6 February 2016
I do not keep up with one fuck of a lot of things. I do not read the papers hardly at all, I do not give a sawmill rat's ass about Facebook or any of its inbred cousins and television, as TV Smith once sang, is over.
I did read today of the death of Brad Kent thanks to Al MacInnis' score keeping (2nd from the top on your right). I had heard he was ill and had recovered but, as often happens, reversed course.
I remember Brad well from Dope City's rock 'n' roll's glory years. Best of all I remember Brad in his cut off lumberman playing guitar in DOA on the gob slick stage of the Bad Allah Cabaret. Such a guitar player! And he was having so much fun. That was the brief issue of DOA that has always been my favourite. Joe, Biscuits, Wilde and Cunt.
Second best of all was seeing Brad play in the Avengers. Motherfucking punk rock guitar hero he was.
Took a few turns in Rude Norton I witnessed as well. The only times I saw a Status Quo song ("Caroline") played live any where. Brad was as big a fan of Status Quo as I continue to be.
There are a lot of people saddened by Brad dying. He was a fuck of a nice guy.
But now he he is gone to where we are all going one day: tucked peacefully in the punk rock graveyard.
Readers of the Dope City Free Press will know I have a keen interest in the St. Moritz winter horse race meeting held upon frozen Lake Engadine. We used to race horses on the ice of my own country and I do not understand why we do not make such an event part of every Canadian winter again. If someone were to promise our new Prime Minister his wife could sing the anthem before the first race maybe he would get on that.
When you follow something, as I have followed the White Turf, for a long time you learn things. For example, in Dope City, where traditionally a great many of our horse races have been run over (exceedingly) wet tracks, sloppy race tracks have become most uncommon recently. As if the climate has changed or something.
Similarly the limited horse racing held in my province's interior was cancelled last year due to forest fires preventing the movement of horses and people to the event. Anybody else find something (exceedingly) distressing about that?
More tellingly yet, the first day of this year's St. Moritz meeting scheduled for February 7th has been cancelled because it is too fucking warm.
In the Alps.
5 February 2016
There is not that much shit out there that really, really pisses me off any more. Maybe there should be but there is not. What is left of the fire in my belly is barely enough to get me any attention in an hospital emergency ward. In the end all I have left is a barely audible summation of everything and everybody who has pissed me off over the years.
There is one thing that is definitely left however. The assholes in their $3000 boots, $40 socks, $900 pants, $400 sweaters, $1500 cardigan and $3750 parka.
Fuck those motherfuckers forever. The yuppie has to die.
4 February 2016
2 February 2016
Coquitlam, it turns out, is not as bad a place as I had heard. Have not heard a police siren in the two months I have made my way around most corners of it. For someone who has lived most of his life in towns with enough bloodthirst to put an end to the conflicts in the Middle East the peacefulness of Coquitlam is downright Cleaverish - until you remember it is the basically the same fucking place Willie Pickton once put his rubber boots on.
There do not seem to be enough bars and beer stores for my liking. (Nor will there ever be enough bars and beer stores since we are about to enter Canada's Everybody Must Get Stoned era.) Nor did I notice any storefront weed shops. Even Steepleton has a few of those. Maybe everybody in town is into hard drugs.
Like most towns Coquitlam has every common retail outlet on Earth emptying the wallets of people in town into the pockets of the 62 richest fuckers on the planet. Except for ethnic food I could not find a family owned restaurant anywhere. I miss those places - the places Chuck Berry still sings about.
As for the election my sense is the NDP will take it despite the Liberal leadership having motivated their supporters a little in the campaign's final days. The Liberal candidate sure as fuck has not motivated anybody. She has about as much talent as the Canuck's black aces.
The NDP candidate has a little human touch at least. Just enough to make quite a lot of people sad if more Liberal supporters than I expect to bother to vote.
The Green has broad support in the community. Broader than you might think. Broad enough to place a close third. Broad enough to give both the Liberals and the NDP reason work harder than ever in the next election preventing yet another incursion into their two party turf war.
1 February 2016
The Hammer is still happy when I wake up
And when I get home from the fucking mill.
I take her out, like always.
She shits, she looks at me, we go home.
Same thing even when I take her to her favourite places.
What life comes down to for us all
If some sudden shit does not take us down.
She still likes eating.
I am feeding her all her favourite food.
Turkey, steaks, hot dogs...
If I found a fresh road killed cat
I would giver her that.
Yet she continues to lose weight.
29 January 2016
It has been a valuable experience transferring my political energy (weakened for part of the campaign by a near inevitable influenza attack) to Keithley and his team in Coquitlam. Experience I hope to build on during the final seventh of the by-election.
Seeing shit through a different set of eyes is always valuable experience. Want a crash course in prostitution? You will not learn faster than you can by turning a few tricks.
Main thing I have learned is there are a lot of people out there who voted for fucking Trudeau who would rather breathe pure carbon monoxide than vote for Christy Clark and her Liberals who they see as no different and in some ways worse than Harper and his shitheads.
If I were in charge of the NDP's provincial campaign next spring I would target those people in the most aggressive, direct way possible. If I were in charge of the Green campaign I would do the same fucking thing. It is a pretty big pool of voters: a pool that knows it can do a lot better and is responsible enough to see that they do.
Being an activist ought always be a learning experience. A valuable currency to the unpaid volunteer.
28 January 2016
27 January 2016
26 January 2016
Long term readers of the Dope City Free Press are familiar with my admiration of William Godwin. I am a political fellow and no political philosophy fits better what I understand of the history of society, society's present or its future than Godwin's.
I did not know, until yesterday, that the man who first fully formulated the political philosophy of Anarchism also, under a number of pseudonyms, published a great deal of literature for children. A timely find it turns out given the difficult days both Sonja and now face as our Hammer seeks the peace of the other side.
Here then the story of the Dog and the Manger by William Godwin.
A naughty dog once went into a stable, and having looked about him, jumped into the manger, thinking that was a nice, snug place for him to sleep in. Presently a little boy came into the stable, leading his papa's horse, that had been ploughing a whole field, and was very tired, and very hungry. Come out poor fellow! said the little boy to the dog, papa's horse wants to eat some hay. But the naughty dog never stirred a bit; he only made an ugly face, and snarled very much. The little boy went up close to him and endeavoured to take him out; but then the naughty dog barked and growled, and even tried to bite the little boy. The little boy was not big enough to manage such an ill-natured cur; so he turned in the horse, and stood by to see what would happen. The horse looked very hungry, and very tired, and put his head to the rack to get a mouthful of hay. But the naughty dog snapped at the poor horse's mouth. The horse was very sorry, and would have said, Pray dog, let me eat! If he had been able. But the naughty dog did not care. You silly dog, said the little boy, hay is of no use to you, dogs do not eat hay, though horses do; and if you stay there, you will soon be as hungry as papa's horse. So the dog staid a long while, and by and by he grew hungry, and came to the little boy, and begged for meat. Silly dog, said the little boy, if I were as naughty as you, I should give you nothing to eat, as you prevented papa's horse from eating. There is a plate of meat for you; and remember another time, that only naughty dogs, and naughty boys and girls, keep away from others what they cannot use themselves.
On the sidebar to your right I have added a link to some of William Godwin's children's literature. Read them to your children and grandchildren, motherfuckers. What made sense for children 200 years ago continues to.