Hello folks. I’m back. I must apologize profusely for the abject neglect of my blog these last six or seven months and ask your forgiveness. As events were, I experienced a schizophrenic episode and was temporarily disabled. My doctor instructed me to cease my usual endeavors and prescribed a period of rest and relaxation until I recovered. I have just now begun picking up again my usual commitments and obligations and have only recently returned to work. Going forward, my attention to my blog will again be more regular.
May 21, 2015
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 6
September 22, 2014
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 5
I arrived at the Langley Police Department approximately five hours after being unceremoniously dumped at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in the darkness of early morning tired, hungry, sober, and a little foot sore, though nonetheless determined and indignant. The sun had only recently risen. I arrived at the detachment on the wings of the belief that the actions of a rogue constable would not be found acceptable to the powers that be in the Langley police department. Someone needed to take Constable Shithead down a peg or two and I was just the man to do it. I deserved the respect. read more
August 20, 2014
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 4
After a five minute pow-wow the two officers split up. The second officer went back to his cruiser, pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night. Constable Shithead entered into the driver’s seat of our cruiser and started the engine.
“What’s happening?” I asked anxiously through the plexi-glass divider on the back of his seat that stood between us.
“Shut up!” he barked with what I had come to recognize as his usual charm. He accelerated the cruiser away from the curb and drove off down the road heading to the outskirts of town with the dash cluster casting a dim blue light upon his visage the side of which I could see over his right shoulder. read more
August 9, 2014
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 3
Seeing that I was no longer any risk of resisting the policeman stood up. Towering over me, he reached with his right hand across his upper torso to the mic of his radio located on his left shoulder and called for back-up, not that I was in a position too pose any threat. Pulling a set of cuffs from his belt, the policeman knelt down, rolled me over on my stomach, and cuffed my hands behind my back. He then angrily told me to get up lifting me by my bound hands at the same time. He walked me over to the cruiser, opened the back door, and roughly shoved me inside. I had caught my breath and, not daunted by my wounded pride and rough treatment, anger burned in my gut. read more
July 24, 2014
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 2
Outside in the fresh air it was a cold, dark and uninviting December early morning. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and wished for a smoke of which I had none. A pleasant, mild burning sensation from the beer warmed my guts. To my left a street light cut a conical form of light in the darkness emanating from the bulb at the top of the pole. A row of similar light forms stood as sentinels against the darkness down the road behind it off into the distance. Same thing in the opposite direction. The streets were empty. Not a soul could be seen. There was an eerie silence. I rolled up the collar on my jacket against the cold and started off at a leisurely pace to the right in the direction of the city center. Having been in the city for over a week I knew that along the way I would run into a derelict 18 wheeler truck cab abandoned in a small field where, being homeless, I planned to spend the night protected from the elements. It had a bolster and would keep me dry if it rained as it often did in Langley, a veritable five star Hilton to me compared to the places I had become accustomed to sleeping in and the concrete floors I had known. read more
July 13, 2014
Langley, B.C.: Policemen Aren’t Your Friends Part 1
Dots of light flew in the dim light before my eyes from the rotating disco ball in the ceiling above the dance floor and danced across the dirty walls and the worn floor. I could just sense the bass of the music pounding in my chest as AC/DC’s song Highway To Hell raged out of the sound system, the only new equipment in the place, as it stood out in relief against a backdrop of the outworn and outmoded accoutrement of the rest of the bar. Around the edge of the dance floor gut high, scarred, and dented wooden tables with patches of the finish worn off the tops punctuated the otherwise empty room. The stools around the tables stood largely empty and expectant awaiting the patrons that would not come. There might have been six people in attendance besides the staff in an establishment that could easily hold a hundred. The place smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. The walls were covered in pictures of rock superstars of a bygone era. The bar appeared long in decline and held a worn look of a place well past its heyday. In my youth I would have called the place a dive. Today I just called it a place to get cheap beer. read more
February 10, 2014
Yorkton: A Fallen Man Dreams Of Redemption, A Starving Man Dreams Of Food Pt. 2 of 2
And so I strummed and I sang and I strummed and I sang. An hour went by. People came and people went but almost nobody paid me any mind and showed me no appreciation. I began to wonder if this being thy brother’s keeper thing was going to pan out. My stomach growled. I looked in my case. I had a couple dollars. I would need that for gas for the car to run tonight for heat while I slept. Business was slow. So I switched it up and dove into a rendition of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot, which had proven to be a crowd pleaser in the past. Sure enough a preacher, a leader and representative of the community, walked up wearing a collar, a solemn smile on his pious face, and towing a small child by the hand, the good book and some pamphlets in his other hand pressed against his hip. He stood impassively for a moment or two looking on and listening while the child peered up with a look of curiosity from beside him. Mid song he let go the child, extended his hand, and introduced himself saying rather stiffly, “I am Father Tom.” read more
February 2, 2014
Yorkton:A Fallen Man Dreams Of Redemption, A Starving Man DreamsOf Food Pt. 1 of 2
With nothing but the bare essentials of life packed in the trunk, which included an amount of camping gear, about $400 in cash, no credit cards, an assortment of cassette tapes, and a guitar along with a small amount of sheet music stowed in the back seat, I backed out of the driveway one last time and pointed the nose of the Mazda in the direction of the nearest highway with no clear idea where I was going or what would befall me. As it turns out, I would end up traveling not only across Western Canada by car but also in far away lands on foot and would return six years later a different man than when I left. For the first six months of that journey I would keep myself fed and gas in the car by busking, that is, performing in the street for money, at various stops along the way. In the heat of summer and the chill of spring and fall I sang for my supper, literally. read more
