poem todaywine is drunk smoke is smoked and the day settles down thus unprovoked what is new and what will be is uncertain as the things you see but all in all the all provide for those who stand and those who slide and in the end we gather round to soothe the coffin into the ground we want what's new but there's the task to find a new thing in the ask.

wine is drunk

smoke is smoked

and the day settles down

thus unprovoked

what is new

and what will be

is uncertain as the things you see

but all in all

the all provide

for those who stand

and those who slide

and in the end

we gather round

to soothe the coffin

into the ground

we want what's new

but there's the task

to find a new thing

in the ask.

what does a real human story ever do , if it is good, except to escape and find some new way for us?. I like fiction. It shows us the only real way forward. I think it was Lawrence Durrell who noted that...life is an awful mess and the only way we ever get to show the brilliance of life is through fiction...and I do agree. Fiction is in our hearts and souls, fiction creates what is necessary to do...and, indeed, what can be done.

Mr John Parker kissed Mrs Parker and then disappeared into nearby Alaska, as was normal, for his business. He, now, a week later, lay deep in 3 foot of new snow, watching the fine glistening road so far ahead of him. The Honda CRV came along, as was expected, in the far distance, at the right time. Parker was a mile away, well hidden in a drift of a new snow mound. Parker liked 'the cold'. He chewed on the ice to stop any steamy breath escaping him. Parker focused. The long distance rifle was pretty well perfect. His first shot hit the driver between the eyes, and blew those blue eyes across the shiny car. His second shot hit the small girl in the baby car seat behind him, in the liver. John felt a deep delight of accomplishment, and then wondered if his daughter was okay, back in Ontario. The Honda swerved on the icy road and ended up, slowing squealing on the ice road, into a heap of new snow by the side, for someone to find, much later. The sun was shining. It was 30 degrees below zero. There was no wind. There was no distraction.

Novel I'm working on: RED PACKAGE the preamble: Kali loved her work. Kali was, in a way, Asian, but mostly beyond terrestrial design. She was special. Only about 5' 2" in height, but of perfect proportion. About 20 or 50 or 70 or 13 years of age, depending on how she wished to be seen. Her skin was shiny, firm and perfect, especially in a light orange Dior gown. Her breasts were ample and her nipples fresh and bright, large and upwards. Upwards. It wasn't so much about the sexing light that shone on Kali, it was rather about the red orgasmic light coming from her that everyone noticed. She was one of those translucent beings. She had invited the swarthy, middle aged, Carlos, up to her suite in the Caracas 5 star hotel, The Diamond View, on the premise of persuading him to give preference to her company, Ottawa X, in regards to premium docking space and speed in the busy port and harbour below. Carlos was in charge of such things and was well connected to the prevailing cartel. The cartel had certain control of import and export, as was necessary, for their products. What Kali sought was a way to expedite her company's versatility and premacy in that port. She knew that Carlos was 'unbreakable' in his allegiance to the cartels, and this is why she took him up the 12 stories to her suite on a warm sultry evening. She plied him with cleavage and thighs, good wine, soft words and touches, and sweet fresh oysters from her cunt into his glad warmed mouth and just, as he was about to come inside her with a bolt of bright hard light, she sucked his mouth and slashed his throat open with a sharpened credit card. She let the card fly off, with a flick, American Express, imbedding itself in the table lamp next to the cream leather lounge on which they fucked. She felt his cum run drizzling warm in small bolts deep inside her, in muscular shimmers, as she sucked the last of the air from his throat. Then she inhaled the power of it all as he shivered in his death within her. The bad thing about cream leather upholstery is that it can be a bit sweaty on a hot night. The good thing about cream leather upholstery is that it wipes clean of blood quite easily. Below the balcony, down in the streets, the toy cars moved here and there, the lights dazzled here and there, and then the Central American night engulfed itself. Kali ordered some coffee and biscuits from room service, took them at the door wearing a white cotton dressing gown, came back and sat on the lounge next to dead and yet still erect Carlos, and watched the World News on TV. Then she went to bed, satisfied by the day. An early check out and an early flight, so she needed some rest. Carlos could wait for the maid in the morning. For the time being, all was right with the world. One Red Package had been delivered.

One of the major issues with PTSD is not so much the terrible dreams and the flashbacks, or the destruction of human families, but rather that the person cannot logically plan ahead within themselves because the tract of human consciousness (all thought, all emotion, all spirituality) gets stuck around the massive intensity of the bad experience...thus quite bright and lovely people have less capacity to actually progress through the years by planning and living; being functionally stuck back there. This can happen to anyone. You don't have to have 'shell shock' in a war...you just have to have had a really traumatic experience in life...and life is actually like this...traumatic things happen. Awful things happen whether through accident or design. You can't actually fix that...you can't actually fix PTSD...this is why it is very important for people, generally, not to go to wars if they are possibly avoidable. There is enough PTSD in the world from normal events as they are without going into something where, by its nature, horrible things must happen, and horrible things are driven to happen, for whatever reason. We should be very very very careful, far more careful than we are or have ever been, in dispatching our best young into massive violence where no laws or values can ever apply.

We drove a few hours to see the Fairy Penguins wander up the beach on Phillip Island the other afternoon at sunset. They are lovely little creatures indeed, so very endearing. They arise after swimming and diving and feeding in the cold sea all day and come out of the sea either singularly or in little groups and then form a bigger group, waiting for stragglers, before dashing up the exposed beach to the safety of the rocks and grasses calling out to each other 'hup hup hup hup!' then they have a 5 minute collective power-nap, and then waddle to their own little huts in the sand dunes. Lovely beings. the trouble was that as the time of their arrival was somewhat uncertain, somewhere around sunset, it was hard to have a good meal before sitting there and waiting for them and watching them and, unfortunately, the cafe at the Penguin Protection Society Building didn't serve them roasted in pies. I could have eaten 3.

my idea of Government...some girl or guy puts their hands up and gets elected. They come out and say 'well, these are the issues, as you the people, tell me. I will deal with them to the best of my ability, thanks.' and then the government goes away for a few years and solves those issues. so, you would need a media talk from the government at the beginning of their term, and at the end...and that would be that. We are not actually going anywhere but here. the necessity every day or every week to have that person on camera is just a wank...for them and for the media. the media exists for us, we are not here for them.