Clown cyclists of Burnaby: The CYCOPaths.

I was walking the Brunette River trail with Laura and Madigan.  Laura is a beautiful grandmother and Madigan is a adorable priceless 9 week old cockapoo. We were only walking for an hour, two at most, seeing maybe  40 or more walkers and half as many cyclists. Not one of the walkers or hikers showed any evidence of abject stupidity. Not a single one even had a Monty Python funny walk. There were lots of dogs too and they appeared well behaved like their masters.

By contrast the cyclists were utterly incompetent. Despite many of them wearing the cutting edge in cycling fashion and having the most expensive of bikes, we’re talking thousands of dollars of gear, not one knew how to cycle.  Not one.  True there were no crashes despite how obvious it was so many were mental wankers.  That was solely due to the quick wits and intelligence of the walkers. Not one of the cyclists had two neutrons they could rub together.  Except perhaps one who was the exception. 

I bicycled across Europe. I’ ve cycled cities and trails.  I’m  a Harley Davidson and Vespa driver along with a couple of other road machines.  I know all about cycling.  Not one of the people on that path did. 

First there were no bells heard.  When cycling on paths with people it is evidence of training, intelligence and competence that a cyclist announces their presence coming up behind someone by ringing their bell.  Without the bell alkers can’t hear these stealth war chariots untill it’s too late.  Any bicycle without a bell should be fined. That’s if we had police doing their jobs for the safety of the community and not focusing their attention on the latest silly fashion of the addled  politicians.

Secondly a path is divided into two halves so that a cyclist passing moves over to the other side of the path when there is no one coming. A passing cyclist slows down when there is.  Repeatedly cyclists pushed walkers off the road refusing to understand the simplest principle of cycling.  They really ought to be required to do remedial walking, given the level of stupidity I saw consistently for roughly two hours.

I only saw one clearly professional older man cycling as an adult observing all the elements of cycling I could hope for,clearly conscious,  adept and the ultimate exception to the rule. His presence was like Einstein in a mentally retarded classroom..

By contrast a young man and woman who had obviously just bought the most expensive colourful cycling clown outfits and the most expensive bicycles cycled side by side between two older women standing on either side of the path. The path could barely hold  4 people abreast. One lady jumped back and shouted at the passing cycopath female. The chimpanzee girl,who’d just learned to manage two wheels upright, unlikely capable of using the brakes, terrified us all by taking one hand off the handlebars and using it to make a clever response to the older lady of showing her one finger.  I confess I interpreted the one finger réponse as normally perceived though it’s equally possible she was telling us all she only had one neutron. 

Obviously this 30 year old woman had not been diaper trained so should not have been allowed on the bike as any adult would know that forming single file is the appropriate way to cycle between adults talking across a path.  

Forming single fire simply wasn’t a skill  any of the cyclists had accomplished.  This was as far beyond their mental agility as using signal lights is for the car drivers of Vancouver.  Only a father and his two children under 10 years old showed that they could form a single file.  Three pot bellied grossly ugly Neanderthals men drove along three abreast forcing everyone to move to the side to avoid getting mowed over by the baldies.

I clocked a couple of young people doing 50 km/hour, utterly out of control with kids and dogs and old people all taking their lives in their hands going for a weekend walk. This was the normal experience with Stanley Park where cyclists routinely maim walkers and collectively refuse to have any training. The police don’t seem to fine them. Everyone downtown has stolen bicycles. It’s Vancouver. But this is Burnaby. For decades the intelligent have been leaving the city and moving away from the blue and white collar crime of the central Vancouver.  

Burnaby.  This is where genius is normally found. New Westminister is where  city began.  Now we have clowns and cretans in our midst riding bicycles. Why have they been let out of the circus. 

We might as well open the walking paths to quads and Harley’s since their drivers have more training and intelligence. 

If I’d been on my Harley Davidson 1600 cc Elecrtroglide, dressed in leathers and body armor,  without my puppy,  I’d gladly have caught up to that uncouth bitch in her pretty costume and taken her picture. Then everyone would know what syphilis of the brain looks like. But I was walking Madigan, my 9 week old puppy, with Laura the refined older lad.   I know Laura would help me bury the body but she’d had a hard work week at the clinic and wanted a wee bit of relaxation rather than grizzly entertainment. If we wanted to take our lives in our own hands and play Russian Roulette with uncouth demonic cyclists we could have gone for a walk on the downtown Vancouver sea wall. 

I hate to say it but it’s time that cyclists in BC are required to take a driving course . As a libertarian I don’t like more laws and police involvement but all these cyclists were rich in material wealth, albeit heartless and soulless with gross deficits of frontal lobe function. .  They could well afford to pay for some basic training in riding a bicycle.  I suspect Canadian cyclists collectively are unwelcome in Europe where I never saw the likes of this incompetence and stupidity.    It’s so unfortunate because I know some very fine cyclists. That one gentleman demonstrated that cyclists really can learn. I can’t help but feel the shame of cyclists who really can ride as the very idea of a cyclist is increasingly associated with ignorance and arrogance.

Madigan, Come

We are alive.  We slept through the night.  Only at 5 am did he bark to be let down.  I let him down off the couch.  He did a tour of the room. I worried what he was up to but couldn’t wake up. He returned 5 minutes later. I hoped he’d not peed or pooped anywhere too grizzly.  He actually let me sleep 3/4 of an hour.  That’s when the hair pulling and crawling across my face began.  I couldn’t stand it. I believe he  knows this puppy torture of his is effective.  I get up. The lumbering giant moves. The little dog wins. 

I go to the washroom. He pees on the carpet right beside the pee pad. I’m flummoxed. I can’t wait till this bowel training phase is over. Also the needle teeth playfulness.  

I seem to recall life after this with Gilbert. I find myself remembering my old buddy sitting with me in the truck watching the woods, taking a treat while I ate a sandwich and drank a coffee. The wise dog listening to his master discuss women and God and work.  Looking serene and wise.  I know Gilbert and Stuart and Shinto all passed through this phase of feces piss and teeth but it’s hard to believe. They were such intelligent helpful considerate companions. 

Madigan is adorable.  There’s the incredible inquisitiveness. He’s just fascinated by everything. He’s utterly enthusiastic. He’s not at all worn down by banal Neuro ratio bullies who lack insight and just goose step in fear, lemmings unable to hear Pink Floyd.  Chameleons that can’t feel Bach or the Beatles but instead seek marketing jingos from artists. If Mozart were alive today they’d use him to write commercials.  Madigan has no idea. He’s innoscent.  Maybe I once was too. Long before the ultimate defeat by lying lawyers and her multitude of minions. The sheer weight of the masses of pure evil. 

While I’m using the toilet he poops on the pee pads. Thank you Madigan.  He retrieves the yellow ball I’ve thrown several times. Woot! Woot!.  Thank you Madigan.  He’s so smart despite the devious playful evil har pulling , toe biting, and uses of farces as a passive aggressive weapon moments.  I walk gingerly back to the fearing land mines of mushy squishy.  

I’ve just woken up and I’m already a bit exhausted. My back hurts from another night on the couch.  Grinding coffee the aroma is heavenly.  I make my first espresso of the morning and return to the couch to savour the elixir.  Ethiopian coffee.  

 He’s now barking at me. It’s hard to call that comic piping sound a bark but that’s what it is.  It’s the harbinger of conversations of pure joy, the future voice of alarm.  I haven’t a clue what he wants.  I don’t know what he means but I know the tone. I’m being ordered to do something. Commanded by the little adorable pip squeak. Okay. I reach down and pick him up. And that’s what he wanted. A cuddle. Now he’s off down the couch looking for a toy to chew as I’ve again been uncooperative in offering up my fingers to his teething issues..  

I’ve noticed he’s thinking more too. He cocks his head as I talk to him. I’ve noticed now that he knows when I say ‘come’ that he’s considering coming when I call.  He’s considering that ‘word’ “come’  as something he knows.  The big guys says ‘come’ and wants me to come to him.  Should I come? What’s in it for me?

 Madigan  comes. It’s hard to imagine a drill sergeant faced with raw recruits. The sgte knows the troops want to please but don’t yet understand that commands will need to be in the ‘marrow’ of the being for the recruits to survive.   The word ‘come’ must become second nature for Madigan if he is to survive. The same with word’s like ‘no’ . As yet he sees ‘no’ as only a ‘suggestion’.   His life depends on instant responses to certain words as ‘commands’.   I’m beginning his life training. 

‘Come’ is the most important and the first of commands. 

It’s then I think of Jesus. “Come,’ he says.  

Madigan, Thursday

I would say that he is not only comfortable at his new home but rapidly taking charge. He monitors me like a Communist chinese police informer brigade. My every movement is relayed to his tiny constantly active brain.  If I do anything unusual he yelps. Indeed he yelps generally whenever I leave his side. He still needs me to pick him up and put him on the couch. I’ve closed off the bedroom because there’s too much clothing to be soiled or eaten. He likes chewing on clothing. My tshirts are already ratty enough. One carpet corner is now frayed.  Mostly he’s happy with the toys Laura brought him and left over Gilbert toys already partially chewed.  His favourite squeaky toy is me. His sharp little puppy teeth are like reptilian needles. Today he nipped the inside of my arm when I was in his zone. His zone is anywhere under the knee level.  His tails wagging constantly so he’s happy and letting me know it’s not personal, just puppy business.  Thankfully he’s okay with pee pads but poops can be a surprise. Yesterday a new location was under the sink.  Convenient for me to wash my feet off as I found his poop by stepping in it with bare feet.  Mostly he’s relieving himself by the pee pads in front of the washroom. I’ve been able to pick up and dispose of half dozen of his little poops in the toilet Good dog Madigan.

He’s begun playing with a soft little yellow ball the size of a golf ball. He throws it up in the air and chases it himself.  I just had my toe chomped and screamed.  He ran away appropriately rather than hanging on or going for another toe. I believe that’s evidence of his learning. He’d had a real thing for attacking toes as I walked a couple of days ago but yesterday I wore enclosed slippers and he changed his tactic of toppling the giant to made leaps and clinging to my pant legs or robe by his teeth.

Thankfully he sleeps a lot when I work. He does nap a lot. I enjoy that. I’m on the phone or video all day with a break for lunch when I walk him a bit out side.  He seems to need attention a couple of times in the day, my having him on my lap while I talk to people being adequate. I think he likes the voices of some people and has enjoyed seeing them on the screen. He appears to watch tv and know what’s going on. I believe he’s very smart. He has assessed all my weakness and knows how to make me obey mostly now.  Chewing on expensive Apple recharging cables is one of his tactics of ultimate command. I never know how these things I’ve put high seem to get back down to his level. They do and I’ve had to conclude he’s very sneaky.  Clever too.

Laura comes over on the weekend and I look forward to relief.  I confess I’ve taken to calling Madigan, “you little monster.”  I try to convince myself that it’s affectionate. I used this term after he shat in front of the kitchen sink where he knows I stand. Another time I affectionately called him that when he bit my toe.  I don’t know if this will do damage to his little psych and I will be paying exorbitant bills to the SPCA psychologists.  “Little monster,’ might be construed as emotional abuse.  He does look smug after he hears me say that.  The other thing if find I say repeatedly all day is “No! Madigan! No!.”  I try to have deep emotional conversations about love and relationships and God but that also seems to be the time that he bites me ‘in play’.  

I still love him.  I’ve not been as much of a mental wanker since he’s arrived. I’ve felt no despair in this Covid crisis. The loneliness is gone.  I’m quite exhausted keeping an eye on him.  Yesterday he found a nut and all I could think of is puppies who have had surgery for swallowing things. I don’t want an X-ray to show up with my keys or t v channel changer in his stomach so I’m watching him. That’s what Laura is good at. Having raised children and animals herself she’s developed a third eye in the back of her head. I feel Madigan knows that when she’s hear.  He can be sneaky with me but when she’s here he knows the mother is watching. I’m actually a little scared of her too then but I’m less on edge. 

We’re sleeping through the night.  Thats’ a relief. I’m looking forward to the peeing and pooping sorting itself out so I can get back to my bed.  I know he’d like that. To eat last night I had to put him in the kennel for the first time out. He really wouldn’t let me be. He howled in the sweet puppy voice till I finished the shepherds pie and let him out. I think that’s what the kitchen poop was about.  A warning.  This morning when I ignored the alarmed he pounced on my face and began chewing my nose. I felt it was best to get up as rolling over just meant he pulled my hair.

I tell him I love him. He shakes his tail . He can be so cute. I love watching him sleep. 

On the news Covid continues to spread. More lockdowns. Increasing police prescence.  Media censorship and constantly disinformation and fear mongering.  More despair in mental health.  Suicide and addiction rising.  National government mismanagement moderated by provincial government competence. American election corruption continues to be exposed. New vaccines are being released and distributed.  N Bios and Moderna.  There are moments of hope. The rains are upon us. Darkness in the day but promises of sunshine here and there. I pray for family and friends and am thankful for Madigan and the world we live in here, warmth, plumbing, fresh water, refridgerator, cell phone, satellite dishes and  internet. 

Madigan Rules

I continue to sleep on the couch. It’s low enough that if he falls or jumps off it’s not likely to cause harm him. He’s taken to sleeping at my feet when I’m lying. The first night it was 2 then 4 and now he’s up to 6 hours. It’s the best. I love sleep. I especially like when he’s asleep.  

He’s developed new interests.  Cables as dental floss and chew.  People a squeaky toys. Tripping people by suddenly attacking the back of the shoe. 

I’m distracted by FB where I actually argued with some one. First time in months.  I was triggered by the claim that ‘science is science’, the latest self aggrandization of the liberal position as intelligent, portraying opponents as stupid. A continue slur of ad hominem.  Identity politics claims that they are for the other but indeed it’s the most self serving of all ideologies condemning anyone who doesn’t agree. 74 million Republican voters are they’re all red necks and stupid. I’m not but I am anti totalitarianism and the ‘informer culture’ that makes everyone each other’s enemy and the State Dictatorship a malignant god.  The uncertainty of the Amercan election continue till mid December or Jan. 1.  All the corruption and fraud continues to be exposed. The Wuhan Lab Zombie Virus and the Election when the zombies rose to vote. All the dead voters are a scandal.  Meanwhile they continue to report cases and downplay the decline in deaths from Covid. I’m delighted with the advances in treatment.  The Regeneron is the latest. President Trump down with Covid then release 4 days later. In March earlier this year he’d likely have died. Now people are mostly living even those who require hospital. But so many are going to hospital believing themselves sick when a positive Covid test may well be coincidental to the psychosomatic illnesses that must be as high as 30% given the media hysteria and Nocebo.

I’m still isolating. Laura was over on the weekend. It was good not to be alone. I love Madigan the new cockapoo but I’m fearful for his health and wellness.  He’s such a going concern.  Having a second pair of eyes on he mutt was reassuring. I actually got to shower without neighbours calling the SPCA saying a dog was being killed. His tiny puppy cries and screeches are so loud.  He has accepted Laura as part of the pack though and isn’t so afraid of being abandoned with her.  

He’s right now playing his own game with a ball, tossing it in the air. He’s so very smart.  I noticed a bad smell in the pile of clutter, but superficially wasn’t able to find any surprises. He’s peeing on the pee pads with one accident on the stairs. I must get that special spray that covers up their scent so they don’t return to where they’ve had an accident.t He pooped twice yesterday but today hasn’t pooped this morning. He waits to come inside after a walk and poop in the warm on his pee pad.  I’ve got to work at home later and I really don’t know how he’s going to handle my being distracted.  I’m increasingly being considered less master and more the servant. My little dog in his mind is becoming the big dog. Chewing on my hands I’m guessing he’s testing for dominance.  I am glad for my close toed slippers. His needle like puppy teeth were wrecking havoc on my toes. 

He is cute.  Really adorable  I just wished I had a more puppy proof place. When I took Gilbert to the office as a puppy I had a play pen and Aim would hold him in a sling when she worked and take him for walks when he got bored. Aim is a professor now with two hairless babies having cut her teeth on the hair Gilbert who thought her his personal servant. We all laughed to see him dragging Aim about the neighbour hood on walks.  He was such a strong little guy.  Madigan is moving throug the stages.  Quickly he’s come to rule this home.  

Communist China continues to war on the west with propaganda and lies. Nefarious schemes.  It continues to persecute Buddhists and Christians and gulag them pulse the Muslim northern tribes.  Millions murdered and still their minions demonize the west in an all out assault on traditional society with it’s freedom. Right now, given Covid and the Davos 2030 and World Economic Forum, ‘RESET”, which Trudeau celebrates, having learned a new word and remembered it, is spreading like the virus itself.  As a libertarian I watch freedoms disappear. Free speech is totally constricted by Canadian liberals.  Comics are sued so no one dares joke for fear of offending the powerful and elite Trudeau government. Freedom speech is further constrained by whatever Trudeau considers Hate and the left now considers anything that is not ‘left’ hate.  Woke culture, the zombies raises from the dead, speaking in unison.  A Greek Chorus for the Roman colosseum.  Freedom of congregation has been stopped too.  Lockdowns kill more than Covid. Mental illness is on the rise. Deaths from overdose and paranoia, marital dischord, alcoholism and pot use, all government taxed and rising.  

We had Door Dash, White Spot Delivery.  The latest home service.  Laura and I love White Spot.  Madigan even got a taste of halibut and loved it.  I barbecued chicken in the evening one day. I’d made bacon sandwiches for breakfast.  We are doing well but the future is highly uncertain. I’m just concerned about this little vulnerable ball of fur.  It was good having Laura here helping. She’d been Gilbert’s mommy while he was alive and they adored each other.  

Now I’m thankful I’m still able to work and stay solvent. So many of my patients are going through life savings and declaring bankruptcies.  Businesses taking years to build are falling. Hopes and dreams dashed.

I’m looking forward to my nephew returning from England in a few weeks.  I feel he and his partner will be safer here.  The world seems so much like the 30’s on the brink of chaos. But then there were the Vietnam years when the Animals sang Eve of Destruction and we thought we’d all be conscripted. Best to continue hopefully.  I dreamed the Communist Chinese were attacking. It was a variation on the Cold War nightmare where the Communist Russians were coming across the lawn and my brother and father were defending my mother. I had a patient arrested delusional who thought the Communist Chinese and Liberals were trying to break into his home to inject him with Covid and a micro chip.  

I’m looking forward to a vaccine. I’m so impressed with the scientific progress with the red tape and bureaucracies sidelined for this ‘warp speed’ solution.  They call it ‘warp speed’ but it’s really just what occurred back in polio and insulin days because the industries of bureaucratic parasites entered into the mess claiming they are the real saviours off the world, like all the masses of paper work necessary to build a building in the city.  Progress would never have been possible it seems with all the regulators and informers.

Then there’s Space X. In this very atmosphere I question, Astranauts have gone to the Space Station and a Moon Station and a Mars colony are in the works. I’m so excited by that. My brother Ron loved Tesla and if he had lived it was his dream to own a Tesla car.  Now friends have them. Moore’s law and all that. 

God is good all of the time.  

The little guy has given me a new lease on life. I was drifting to despair. Losing focus.  I felt like I was putting in time, realized how much I missed looking forward to the ballet and symphony, how I enjoyed planning trips and taking Laura overseas.  I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed seeing family. Now I am great uncle and god father and haven’t been able to hug the new ones.  I miss all that.  Living in a Ghost Town. The abortion, war, euthanasia, zombie virus, zombie voters are creepy like death.  Now I’ve a bundle of enthusiasm and life careening about my feet excited by every novelty.  It’s hard to be jaded with a puppy angel in one’s midst.

Thank you Jesus for your gifts of life. Thank God.

Madigan, Puppy Cockapoo

Madigan was born Sept. 14, 2020.  He was born in South Alberta.  Martha denDekker has been raising Cockapoos for 7 years.  The denDecker’s have a cattle ranch.  

Because of Covid everyone was buying small dogs. Being home allowed them to care for puppies and with nothing left to do for entertainment everyone was walking dogs. 

Gilbert my former cockapoo and I saw all the new dogs join the dog walks and paths before he died of his heart disease.  He died in his sleep and left me the message that he was at Rainbow Bridge in heaven, 

« I’m   running for miles through golden fields.  I have endless energy.  I can  see blue sky for miles.  Your dad is  throwing the yellow ball for me  to fetch. »

  My life with Gilbert was so full and he was such a great companion. I thought to wait to buy another dog but with Covid and working from home I too had the time for a puppy. The future was so uncertain. Having a puppy and raising one is such  major commitment.  

I’d had to find opportunities in my life and schedule for the three dogs I’ve had as an adult.  Normally I have a cat too but the cats had died of old age in the previous year and not been replaced yet.  Frankly I was lonely.  My home and heart were empty without Gilbert.  A month after he passed I began looking for another cockapoo and was quite shocked that breeders were telling me their litters were spoken for till next spring or summer.  Laura told me her friend Drew had been unable to find a golden retriever for six months since their beloved Bertie had died early this year. Her sister had also lost her ducktoller and had spent months trying to find another.  Thankfully Martha, when I called her, told me she had two boys left.  

Her ad was from Chilliwack and from southern Alberta so I worried it was a scam. Still I money transferred the down payment and actually enjoyed the interaction with her.  I looked her up on Facebook too and explored the Van Decker records on the family in southern Alberta. I did some due diligence but mostly trusted in the Lord. I prayed a lot. . I’d felt guided to my previous dogs and cats, a spiritual connection.  The same occurred here. 

I was so excited with anticipation.  Laura was too.  She’d been Gilbert’s mommy and was about to have another fur baby come into my life.  She was crossing her fingers and praying. She’s a mother and grandmother and has had her share of fur babies over the years.  Gilbert loved her. 

The day came.  Martha called to say she’d be in Chilliwack on Nov. 19 and we could meet at Tim Horton’s on Young Road in the afternoo.  I was overjoyed.  

With Covid and lock down’s and isolation and the devastation the disease and response has had on the mentally ill, work, virtual on video and phone ,has been so stressful and disheartening. I’d become a bit mad realizing Gilbert had been a major reason to live. I knew that everyone else had someone, even Laura who is closest to me, and my family, but Gilbert had truly needed me and loved me as only a dog can love.  I loved to have the reason and purpose in my life again so I could stand in face of the daily despair I heard and offer hope. I’ve always been a provider and protector and taken joy in it. As funny as it seems, I’d felt this role was being eroded by the new consumer culture, identity politics, anti Christian, anti male, anti family anti tradition government policies.     Except with my dog.  With Gilbert I felt needed me,  as his provider and protector.  Especially blind when he became blind and his heart disease slowed him down. We’d hunted together for years and been best buddies. He had my back and I had hist. This was a symbiotic relationships.  

Dogs or humans, no one is sure which, became domesticated more than 15000 years ago. There is a grave with a woman and her puppy dating from 15000 years ago but it’s expected dogs and humans lived and worked together for thousands of years before that.    Gilbert alerted me to danger and despite his diminutive size his heart and courage were huge. He was afraid in many situations I got us into but he was never going to leave my side.

My cousin Wayne, a logger, trucker, breeder of apaloosa ponies, builder of log houses, had visitted with his cockapoo decades again.  That was the first cockapoo  I’d seen.  I always admired Wayne and his judgement so Gilbert had come into my life. Now my retired academic sister in law Adell and my psychologist nephew Alan have Eva, the first Hay family female cockapoo. Graeme my other nephew the engineer , nuclear physicist, cinematographer and astronomer has Pepper another female cockapoo. When my brother was alive and I visitted them at Hay Bay it was such a joy to see the three cockapoos running together in front of the house.  Walks with three dogs was such an adventure.  

Martha arrived right on time at Tim Horton’s on Young Road. Her handsome clean cut smart looking man was driving.  She, a very beautiful young lady, had this adorable little black and white dog sitting bolt upright on her lap. That was my first sighting of this little fur baby.  Martha was delightful. She handed me the little guy with food and papers and took the money I’d brought.  I was overjoyed because frankly until I saw her warm and open face I’d feared disappointment.  No more.  I took the little ball of squirmy into my hands and hugged him to my chest. He looked up at me with his beautiful brown eyes then licked my chin with his little red tongue.  I loved that.  I put him on the seat in the truck and climbed in as Martha and her beau drove away.  

I believe Martha has family in Chilliwack so was able to bring the dog from southern Alberta. She’d told me she would call me if the weather or Covid restrictions made the journey difficult.  All went well. 

Now I sat in the truck with this bundle of black and white silky haired wonderfulness on my lap.  My old and scarred  heart  opened with joy, tears coming to my eyes as I looked with love on God’s creation. All the joy I had known with Gilbert and the dogs before flooded through me as I looked at this tiny new roommate putting all his trust in me and hoping for the best. 

It was a bit of a problem trying to convince him that for me to drive he had to be in the kennel. He screamed so loudly at that that I was distracted from driving so immediately pulled over and opened the gate.  First round to the cockapoo. I was being trained. He cuddled down at my side on the seat his wet little black nose against my thigh.  I had hoped to visit friends myself in Chilliwack but it was all I could do to get him home. I stopped at the rest stop and let him run about on the lawn  with the leaves. He peed and then brought me a leaf he caught. He was just too adorable.  

I’d talked about calling him Chinook because he was a warm wind into my life.  But when I called him that it didn’t seem to fit. I thought of my Irish mother and wondered what dog was in Gaelic. I’d begun studying Gaelic again this year.  So home with this bundle of joy on the couch beside me I looked up Gaelic for dog. Madra is a big dog like a mastiff. Madigan is west Ireland Gaelic for ‘little dog’, historically used as a boy’s name and today used by boys and girls.  I loved the name and felt my mother approved. Madigan looked up when I called him that, giving me that look that said, ‘it took you a while’.  I asked Laura and she loved it right off. Laura and I had  been to Galway together and been enchanted with that musical mystical place vowing to return.  So Madigan it was.

Madigan Hay is officially part of the Hay family. I let Adell and the nephews  know.  They’d have to tell the girl cockapoos. Laura was already planning to come the next day. I was about to spend a night up with a new puppy, worried about what he would chew, where he would pee and poop, whether he would live.  I feared it would be like a night on call at the hospital back when I delivered babies and sat up nights at a times, watching over babies with meningitis, heart disease, fever and whopping cough.   

As it was he actually slept  2 hours at a time then 4 hours in the wee hours. In the morning I woke to the light. It hadn’t been like a night on call. Rather I felt like I’d had a night at sea solo sailing in the ocean. I’d had to be on watch. I checked his breathing several times through the night.  I worried about everything that could go wrong just as I did at sea. But all was well. 

The new room mate has  too modes. « Nasgar puppy » running all around at high speed, and then Nap Puppy, out like a light.  I caught him about to piddle on the blanket and put him on the pee pad. It was the only lesson he needed being lifted piddling. It shocked him this being lifted up mid stream. He did’t want that to happen again so already is peeing and pooping on the pads. He’s just so smart. He loves to go for walks running full speed ahead on his little puppy legs his belly in all the puddles then lagging behind and getting tangled in the big leash.  He is so interested in everything, exploring under trees , looking and sniffing at anything new ,stopping at any  sounds. It’s a wonder to watch him and see what he sees. 

Madigan Hay.  Thank you Lord for bringing this wonderful baby into my life. He’s already accepted Laura and loves having his belly tickled.  Together we are now a pack and he’s pretty happy with the new digs. My new room mate is a character.  He has so much personality for someone so little.  I love him. Madigan Hay.

 

New Day, Waiting for Puppy

I am not doing well without a dog. Gilbert was such a good dog. He got me out in the morning. I loved our walks. I was always having to go outside so he could pee. He and I were buddies.  Parallel lives in the same place. Me reading books. Him chewing sticks.  Together we’d eat a chicken or he’d beg bits of my steak. We’d travel in the truck together, him watching everything and just enjoying the ride. I would enjoy so much more because the simple pleasures made him happy and I saw how jaded I’d become. Life without him is just not as full and animated.  

I’ve a new puppy coming.  Gilbert and I talked and he said ti was okay for me to get another dog because he was sorry to have left me.  I was afraid alone. Gilbert was my alarm system. He also sensed people and I knew if he liked someone I would probably like them too. When he didn’t like someone it was important to pay attention.  I thought I have the time now with Covid and working at home to train a puppy. The first months are demanding.  

Now this week it’s all I’m thinking of.  May as well be the Messiah coming or any baby.  I’m in anticipation mode and a little afraid.  I worry so much about the little ones, fearing I’ll miss them eating something not good for them, running off leash in front of a car, not paying enough attention so they become neurotic.  I have raised several dogs but more often they raise me. I’m not very pleased with myself as a human. I’ve skills and done great things but in the day to day life of basic living I’ve fallen short.  I look around at my friends who’ve children and large friendship networks, social folk who maintain all these connections. Well, I’m just happy with a dog. I’ve got work that has me intensely involved with people and I live in a police state where any word I speak can cause me horrible pain.  I’ve been traumatized repeatedly and brutalized by authorities acting on behalf of psychopaths and criminals. Gilbert got me out of myself, forced me to constantly reflect on gratitude. I was so blessed with my little cockapoo. Now  another is coming. He’ll remind me life is worth living despite the constant abuse from the banal ‘lick and kick’ folk above. He’ll love me poor or rich.  He’ll be a companion when all else forsake me. I’ve divorced women who were full of empty promises and perfectionism.  Now with a dog, I’m okay. I’ve thought of having a sex change because men are so demonized in our society.  I’d just like to be a Klinger in Mash. I’m old and weary of the war. I’ve protected countless people from the abuse. I’ve placed myself repeatedly in the middle, a peacemaker and healer. Now I’m just exhausted. Gilbert used to curl up beside me shoving his little bum up against me. Just wanting the contact and I’d stop crying. Miraculously I’d see he needed me and that was okay.  Condemned by self serving authorities and elite arrogant low brows I’d find Gilbert there reminding me that a walk or just sitting by the river was better than being in my office. He’d get me out of myself. I’d realize I was self pitying again and catastrophising and life is good just throwing ball. I’d throw ball and it would get better. 

Now I’ve a new guy to get to know to find out what his likes and dislikes are and to learn his games and his curious ways as he’s checking me out.

I’m waiting for a puppy.  It’s a big deal.  A new family member.  A room mate. A play friend.  A responsibility.  Someone to care for.  

Frustration

I am getting old.  I’ve lived over 60 years and worked in medicine and science more than 30. I’ve been front lines in epidemics and treated at horrendous risk to myself countless communicable diseases. I’ve become sick from treating patients, despite best precautions, countless times. I’ve been treated for TB after volunteering to work on reserves where TB was endemic and no doctor had gone for years.  I stil treat Aids patients. I still treat diseases with unknown etiology that could be communicable. I’ve been at the bedside of sick people nearly everyday of my adult life but when I express an opinion I’m disregarded.  I’m shot down.

We’re even being warned by our lawyers to avoid expressing opinions other than the ‘state approved opinion’ as we may face lawsuits.  We are being muzzled.

I feel like I’m in a re run of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.  It’s 1984. I’m the Prisoner.  I feel demoralized that my ‘opinion’ based on training and experience and fact means nothing if it runs counter to the propaganda. I don’t want to talk to people. I’m told of friends who I think of as geniuses, world reknown in their fields of endeavour but are now mocked behind their backs as perhaps dementing

I then realize with horror my father was often exasperated with me when I was a young genius opinionated arrogant and lacking due respect.

I remember having sailed solo across an ocean through winter hurricanes and despite a young man knowing that having to hear him suggest to me that I rig my sails differently, a rigging of value to a novice coastal sailor but long forgotten by those experienced. Another time a young man told me how to hunt deer having only shot one himself and not taking the cue from me that I had bow hunting and shot countess deer over decades.  I am irritated by these exchanges and fear my face now is a close imitation of the older men in my life who have training and experience in their special fields and I’ve simply ignored it convinced of the veracity of my age. I lack the enthusiasm for ignorance I had younger.  I am worn down with experience and book learning, to boot, but feel I miss some ingredient that I personally didn’t share sufficiently when I was younger either. The word I think is, respect. 

Our government is abysmal and encourages disrespect for experience, training and facts.  We’re devolving.  I love the old elephant stories.  Meanwhile I see our government lusting to euthanize the old and celebrating the adolescent fervour for criticism without knowledge or experience.  Useful idiots.

I’m probably on the receiving end of Karma. It may just be I’m facing the end of a career and loved seeing Jack Nicholson in What about Smit?  All his relationships were meaningless to the new replacements.  All his knowledge was garbage. The movie showed the new man throwing out the files accumulated over decades.I’ve just reduced thirty boxes of files to a USB stick. Ten thousand patients seen and now even though I remember details and the cumulative experience they are no longer acknowledged. My elderly patients have been telling me this last decade that they’re dismissed.

I’m dismissed.  

The rich and powerful aren’t. They maintain respect with money and guns. 

I’m just a scientist, a physician, a psychiatrist , an addiction and trauma sub specialist, a community medicine and public health specialist. I’ve a dozen letters after my name and have spent days with Prime Ministers and Cabinet Ministers. I’m an expert witness in the Supreme Court. I’ve spoken at international medical meetings . I’ve written papers and a book or two but now it’s yesterday.  Andy Warhol said we get ‘20 minutes of fame’.  Today the grandfathers’ have more joy than I do because the grand children look to them with adulation. I remember a father writing that only his 2 year thinks he’s a great basketball player being in awe that he actually can shoot the basket that high.  

Anyone can be lucky. They show the policeman or fireman delivering the baby in the ambulance or back seat of a car and everyone is so impressed. The baby lives. The mother lives.  I delivered a hundred babies. My friend delivered several thousand. I had a shoulder dystopia and used high forceps in a nursing station near the Arctic. Mother and child lived. I delivered a second twin the 12th baby to an Inuit lady in Churchill. We’d never suspected twins and after she’d not stop bleeding. I have cleared clots after a bit of placenta stuck to the womb and almost caused the woman to exsanguinate in her bed in a country hospital where the nurse had gone for coffee and left my patient almost to die. That same nurse with a powerful husband and horrendous negligence literally almost killed a half dozen of my patients after I ‘d saved their lives. Meanwhile the corrupt hospital administrator who would be found to be stealing operating funds for the hospital a year later kept that terrible nurse on despite her noxious behaviour.  30 great nurses in that hospital and 2 incompetents and both politically connected and the administrator already fired from a previous position for stealing.  I was so naive when I was young and innoscent. Today I’ve made so many enemies in high places saving the lives of the old and sick when my partner physician born and raised to wealth devoted her time to the prominent only and became the politically powerful and rich doctor who is admired. I’m self pitying and ready for heaven.

I feel the pain of false accusations and being jailed by the authorities to cover up the killing by a sociopath.  I survived but the delaying tactic of accusing me of the crime that they had committed resulted in it being yesterday’s news when I was finally exonerated. I feel like the sacrifices I made are known by God but I shudder when I see a lizard being awarded by the cronies and listen to those who have never been inside but live on the propaganda.  

I wonder when the pain will let up.  I have done my time in the trenches and have people back in the home country telling me how the war should be fought and they’ve never been shot at.  I identify with the veterans I treat. I know the disconnect between the world of the safe and those who saw the reality. My crime reporter friend who told me the true stories that were misrepresented in the local papers. My politically connected patients, cabinet ministers and assistants who tell me what really went down and that the news is just the cover story. My friend was the lawyer in the Picton cases. So many of these stories and they’re all yesterdays news. So today they’re picking sides. As Buffalo Springfield sang, People carrying signs , mostly say for our side. » Now the left is right and the rest is left. Yesterdays enemies are now our friends. But if you’re only in the first step on the spiral of time you can’t look back and see the switching sides and changing morality.  

I guess I want respect but not really. I want an identity change. I long for a day when I can stop being who I’ve been these decades. I’ve been The Provider, Protector, Advocate and Do Gooder Boy Scout. I’ve done the right thing. I’ve repeatedly done the right thing. I’m doing the right thing and frankly I want to have a vacation from myself.  I cerntailuy don’t feel very comfortable with family or friends. I miss the small town where everyone knew that the town drunk now no longer drank, that the town prostitute had another job, the schizophrenic had gone back to school. I miss where my work was seen and people smiled at me on the weekends as I went to the grocery store. I have always loved the praise of my colleagues. I’ve always had the appreciation of those experienced and working in the trenches. I am known in the circles that matter to me, a clinician. I’ve even had my time in academia but mostly I’m reliable. The authorities don’t trust me becuase I’m not a’team player’ and I won’t lie. They tell me to lie and to conceal the truth. They tell me to hide the bodies. I don’t . I’ve had all manner of difficulty in my career with the corrupt authorities only concerned about their jobs and happy to sacrifice patients and doctors for the ‘greater good - their jobs and those jobs of those above them ».  

I feel unapreciated and taken for granted like I did married to women who considered me a useful accessory.  I feel alienated and disconnected

I talk to people each day in the last 6 months and they say they feel ‘alienated and disconnected. »

The government has been doing this not for scientific reasons. The Nazi’s always said « we’re doing this for your good ».  Lenin said, « we much be the dictators of the proletariat’. Mother knows best. Listen to our hand picked spécialistes. Doesn’t it matter that thousands of doctors alone and in huge groups have raised concerns. It didn’t matter when 30 thousand scientists objected to the ideologically driven corrupt UN statements about climate change. The key is death or life.

As Nobel Prize Winning Bob Dylan wrote « You have to serve someone. May be the devil. May be the lord. But you have to serve someone. »

Tosher wrote that young people believe they can accept Christianity without eschewing the world

And I’m doing splits like the famous martial artist movie maker Jean Claude Van Damme. I’m trying to work in this world but increasingly only find peace alone or in prayer and mediation.

We are being forced into isolation. Our neighbours are the threat. We’re being taught to hate each other with Identify Politics. No one is hearing of Pride anymore. No one knows about hubris. 

I was such a proud young man. I knew it all. I talked to the old man and now I know divine retribution. The sadness in his eyes is what I feel. I did not show respect and now it’s too late.

I’m considering a sex change.  It would be a part of a whole make over. A new identity. I’d not be able to do my life over and really wouldn’t like to. I’ve done well in life. I’ve done the best I could and I truly fought the good fight. But I fear being rounded up. They’re saying that now. That they’re going to get the men. It doesn’t matter how I served. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done. It’S us and them. I think I’ll be safe without gonads. I’d be willing to walk to the gas chambers wth more aplomb. I can’t cry against the dying of the light. I am a whimper at best. I liked Valdy’s song, « just a dirty old man’.  Young women with children look at me like I’m the danger and they look up to the new Furhers and trust them.  I’m an old warrior. I’d rather be an old lady. I d rather sit and have tea and talk of fabric and relationships.  I’d like to be taken care of but expect there will be no ‘retiremen’t. The money has been stolen and spent by government. All the promises have been broken. I’m offered assistance with suicide and I’ve never needed it. I need a home I can’t afford and look forward to a dog that will cause me to believe that I’m needed. I don’t feel wanted or needed or anything much. It’s not depression or grief but reality. I’ve heard hundreds of aging people share the same.  I’ve done the rounds of countless nursing homes and sat with my dying mother and father and aging grandparents. They loved my company. 

I’m also spiritual enough to realize that I can’t rest on my laurels. I’m as good as I do today so I’m going to shower and dress and be that dapper older guy who doesn’t smell.  I’ll go about my daily routine and work helping others like me struggling today with meaning and purpose and hope in a world of disease and corruption.  I like that Jesus commanded « do not be afraid.’  The greatest story ever told.  We killed God.  Such a fall from the Golden Bough.  Hubris.  

I’m looking forward to a puppy that is coming and a nephew returning from overseas. There is always hope. One day the Death Cult will be exposed and all the fear mongerers  will be silenced and there will be dancing in the streets.  There’s always good music too.  I listened to fine jazz yesterday and may be will play my guitar poorly today.  I miss the book what to do while waiting for the messiah. I loved hearing about a patient taking courses and my nephew making movies,. I loved that a friend painted their bedroom. It’s not possible to save the world today but I can shower. It’s good enough if I get out for a walk. Baby steps. Do something even if it’s wrong. Dont’ stop moving or they throw dirt on your face.  It’s a Saturday.  Enjoy.  Mostly realize that the most spiritual are those who find the greatest joy in the least. You can only truly enjoy the day as you enjoy the moment.

For such a whiner and complainer I did get the new iphone 12 pro because I need it for my business and can write off the upgrade. But frankly I’m right now looking forward to taking pictures with the new improved camera. The iPhone 11 Pro Max was great especially for the camera. So here I am with a new toy and I’m worrying about feelings. Silly and typical.  I remember Dad and Mom in their later years loving a cup of tea. They were saints and wise people and I didn’t know. They savoured tea and they savoured life. Meanwhile I’m focussed on negatives when I’ve got a new puppy coming this month and a new iphone 12 max and the campers to play with. The fruits of recovery and the fruits f hard work. Thank you Jesus. 

  

The Left

It was ever thus with the left. Fighting and bashing heads.  Claiming to be intellectuals yet in the end it’s bludgeons and guns.  Bolsheviks and Mensheviks. Maoists.  Marxists. The latest prophet is the merest fashion. Frankfurt school. People’s republic. Whole academies full of modern Jesuits. They manufacture gods like ancients manufactured pots.  An immense waste of talent and resources.  All leading to war and more war.

What would you have instead darling.

More time to kiss your genitals and tongue my ideas on your lips and tits dear. I thought it was obvious. I would while I away drinking in the juices of your desires and pleasure you till you cried for me to stop exhausted. I would war with the flesh. I would resist the temptation to join with you again and again and try desperately to make a life for myself and us. But I’d never want to leave our bed. Though it be a barren love nest our youth past us I’ve no desire to send the young to fight the wars I fought and won.  I have had a good life. I’ve lived and loved and known Valhalla but now I just want to cuddle. Is that too much to ask.

I’ve tired you out then.

You have . Riding me like some carved Christmas pony you discovered under the tree.

It doesn’t seem right that they should fight so much.  Do you think they all have small penis.  

The Jesuits did.  I guess Origen’s must have been huge if he cut it off himself. I doubt the modern judges could find theirs beneat the great folds of fat. 

The past was leaner

Fat was always a sign of decadence and wealth.  A luxury of waste and obsession. Lust is the enemy of Sloth and gluttony. Lust at best requires such exercise and restraint while gluttony and sloth have always appealed to the old and truly decadent who these days trade in child sex slaves hoping their youth and exercise will re ignite the burnt out lust of yesteryear.

Those are the intellectuals of the left.

Of course. They have made their ideas their Gods and can’t look elsewhere for enlightenment so much seek self worth in ownership control and slaves.

The Republicans abolished slavery.

That’s another part of history they’d gladly re write.  I saw that ISIS has destroyed more churches, synogaoguse and Zorastrian temples. The tribal gods and the modern gods are vying together like Ribbentrop for the Post Modern world.  A 21st century scrap up of ideas and perhaps less bodies in actual violence.  Malthus just desired control. He didn’t care if it was war, pestilence or old age.He liked manageable numbers. They’re always short sighted these sorts. Columbus fought them in his day when Europ[eans thought the world over full and only the Queen of Spain had vision.  The adventures today send ships to outer space and Buckmister Fuller long in his grave can’t understand why the sea is still not populated with geodesic domes. Those pompous kids and their irritating adult handlers scream about climate change but a fool can see all the real estate along the shores of the oceans.  The cranes alone speak louder than the rape of taxation to line the pockets of the hollow little men and their ugly painted women.  Remember all those portraitures of the worldly. I so preferred the pirates and the theological.  Where is the mother and child today?  So much abstract art and not a bowl of fruit or a mother and child to help judge the craft of the artist who more often than not would have been best to hold a gun than a brush or scalpel.  Did you know the Christians fought each other like the intellectuals today?

Before Constantine.

Yes. Their churches were more like soccer clubs where they kept their weapons to use when they attacked the heretics until there was an orthodoxy. Have you seen how the left comes and goes in decades and the church lasted hundreds and thousands of years.  They simply can’t agree.  They only agree they want what’s yours. I admire that because my Irish ancestors used to make a business of raiding their neighbours cattle, wives and children on an annual basis.  The aboriginals did the same.  It was all before the world domination of imperialists Bolsheviks.  They suffered envy and sought to topple the Czar only to raise Lenin as their Jesus with a gun. Now there’s Mao and Castro’s and whole slough of Mohammeds on his camels with modern swords and tanks. They claim to think but it’s all muscle and penis. The Joan’s of Arc are no better with their lust for worldly symbols, land and nations and identities woven in war and custom and language. 

Like Mickey Mouse and Iron man today.

Exactly.  I can see this generation marching with a flag of Daffy Duck or Big Bird before them as they waste tons of fossil fuel to bludgeon dissent to their taxes on the air we breathe.  Meanwhile we must all agree with whatever cultural revolution or anti phobia nd bureaucratic nonsense the state and religious police insist we follow.

They’re killing babies. 

Of course. It’s all a death cult.  The last shred of life was Victorian when people actually moved out and spread their seed Now the migrations are Muslim. Nothing new there. The Crusades wouldn’t have happened if that murderer hadn’t sent his family to infest the Palestine.  The aboriginals there complain about the Jews and yet our aboriginals here in the west turn to the decadent structures of the UN to fight their masters of colonialism.  They themselves were more efficient in killing their competitors.  Without genetics we’d not know we all stole the lands and lives of the Cro Magnon. Where’s the repatriation of the Neanderthal?  REmember Culloden, I cry to a witless audience insisting only ‘me first’ and ‘give me.’ So the left like Hitler organizes their fringe groups of angry men and women who have lost all but envy, anger and lust so they can now attacks the fat cats of sloth and gluttony in another turn of the ancient circle. This one emboldened with the latest scraps of intellect fashioned into slogans like ‘make the rich pay’.  ‘My truth’.  I wish I knew instead what the Celtics druids shouted as they lead the warriors against Rome taking what they had.  Cohen had it right when he said, “first we taken Manhattan, then we take Berlin’. It’s the city folk that are the enemy of life.  

In the country and at sea they know the great expanse and look to the stars for rescue.  They even had a God  in the sky and another in the earth

Right . In the city they’ve destroyed the view. Real estate says its all about he view but the tall buildings and offices contain them so they think of petty politics instead of grand adventures.  Did you know a woman in the 30’s rode an elephant across Asia.

I liked when they landed a man on the moon. 

Do you think they’ll move onto Mars when the Transexuals become astronauts.

I don’t see why not. I’m weary of all the as like behaviour. A woman climbed Everest. A black woman climbed Everest. A gay couple climbed Everest. There’s nothing original any more. I’d vote for a Transexual who passed thurgh the centre of the earth but would gladly take a ride to mars. I like the speed of the box in vacuum and the sling shot effect of magnets. That’s promising. But instead of tales of conquest we have intellectual debates and talking heads and propaganda.

It’s ennui.

I suppose the young are more alive to the nuances of novelty. I’ve little desire now than to make one more round of your outers self savouring the bits of flesh that remain succulent. I’d not have you love this corpse that is mine when the smell sets in. 

I love bathes more than perfumes and cologne.

But I do believe that the animal was more alive when men and women didn’t wash and the scent of each other was as appealing as a dogs finds another. Of course dogs like shit too but in an age where babies were born en mass and men were slaughtering each other with rakes and swords the pheromes would have been much more evident than today when we use soap to make both men and women smell of flowers.  Without sildafenil the species wouldn’t need suction and knife to do away with the sins of desire.  Intellectuals seems so heady in their pursuit of power yet in bed they seem so sordid.  

They ‘re pornographers. The erotic is in the imagination and men and women who want control lack imagination. With little penis and flaccid vaginas they copulate in guilt and go back to arguing and act more like mommies and sons than lovers. They write such trite about their exploits that you know they’ve no erections and have not got wet anywhere but behind their ears.

You are vicious tonight. Well, it’s been years since we coupled.

It’s only hours.

See you rewrite time. You may be a leftist but I believe you’re right. Let us make the two backed beast again just to set the clocks aright at least.

Fuck off.

That’s what I want to do.

I’ll call a lawyer.

That’s what they all do now. Or the state police or some other henchman they’ve given power to. The new chivalry they call feminism. Identifying with the state and killing the family.  Traditions are decried and even the pope is a communist, the religion of aetheism.  

God works in mysterious ways.  Now lie still and put your mouth where it can do most good.

I thought you’d never shut me up.

The mother of the leftist took his head and put his lips to her teat and rocked him asleep.  

 

 

Redemption

It’s redemption you’re writing about. I said.

I want to share my story and be an inspiration for others.

But it sounds like you want to explain yourself and get pity. Also you eulogized the life. 

But I don’t mean to

I know but you do. 

Your story is that of the prodigal son. To the pig the muck was good and tasted good but the tale focuses on reunion and the fatted calf.

I’d like people to read my story and avoid what I did.

But you want an audience. This is a journal and at times it reads as a journa one would keep locked by the bed and hope never to have read.  These are private thoughts but when you make them public you must polish them.  We all say we want the unwashed truth but the libraries are full of that. What sells is the gossip column and the afternoon television. If you want an editor or publisher to like your tale you must wash it and dress it up.  It’s even better if there’s work clothes and panties.  A flavour of sex and violence and suffering. All that sells. Not the suffering of poor weather. Perhaps in the 18th century but not today.  Even the prostitutes and warriors have fallen and told all. Aurelius is still on the shelves along with the Story of O.  What does your personal tale add to the cacaphony of sound the audience must choose from.

“It’s my story,” he said, sadly.

“I know but you’re asking it to be ‘their’ story. You want them to buy it and own it and share it. This is a dirty business. Not for the sensitive. Remember that lovely girl who wrote such beautiful songs. One of them was so heart wrenching, Look what they’ve done to my song, Ma.”  Or consider Joni Mitchell. They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.

The only way you can keep your story your own and pure is if you burn it.  There’s smoke of empires still lingering in the air .  IF that’S what you want you can.  Dying poor and unknown is no novelty. It’s the tragedy of the unsung masses. But you said you wanted to be read.

So your narrative must be moving and interesting. You must get out of your head and provide description.” The master mistress said, moving to the espresso machine where she rinsed the ports filter before filling it with fresh roaster coffee. Placing her cup beneath the spout she flicked the switch.  Watching the tasse fill slowly with that favourite of rushing sounds she shut off the machine when the black liquid gold had reach just the right distance below the rim. Taking the Billy Bee honey from the counter she squeezed a few drops into the steaming brew.   Opening the fridge she took the cream and topped up the espresso to create a crude cafe au lait. She rarely made time to use the steamer. 

You see she said.  Telescoping and Microscoping. Moving in and out of the story.  You are thinking without showing. There’s a flat terrain to your delivery. Your experiences are rich and wonderful like any knight of the realm but in medieval times even the king hired poets to write their exploits. The Irish story tellers were the best adding dragons and describing the world of men in mythical tales. We don’t quite know what is true looking back. Were giants slain or just tiny men telling fish tales in their days claiming to have killed thousands in fields of combat when indeed the numbers were mere dozens.  Mark Twain himself said never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.  Life is fiction when retold. So we simply must get rid of the boring bits as much as the writer cherishes those.

But you cut pages and pages of my work.  Do you know how many years that took to live and how many nights it cost me to write those.”

Yes. I’ve edited myself like a surgeon cutting huge chunks of flesh from a very fat lady to change her rotund featureless person back to the hourglass shape that attracted men to her before her gluttony and sloth took control.  Your excesses of thought and detail, explanation and commentary have no place in the modern world where tv and movies and Netflix compete with the written word more and more often sold in audio.  It’s as outdated as Chaucer and as hard to read.  No wonder the publishers rejected the mess. They couldn’t see the gold in the dross.  You must find the pearl in the clam or it will remain forever on the bottom of the ocean or be set aside by the fat guy at the table who much prefers the tasty bit to the shiny bit.  You must make the distinction and bring the gemstones from the earth to the jeweller or he simply won’t put them on display. It’s no longer about the art. It’s all about marketing. The greatest art is on the refridgerators placed there by loving mothers.  The Louve and all the galleries of the world hold the lesser works.  But they’re polished and mature and we don’t have to change their diapers.

I see

You don’t really. But you may. And if you cut away the fat and make your tale lean you can even through in a touch of commentary and sage wisdom out of the lips of those grey people you skipped in telling the POV of yourself, the lead protagonist, of course, in the memoir. But I want to see and hear what you saw and heard. I don’t want to just listen to your ‘despatches’ as if only your frowning father were the reader. The audience is everyone and the truer you are to the experience the more can join in and pay you for the pleasure of sharing your life. The greatest of movies about art was Being John Malkovetz.  Malkovetz found to his horror that his brain was being rented out for viewing as at a carnival. The best depiction of art ever made in the 20th century.  

A bit like Carry’s movie of his life as a movie with all the others as actors and actress. 

Yes, that was truly perfect. Before he went mad himself.  The artists moves so close to the insane it’s always well to remember Icarus.  Pride is like Avarice much more subtle and sensuous of sins than mere lust. Anger hides so well in passive aggressiveness and neglect that folk today hardly see the ugliness of it. They claim it’s righteous anger when it’s just sordid bitterness.

I don’t agree.

I wouldn’t think you would.  You’re writing on redemption.  That means you’re still seeking. Nothing wrong in that. But it s far from the end of the journey.

Meaning what, they answered in chorus, offended liking squawking baby birds sensing the end to the parents vomit.

Redemption is just the beginning.  Another tale follows that one.  When you simply tell the tale and don’t explain it you will know from your audience what is good.  Watch when they laugh in unison.  Now you feel they would mock you and worry they won’t understand. But the readers always the best critic. I’m just and editor. I’m no further along then you. Just a parallel path in the story. They’re the ones who will pay or not pay unless they are forced to read your work because some institution buys it and insists the young read it. That’s where the real money is, right up there with guns, flags, religious symbols and hats and gowns.  I’d rather a Lamborghini.  You don’t need to be good to get one of those. You can buy it yourself and thumb your nose at the worldly who feign erudition behind closed walls.

You mock academia.

No I envy it. 

Blood and pain

I remember I awoke in exquisite pain. It was horrible. I peed in agony as great clots of blood exited the too narrow hole wrwcking me with pain. You showed little sympathy and yet each moth you’d laid in agony. You groaned despondent. I’d known it was a stone. you’d known it was a stone too. We’re we’re both wise to the viscistudes of the body. Yet I’d had more sympathy was you lay in agony day after day for the curse to pass. You called it that. A thing of biblical proportion. And I just stood in fear not knowing where or whence this pain and blood had come that must exit my body through the tiniest of holes, clots colliding with each other pushing shoulder to shoulder to escape. Yet you go on month to month fully aware you might suffer as I now suffered waiting the dawn.

Will souls collide against one another escaping this life through some small hole racing towards the light in deaths exquisite pain. Glad Gethesame. There is such relief in sleep despite the horrors of the night. These still passages where we remember snippets and cling to sanity in fear. Love is much more open but vulnerable. 

Intellectual conversation

I miss the intellectual conversations we had with such passion. When I felt that I might woo you with my mind. Playing with ideas and designs all the while I wished to know you naked and carnal. I could see your nipples through your silk blouse when for a glance I was distracted from the weaving of formulas of physics and philosophy. I was so fired by the figments of imagination made real in sharing. Your eyes were green and your cheeks flushed and I was aroused just to be with you feeling the pressure in my loins, my heart bursting in my chest as ideas flowed from my lips likes kisses. And you were so alive.

meaningless world

I dreamed I was with a beautiful women. Her skin was ivory. Her breast rode high. We were young. In that special place of magic and wonder. I had seen her naked and hoped that I might again. She wanted to see a movie. ‘Because we’re at this end of town, we should see meaningless world. It should be playing here.’ I agreed though I’d thought to see a different movie playing at the other end of town. At the ticket booth of the old theatre I said, ‘we’d like to see meaningless world and the older woman in a white blouse  said ‘yes, that’s playing and gave us two tickets.

I woke the. The wind was lifting the awning so I got up and let it in. I’d had difficulty peeing the night before. I’d a mild inflammation and worried about being able to pee. I peed with an initial sharp pain but emptied my bladder thankfully. I’d heard two women telling me they had difficulty peeing since their surgery. There was a tinge of pink on the tissue. I felt relieved. 

Last evening I’d read that Tosher had written, ‘Young people seem to think you can except Christ without renouncing the world.” I’d thought about that at sin. There is the strongest tendency to accept one’s own pleasures but renounce those of others. I do like chocolate There’s  the case for venal sin. The deadly sins are pride, envy, anger, gluttony, sloth, avarice, lust.  The lawyers of the church with their pride and intellectualism are forever hair splitting like accountants working for you to find loopholes to lessen the overwhelming burden of taxes.

I imagine aging that perhaps life could be a vacation. This place of toil and beauty might just be a world of wonder which we resist for fear of becoming lost in the rabbit holes of sin. 

What if we have said no to chocolate or lust or sloth and avarice and missed the very deliciousness of sin. This world is sin. Sin is missing the mark in archers lanfuage. I’m aiming for a higher target and the arrow strikes elsewhere. There is such absurdity in life. 

Something as tiny as a virus or a bruise can cause pain and interfere with elimination. Too much cheese and a person might suffer contemplation.

‘Everything in moderation,” says the ancient physician, 

But it is with pain I know I am alive, she says, planning another child, with glee and wickedness. Meanwhile  old men clay games of chess and talk. The ladies make a pot of tea and consider having biscuits.

How did you choose to be an anal surgeon? I asked. 

I saw the relief it gave. He said. We were washing our hands again and again in the ancient ritual. I still get thank you cards from patients who’d not been able to go and I restored that function.

I reflected on the way I restored the flow. My psychic surgical work,, the rabbit holes and the tinge of pink. 

I think I’ll have another chocolate I said with no shame but just a little decadent delicious venal guilt.

Nov.10, Elections, Remembrance Day

Covid continues with a promise of a new vaccine. Pfiser and BioNTech shows 90% efficacy in trials. The Elections continue with massive fraud and outrageous democrat behaviour. We saw them looting and pillaging in the streets, attacking police and blocking cities. That was blue collar democrats, funded by George Soros, lead by brown shirt Bolshevik groups like ANTIFA and BLM.  Now we see the same irresponsible immature anti law and anti order behaviour by the white collar leaders of the Democrats.  Before the elections are over Biden announces he has won and sets up an “Office of the President Elect.’  It’s a veritable coup.  Harris who used sex like Eva Brawn to move up the political ladder claims herself a black American while Indian newspapers celebrate a South Asian woman as potential VP.  This is the party that has promoted abortion third stage and beyond for profit and body parts, has pushed euthanasia, illegal immigration, celebrated voting without ID, and generally been a ‘pro death’ party only to have the voters turn out en mass to be dead. Meanwhile this Zombie Virus created by Joe Biden’s, Trudeau’s, Fauci’s and Xi Jinping friends in the WuHan labs spreads through the world. Ironically the US is blamed for the Communist Chinese attack on the world while Zombie voters appears en mass to support their candidate Joe Biden. It’s macabre to say the least.  

Thankfully Tucker” and Kayleigh continue to speak with honesty.  Democrat media are emotionally stretched to the limit and breaking. All over drug abuse is ramped up and nations profit from alcohol sales and now marijuana sales.  Hallucinogens are the new therapy agents.

Laura spent the weekend. It seems rather Little House on the Prairies.  We enjoyed making meals, walking and going to the mall to get winter clothes. We are looking forward to a new puppy and anxious about increasing public health restrictions while thousands of doctors are reacting in anger against the unscientific lockdowns.  It’s bizarre.  Turn off the media and life is simple.  The future is uncertain.  Many are suffering loss of employment and bankruptcies. In my work I see the despair, anxiety and suffering.  

Me muddle along. Another day.  

Remembrance Day. Tomorrow. Our fathers and grandfathers fought to protect the world from National Socialism (NAZIism) and International Socialism (Communism). Meanwhile the Democrat leaders are identifying freedom fighters and patriots and making lists to deny them work or position in their New World Order. Agenda 21 and the Davos 2030 ‘ReSet”.  Trudeau looks more and more sick, possessed really and friends talk about the ‘end days’.  His eyes are more and more satanic and look like the eyes of someone who has been up doing drugs all night with pornography and whiskey. He rarely comes out of his basement.  He squints in to the light. Meanwhile psychiatrists in the US have diagnosed Trump as narcissist don’t want to drug test Trudeau and insist that Biden is not demented and that his criminal cocaine addicted son Hunter is an angel.  White is black. Black is white.  The question is what is worse, the corruption or the media cover ups.  

I like taking pictures of birds.  I love the new women’s fashions.  Laura and I have enjoyed the historical fiction out of England.  The detective shows are great too.  

I’m reading the Bible,looking for support. I’m praying and exercising.  Each day it’s still fog.  I think a lot of my Dad, the RCAF veteran and his joy at joining his buddies on Remembrance Day. I remember them saying of the government today, ‘we didn’t go to war to let these criminals take over the country’.  I’m looking forward to Rainbow Bridge, Heaven and St. Peter answering some questions about Kennedy and Khrushchev.  I don’t expect to see a whole lot of politicians when I get there , if I get there.  I miss my mom and grand mother and know they’ll be there.  I believe good still exists despite Nietzsche and Marx.  

Thank you Jesus.  God is great all of the time. 

Sunday, Crazy World Times

Laura and I just returned from a walk.  She liked looking at the dogs.  I missed Gilbert.  We talked about the new puppy whose en route. 

Do you think the Covid restrictions could interfere with his coming.

I don’t think so but at worst I’d pick him up

The restrictions are only to Hope.

I believe it’s going to be okay. It’s the waiting that’s bad.

The salmon were still running upstream. I took more pictures. Fish pictures aren’t as exciting as bird pictures. No birds today. I did take one picture of Laura. 

I’m kind of irritable.  The election and the lies and the corruption have worn me down.  Repeated notices of voter fraud and the mainstream media calling Trump supporters delusional for saying there’s voter fraud.  It’s all a matter of black is white and white is black. I’ve felt what Bonhoffer must have felt.  

All this furor about a woman and black woman whose clearly brown and is East Indian or as they say ‘south Asian’. This is a great day to be celebrated. Really?  My mother and grand mother and all the women of my family would have hated her. A woman whose obvious gifts are sexual prowess. Yet Trump was excoriated because he described such a woman in locker room terms. I can’t wait till the Harris tape comes out with her saying, “You just grab the men by the dick. That’s all it takes.”  How many dozens of men can come through and say she lied to them? All double standard. What’s good for the gander is good for the gander. And what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Are women more hypocritical than men? Or is that just how it seems. Doublespeak.  

1984.  More double standard or no standards. 

Trudeau looks more stoned everyday. His eyes are saucers and he can’t even deliver his lines. We’re not even allowed to know whose feeding him his script. He’s always wearing a prompter. Is it’s XiJinping. Biden. Soros. He doesn’t look capable of a coherent thought yet we’re supposed to be happy that a guy who knows nothing about science or economics talks about his socks. First Obama and the socks and now Trudeau and the socks. What’s with the socks? 

Meanwhile It’s a sunny day. I’ve got nothing to complain about. Except Covid and the restrictions.  Covid and the restrictions are sure hurting a lot of people more than me. I’m feeling such sadness talking to patients devastated and alienated. 

Of course they’re anxious. Of course they’re depressed.  No it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Talk to people. Get out and exercise.  Take some more medication.  Don’t do drugs. Don’t overdose before the miracle happens. I don’t feel like I used to feel when I more positive. This is like the doldrums. I was in the middle of the ocean bobbing about waiting days for a wind that eventually came.  That’s what this feels like. 

I just read Dean Koontz book, The Watchers .  Lovely exciting read.  I’m in that between books space.  I think I’ll listen to the audio book by Louise Penny I’ve been enjoying .I bought a hard copy for Laura knowing she’d like it as much as I do.  That’s the problem with kindle and audio books, can’t share so easily.  We loved watching Girl in the Spiders Web last night on Netflix. I’d bought this roast which turned out spectacular in the gas stove with Laura setting the timer and taking it out at perfection.  

It’s been a full weekend with Laura visiting. Next week is a short week with a day off for Remembrance Day Wednesday. I loved in later years going to the cenataph with Dad so he could be with the old vets’. Growing up he had his blue RCAF jacket in the front room. It only came out for Remembrance Day. At the Ottawa war museum he loved to visit the bombers and talk about his time as a bombardier on the west coast. 

“I think we bombed a whale but they insisted it was a Japanese sub.”  He’d say.

He was most fascinated by the tail gunner position where his childhood friend had spent the war with several tours in Europe.  They’d gone to a one room school house as boys. Both had survived the war.  He was in his 90’s then.  I miss him. 

 

Friday, Burnaby Lake, Media Election

Laura and I had a lovely walk in the sun to Burnaby Lake. Great trail. No bikes.  Everyone enjoying the peace and quiet.  We finally arrived at the lake where the ducks hang out, glad for the seed treats people bring. I saw the Mandarin Duck again. The wood ducks are always there. The delight this time was the Green Winged Teal. Also loved the Red Winged Black Birds. 

 It was a wonderful escape from the cacaphony of the election. It really is disturbing , all the corporate corruption and election graft.  I don’t like Biden.  A corporate ‘nice imposter’, with the monster son who he uses. 

Then there’s Kamala, the US Eva Brawn. I thought Obama was more than his colour but to hear women on FB Kamala is just a brown vagina. Any brown vagina who gets a head is good enough for them. I can’t recall ever thinking like that about men or women. I was raised on meritocracy and believed the best pilot should fly the plane. That’s all gone now with Identity Politics and Gender Studies.  All men in Canada are primarily in their job because of their penis and a vagina would do better.  It’s South Africa all over again where white is now murdered by blacks and still there are people who think that is good. I am so out of it. I really have these outdated ideas of ‘Love thy neighbour.’  But Islam is not Christian. Communism is the religion of Aetheism. 

I look back on my life and all the times I didn’t stoop to be have like a Trudeau or a Biden cost me financially.  Now it’s all about euthanasia and MAiD.  God is great all of the time.  In this world the authorities killed Jesus.  Canada is a war monger state that lies.  Trudeau just sold 80 billion dollars in weapons and brought in more measures of dictatorship than his bro, Obama, whose spying on citizens is second only to Communist China and Koumeni Islam.  I am afraid. I’ve been brash and outspoken. My friends say they learned to ‘whisper’ in Islam.  The leaders of Islam are celebrating the beheading of anyone who makes fun of their God who clearly has no sense of humor despite being a joke to anyone not ruled by the sword. 

I’m actually enjoying my life. I’m safe. For now. I’ve heat and shelter and running water and indoor plumbing. I have all those physiological needs that Maslow said were basic. I have friends and family and my emotional needs are met. I have work and purpose and meaning so that I’m likely to survive even Auschwitz given what Victor Frankl said of his experience as a psychiatrist. The issue is self actualization.  Poets and writers are always the first killed in totalitarian states. I’ve been passed over for promotion because I’ve believed in objective truth and stated it against the lies of leadership. I’ve watched a blatant lying psychopaths fiction been preferred to sane truth by the corrupt authorities. 

It’s been worse each year but now I’m rather old and easily wasted. I can be disappeared or arrested and no one cares. The very leaders of Hong Kong are now in jail for questioning the evil Borg regime of Xi JinPing, Trudeau’s friend and likely lover.  Nothing makes sense of present day politics except the lists of those who met together on Epstein’s Island.  They are all anti Trump. I disagree with pedophilia even if that sentiment is no longer consider a true Canadian value. I celebrate adult sexuality between consenting adults and object to the Courts persisting in the sexist chivalry and political decisions.  But I’m passe. I reread the last of King Lear and hoped that that was not what we were seeing here.  Cornelia as Ivanka. 

 I don’t like George Soros, the Nazi sympathizer any more than I like Hanoi Jane and Benghazi HIllary or alleged pedophile Trudeau the stoner and liar. But frankly I don’t know these people. 

I met Trudeau’s father, an intellectual cold fish, loved the power and leadership of Chrétien who I met as well. I also thoroughly respected Turner who I spent a day with and truly admired Harper who I spent an evening with.  The difference is that these are real people. All these other images I speak about, Trump, Biden, Kamala, are media characatures.  Comic strip people created by dumbed down leftist corporate America. The translation of world by the low brow likes of corrupt Zuckerberg, a rather evil little man who thoroughly delights in abusing powers and others as the Congress hearings have taught us. These corporate leaders are not the stuff of history.  

I loved walking and looking at the colourful birds. It was good to be with Laura. We missed Gilbert, our cockapoo and talk a lot about a coming puppy.  She has her sister, children, grand children. I’ve nephews and family in the distance, friends here. But it was the dog I lived for. I miss the dogs and cats.  I’m rather lonely in my empty house thankful for a visit from Laura in these Covid times of isolation and alienation.  

I had hoped for some relief and reassurance with the election but Xi JinPing continues to rule the world with the UN at his bidding and he now looks to invade Taiwan as he has Hong Kong. That concerns me.  Clearly Trump was a formidable leader whose skills challenged the low brow stoner trust fund mentality of slacker Trudeau.  Bide and Kamala with their criminal histories will work with Quebec’s corrupt corporate SNC Lavalin. There’s more destruction of the middle class, my class and the elite will continue to get richer and more powerful with a new Maga Carta in the works but nothing for us squished down with the peasants to fit the Marxist binary vision.  We’ll get more free Heroin and free Marijuana and maybe more cheap sex with younger and younger people  The temple boys and girls given instead of work and position that gives one self esteem.  

I’ve chosen good over wrong. I’ve been a moral and ethical person.  This is Rome and the Empire moves along.  The Dark Star has always been there. Jesus said that this world was ruled by Satan. It’s all Money and Power. Marx said, Money is the God of the Jews.  Money and power is all that communism is about. Power is all that Sharia is about.   Satan is more apparent now.  I didn’t see the powers and principalities when I was young even though I read Brothers Karamasov.  It’s taken age to help me appreciate the wisdom of the classics.

I may have to stop writing to avoid jail or to avoid economic reprisal but I can continue to take pictures of birds. I’m too old to get by with sexual favours but I could sell a kidney if the need arose.  Others will face that.  It was so sad to see the active drug addicts in Malaysia and India.  The power of AA in Mexico was wonderful to see. The Church has always been there in times of terror and strife.  These are dark times. Gandhi said that we needed to meditate more. Martin Luther King said, it’s going to be a tough day, so need to spend more time one our knees.  

Thank you Jesus for all the blessings I’ve known and have today.  Guide me this day and in the days to come. Help me be of service to my fellow man and woman. St. Patrick protect me. Christ in front of me. Christ behind me. Christ to the left of me. Christ to the right of me. Christ beneath me. Christ above me. Christ within me and Christ without. Christ in the thoughts that everyone has of me. Holy Spirit come.  Hallelujah. God is good all of the time. Thank you St. Francis for the birds.

Red winged black bird

Duckie

Dowitcher

Mandarin duck

Green winged teal

Wood duck

Bird voyeur with Nikon and chef’s hat beret