratching repeatedly in several unattractive places. After a while you see newcomers do a dance, hopping from one leg to another – rather like a kid who has shit himself.
“I only wish I was kidding,” I say to him, giving him a sympathetic nod and trying not to laugh. He`s noticed I have a big screened hat on my head – I look like a beekeeper, only crazier and more extreme,(Talking now when we first met) “We got flies and biting insects up here that make bees look cuddly and friendly – sometimes they even look like they can keep your warm.”

“Better have another drink…” I tell the poor man. I remember when the realization first hit me – and I`m not talking about any spiritula Awakening…The spiritual awakening you have up here is that you`re fucked – I mean well and truly fucked. Not fucked by a woman …not good fucked (Yeah we still have women up here, if you know where to dig deep enough)”
“DIG deep enough?” he looks at me ascance, as if I`ve offended womankind. He`s worried about this is he? The poor little fruit? Jesus Christ! He`d better go somewhere else and flap his hands at the end of those limp wrists he has… (OOOOooo, I`m feeling the 200 proof, that`s good. Nothing like drinking out of a tin cup to really taste the stuff! “)

There`s class and there`s class and up here this is class…

“Hey, Artie, fire a blast at Jerimiah!” ( I mean a blast of sound —- bullets are too expensive to waste…. and we really need em in the dead of winter…”

“When`s the dead of winter?” the Tourist asks
“Shit! Was I speaking out loud?”

“Sure wuz,” says Artie…. I stare at him like it`s the first time I`ve ever seen him. I can`t remember ever hearing him talk.”

“OK, Mary`s Land – the LIKKER`S STARTING TO TAKE EFFECT —— that means hallucinations —— I like it when it happens – I think it`s an added attraction, but.it… it takes a little getting used to…. the rule is – DON`T SHOOT ANYTHING UNLESS IT MOVES REAL FAST!”

“I don`t have a gun,” says Hank.
“HEY, ARTIE, GET THE MAN A GUN. He`s gonna need a gun soon as he starts seeing things…Or needs to take a shit. We all start to laugh. I lean over and say to Hank – the outhouses aren`t the safest places around here, either. You really do have to take a gun when you have to go for a shit
“Artie, you`ll have to show him how to shoot!” Artie whips a twelve gauge shotgun out from under his smock and blows the horns clean off one of the mooseheads by the door.
I didn`t think Artie could see that far – twelve feet! Har! Har!…. I just saw somethin skitter real fast acroos the bar… I blast it`s head off quick like lightning with my no stock
sawed-off single-shot boit action Lee and Enfield 303. I keep it as a convenience under my right arm….I` feel naked without it; hell, I can`t walk straight without it. (I probably can`t even relax and take a shit without it resting there under my arm, but you don`t need to know that) ”
“None of that pistol in the pants bullshit we used to see on TV… when we had TV….before that Canadian flyboy blew the jail and mayor`s office, the A&P and our Artic version of the Dixie Chicks right off the face of the map and incinerated 4 fifths of the town in .036th of a second.
” I MISS THOSE GIRLS….”wails Artie and goes outside crying to have a piss.
“Fuck! Did that really happen?” Hank`s starting to scribble in a notebook…. ….. I watch him for a while. I used to scribble in Notebooks, too – it`s nice to see some fool at work – scribbling like the idiot I used to be. ”
“Oh, it happened all right, and that` not all that happened…” After all the corrugated cement buildings turned to powder, the Beasts moved back in. The lowlands here were always the Wolverines` home.
“By the way, how` you manage to have yourself dropped off by a plane that lands here only 3 times a year?”
“WILCOX hired me as a reporter….”
That stuns Artie and me into silence… it takes a long time for us to digest the absurdity of it all.
And the unbalanced strangely tilted technicolour beauty of living in a world ruled by the smiling Trickster God —-The Trickster clearly has gotten us all by the cosmic/comic balls ….
“You were to be my replacement – but Henry`s dead… he ran off into the bush with a hard-on. God knows what he was chasing… they found his socks and his Walkman,that was all -The same song was playing over and over again…and we hope the song had nothing to do with his death.”
The booze was obviously finding a place in Hank… On impulse he rubbed his hands over the wood stove until his hands were pitch black, then he smeared his hands over his face and the back of his neck and in the crack of his ass and he rubbed more of the soot on his balls….
“We`ve got women who will do that for you,” said Artie
It might have been something I said — I told him smoke is the only effective fly repellant in the area, especially when you mix the soot with skunk piss. But then there is always the chance a huge weasel will wait for you in your deep-dug- human-home (in the army it`s called a foxhole)….. and mount you when you enter in the dark. “And you don`t always have to be covered in skunk piss,” Artie says.”If you`re lucky you will have passed out drunk , before the animal has it`s way with you.” Artie knows. It`s happened twice to Artie. The first time he was pass3ed out drunk, the second time, not so much
They tell me, if you happen to be sober at the time, the nightmares persist for many years.
When the missile struck, we were fortunate. It was summer and the people leave any way they can. There were only forty-six of us left in town. Now we have 16, but this is different. This is our busy season.

Nobody knows where we are. And we don’t know where we are either!”Artie laughs.
“Don’t depress the poor tourist,” I say to Artie, feeling the moonshine
like a strong breeze in my ears already,
“The poor fool will be depressed plenty… when he understands the
sitUation he’s in up here!”

After Incineration Day, all our memories went blank. To tell the truth,
none of us can remember what the town used to be called. In time
maybe somebody will remember the name of our town and exactly where
we’re at. Maybe, maybe not. We gotta wait. This is why we call this joint, “WAIT-A-BIT!”

(C)2000-2016 by William G. Milne

from LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC.
____________________________

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

CHAPTER 3:

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN

FLIES!
__________

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A
PICKLED TOWN
_____________________________

(C)W.G.Milne
and John Rock
Corporation
(trademark pending)

(possible titles for this batch of stories…
a foxhole village in the vast Arctic wastes
East of the Mackenzie and West of Great Bear Lake)

______________________________________________________________

Chapter ONE – FLIES
________________________ This is a cartoon ( pencil and ink drawing) a
caricature
by artist Ernie Taylor (North Bay, Ontario)….Working for the “Talk of the
Town” Press, whenever I wrote a strange story (which was basically all the time) Ernie loved to capture the `mad act.`
My first article for the Talk of the Town Press was:
“ROVING REPORTER DISCOVERS FLIES” This story drew Ernie`s attention immediately. A line like – “Your Roving Reporter has ascertained that Flies do indeed exist outside the civilized areas.” This line got his attention immediately.

IF YOU WERE WONDERING WHAT I WAS doing with “moon-blind bitches of a Sickle Town” I was trying to make a rhyme, trying to get a title. Rhyme withwhat? With “Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town.”.
But that’s where the ressemblance ends – I am working under far more savage and extreme conditions than Leacock ever saw..
You don’t have to feel sorry for the animals
around here – because the animals WILL KILL
YOU– not just the polar bears and the menacing
100 pound weasels. But the wolves howling all around us… and trying to bite my ass when I have a shit!
Here, even the DOMESTICATED animals try to killyou!


 THIS STORY IS
TAKEN FROM
TALES OF WAIT-A-BIT

“MOONSHINED BITCHES OF A TOWN

BOMBED-FLAT”

 

Now I`ve moved farther north. Here in the CANADIAN Northwest Territories, you can`t tie up your horse outside for longer than an hour in fly season… If you stay in a bar too long and your horse is tethered outside, one of two things can happen by the time your return.
(1) Your horse has gone mad and he won`t let you near him… every time you draw near he tries to bite you – and there`s no way you can ride him. In his own crazy, eyeball-rolling way the horse is dead serious about hating you… and he won`t change his opinion about you for 2 years. You`ll notice you can see his ribs now,when you never could before. That`s because the clouds of carnivorous insects have been eating his tender bits – and now they`re thinking of burrowing thru his hide to start devouring his internal organs…
You can be sure his ass hole will mostly have been eaten out so it is almost beyond repair… this will not have a calming effect on your horse, and it is likely he will hate you for as long as he lives. I leave my smokey burrow and and go outside to talk to the fool. I don`t like being outside at this time of day, but – after all, I`m the reason he`s up here, so it`s only fair that I talk to him….
… I can see in his eyes that he`s a long way from sober… He`s getting that “step n`a lurch” tourists get around here. It`s easy to spot… ((Bertie`s walking past: “Hey, Bertie remember that tourist we had a few years back?” Bertie: “Sure do… Nice fella…. Didn’t say much tho… Funny the way he ran after that plane!”
“Sure was.” Nice to talk to Bertie.Don`t see him much anymore… To tell the truth, I thought he was dead.
I go real quick over the lane to talk to the man. It`s obvious his horse is in distress… “Distress” is putting it mildly.
“Your best plan is to shoot him quickly and use his body for food.”
Fella whirls around on one heel and stares off at me as if I`M in the distance when I`m only ten feet away. Peers in my direction like he`s never seen a man in a hat before. He says,”WHAT?” He`s looking off to the south trying to see the plane. The Plane`s been gone for hours. Won`t see a plane for weeks now, maybe months, maybe a quarter year.
I SAY: “You`re going to need the food for survival in these parts. And nothing stands still here for long…” Just as I say this, a dog goes running past us down the street, as if ten children are throwing rocks at him. And they say God doesn`t have a sense of humour. Well. nobody says that up here. Up here everybody knows God has a sense of humour… Just… not a very pleasant sense of humour…
This guy. He keeps staring at me like he has never seen a hat before, keeps trying to reach up under my screenings…. I swat his hand away and kick his leg a light one. “WHAT?” he shouts at me again.
Spose he`s been down to Artie`s Grill That`s the only place you can get liquor around here. And the man hasn`t had time to make his own.
I say: “YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE!” “WHAT!” he shouts at me. He`s not asking questions now. Now he`s getting rude. And he`s standing there unarmed.. He`s sort of a big fella, but I was big when I first came up here, too..
I SAY: “The horses can`t stay out long this time of year…Usually they just run up and down the street a few times and peel right back into the barn. Then we lock the barn door tight.” He`s walking up close to me now. “What do you mean this time of year?” he asks…
“I mean the summer!” It doesn`t last long but it`s NASTY, LONG AS IT LASTS!”

He shouts,”Looking for a man called WILCOX!”
“You mean HENRY Wilcox?” I ask.
“I MEAN ANY KIND OF FUCKIN` WILCOX AT ALL!”
“Ha! Ha!, Well, you came to the right place! I`m Frank Wilcox. Henry was my uncle.”

“WAS?” WAS? Did you say, WAS your Uncle? YOU MEAN I JUST CAME 5,000 MILES TO SEE A DEAD MAN?`”

“Yeah, that’d be right. But don`t be blaming me about Henry. S`ǹot my fault he`s dead… you can`t just go runnin`off across the muskeg around here! It looks like a field, I know, but it`s got HOLES in it… Just watch the moose they don`t stay on top long…. Course you won`t see a moose this month…”
Once again he made a grab for my hat….kicked him harder this time closer to the knee….This one `hurt-a-bit`. In Jamaica they got a town called “Wait-a-bit?” but that`s a different story…. …… …… Sure as hell wish I was in Jamaica now…. It`s hotter here —- and you can`t get a beer to save your life…
“DON`T GRAB AT MY HAT AGAIN!” i`m taller than this fool when I stand up straight, and you better believe I can choke the life out of him…. God knows, I`ve had enough practice! It`s just not smart to stand up straight around here – you make a better target…
HE SAYS: “You kick me one more time, I`ll rip your nose off!! Right off your face… that`s if you have a nose!!! Under all that screen shit. COME `ERE! I WANT TO GET A LOOK AT YOU””

Artie`s laughing so hard he`s rolling in the dirt… 3 legged dog keeps sniffin at him…

“WHERE YOU FROM, ASSHOLE?”

“Maryland…” he says
“””YOU DON`T TOUCH MY HAT! Takes too long to strap it on! Those screens are real important to me. I`ll tie em up when we get inside… Artie`s buying us a drink.” Artie, get up! You look like you`re enjoying what that dog`s doing to ya!!”…… a little too much.
We go inside and I get Artie to unsnap the back of my hat where it tightens around the neck… I hang the hat from a hook in the ceiling…. don`t have to reach too high for the hook. Ceiling`s only 4 inches above the top of my head
when I`m crouching…. which I do these days pretty much all the time. You get used to walking in a crouch… ask anybody who”s been in the army for about 4 years where people are shootin at yer head.
Now that I got my hat off and the tourist can see my face —- it`s too dark in Artie`s to see yer face…( I can write good english, but not always)
It`s cool in Artie`s Bar because it`s dug in the ground…like every other fukin place around here….after the Joint Canadian-American cruise missile tests… and that dumb NUK (I mean CAN-NUK – I`m not being racist, not that anybody`d notice around here… nobody gives a fuck and I tell ya…after smoking your skin a foot from a wood stove 10 months a year… nobody can tell what colour your skin is anyway… cause it`s too dark to see anywhere you can relax enough to have a drink…..after all, there`s only Artie`s.
This guy`s name is Hank and he`s not a bad guy – he`s going to have to learn some manners…. He just took the oil lamp off the bar and shone it in my face….
Nearly blinded me: “Relax, just want to see what you look like…see if you`re half mad or if you`ve gone all the way.” Artie laughs: “Oh, he`s gone all the way.. All the way and back!”

All the way round the moon —— only the dogs up here understand him cause they sing together.”
“SHUT UP, ARTIE!” It`s nice to see him – just not that nice.
” So what were you trying to tell me about my horse?” the tourist asks me.
I was saying…. YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE….Artie`ll lend you a rifle and sell you a bullet.
Artie pours us all a double shot of moonshine mixed with water, berry juice and syrop from farther south, flown up from NORMAN WELLS..
“OK, listen to me now: You`ll likely be spending the winter here, because people don`t like cruelty to animals in these parts, so no one is going to give you a ride south. Not that there are any rides south —- unless you can paddle 2000 miles up river….”Ha! Ha! Me and Artie laugh. After all, you`ve just lost your transportation. You`d better shoot him fast before he runs off into a lake somewhere and stands up to his neck in water for days, like the deer do.
“Every once in a while you`ll see a deer duck his head under the water to get the flies off. He`ll stand there in the lake up to his chin in water with his eyes closed and he won`t move.It`s hard to see em after a while – look just like a stump.”
“No, your best plan is to shoot him quick before he gets in too deep and then you`ll never catch him. But first you`re going to have to dig some holes – at least four feet deep, so they`re below the frost line. And don`t you put more than 20 pounds of horsemeat in any one hole!”
“Good God, you`re kidding!” he shouts, scratching all the while, and insisting on scratching repeatedly in several unattractive places. After a while you see newcomers do a dance, hopping from one leg to another – rather like a kid who has shit himself.
“I only wish I was kidding,” I say to him, giving him a sympathetic nod and trying not to laugh. He`s noticed I have a big screened hat on my head – I look like a beekeeper, only crazier and more extreme,(Talking now when we first met) “We got flies and biting insects up here that make bees look cuddly and friendly – sometimes they even look like they can keep your warm.”

“Better have another drink…” I tell the poor man. I remember when the realization first hit me – and I`m not talking about any spiritula Awakening…The spiritual awakening you have up here is that you`re fucked – I mean well and truly fucked. Not fucked by a woman …not good fucked (Yeah we still have women up here, if you know where to dig deep enough)”
“DIG deep enough?” he looks at me ascance, as if I`ve offended womankind. He`s worried about this is he? The poor little fruit? Jesus Christ! He`d better go somewhere else and flap his hands at the end of those limp wrists he has… (OOOOooo, I`m feeling the 200 proof, that`s good. Nothing like drinking out of a tin cup to really taste the stuff! “)

There`s class and there`s class and up here this is class…

“Hey, Artie, fire a blast at Jerimiah!” ( I mean a blast of sound —- bullets are too expensive to waste…. and we really need em in the dead of winter…”

“When`s the dead of winter?” the Tourist asks
“Shit! Was I speaking out loud?”

“Sure wuz,” says Artie…. I stare at him like it`s the first time I`ve ever seen him. I can`t remember ever hearing him talk.”

“OK, Mary`s Land – the LIKKER`S STARTING TO TAKE EFFECT —— that means hallucinations —— I like it when it happens – I think it`s an added attraction, but.it… it takes a little getting used to…. the rule is – DON`T SHOOT ANYTHING UNLESS IT MOVES REAL FAST!”

“I don`t have a gun,” says Hank.
“HEY, ARTIE, GET THE MAN A GUN. He`s gonna need a gun soon as he starts seeing things…Or needs to take a shit. We all start to laugh. I lean over and say to Hank – the outhouses aren`t the safest places around here, either. You really do have to take a gun when you have to go for a shit
“Artie, you`ll have to show him how to shoot!” Artie whips a twelve gauge shotgun out from under his smock and blows the horns clean off one of the mooseheads by the door.
I didn`t think Artie could see that far – twelve feet! Har! Har!…. I just saw somethin skitter real fast acroos the bar… I blast it`s head off quick like lightning with my no stock
sawed-off single-shot boit action Lee and Enfield 303. I keep it as a convenience under my right arm….I` feel naked without it; hell, I can`t walk straight without it. (I probably can`t even relax and take a shit without it resting there under my arm, but you don`t need to know that) ”
“None of that pistol in the pants bullshit we used to see on TV… when we had TV….before that Canadian flyboy blew the jail and mayor`s office, the A&P and our Artic version of the Dixie Chicks right off the face of the map and incinerated 4 fifths of the town in .036th of a second.
” I MISS THOSE GIRLS….”wails Artie and goes outside crying to have a piss.
“Fuck! Did that really happen?” Hank`s starting to scribble in a notebook…. ….. I watch him for a while. I used to scribble in Notebooks, too – it`s nice to see some fool at work – scribbling like the idiot I used to be. ”
“Oh, it happened all right, and that` not all that happened…” After all the corrugated cement buildings turned to powder, the Beasts moved back in. The lowlands here were always the Wolverines` home.
“By the way, how` you manage to have yourself dropped off by a plane that lands here only 3 times a year?”
“WILCOX hired me as a reporter….”
That stuns Artie and me into silence… it takes a long time for us to digest the absurdity of it all.
And the unbalanced strangely tilted technicolour beauty of living in a world ruled by the smiling Trickster God —-The Trickster clearly has gotten us all by the cosmic/comic balls ….
“You were to be my replacement – but Henry`s dead… he ran off into the bush with a hard-on. God knows what he was chasing… they found his socks and his Walkman,that was all -The same song was playing over and over again…and we hope the song had nothing to do with his death.”
The booze was obviously finding a place in Hank… On impulse he rubbed his hands over the wood stove until his hands were pitch black, then he smeared his hands over his face and the back of his neck and in the crack of his ass and he rubbed more of the soot on his balls….
“We`ve got women who will do that for you,” said Artie
It might have been something I said — I told him smoke is the only effective fly repellant in the area, especially when you mix the soot with skunk piss. But then there is always the chance a huge weasel will wait for you in your deep-dug- human-home (in the army it`s called a foxhole)….. and mount you when you enter in the dark. “And you don`t always have to be covered in skunk piss,” Artie says.”If you`re lucky you will have passed out drunk , before the animal has it`s way with you.” Artie knows. It`s happened twice to Artie. The first time he was passed out drunk, the second time, not so much
They tell me, if you happen to be sober at the time, the nightmares persist for many years.
When the missile struck, we were fortunate. It was summer and the people leave any way they can. There were only forty-six of us left in town. Now we have 16, but this is different. This is our busy season.

Nobody knows where we are. And we don’t know where we are either!”Artie laughs.
“Don’t depress the poor tourist,” I say to Artie, feeling the moonshine
like a strong breeze in my ears already,
“The poor fool will be depressed plenty… when he understands the
situation he’s in up here!”

After Incineration Day, all our memories went blank. To tell the truth,
none of us can remember what the town used to be called. In time
maybe somebody will remember the name of our town and exactly where
we’re at. Maybe, maybe not. We gotta wait. This is why we call this joint, “WAIT-A-BIT!”

 

(C)2000-2016 by William G. Milne

from LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC.
____________________________

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

 

 

 

 

 CHAPTER_______?

 THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS, MELISSA IS

SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE

“BENEATH THE DICTATES OF PROPRIETY – When we speak of ‘Female Orgasm Repression’ we must remember orgasm is more primitive than all social norms: there is nothing ‘nice’ about orgasm.” Sadobegeros

CASE#03/13: FEMALE PROFESSIONAL
_________________________________________

THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE
#spirittoS&M

THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS; MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE! STUDIES IN THE FEMALE ORGASM I had to stop writing about religious matters because I was starting to see cross-eyed and I was getting threats from the religious community. Subtle comments like: “YOU ARE GOING TO HELL!”which got me laughing. Or, DO YOU KNOW WHAT HELL IS LIKE?
I e-mailed back, “I can arrange tours. Starting at 2:45P.M today. Bring women and liquor!”

I got into this more important subject, afer I read and studied Walker Ballantine’s famous article: “THERE ARE TWO REASONS I GET ON MY KNEES!”
I knew I was onto the scent. These cases have already taken me into some strange and disreputable places. Ballantine’s mind is stranger and more disreputable than most washrooms in most train stations.

Take Melissa, for example. I have her tied over an armchair in the garage, an armchair I have flipped over onto the cement upside down. So I could tie her naked limbs
Take Melissa, for example. I have her tied over an armchair in the garage, an armchair I
have flipped over onto the cement upside down. So I could tie her naked limbs spread eagle to the legs of the chair. I can hear her screaming, howling really, into the night. I really should shut the garage door.
It’s 4:30 A.M. and the neighbours need to sleep.
My closest neighbour is my attending physician, but he’d rather not atend.
.
Oh, that was a good one! She’s really putting her back into it No one can scream like that unless she really means it! The dogs around the lake are starting to bark…If the people in her legal office could see her now!
To put your minds at rest, your Roving Reporter comports himself with the utmost
integrity at all times. I obtained a 13 page “Medical and Legal Release” and had her sign it in triplicate. The RELEASE is iron-clad. I know because I drafted it myself.
Also I work with a male psychiatrist and a female Masters in psychology. Sometimes I have to employ a couple of hookers as well.

A few principles of sexology, penned by yours truly.
PRINCIPLE 1: There is nothing ‘nice’ about orgasm.( Especially in Melissa’s case because she has not had an orgasm in 35 years. And frankly that’s just damn unhealthy – for her and for everybody else. She’s a strong woman physically and mentally. And around the office she’s turning into a real prick. She came to me for help and I told her I’d take the job, but it wasn’t going to be pleasant. And it was going to cost her!)

PRINCIPLE 2: Sometimes I have to use power tools. And in extreme cases –
electric probes.

( NOTICE- PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! WARNING: THIS CASE STUDY INCLUDES SADOMASOCHISTIC ELEMENTS. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY SUCH SUBJECTS, READ NO FURTHER)

PRINCIPLE 3: Extreme Measures May Have to Be Taken.
Case History:(a) The subject attended a catholic girls school for 13 years.
(b) Her father is psychotic. The very thought that his daughter is having sex with anyone throws him into a destructive rage. Last week he managed to gain entrance into her underground parking garage and he attacked her BMW with a fire axe.
(c) Her mother’s favourite expression when talking to Melissa was: “A person of your quality need never cry.” The psychological damage that this cruel advice has caused Melissa is incalculable.

Once she was tied up and naked with her buttocks up near the ceiling, I administered a sedative orally (which, believe me, she was going to need).
Melissa doesn’t really like me, and her disdain is useful in this case.

PRINCIPLE 4:Fear and shock are necessary psychological tools.

At the moment she is penetrated anally by a radio-controlled device designed especially for that purpose. I can adjust the speeds from up here in the house.
When she wakes up from the sedative in several hours, I have a surprise planned that will scare the hell out of her. Then all her resistance will be gone. She will be utterly compliant and I can really go to work on her.
She will endure orgasm soon after dawn. After 35 years, it will not be a quiet
procedure.
Often the women I liberate dislike me for some weeks after the cure is effected.
Sometimes their hatred persists.

Respectfully submitted RRR

zz

    SANTA’S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE

_________________________________________________________________

CHAPTERS 1 – 3:
           ______________

 

This guide might be useful to you,
  before Christmas…in the madness
   of those last few shopping days,
    in case homicidal thoughts
     should occur.

        

1
        HOW TO SURVIVE WEIRD AND BIZARRE SITUATIONS IN PUBLIC,  WHEN YOU ARE INCAPACITATED ON DRUGS, WITHOUT BEING ARRESTED
  

      How to survive  bizarre life-threatening 
situations when you`re seeing things or hearing
voices, staying cool all the while and speaking
meaningless platitudes to the people you are with,    resisting, all the while, an overpowering urge to flee:

(a) when you`re walking with your boss and his wife, making polite conversation,  and your dead granny is whispering across the parking lot;

(b)when you discover that your true love has a lizard`s tongue but you have to go to her mother`s for
dinner anyway;

(c)when you know  your own mother is a spy for the Nazis…
    and the Nazis that very moment are hunting you;

(d) when you`re sure you`re hearing  hounds approaching;

(e) when you hear: “Hands up! We have this place
     surrounded!” and you`re sure the amplified voice is
     real;

(f) when you are eating in a fern bar and the ferns are alive!

       These are times when you`ve got to get a grip. If you keep you face looking calm and you walk right through the ugliness, you have a chance to escape.
       If a hallucinated person is real, he`ll tap you on the shoulder. Or put the cuffs on you, which is exactly  what you`re expecting!
       Chances are that`s not going to happen unless you`ve really been acting like a dork all over the place, or you`re losing motor function… ie: If you`re coming up Main Street walking like a crab …. then, yeah,
you`ll get picked up.
         Once they’ve got you, do not say one coherent word!  Say nothing in English.  If you`re really whacked any attempt at explaining yourself is just going to get you more time, especially if you`re on a serious drug and you have more of that drug hidden on your person.
         If they believe you are inarticulate and mumbling like a beast, they won`t bother asking any questions.  Drooling a bit never hurts. The idea is to disgust the cops so all they do is toss you in a drunk cell for the night. Then you`ll get out in the morning.
         If the police think you`re a hopeless drunk, they`ll
leave you alone.
         This one is hard to pull off, though. It`s difficult to hide  MANIA behind a shambling, drooling drunk act.  There are a lot of keen-eyed cops out there. And mania is like a bright light bulb in a crowd, especially drug-induced mania. 
 You gotta keep your head down, your eyes down, and for God`s sake, don`t smile!
         Don`t give `em one of those big-eyed maniac
smiles, wide toothy grin.  What that look says is:
“I`M INSANELY HAPPY BEYOND ALL REASON AND THIS JAIL MEANS NOTHING TO ME…you won`t hold me more than an hour!”
     ” I`m going go to across the street, steal a Cadillac, then pick up some hookers and an ounce of blow
and accelerate out of here and toot my horn while someone TOOTS MY HORN, if you catch my drift.”
         This is not a pose you want to project, even if you feel like you`re levitating… and you have to hang on to the grill of your car to just stay on earth and keep from floating away into the stratosphere…and you really believe it
        
      No, stick with the dumb disgusting drunk act. If you can look dirty, or better – filthy…FILTHY…FILTHY! The new policeman of today won`t want to touch you — these guys are making 80,000 dollars a year… They`re not labourers anymore…. They`re professionals…. The old expression: “FIVE TEN, GRADE TEN” no longer applies, and maybe never did.
       The new young policeman is upper middle class and he`s NOT  going to want to get down on his knees in the sewers and the alleys with you… in all the places where we love to do our drugs… all the filthy holes! Har! Har!   Don`t expect any visits down there.
       Except we do not want to hide in filthy places, either,
we are not longer criminal, and we no longer accept being classified as such.

*

2



               SURVIVING  SUDDEN ATTACK
               BY A HUMAN BEAST, CONSUMED
               BY PSYCHOSIS AND TRAINED 
               IN THE MARTIAL ARTS
               _____________________________
              

      Any survival situation is interesting.  Toxic Psychosis
is definitely a survival situation. – often the danger is more
acute for other people.
      Extreme paranoia, however induced…can be a danger
to other people. If the subject feels he is under
attack, by let say six schoolteachers walking their dogs
across a public park…
      And if the subject is in the same public park, hiding in the
bushes and watching carefully at the approach of the enemy.  And the subject naturally has already gained the higher
ground…
       And if the subject is the survivor of several jail
fights and has learned the art of using anything
at hand for a weapon.
       And let`s say our hypothetical subject has
just snorted six ounces of Peruvian Marching Powder.
And has walked out of the family home at the start of
dinner. And he has slammed the front door
very loudly as he begins his fast search for higher
ground… And some fiend has cut the cocaine with
(Angel) DEVIL DUST – PCP….
       Now he`s carrying his shoes in his left
hand….And he`s having trouble putting these
shoes on – because every time he sits down to pull
on a shoe, he starts to levitate…
       And levitation is a problem I`d prefer
not to discuss before breakfast….
       
        Time for a cup of coffee. 

        Well, that`s why we call them drug fiends,
children. And they might attack out of the
bushes at any time.
         
        Because even if you`re only sixteen
and even if all six of you weigh less than a
thousand pounds, and even if you`re walking Labrador
Retrievers, not Dobermans. The DRUG FIEND
 walking with the king  SEES THE SCENE
                                  DIFFERENTLY
 than you your school-teacher buddies do!
        
         The drug fiend sees danger everywhere he turns.
He is in what the doctors like to call, a “FIGHT OR FLIGHT”
situation.
   
          You see, you think you`re walking along in a
safe park  and it`s a balmy spring evening, and you`re 
talking to your wives, whoops! wife. And the dogs you
are walking are frolicking along looking for bushes to sniff.
           But you see, that`s not the reality at all…

           In fact, you are walking 2300 years ago…

           You don`t hear the shrieking citadel geese, because
you are not aware that you are approaching the citadel…
and the bushes your dogs are sniffing give rise
to the bushes on higher ground where the brave soul
defending the city from Etruscan Invaders… awaits.
           And he passed right through that little fight-or-flight
problem six minutes ago. This Drug Fiend is a brave soul.
            He is defending the lives of his people. And he
has been doing military exercises for decades.
             He`s been practising hurling sharp implements against a reinforced wall in his basement for six years now
taking speed all night, night after night, for years
and lifting weights after his fingers have become too blistered from whipping around all those six-pointed stars
at the human head drawn in the wall 30 feet away
from his barricade.
         He works out nightly in his Roman exercise gallery.

          Your dogs have transformed themselves into the
200 pound snarling beasts ( precursors to the brave Rottweiler breed, only larger and trained to eat what it
kills – trained to eat and kill the citizens of Rome.)
         Our brave fiend is truly lost in madness now.
But for him, remember, the situation makes sense.
It doesn`t to you, but you`re not making the rules.
You`re not the director of this very real theatre piece.
             Well, you`ll see the problem developing…

              When you see the 320 pound, extremely agile,
shoeless monster burst from the bushes you are
attacking…. when you hear him howl in a chattering
fashion teeth flashing in a snarl which may also be a laugh…
               When you see him running downhill in a leaping
motion… running past your company  to your left – down
the hill and cutting off any chance of
dignified escape…    or any escape at all.

                  Well, then it`s time, my friends, to start seeing
the situation the way he does.
                  TIME WARP does exist.
                   principle: The craziest among us, he defines the time and space.

              If you see him BOUNDING, moving the way you have never seen a human move – chances are, what you
are dealing with is an entity rather less and rather more than
human
             iT`S IMPORTANT TO QUICKLY READ THE SIGNS!
             (1) bounding,  that`s a sign
             (2) when your domestic dogs have stopped barking
                  and now they`re just pissing themselves where                    they stand, that`s another sign.         

             It`s a sign to run like a motherfucker!
             
             Go ahead, sprint for the bushes.  Forget
about ripping the shit of your $1000 suit.  Run through
the bushes… don`t worry about what may be permanent
facial scars as the undergrowth tears at your skin. That`s
what plastic surgery is for.
            Run right through the brand new one by six pine
planking of your neighbours fence… Let the men do that for
you, ladies.Chances are they`ve got a good head start on 
you anyway…

principle: When reality strikes, forget what ought to be.
            
          LET GO OF THE LEASHES OF YOUR DOGS! They
can outrun you – one good thing about animals, they
never forget how to flee…

          Ask any 20 year cop who`s worked the inner city
and the ravines… Ask him about the mysteries, the delights
and the insane dangers of fiends on PCP.
           I have heard horrible stories. Babies have been
eaten… A man crossing sixteen  lanes of the 401
with an arm in his mouth… unworried, as if he`s
going to church.  I have heard horrible stories.
        And what I have SEEN is far worse than what I have heard.

        If you`re lucky enough to SEE such a beast approaching, shoot for the centre of the chest. 
(Fuck luck! If you`re unwary, you won`t see a thing and you`ll be dead) Chances are he`ll be too fast for you to hit him in the head…
        Shoot him three or four times in the chest…. then
run like the demons of hell are nipping at your heels.
Because THEY ARE!  RUN LIKE HELL!
         And don`t for a minute think… just because you`ve
hit him four or five times in the chest with a 303, don`t think he`s dead.  He won`t be,
           With all that adrenalin and lead in him he can still
run faster than you can.Don`t bother checking to see
if he`s wear body arm.. MANIACS DON`T NEED VESTS!
           Throw a chair or a boulder thru somebody`s
living room window… get your crew inside and shove a couch into the ungainly opening you have made in the wall. Ha! Ha!
           THEN CALL 911.
                       
            Forget cell phones at times like this — your fingers
will shake too much to use them…
            Shove the couch into the wall opening. Get any of the men with you who are not weeping on their knees and praying for SANTA… get them to rip legs off chairs off chairs for added impact defence.
            Remember, I AM SANTA. If you`ve been to jail
you`ve probably already met me – and you know I tell you
no lies.

            Tell the house owners of the house to “SHUT UP AND FIND A GUN.!”
            This guy`s still coming for you. Don`t ever think he`s not. He might be catching his breath.  No, scratch that – he
DOESN`T NEED TO CATCH HIS BREATH.
          Forget the weak and the slow, your friends who were walking in the park with you…
they`re dead already!

           The cops`ll get there quick.  A lot of the guys like
situations like this – and thank God for that! 
         Never criticize a certain love for violence in your constabulary. What do you expect? It`s their stock and trade.
At times such as this you`ll wish they were more violent –
at times like this you need ravening beasts

             Fuck luck! When someone`s trying to kill you,
the only response is –  TRY TO EAT HIS SKULL!

             I`ve been through a few situations like this
and I`m still alive… And this little article might just save
your life…
             There`s no time to think when the rams`horns are
blowing in the hills.

                                   *    *    *       
                                           
                                            

3

 IF YOU FIND YOU’RE IN A CLINIC,
AND YOU FIND YOU CAN’T GET OUT 

 

This will never happen in my clinic, 
          but if you wake up somewhere else:
          _______________________________________

       If you are a woman,whether single, independent,
independently wealthy, somebody’s wife or not,
whether you’re a working person or not – if you wake
up one morning and the walls are white, and the curtains
are white and a strange white light is coming through
strange windows… 

IF YOU FIND YOU’RE IN A CLINIC AND YOU FIND YOU CAN’T 
GET OUT!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS, MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE…….(Female Legal Professional)”

  1. […] THE BELLS ARE RINGING IN THE HILLS, MELISSA IS SCREAMING IN THE GARAGE…….(Female Legal P…. […]

  2. Errrrr…. This was meant to be published privately…. whoops! Anyway. it’s going in the book – Howling WITH THE DOGS etc.

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A GREAT TRIP – TROUBLE WITH THE REF

STORY TO JOHN:

I remember one game I saw you play,,,,The other parents were getting nervous about sitting with me.. (Like I cared!)

*

You tripped a guy right in front of me. I was delighted, and I wasn’t quiet about it. The day before I was shouting insults at the ref… (working on just a mickey of rye). The next morning when I showed up….I was in the front row… my nose pressed against the glass….

The ref skated over to me and said: “You’re back?”

*PAST THE SECOND REEF (4)

             I gave him a shit-eating grin and said: “Yes, I am.” 

We both laughed a little. Then he buggered off to do his job.

 

 

 

 

A TOUCH OF TRUTH, A TASTE OF THE OCEAN

The earliest Christians were called Gnostics mostly in an attempt to dismiss
the Christ’s emphasis on “knowing”. “Know yourself and you shall see me.””HE WHO DRINKS THE WATERS FLOWING FROM MY MOUTH
SHALL BE AS I AM
AND I SHALL BE HE
AND THE HIDDEN THINGS SHALL BE REVEALED TO HIM”GOSPEL OF THOMASThis message is very simple. It describes a mirror-like confrontation between
master and student. And the master is urging the student-seeker to question the nature of his identity and being.*Again I ask you for your strenth, for I have no
strength of my own, only the strength that you have
have given meO holy one of Israel and Albion, thank you for your
grace, thank you for your gifts, thank you for the truth
that you have given us. O Father, you who ride the clouds
and pierce the clouds with the brightest light of
illumination, I greet you again.
I ask you to fill us with your light, as
you have done before and fill this room again
with you Grace.
O Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Lord on high,
you have given us love of the Mother and the
Earth, our mother; you are aware that our
adoration of the Mother is the love of
you, the most high. Help me teach your
mysterious message to your children
You are the Lord of the Indus plains,
the red earth; you are Father of the islands
and Lord of the sea. You are the incandescent
light at the core of me; you are the mystic
star of all the tribes.
Thank you for your gifts, thank you for
your Grace: thank you for the strength
you give to all of us.You pervade all things and teach me
my own intelligence. Help me teach
the difference between reality and the
lies that have been told.
You are God of the mountains,
the shepherd of the valleys. Little
children are born knowing you.
Trailing clouds of glory do they
come. *I ask you to bless this wine,
O Lord Jesus Christ, soul of my soul,
heart of my heart, One day I
had my communion bathed in you.
And what had been my mind
dissolved in your eternal Knowing.
I have never been the same.
*When you want to sell something,
you make it very special. So the rulers,
organizers of the monopoly, made you so very special,
so miraculous and exceptional, that
no man could be like you.
All we could do is worship you from
afar for being so utterly above us. But this
was not your purpose, your purpose
was to dissolve into the seeker and
have the seeker dissolve into you, until
there were not two identities
but one only.
This is the meaning of communion,
it is the meaning of the Eucharist,
as well.
*
“FOR GOD IS A DYER. AS THE GOOD
DYES, WHICH ARE CALLED TRUE, DISSOLVE
WITH THE THINGS DYED IN THEM, SO IS
IT WITH THOSE WHO GOD HAS DYED.
SINCE HIS DYES ARE IMMORTAL,THEY BECOME
IMMORTAL, BY MEANS OF HIS COLOURS.”
*
On earth, in darkness and ignorance,
you see things but you
do not become like them. You see the sun,
you do not become the sun.
*
But in this place, the place of realization,
the place of redemption, “it is not possible
to see anything of the things that actually
exist, without being like them. “You saw the
spirit, you became the spirit; you saw Christ,
you become Christ. You saw the father,
you shall become the father. In this place,
you see everything and do not see yourself.”“But in that place you do see yourself – and
what you see you shall become.”
For example, in that place (oblivion)
you see something or someone
you desire, you become that desire”.This is the gospel of the one who
is searched for, and the seeker,
once enlightened, can no longer
be found.
The one who is searched for
was revealed to those who are
made complete, perfect through
the mercies of the Father, the
hidden mystery, Jesus the Christ
enlightened those who were in darkness,
the darkness and the fog of oblivion.
He gave light to their darkness;
he cured their blindness: he enlightened
them; he showed them a way, and the
way is the truth which he taught them,
the fruit of the tree which was Christ ,
the tree of the lineage of the Lord.
*“AND HE DISCSCOVERED THEM IN HIMSELF,
AND THEY DISCOVERED HIM IN THEMSELVES.”
*
This is why the Bridal Chamber contains a
mirror. For the seeker reflects the one
who is sought, and the one who is sought
reflects the seeker. And a merciful God
is the relection of the man.
There the man is baptized with water. light
and fire, in order that the Chrism may take
place. For no impure woman or man may enter
the Bridal Chamber, for there the marriage
takes place between the Lord God and the man
who has pursued the truth until he has
disappeared into the sanctuary, made chaste
by the Son.
*
There is no describing these things, but a
roadmap can be made – with signposts
along the way, so that the seeker may
not be lost completely.
I was lost in the early days, and when
realization occured I had no idea what
had happened. I had no idea which way to
turn. I had to go to a zen temple, where
the monks knew of such things. In fact
realization was the aim of all their
zazen.
in the early days , then as now.
                                                                          (C) 2015-2016 by W.G. Milne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3:

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A PICKLED TOWN

 

 

 FLIES!
__________

MOONSHINE SKETCHES OF A
PICKLED TOWN
_____________________________

(C)W.G.Milne
and John Rock
Corporation
(trademark pending)

(possible titles for this batch of stories…
a foxhole village in the vast Arctic wastes
East of the Mackenzie and West of Great Bear Lake)

______________________________________________________________

Chapter ONE – FLIES
________________________ This is a cartoon ( pencil and ink drawing) a
caricature
by artist Ernie Taylor (North Bay, Ontario)….Working for the “Talk of the
Town” Press, whenever I wrote a strange story (which was basically all the time) Ernie loved to capture the `mad act.`
My first article for the Talk of the Town Press was:
“ROVING REPORTER DISCOVERS FLIES” This story drew Ernie`s attention immediately. A line like – “Your Roving Reporter has ascertained that Flies do indeed exist outside the civilized areas.” This line got his attention immediately.

IF YOU WERE WONDERING WHAT I WAS doing with “moon-blind bitches of a Sickle Town” I was trying to make a rhyme, trying to get a title. Rhyme with what? With “Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town.”.
But that’s where the ressemblance ends – I am working under far more savage and extreme conditions than Leacock ever saw..
You don’t have to feel sorry for the animals
around here – because the animals WILL KILL
YOU– not just the polar bears and the menacing
100 pound weasels. But the wolves howling all around us… and trying to bite my ass when I have a shit!
Here, even the DOMESTICATED animals try to kill you!


 THIS STORY IS
TAKEN FROM
TALES OF WAIT-A-BIT

“MOONSHINED BITCHES OF A TOWN

BOMBED-FLAT”

 

Now I`ve moved farther north. Here in the CANADIAN Northwest Territories, you can`t tie up your horse outside for longer than an hour in fly season… If you stay in a bar too long and your horse is tethered outside, one of two things can happen by the time your return.
(1) Your horse has gone mad and he won`t let you near him… every time you draw near he tries to bite you – and there`s no way you can ride him. In his own crazy, eyeball-rolling way the horse is dead serious about hating you… and he won`t change his opinion about you for 2 years. You`ll notice you can see his ribs now,when you never could before. That`s because the clouds of carnivorous insects have been eating his tenderbits – and now they`re thinking of burroughing thru his hide to start devouring his internal organs…
You can be sure his ass hole will mostly have been eaten out so it is almost beyond repair… this will not have a calming effect on your horse, and it is likely he will hate you for as long as he lives. I leave my smokey burrough and and go outside to talk to the fool. I don`t like being outside at this time of day, but – after all, I`m the reason he`s up here, so it`s only fair that I talk to him….
… I can see in his eyes that he`s a long way from sober… He`s getting that “step n`a lurch” tourists get around here. It`s easy to spot… ((Bertie`s walking past: “Hey, Bertie remember that tourist we had a few years back?” Bertie: “Sure do… Nice fella…. Didn`t say much tho… Funny the way he ran after that plane!”
“Sure was.” Nice to talk to Bertie.Don`t see him much anymore… To tell the truth, I thought he was dead.
I go real quick over the lane to talk to the man. It`s obvious his horse is in distress… “Distress” is putting it mildly.
“Your best plan is to shoot him quickly and use his body for food.”
Fella whirls around on one heel and stares off at me as if I`M in the distance when I`m only ten feet away. Peers in my direction like he`s never seen a man in a hat before. He says,”WHAT?” He`s looking off to the south trying to see the plane. The Plane`s been gone for hours. Won`t see a plane for weeks now, maybe months, maybe a quarter year.
I SAY: “You`re going to need the food for survival in these parts. And nothing stands still here for long…” Just as I say this, a dog goes running past us down the street, as if ten children are throwing rocks at him. And they say God doesn`t have a sense of humour. Well. nobody says that up here. Up here everybody knows God has a sense of humour… Just… not a very pleasant sense of humour…
This guy. He keeps staring at me like he has never seen a hat before, keeps trying to reach up under my screenings…. I swat his hand away and kick his leg a light one. “WHAT?” he shouts at me again.
Spose he`s been down to Artie`s Grill That`s the only place you can get liquor around here. And the man hasn`t had time to make his own.
I say: “YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE!” “WHAT!” he shouts at me. He`s not asking questions now. Now he`s getting rude. And he`s standing there unarmed.. He`s sort of a big fella, but I was big when I first came up here, too..
I SAY: “The horses can`t stay out long this time of year…Usually they just run up and down the street a few times and peel right back into the barn. Then we lock the barn door tight.” He`s walking up close to me now. “What do you mean this time of year?” he asks…
“I mean the summer!” It doesn`t last long but it`s NASTY, LONG AS IT LASTS!”

He shouts,”Looking for a man called WILCOX!”
“You mean HENRY Wilcox?” I ask.
“I MEAN ANY KIND OF FUCKIN` WILCOX AT ALL!”
“Ha! Ha!, Well, you came to the right place! I`m Frank Wilcox. Henry was my uncle.”

“WAS?” WAS? Did you say, WAS your Uncle? YOU MEAN I JUST CAME 5,000 MILES TO SEE A DEAD MAN?`”

“Yeah, that’d be right. But don`t be blaming me about Henry. S`ǹot my fault he`s dead… you can`t just go runnin`off across the muskeg around here! It looks like a field, I know, but it`s got HOLES in it… Just watch the moose they don`t stay on top long…. Course you won`t see a moose this month…”
Once again he made a grab for my hat….kicked him harder this time closer to the knee….This one `hurt-a-bit`. In Jamaica they got a town called “Wait-a-bit?” but that`s a different story…. …… …… Sure as hell wish I was in Jamaica now…. It`s hotter here —- and you can`t get a beer to save your life…
“DON`T GRAB AT MY HAT AGAIN!” i`m taller than this fool when I stand up straight, and you better believe I can choke the life out of him…. God knows, I`ve had enough practice! It`s just not smart to stand up straight around here – you make a better target…
HE SAYS: “You kick me one more time, I`ll rip your nose off!! Right off your face… that`s if you have a nose!!! Under all that screen shit. COME `ERE! I WANT TO GET A LOOK AT YOU””

Artie`s laughing so hard he`s rolling in the dirt… 3 legged dog keeps sniffin at him…

“WHERE YOU FROM, ASSHOLE?”

“Maryland…” he says
“YOU DON`T TOUCH MY HAT! Takes too long to strap it on! Those screens are real important to me. I`ll tie em up when we get inside… Artie`s buying us a drink.” Artie, get up! You look like you`re enjoying what that dog`s doing to ya!!”…… a little too much.
We go inside and I get Artie to unsnap the back of my hat where it tightens around the neck… I hang the hat from a hook in the ceiling…. don`t have to reach too high for the hook. Ceiling`s only 4 inches above the top of my head
when I`m crouching…. which I do these days pretty much all the time. You get used to walking in a crouch… ask anybody who”s been in the army for about 4 years where people are shootin at yer head.
Now that I got my hat off and the tourist can see my face —- it`s too dark in Artie`s to see yer face…( I can write good english, but not always)
It`s cool in Artie`s Bar because it`s dug in the ground…like every other fukin place around here….after the Joint Canadian-American cruise missile tests… and that dumb NUK (I mean CAN-NUK – I`m not being racist, not that anybody`d notice around here… nobody gives a fuck and I tell ya…after smoking your skin a foot from a wood stove 10 months a year… nobody can tell what colour your skin is anyway… cause it`s too dark to see anywhere you can relax enough to have a drink…..after all, there`s only Artie`s.
This guy`s name is Hank and he`s not a bad guy – he`s going to have to learn some manners…. He just took the oil lamp off the bar and shone it in my face….
Nearly blinded me: “Relax, just want to see what you look like…see if you`re half mad or if you`ve gone all the way.” Artie laughs: “Oh, he`s gone all the way.. All the way and back!”

All the way round the moon —— only the dogs up here understand him cause they sing together.”
“SHUT UP, ARTIE!” It`s nice to see him – just not that nice.
” So what were you trying to tell me about my horse?” the tourist asks me.
I was saying…. YOU`RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT THAT HORSE….Artie`ll lend you a rifle and sell you a bullet.
Artie pours us all a double shot of moonshine mixed with water, berry juice and syrop from farther south, flown up from NORMAN WELLS..
“OK, listen to me now: You`ll likely be spending the winter here, because people don`t like cruelty to animals in these parts, so no one is going to give you a ride south. Not that there are any rides south —- unless you can paddle 2000 miles up river….”Ha! Ha! Me and Artie laugh. After all, you`ve just lost your transportation. You`d better shoot him fast before he runs off into a lake somewhere and stands up to his neck in water for days, like the deer do.
“Every once in a while you`ll see a deer duck his head under the water to get the flies off. He`ll stand there in the lake up to his chin in water with his eyes closed and he won`t move.It`s hard to see em after a while – look just like a stump.”
“No, your best plan is to shoot him quick before he gets in too deep and then you`ll never catch him. But first you`re going to have to dig some holes – at least four feet deep, so they`re below the frost line. And don`t you put more than 20 pounds of horsemeat in any one hole!”
“Good God, you`re kidding!” he shouts, scratching all the while, and insisting on scratching repeatedly in several unattractive places. After a while you see newcomers do a dance, hopping from one leg to another – rather like a kid who has shit himself.
“I only wish I was kidding,” I say to him, giving him a sympathetic nod and trying not to laugh. He`s noticed I have a big screened hat on my head – I look like a beekeeper, only crazier and more extreme,(Talking now when we first met) “We got flies and biting insects up here that make bees look cuddly and friendly – sometimes they even look like they can keep your warm.”

“Better have another drink…” I tell the poor man. I remember when the realization first hit me – and I`m not talking about any spiritula Awakening…The spiritual awakening you have up here is that you`re fucked – I mean well and truly fucked. Not fucked by a woman …not good fucked (Yeah we still have women up here, if you know where to dig deep enough)”
“DIG deep enough?” he looks at me ascance, as if I`ve offended womankind. He`s worried about this is he? The poor little fruit? Jesus Christ! He`d better go somewhere else and flap his hands at the end of those limp wrists he has… (OOOOooo, I`m feeling the 200 proof, that`s good. Nothing like drinking out of a tin cup to really taste the stuff! “)

There`s class and there`s class and up here this is class…

“Hey, Artie, fire a blast at Jerimiah!” ( I mean a blast of sound —- bullets are too expensive to waste…. and we really need em in the dead of winter…”

“When`s the dead of winter?” the Tourist asks
“Shit! Was I speaking out loud?”

“Sure wuz,” says Artie…. I stare at him like it`s the first time I`ve ever seen him. I can`t remember ever hearing him talk.”

“OK, Mary`s Land – the LIKKER`S STARTING TO TAKE EFFECT —— that means hallucinations —— I like it when it happens – I think it`s an added attraction, but.it… it takes a little getting used to…. the rule is – DON`T SHOOT ANYTHING UNLESS IT MOVES REAL FAST!”

“I don`t have a gun,” says Hank.
“HEY, ARTIE, GET THE MAN A GUN. He`s gonna need a gun soon as he starts seeing things…Or needs to take a shit. We all start to laugh. I lean over and say to Hank – the outhouses aren`t the safest places around here, either. You really do have to take a gun when you have to go for a shit
“Artie, you`ll have to show him how to shoot!” Artie whips a twelve gauge shotgun out from under his smock and blows the horns clean off one of the mooseheads by the door.
I didn`t think Artie could see that far – twelve feet! Har! Har!…. I just saw somethin skitter real fast acroos the bar… I blast it`s head off quick like lightning with my no stock
sawed-off single-shot boit action Lee and Enfield 303. I keep it as a convenience under my right arm….I` feel naked without it; hell, I can`t walk straight without it. (I probably can`t even relax and take a shit without it resting there under my arm, but you don`t need to know that) ”
“None of that pistol in the pants bullshit we used to see on TV… when we had TV….before that Canadian flyboy blew the jail and mayor`s office, the A&P and our Artic version of the Dixie Chicks right off the face of the map and incinerated 4 fifths of the town in .036th of a second.
” I MISS THOSE GIRLS….”wails Artie and goes outside crying to have a piss.
“Fuck! Did that really happen?” Hank`s starting to scribble in a notebook…. ….. I watch him for a while. I used to scribble in Notebooks, too – it`s nice to see some fool at work – scribbling like the idiot I used to be. ”
“Oh, it happened all right, and that` not all that happened…” After all the corrugated cement buildings turned to powder, the Beasts moved back in. The lowlands here were always the Wolverines` home.
“By the way, how` you manage to have yourself dropped off by a plane that lands here only 3 times a year?”
“WILCOX hired me as a reporter….”
That stuns Artie and me into silence… it takes a long time for us to digest the absurdity of it all.
And the unbalanced strangely tilted technicolour beauty of living in a world ruled by the smiling Trickster God —-The Trickster clearly has gotten us all by the cosmic/comic balls ….
“You were to be my replacement – but Henry`s dead… he ran off into the bush with a hard-on. God knows what he was chasing… they found his socks and his Walkman,that was all -The same song was playing over and over again…and we hope the song had nothing to do with his death.”
The booze was obviously finding a place in Hank… On impulse he rubbed his hands over the wood stove until his hands were pitch black, then he smeared his hands over his face and the back of his neck and in the crack of his ass and he rubbed more of the soot on his balls….
“We`ve got women who will do that for you,” said Artie
It might have been something I said — I told him smoke is the only effective fly repellant in the area, especially when you mix the soot with skunk piss. But then there is always the chance a huge weasel will wait for you in your deep-dug- human-home (in the army it`s called a foxhole)….. and mount you when you enter in the dark. “And you don`t always have to be covered in skunk piss,” Artie says.”If you`re lucky you will have passed out drunk , before the animal has it`s way with you.” Artie knows. It`s happened twice to Artie. The first time he was pass3ed out drunk, the second time, not so much
They tell me, if you happen to be sober at the time, the nightmares persist for many years.
When the missile struck, we were fortunate. It was summer and the people leave any way they can. There were only forty-six of us left in town. Now we have 16, but this is different. This is our busy season.

Nobody knows where we are. And we don’t know where we are either!”Artie laughs.
“Don’t depress the poor tourist,” I say to Artie, feeling the moonshine
like a strong breeze in my ears already,
“The poor fool will be depressed plenty… when he understands the
sitUation he’s in up here!”

After Incineration Day, all our memories went blank. To tell the truth,
none of us can remember what the town used to be called. In time
maybe somebody will remember the name of our town and exactly where
we’re at. Maybe, maybe not. We gotta wait. This is why we call this joint, “WAIT-A-BIT!”

(C)2000-2016 by William G. Milne

from LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC.
____________________________

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

POEMS

 

SPIRAL POEM

_______________

Darkness is absolute
In the black night of my soul.
She is dark, so dark she
Absorbs the depths of me,
She who is my love.

I enter her body,
Body which is my rest,
Body which is our heart
When the spirit becomes flesh;

Realization is clear
This azure morning
In the bright darkness
Of my lover’s breast.

Embracing inter-galactic distances…
Tide that makes the streams flow,
That wakes the burning spear
In the flowering buds
Bright and warm it makes the womb glow;

The mystery of the Mind beyond
Birth and dying grows
With a child who digs his toes in the mud.

I fully accept the soul
As ultimate and final reality:
That the spirit and flesh
Are born with the same breath
A wind that blows
From beyond the grave.

I touch the Soul which is here always
Lit with suns that rise
And waters that float
An unseen dream…

Present horizons suffice now.
All we see will always be
Unfolding in the light of the stars,
Moving at the heart of galaxies.

                                         (C)2016 by W.G. Milne

 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

 

     OUR LADY OF THE LAKE

                   

 

the buds are yellow in the treetops now

spring is here I can scarcely believe it

12 feet of  snow has melted from my roof

the rivers flow, do they know something we don’t?

 

the hunting dogs of Orion are bright

and shining in the night

the crimson sun with many fingers lights the sky

I love you by the lake where illumination sent me

like the new god coming, I swear and hope to die

 

all my life I have been blind about the real things

the kind words and answers…

like I’ve never heard the angels sing

 

what else can I say?

about my lady by the bay?

a true friend is remarkable and hard to find

I didn’t know a gal could be this kind

I didn’t know a woman could be this way.

 

 

  (C)2016 by                              W.G. Milne

                                                   

William Milne <zappadat@gmail.com>

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CRAFT SAILING TO THE SEA

 

Many stories I have told,

So many that they seem to be

Many children, young and old

In sailing crafts towards the sea

 

But one thing I have not said           

For none can see or search or reach

Th’ divinity that greet mens’ end

No one can bespeak

 

Divine forces all around

Light the jeweled axel tree

Perchance some wonder you have found

Grants an inner ray of peace

 

Armies in the crimson earth

March with elephants and chimes

The valley of the Indus palms

Before beyond and after time.

 

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

                      *

________________________

 

 

 

(C)2016 by W.G. Milne

 

No duplication of these materials without written permission of the author

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHEN I HEAR YOU SHOUT, WHEN I HEAR YOU CRY OUT, LET’S DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN!

G                                   Em

I’ve been waiting in love for ages

C                                                   D

But you don’t, you just don’t come up

G                                            Em

I’ve been waiting in this lonely room

C                                                    D

But you just don’t, you just don’t come up

*

I’ve been waiting in this room for ages

….But you just don’t come up

I’ve been waiting on my very own,

But you just don’t, you just don’t come up

*

You paid me a little visit, Baby,

So I could show my love

 You held out all ten fingers, Lady,

So I could kiss your glove

 

7 Em                                  3C

And  when I hear you shout

7 Em                               3 C

When I hear you — cry out

7 Em                            3 C to  D

When I hear you shout

3C                                                5 D

LET’S DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN!

*

Oh come into my chamber, Lady,

Don’t take your stockings off

Wolves are howling in the night

I’m howling in my cups

*

I’ll walk the street with flowers for you

I’ll see the dawn rise in

I’ll take you off to Paris, Baby,

Your favorite restaurant by the Seine

*

We’ll spend the night in  strolling,

 And Drinking the finest wine

And back in my hotel room, baby

We’ll tell  stories, so entwined

*

bridge

And when I hear you shout

When I hear you…. cry out

Yeah, when I hear you shout

Let’s do it all over again!

*

It has been a long salvation

To bring the harvest in

I watch you across this smokey room

For you to  enter in

*

I’ve been waiting in love for ages

But you just don’t, you just don’t come up

I’ve been waiting in this lonely room

And now that you’ve come up:

*

Now  I hear you shout

When I hear you cry out

When I hear you shout…

Let’s do it all over again!

*

*

(C) 2016 by W.G. Milne

MAGNIFICENCE TWO

MAGNIF. 2 MAGNIFICENCE TWO         (working)

Ah yes, the stars were burning bright

When last I saw the fire in your eyes;

But then you were gone  at summer’s end

Before these snows began to rise

*

Wrap rugs around me,

I  sense a  Mind in the deep…

Which I  embrace as it embraces me;

I dream in  bed as I’m half awake,

Songs  singing faintly in the trees

*

I walk dream regions  light bright

with ice,

I travel soundlessly across frozen seas;

I read  this  ancient record

with tales of you,

Singing faintly amid the trees

*

I travel as I dream across the snows

Down every road you showed

to me:

Where you have gone I must learn to go

I will follow this path to thee                                                    *

*

The story is a long one:

in every place,

There is a record of your wanderings;

You found emeralds in the East,

True wealth in that hidden place,

Here where   where you found your unity.

*

There are angels whose names no man knows,

A chorus of saints  watch over you;

And the fallen ones and the rolling beast,

Cannot prevent my return to you.

*

There are demons  whose names

I will not speak,

Ones not bound by mortality;

A ship with red sails  in the East

Bring remnants of your archaeology.

*

I too am going to that holy place,

Across the river with its shades;

It will be morning before I wake,

As the boatman sings   to me,

I know this dream now will not fade:

I pray the  Lord our  souls  to keep.

*  *  *

re-written

Feb/2014

©2014 by  W.G.Milne

 

 

MOMENTS, INSTANCES

MOMENTS, INSTANCES


and flies teem on me
in the deep bush
by a swamp
that’s wet and deep
and rude 
*
and climbing a rock
face and gasping
on my back and 
see a crescent
moon

 

*

waiting all night
in an old train station
boy toys and hookers
mill beneath the roof
of the greasy spoon
bar there
where all the noise
is

*

and this music from 
a lyre that’s mute
and silence on
a guitar that’s blue
and symphonies
of wind in trees
and a great bath
above the soot
*
liver-dark urine
in a sunlit kitchen
27 mice in the closet
and a cat that’s new
*
Van Gogh cycles
a paint so yellow
it kisses sunlight
like a nun the truth.





(C)2013 by W.G. Milne

MUSIC AND LOVE IN AN UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

Why is this poetry? It is in the rhythm of the words,
               describing a moment of intimacy and fluid beauty,
a moment making love, not just to each other but to the
earth around us – so much so that the communion of love
also embraces the trees and the waters of the bay, the flight
of birds, the shadows and silence of the day.

                                                                    w.g. milne

22b76-dsc_0223_1              I wrote this song when we drove into Mexico one time… Didn’t see many road signs… saw a bar, a  Hotel called simply, CANTINA””THE CRYSTAL MOON SALOON”… We went past that place to a small white hotel by the sea. The  white hotel looked a bit lonely

sitting up on that hill. White white, white against the blue of the sky and the sea.

          We drove in closer, motored in to the other side of the hotel and then we heard the music, sweet Spanish music played downstairs in the cantina.

Pete drove father around the place and up high on the white wall

there was a gorgeous almost angelic blue neon sign. The sign

said:  “CRYSTAL MOON SALOON,”

That settled the matter then and there. We were staying.

       Then the song takes over… Vocals by Bill Milne, lyrical lead guitar by Peter Rowland. This is one of my favorite songs, period! Even if I did write it… I love Peter’s playing on this one. (C) 1996-2016 by W.G.Milne. Peter Rowland did most of the musical production.

        The song is called, “IN THIS HOTEL.”

Until I learn how to download it here, you can find the song on the William Milne profile at Google +.

Or in Walker Ballantine’s VIDEOS on Facebook.

Or on the William Milne Channel on You Tube.

 

 

 

THE PARABLE OF THE DYER

 

Again I ask you for your strength, for I have no

strength of my own, only the strength that you have

have given me.

*

O holy one of Israel and Albion, God of Abraham and Isaac,

God of the north, west and east, thank you for your

Grace, thank you for your gifts, thank you for the truth

that you have given us. O Father, Lord of hosts,

you who ride the clouds

and pierce the clouds with the brightest light of

illumination, I greet you again.

I ask you to fill us with your light, as

you have done before, and fill this room again

with your Grace, so that I may speak the truth.

*

O Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Lord on high,

you have given us love of the Mother and the

Earth, our mother; you are aware that our

adoration of the Mother is the love of

you, the most high.

*

Help me teach your

mysterious message: to your children.

You are the Lord of the Indus plains,

Lord of the south, the red earth; you are

Father of the Caribbean Islands

and Lord of the sea. You are the incandescent

light at the core of me; you are the mystic

star of all the tribes.

*

Thank you for your gifts, thank you for

your Grace: thank you for the strength

you give to all of us.

You pervade all things and teach me

my own intelligence. Help me teach

the difference between reality and the

lies that have been told.

*

You are God of the mountains,

the shepherd of the valleys. Little

children are born knowing you.

“Trailing clouds of glory do they

come.” *

*

I ask you to bless this wine,

O Lord Jesus Christ, soul of my soul,

heart of my heart, One day I

I found Communion bathed in you.

And what had been my mind

dissolved in your eternal Knowing.

I have never been the same, since

my realization of the meaning of eternal

life, through your wondrous gift which you bequeathed

to me as Grace and a gift of love.

*

*

When you want to sell something,

you make it very special. So the rulers,

organizers of the monopoly, made you (the

anointed One) so very special,

so miraculous and exceptional, that

no man could be like you.

*

Your divinity was apparent to us through

the sayings of the Source Gospel, The Gospel

of Thomas, which had not been utterly destroyed.

*

But the teachings of the Empire Church led us

astray into loss and greed and darkness.

All we could do is worship You from

afar… because you seemed so utterly above us

because of the teaching of this errant doctrine,

because of this deliberate manipulation by the Empire

church, lies were told in the name of greed and control,

in the service of mammon. 

*

But this

was not your purpose, Jesus Christ, O Holy One,

your purpose was to dissolve into the seeker and

allow the seeker to dissolve into you… Until

there were not two identities ,

but one only.

*

This is the meaning of Communion,

it is the meaning of the Eucharist,

as well. As I discovered that day.

*

“FOR GOD IS A DYER. AS THE GOOD

DYES, WHICH ARE CALLED TRUE, DISSOLVE

WITH THE THINGS DYED IN THEM, SO IS

IT WITH THOSE WHO GOD HAS DYED.

SINCE HIS DYES ARE IMMORTAL,THEY BECOME

IMMORTAL, BY MEANS OF HIS COLOURS.”

The Gospel of Truth.

*

“On earth, in darkness and ignorance,

you see things but you

do not become like them. You see the sun,

you do not become the sun.” The Gospel of Truth

*

But in this place, the place of realization,

this place of redemption, in the heavenly place,

“it is not possible

to see anything of the things that actually

exist, without being like them. “You saw the

spirit, you became the spirit; you saw Christ,

you became Christ. You saw the Father,

you shall become the Father. In this place,

you see everything and do not see yourself.”

*

“But in that lower place you do see yourself – and

what you see you shall become.”

For example, in that place (oblivion)

you see something or someone

you desire, you become that desire”.

*

This is the gospel of the one who

is searched for, while the seeker,

once enlightened, can no longer

be found.

*

“The one who is searched for

was revealed to those who are

made complete, perfect through

the mercies of the Father, the

hidden mystery, Jesus the Christ

Enlightened those who were in darkness,

in the darkness and the fog of oblivion.

He gave light to their darkness;

he cured their blindness: he enlightened

them; he showed them a way, and the

way is the truth which He taught them”

*

He led them to eat the fruit of the tree at the core

of the garden, the fruit which is Christ ,

the tree of the lineage of the Lord.

*

“AND HE DISCCOVERED THEM IN HIMSELF,

AND THEY DISCOVERED HIM IN THEMSELVES.”

*

This is why the Bridal Chamber contains a

mirror. For the seeker reflects the one

who is sought, and the one who is sought

reflects the seeker. And a merciful God

is the reflection of the man.

*

There the man is baptized with water, light

and fire, in order that the Chrism may take

place. For no impure woman or man may enter

the Bridal Chamber, where the marriage

takes place between the Lord God and the man

who has pursued the truth until he has

disappeared into the sanctuary, made chaste

by the Son.

*

There is no describing these things, but a

roadmap can be made – with signposts

along the way, so that the seeker may

not be lost completely.

*

I was lost in the early days. When

realization occured I had no idea what

had happened. I realized I knew all there

was to know… Yet a great void had opened up

inside me. I had no idea which way to

turn.

*

I had to go to a zen temple, where

the monks knew of such things. In fact

Realization (satori) was the aim of all their

zazen.

*

I do not want our children to be lost in

this holy quest.

I want them to see

signposts along the way – a finger

pointing at the moon.

*

This has always been my purpose.

 

 

(C)2016 by W.G. Milne
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