20 November 2017

Mick Ronson’s “White Light/White Heat”

One of my older records is Mick Ronson’s “Play Don’t Worry.” Have not had a listen to it in years. Took it off the shelf and placed on a record player as the rain pissed down my window pane this afternoon. Ronson and his band play what for me is the definitive cover of Lou Reed’s much covered “White Light/White Heat.” Last Song/Side One.

18 November 2017

Solomon Burke’s “Nashville”

Every day I listen
To at least one
Song at home on
My hi-fi stereo. Tonight

It was a whole
Record - Solomon Burke’s “Nashville.”
It was recorded in
2006 yet I did

Not hear it until
Now. Better late than
Never. Sweet as the
Last strands of red

Flesh chewed off a t-bone.

15 November 2017

On Manitoba’s Rail Crisis

One of the great Canadian migrations, one that continues to this day, is the people of Manitoba moving to the Promised Land of British Columbia. Would not be here myself if my ancestors had not removed themselves from that vast frozen expanse of the West.

We do not often write of matters at hand in the Land of Handsome Dick but our silence will today be broken, in part because my ancestors came from Northern Greenstone Manitoba. A place I care about a lot, a place that depends on the rail line from the south to Churchill for their very survival. The very rail line that has been shut down north of Thompson and is on its way to being shut down completely by the incompetent operators the federal government handed over operations to some years ago.

Trouble is nobody with the power to do anything about it has done so. Manitoba’s Conservative government does not give a rat’s ass about the scant population of the north. They would hand over everything north of The Pas to Nunavut or anyone else willing to to take it at the drop of a snow shoe. The federal Liberals, while pretending to give a shit, are dragging their feet like the half human/half slugs they are.

See what we have? A problem created by Conservatives being furthered by the Liberals and the Manitoba Conservatives. There is a better way and I am happy both my province and the province of Alberta chose it. If we must be governed more Canadians than ever had better stop voting for parties that are more concerned about tax dodges for the rich and start voting for parties who focus on the needs of the working people of Canada.

12 November 2017

Hate and War 2017 Edition

The only thing I insist on doing every fucking year no matter what is have a birthday so I am not one of the people you see near your neighbourhood cenotaph every November 11th. Took in the ceremony this year though as I was invited to both the ceremony and some after ceremony drinking.

And story telling.

It was Sal, the sister I do not write about as often as I ought to, and Jock, an old friend, if a Montreal Canadiens fan can ever be said to be a friend, of both of ours Sal has taken up with recently who invited Sonja and I out. There were perhaps a few thousand of us encircling the cenotaph. That would be 3% of the Steepleton population. Hardly an overwhelming number if you ask me.

The mayor spoke. They blew the bugle and shot off a rifle a few times. Mercifully, it did not rain until the event was in the books.

There were snipers watching over things from rooftops which I found more chilling than the rain I had anticipated. And the local SWAT’s armoured personnel carrier. And cops with rifles patrolling the perimeter. Undercover cops too most assuredly. Bit fucking much if you ask me.

Fucking cops and their fucking guns may make some people feel more secure but they have always had the opposite effect on me.

The pub’s atmosphere was, if still somewhat somber, considerably more comforting.

Jock and I chose whiskey this day. Sal white wine.

The subjects which drew our attention for the day were wide ranging. Harjan Singh, our country’s war hardened Minister of War’s once bright star quality had dimmed in our eyes to that of the furthest flung universal dark matter.

“Lying cunt,” was Jock’s straightforward summation of the Dope City South Liberal, referring to his embellishments to his personal war history.

Jimi was not there but we talked about his dad’s much shared war history. “We never understood why we were fighting the fucking Germans. We did not like the fucking Jews either. But our country said shoot that way and we did. Fried the fuckers in their hundreds with the flame thrower alone,” was how Jimi’s old man described his war time to me once. When winning wars it is important to utilize any and all means that may soon become war crimes. Hundreds more were sent to their graves with his tank’s gun.

Sal wished our dad, much younger than Jimi’s, had experienced war. “Telling war stories about a fucking mechanic based within walking distance of Dope City is not much fun. All his fucking war stories are about drinking 10 cent beer in the mess.”

“War is Hell is pretty much all there is to it,” Jock said. “A Hell not even 10 cent beer could fucking improve.”

10 November 2017

Old Guy Bars, Young Folk Bars

For the most part I drink in old guy bars now. Been comfortable in them my whole life. Places like the Windsor, the Austin, the Grand Union and the great pub that once graced the basement of the Georgia Hotel.

So spending a couple evenings in bars filled mostly with young folk last weekend was something of an eye opener for me. For one thing just about everybody was on hallucinogenic drugs. Had to keep ducking flying saucers all fucking night. Bouncer I asked about it said I was only exaggerating a little. “A third of them are on E. Another third are on acid. Just about everybody else are on coke or prescription drugs.”

And I thought the old punk rock crowd was bent out of shape.

For another, women sure were comfortable in the men’s room, just like they were in my old days punk rock world.

To close, all the young men appeared to be modeling their behaviour on Dope City legendary Freeman Simon Snotface. The young women appeared to have chosen Pebbles, the fearless darling bass player for the Wasted Lives.

8 November 2017

Three Bars

Three nights in Victoria. Three bars. Two dirty bars filled with the young. One clean one well stocked with some pretty fair whiskey.

Whiskey bar only lacked what I was hoping to find - Island distilled whiskey. Attention BC bar owners! We, the people of British Columbia, distill some fucking great whiskey and other spirits people would like to buy off you.

Dirty bars were ok. I witnessed how social media move young people in and out of drinking establishments. One minute the bar would be fucking packed, next minute fucking near empty. Just when you thought you could drink in peace the place would be packed again. This yo-yo bullshit repeated itself over and over again.

I reckon the bars were paying people to hype up their places on social media and our herd instinct youth were getting sucked into going to this place, then that, then some fucking other.

It was fucking pathetic.

Social media: yet more proof, as if any were needed, that a sucker is born every minute.




Get pissed

And destroy.

31 October 2017

What Is More Wicked Than A Two Headed Dog?

I once thought we lived in the time of the two headed dog.

That, it turns out, was wishful thinking.

One need look no farther than the relationship between Lifestyles of the Criminally Rich and Infamous crowd in Russia and America. A similar relationship to what we have here in British Columbia between our homegrown Criminally Rich and Infamous and another once Communist superpower’s Danger Men. Many, many other similar relationships flourish like magic mushrooms in a cow patch in the fall all over our planet.

We live, alas, in the time of the two assholed dog.

29 October 2017

The Free and the Unfree

By way of a series of life events, choices and happenstance I remain a Free man and shall remain so until the fucking end. It never occurred to me that I might have become Unfree along the way, nor does it occur to me now that I may yet become so. My enchainment could have happened but it did not and will not.

Fuck that shit.

If the events of my life, the choices I made and Fate, if I may call happenstance that, had been different I could have become the sort of Unfree person you see on the news: dead on drugs; defending the actions or thoughts of political mad men; concerned with the imaginary downside of the end of marijuana prohibition; on the lookout for Free individuals and their associations so that I might squish them beneath my heavy boot.

Jason Kenney, you are so going down.

27 October 2017

An Antidote To the Rise of Fascism in the 21st Century

As has been reported here previously, one Canadian in an hundred will crack open a book of poetry in any given year.


In an hundred.

Goes without saying, therefore, that the most recent offering from the DCFP, titled “Poetry” got read less than anything else we have produced all year. Canadians would rather eat shit than read poetry.

People have taken to looking for answers for the Rise of Fascism. It is a question that gets inadequately answered all the fucking time. The answer, it seems to me, is a lack of poetry in people’s lives.