Our world is disappearing. Soon, sooner than we can imagine, there will be many worlds. Here. Worlds of the imagination come real. Worlds of a dog’s vision and a fly’s. I was watching a documentary on Quantum Mechanics (or Physics) with Michio Kaku.

Collages and the surreal give us a key hole view of things that might be. And not all of them are benign. They never have been.

Teenage Wasteland Teenage WastelandV2


A small episode from my novel SNOW. You can download it or have a look. Its free. A bargain at twice the price.

SNOW is part of a series of novels involving an aging police officer in the suburbs of Toronto. In this novel weather plays a key role in the novel. In the previous novels The Hole and H&R (HER) a bottomless well and a asteroid play key roles. There are a couple of short books that have evolved from this. One is about serial killer. But I haven’t gotten my head around that one yet.



25. Brothers and Partners


“Did you notice the Chrysler following us?” Michael said as he laid his clothes carefully out in the dresser drawer.


David was playing with the television. He slammed the top of the set with the palm of his hand. “Cable is out! Must be this fucking storm.What Chrysler?”


“The one that was sitting on our ass all the way here.”


“Who would be following us? And what was all that Irish accent stuff in that bar? I felt ridiculous talking like a Mic. And Sean. What kind of name is that?”


“It’s all I could think of at the time,” Michael responded, continuing to lay his clothes in precise rows. “Why’d you call me Michael? The idea was that we wouldn’t use our real names, brother.”


“Well, you could have told me that before we walked into that dump.” David kept pushing the buttons on the remote. “If we have a plan, tell me the fucking plan. And that bar! Zig Zag? What kind of fucking name is that? And the smug look on that bartender’s face. I’d like to wrap his grin around my fist.” David threw the remote against the wall. It smashed into pieces.


Michael turned and looked at the pieces of the remote on the floor. He grinned.


“Fuck!” David roared. “Are we going to be locked up in here all evening with nothing to do? I hate being bored. I don’t know why we couldn’t have stayed downtown where there’s a little action. Out here in the sticks! God! We should have brought that girl back from the Zig Zag. She looked like she was up for a party.”


“She’s old enough to be our mom,” Michael responded.


David got up from in front of the television and walked over to the window. He parted the Venetian blinds and stared out into the snow at the car parked across the street.


“And this weather! I thought we left this shit behind in Russia. Your Chrysler is sitting across the street.”


“What’s he doing?”


David pressed closer to the window. “Nothing. Maybe I should go out and ask him what he wants.”


Michael picked up several pairs of dark blue socks and placed them like napkins in the top drawer. “What if it’s a cop?”


“Why would it be a cop?”


“Why would it be anyone else?” Michael responded. “Right now the cops have nothing on us. Let the fuckers stay out there all night and freeze their balls off.”


“I don’t care if it is the cops, I don’t like to be watched. Never liked it. This is the New World.”


“Stay focused, brother. We’ve got other fish to fry. We’ll check out the other motels on the airport strip. This Lombardo guy has got to be hiding somewhere.”


“You think he’ll be signed in under his own name, Michael?”


“No. But what else can we do? Let’s check around and see if there are any games. Guys like Lombardo are addicted to gambling. Someone must have seen him.”


David looked back from the window. “What are we gong to do about Mazudo?”


“I told you not to play with that cocksucker,” Michael responded.


David returned to the other bed and opened his bag, dumping his clothes into a drawer. “Shit! I had some good dope here. How was I supposed to know that Mazudo was holding a flush?”


Michael shook his head. “Because it was his game, brother.”


“You think he was cheating?”


Michael glanced at his brother’s clothes piled in his dresser drawer. “Look at the mess you’ve made. Why can’t you pack your things away neatly like any normal human being?”


“I had some good dope in here,” David said rummaging through his bag. He laughed. “Here it is.” He took out a lunch bag of dope and papers and started rolling a joint. “So now we have to find this Lombardo prick to pay off our debt to Mazudo. I’m getting tired of doing other people’s laundry.”


“Your debt,” Michael corrected David.


“There is an easier solution to all of this.” David lit up a joint. “Let’s just whack Mazudo. The guy is a slime ball.”


Michael closed the drawer to his dresser. “That’s plan B, brother.” Michael looked at the joint in David’s fingers. “Let me have some of that.”


Diana Ross

June 22, 2013

The Fabulous Diana RossI loved the Supremes. And Diana Ross in particular. Her voice seemed weak, wispy, very fragile. And their songs were always about heart break. They were always dressed like a Vegas nightclub act. I didn’t like that much. Still there was that voice.



Privacy. The government spying on us. Companies spying on us. And then there is Facebook, Twitter where everyone is letting everyone know what they’re up to. Perhaps the issue is permission.

Privacy is a modern concept. There was no privacy at the time of the Romans. Slaves were everywhere. In the middle ages everyone had to report to the authority above them. Only the king or the pope reported to God. But even kings and popes were spied on. And then came diaries. Some place where one could put one most intimate thoughts without anyone else knowing of them.

In the early 20th century the poor had no privacy. Large families lived in small apartments with no sense of privacy. Sex was something children learned from their parents. What bothers me about the government or companies or the widow Wright peaking out from her curtains is – don’t you have something better to do with your time?

The Artist and His Modelgirl lost in wild

Earthy. Sensual. Gritty.

June 19, 2013

St. Auburn of RustI used to do reviews of poetry. I hated it. The books were chosen for me. And I had to find something I wanted to say that was positive. If you want to be negative don’t review the book. Recently and for some time I have been reading a young woman’s poetry. It is wonderful. Earthy. Sensual. Gritty. And she knows just when to add that insight that doesn’t overpower the whole piece. Poetry is very personal. Or so I’ve heard. Her name is Stacey Michelle. Or maybe its Michelle Stacey. Check it out. http://thelanguagewespeak.wordpress.com/about/

The force of life

June 18, 2013

She was a working girl..I looked out into my backyard. Green. Lush. Almost overnight. The power of spring is frightening. The force of life. Almost like an explosion.


June 17, 2013

she opened up..she opened up..v2The two thugs you see standing in front of that poster, are old men from Guelph, Ontario. And my oldest friends. The one in the puffy coat, Victor Genova, is my imaginary friend. The kosak at the front is Ed Kuris a noted artist and philampthropist. (a filler of lamps)

not all that pleasant

June 16, 2013

Saturday Night v2 Saturday NightWhat is the relationship between the great and the mundane? Our lives are made up of mundane moments. If we are unfortunate, by great moments. Moments that become important to others, but may not be all that pleasant for us.

I was reading about Sartre, De Beauvoir, Camus and their circle. It is strange to me that such intelligent thinkers can fool themselves when it comes to love, passion, and lust.

Ron Eby and the 3 Hags

Coming attractions

June 14, 2013

Nightmare #36What are nightmares? It is as if we are torturing ourselves. Or maybe they are coming attractions.

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