Stories told with words and pictures. Stories about violence, love, existentialism. Stories that are short on the page, but expand inside your imagination.
I was never good in school. Laziness mostly. I slept a lot which put my father in a hellish mood. I'm keeping down two jobs to keep you brats in bed and breakfast and all you do is sleep. He made me get a part time job. Which is where I got my first taste of titty. The baker's daughter. Margaret. She was a homely girl but she was handing it out for free so I got in line.
We moved to a farm near Gimli, Manitoba. Home of the three Viking graves. No one is sure how they got there but I'm confident they didn't take Air Canada, as we did. We lived on Sixth Street. Highway 9 went in and out of town in a flash. If you sneezed, you missed it.
What is the question? Why do we ask? If a tree falls in the middle of the forest. Where are the corners in the oval office? What does it mean to be a human being? Does the question matter? If left alone would the accountants take over?
Born in the city. Back lanes. Crowded streets. Laughter and screams on Saturday night. Church Sunday morning. Sirens during the week. We just got the hang of it and now we had to move to the suburbs.
A serial killer, triplets, a high school dropout, a wannabe movie star, a woman out for revenge, a disgraced high school teacher all headed west. To look for their dream. But the universe had a different dream and it didn't include the earth.
“My name is Freddy or Willy or George. I invented history. Before me it was a bunch of things falling apart. There was no order. Catholicism and chaos.” The story of one of the great mind of Western Culture, Friedrich Hegel, the root of both Communism and Fascism in the 20th century.
The hours when the creatures come out. Raccoons. Snakes. Deer. And the cats. And other kids. The younger kids are out to catch frogs. They like to force feed the snakes. The older kids are mostly peeping Toms. But they disappear around midnight. If you go into the hydro field you can hear giggling in the high grass.
I am losing my voice. Words. Vocabulary. I am forgetting what things are called. 'Thing' is my go to word. It is not Alzheimer. It is something else. Something worse.
The monster comes home to an empty house. He goes to the attic where he opens a chest. And rummages around in it. He takes out a rope. Throws it over the rafter. Finds a chair. Picks up his dog.
Violence begins in desperation. In a free fall from sanity. We become the center of the universe. For a brief moment there is nothing else.
The Trans-Canada Highway was approved by the Trans-Canada Highway Act of 1949. Construction was begun in 1950 and finished in 1971. Upon completion it was the longest highway in the world. It runs from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean. And that's when the adventures began.
They began their careers in small clubs. And cat houses. In choirs. And minstrel shows. They were applauded. Made famous. At times they were loved. They made a lot of money and spent it. On booze. On drugs. On men. And became famous. Some died in small rooms without family. Some in the arms of their children. They were all different. They were the Saints of Jazz. And they loved to sing.