Fair Enough

I better chat a little longer about this experience I had as a tourist visiting Europe. I don't want anyone to think I have any hard feelings about it. I look back on it as a fond memory of my wild youth and I would love to get back over there for another visit. This time I'd bring my guitar. Last time I think I was a success as a comedian, though this was inadvertent. The Dutch, in particular, found my conversation amusing. They were so hospitable to me in Amsterdam. One of them took me on a little sight seeing tour through the old part of town on my first day there. When we got to the outdoor market, he commented that 'before the war, this used to be all Jews'. I pictured what a problem that would have been, great gangs of bearded transients bowing their heads up and down and playing their chaotic jazz saxophones all hours of the day and night, making such a nuisance of themselves in the street. But they don't have any problems like that now. I went to Amsterdam first and one of my first tourist stops was Anne Frank House. I hadn't heard of Anne Frank before that. An American tourist invited me to visit the house with her. She's the one who got me telling people I was Jewish. She told me she was Jewish and I didn't believe her because she had blond hair and blue eyes. After that, I thought 'everyone tells everyone they're Jewish over here and it's okay.' It's her fault. She's from San Diego. I can't remember her name. She took me to Anne Frank House and made me want to be a Jew for the rest of my European tour. And now look at all the trouble she's caused! Some people don't like Jews. All right, well, the Jews reject Christ, right? So that's going to offend some people. I don't hate them, myself, as long as they don't rip off my scripts like Jon Stewart and Tina Fey. But I don't hold these crimes against the whole Jewish people. I see people as individuals. It lets me judge them fairly. I think the Germans are a very physically attractive people. They're tall and fit. I was particularly aware of how I lost my height advantage over there. (I'm six feet and two inches or 185 cm.) You'd never know that these immaculate people today were once swamped by bearded, wild eyed Jewish Gypsies with saxophones on every street corner, whose monkeys would run loose and bite the women and infect them with bubonic plague. I'm telling you, you'd never guess it from looking at them now. I'm back to make sure I cover everything this time. This is a sensitive topic. I ate well this afternoon: back bacon, pierogies, sour cream, and corn. Here in Canada, bacon is plentiful. Back in my little home town, we could select our own pigs for slaughter. I always paid the extra to get the one with the most innocent expression. They always tasted the best. So I should tell Germans I'm not trying to make fun of them or typecast them here. I asked for it by proclaiming myself as a Jew in their country. I imposed the Holocaust on our party, though I was just being a crazy Canadian. For the future, though, I should say that if someone is in Germany, identifying himself as a Jew, he is probably lying. A real Jewish person would know that it would be asking for trouble to tell people he was Jewish and he would avoid it. For instance, Jon Stewart changed his name to Stewart because, in his own words, his real name was 'too Jewy'. I didn't know I would be asking for trouble by saying I'm Jewish because I'm not Jewish. I'm Norman Irish/Liverpool English/Prussian Polish-Canadian non practicing Roman Catholic. Why is that so hard for you all to remember? We Canadians had ancestors who had a similar problem with transient natives, didn't we? Weren't they obstructing the stage coaches with their rain dances and constantly robbing the liquor stores? People are shaped by how they are brought up. In that way, we're all the same.
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Free Knowledge

If the amber alert is over, we can all go back to shunning the evil broadcasters. Only tune them in when the bus tells you to. For God's sake, a child's life could depend on it! I've read over my last twenty or so posts to this blog and I'll correct those little typos soon. Overall, it looks not too bad. This blog gets a title that actually goes with the content because I discuss a lot of bad memories here, though they are all from my web fame. I thought of another one today, which I may not have yet discussed. It is my memory of browsing YouTube in 2008 and 2009, looking for interviews with my favorite musicians and comedians. It was amazing how a current interview would appear on YouTube for every single musician I was paying attention to at that time. I went from a Donovan interview to a Mike Oldfield interview to a Ray Davies interview all in the same month. I'm sure it was a coincidence. But when I found the John Cleese interview, which must have been close to his last, I wasn't paying very close attention to his words. It may have had something to do with my real life account of spending a tense afternoon with a suspicious rabbit, which vaguely stumbles onto his comedy sketch about the killer rabbit. I was sharing a real quirk in my personality though. Some rodents make me nervous. They quiver too much or something. If I had a pistol, I'd probably shoot them in self defense. But I guess this account, which I likely shared at an earlier date, was taken as some kind of pathetic ripoff. So there was this great debate going on about greed on the web and I was saying that greed is an evil excess and that it is not good. And I used this analogy about ice cream and how it might be normal to want a gallon in the freezer but not a whole freezer full, with ice cream trucks lined up around the block of your house. Something like that. I was trying to illustrate my point with my own words. And then didn't they ask John Cleese what he thought about greed? And how did he phrase his answer? But you know, I still think he was a comic genius. I wonder if he really hated me or they just made him hate me because they knew I liked him.
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Lost Opportunity

I'm sorry if I need to be a little more forceful than normal with my copyright statements these days, but I don't want there to be any doubts about my integrity as I await the results of my CT scan from the hospital. Last time I was admitted to the hospital, my online predicament interfered with my health care. I do not blame health care staff for this. I want health care staff to reject copyright offenders for treatment. The problem is that I am not a copyright offender, nor was I ever. I'm not Jewish either, but that's my own fault for playing around with that when I was younger. I hope my German friends are not embarrassed by my account of visiting their country in 1988. They were very good to me. I didn't go around telling everyone I was a Jew. I only told one person, but that was enough to get the word around. And they really tried to make me feel comfortable. They took me to a Communist bar and surrounded me with psychology students who were all deeply interested in my ideas. I think they were very thoughtful and considerate, especially when I told them my father had served in the Canadian army. I wasn't thinking of how they might be offended by a Canadian army Jew, who probably didn't treat the prisoners very well. It was just a stupid stunt I needed to pull in my mischievous youth and I apologize for it now. I wouldn't do it again. Canadians can be very naive, like Gerald Bull. Can you picture Gerald Bull in the restaurant on the night before he was gunned down, chatting with his colleagues about his latest project for Saddam, as Mossad agents eavesdropped from another table? 'I don't know what he sees in those scuds. He can't lunch supplies to a space station with those. Why, even with my latest ballistic improvements, he could barely reach Tel Aviv with a scud! What a waste of time...' But the Lord loves the lost and so I think the Lord loves Canadians. I think he has chosen Canadians to be his new chosen people. (Joking there.) That's something I have in common with the Lord. I also like the lost. It's hard to not like someone when they're so innocent and helpless. Being lost seems to bring out our more adorable qualities. But I don't like sheep as much as the Lord. I prefer that people think for themselves more. He's God so He doesn't need them to do that. It's time for my end of the year entries in my indexes and chronologies, so you can keep an eye on that over the next couple of weeks. Happy Sunday.
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Mike Myers Is a Crazy Criminal

(ORCASTRA) Knowledge with cruelty aches Consciousness with grief encumbers Fitness as quickly forsakes Sparse grow our once thriving numbers Turbulent waves no longer save Trapped behind collapsing border Coastlines swept clean, noise of machine Turning our peace to disorder Long ago we were inclined To remain clear of the surface Intelligence of this kind From the outsider submerges Densely the sea envelopes me Spanning the widest of breaches I am as one with moon and sun Drawn to the innermost reaches Swimming alone with my thoughts Hardly a picture worth seeing Emptiness knot after knot Only the force of my being Plaintively I send out my cry Wishing this burden to lighten Deeper I go to a new low As my anxieties heighten (SEAL OF DOOM) Playful the morning began Sharp on the trail of an otter Up to the surface we swam That's when they harpooned my daughter Anguished her cry, hoisted up high Twisting from cruel mutilation Covered in red up to my head I stared in grim fascination I sought for comfort to lean On the support of another Witness to this ghastly scene That's when they gutted my mother Ripped off her hide, scooped her insides Filled up twelve pails with her blubber And of her bones made xylophones Why couldn't they merely club her? With my copyright statements, I'm usually either focused on an offense against my music or one against my humor, but with Mike Myers, I face offenses that sweep across my whole range. With Austin Powers, he managed to violate my visual art along with my humor, and with Seal of Doom, a rewritten self parody I first shared in 2007, I believe he used my Orcastra for supporting background music when he stole it for Saturday Night Live. So that violates my music and my comedy, while also robbing me of any credit I might get for being sporting enough to make fun of myself. Instead, he wants everyone to think he's mocking me with my own wits. Is he in prison now? I hope so. Every once in a while I like to parody my own songs. I did it with Nothing for Hookers, which parodied Nothing but Ashes, and Mister Veality, which parodies Lifeless. (Mister Veality also parodies another song of mine, Mister Personality, which was recorded live in the dark and shared in '08 and should now be offline.) Don't let others steal from me so that it looks like they're parodying me with my self parodies. Watch out for that, please.
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Forbidden Party

I got the DVD of the 1956 movie, Forbidden Planet, a while ago and I like how it talks about our id monsters. There's a brutal psychopath lurking deep within each of us and it's different in every individual. I described mine as a flying beast in my explanation of my song, Bird of Prey (I Think Therefore I'm Not) which like the song was rewritten from 2007. I would have made a good killer with an airplane, I think. But Bird of Prey is a reconstructed song that's already been used and since then I've constructed the above Unabused, another great song capable of turning battle into a party. Rock is the only musical medium that lets me fully express my freedom. I love how the guitar drowns out the vocal and the drums try to drown out the bass in this song. It's freedom at its loudest and wildest, the kind of freedom that terrifies the enemy. And I plan on plucking out that guitar solo at the end the same way it is on the recording. I like the way someone was dancing to it when I added it in. I believe that air power is determining. Don't bother with a ground campaign unless you have command of the air. Those Israelis were sure -uh- intelligent in that Six Days War when they destroyed the enemy air force on the ground. But actually missiles may be the most unstoppable weapons. Poor Gerald Bull, such a Canadian genius. Too bad he never got wise to why Saddam hired him. He just wanted to build his space gun. Maybe he was inspired by the science fiction tale, the Shape of Things to Come, which features a space gun. And then he ended up gunned down on his own doorstep.
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Humbled by Hindsight

I saw the amber alert on the bus this morning and we need to all listen to the radio to stay on top of those. My own amber alert is slowly improving, however. I still feel some pain but I just laugh about it. Ever since I got my cheque, I've been in a giddy mood. And even when I start to get depressed, one of my neighbors stops by and sends me right back to my silly giggling. I feel like I want to make fun of everything. I guess it's better than feeling violent. Fifteen years ago, I got off on the wrong foot over the September 11 event. I went a little crazy from seeing those conspiracy videos, I think. But now I can see how I can accept it as maybe something that had to happen, in order to avert a far worse calamity. All right? Is that fair? So that means W was right to follow through in the Middle East and I shouldn't have criticized that. Let's consider this sixteen-year-long ordeal of mine as payment in full for my error. My friend was saying it's all destabilized over there now. I told him that maybe that's the way we want it over there. Maybe it helps us when they're messed up. I'm sorry if that sounds cold, but we want to keep the trouble far away, right? If this is the best the computer could think of, we should just trust the computer and be glad it's not telling us to kill ourselves. The computer is always right. If they had the computer, they'd come to the same brutal conclusion about us, I'm sure. This Korean dispute has never been settled. Officially, it never ended. Now's our chance to show that we could have won that war the first time. But if we go over there now, we should build up a massive armada on their doorstep and try to terrify them into surrendering without a fight. Then if they want to fight, we'll have already gained a massive material advantage. I'm sure we could blast our way to Pyongyang in no time. That's how to take care of unfinished business. Right now President Obama is in private conference with President Elect Trump in the Oval Office. Obama is showing Trump how to operate the computer that makes all the most impossible decisions for us and can predict the future with total accuracy. Obama's telling Trump to do everything the computer says and to not make a move without it. I recall how I called 911 for this kidney pain in 2007 shortly after I erased my songs. I think I still had my blog online, but I took down my songs. I now see how that could have been misunderstood. Okay, well I'm leaving everything up now forever, okay, everyone? Please get used to it. I've made this decision, above all, pour raisons des sante, for reasons of health.
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Flimsy Barriers

I need to straighten out something about my trip to Germany when I was in my twenties. I had an overall pleasant visit. I don't know why I needed to say I was Jewish when I'm not. I was more impulsive back then. I wasn't trying to be mean or anything. I was curious about how it would feel to be a Jewish tourist over there. And it made no difference. They took me out for beer and were very nice to me. The older ones didn't like me as much. And the teller in one of the banks asked me if I was sure I was Canadian before she cashed my traveler's check. But other than those two, I got along with everyone, and they brew the best beer. It was 1988 and I said they should tear down the Berlin Wall, even though they all wanted to keep out the East Germans, and down it came the following year. I guess I won that argument. The older generation is more racist, though they are becoming extinct. I remember how this old German supervisor would talk: 'We call a Canadian a French Canadian or a Polish Canadian, but the Jew is an American Jew or a Canadian Jew...' My dad was roughly Archie Bunker's age, so you can imagine his opinions, though he abandoned them as he aged. And one time a right-wing Christian group passed through the Mission where I had to eat and spoke of how 'they're intelligent'. Yes, Jesus Christ certainly was. But actually, I got woo-wooed when I was briefly homeless in Toronto, coming out of the Native Shelter. The taunter must have thought I was Metis. I just look at people's actions. I don't care about their name or race or creed, I just care if I can get along with them. I think most others are like I am. About my little hospital visit yesterday, which I mentioned when I posted my oral rendition of the Age of the Image on YouTube, I managed to get my insides photographed this time and I'm not sure, but I think that advances me beyond where I was at this point in '07. If so, what a relief. Maybe we can chart a brighter course from here. It'll be about a week for the results. My plumbing feels like its been scrubbed on the inside with steel wool, one of my more unpleasant memories from '07, But I survived it then and I have faith that the worst has passed. I love Canadian health care. After all, once we put on those gowns, we're all equal.
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Songs from the Truck

Here's a list of songs I recall hearing on the radio of the delivery van when I worked part-time as a furniture swamper in 2009. All My Money - with half the words missing. They said it was the Crystalids? Arise - They said it was the Crystalids? Assault - They said it was the Crystalids? Beguiled - They said it was Seal? Canopy - They said it was Coldplay? Chair - with half the words missing. They said it was the Crystalids? Decent (as Kneel to the Power) - They said it was the Crystalids? Easy - They said it was the Crystalids? Ectomorph - They said it was the Crystalids? Fantasies - They said it was the Crystalids? Fool - They said it was the Coldplay? Fool's Paradise - They said it was the Nickleback? Fortune - They said it was the Oasis? Free - They said it was the Crystalids? Goddess - They said it was the Crystalids? Godspeed - They said it was the Crystalids? Harmony - They said it was the Crystalids? Lifeless - They said it was the Shards? More Sold Out - They said it was the Crystalids? Natural (offline) - Even though it didn't quite rock, they still needed to steal it. Nonplussed - They said it was the Crystalids? Outside - They said it was the Crystalids? Prone - They said it was the Crystalids? Rusty - They said it was the Crystalids? Size - They said it was the Crystalids? Smile - They said it was...? Spoils - They said it was the Crystalids? Therapy - They said it was the Crystalids? Virtue - They said it was the Shards?
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Brutal Recall

I wonder if anyone remembers the last time I needed medical attention for my abdomen. It was very similar to this most recent experience, and I was online, joking about it with my emergency room humor. Only this was back when NBC talk show stars would grab my posts and use them as comedy as soon as I shared them, no matter how serious they might have been. And as soon as anyone saw one of those TV stars with my posts, I was immediately seen as the fraud. It didn't matter that I was a musician. It didn't matter that I didn't want to be a comedian. It didn't matter that I was the one who just got out of the hospital. It only mattered that they saw it on TV and that made me the bad guy, the bad guy to be hated, the bad guy to be rejected and mocked and whose health service might even be affected, depending on the professionalism of the staff. I managed to survive to now, but it was no thanks to these untalented TV stars who make me look like a liar when I need to receive good medical service. I hope for a different outcome this time. (By the way, we should be sweeping all those unauthorized videos of my music off the web if those last two music posts to my YouTube account changed anything.) I think I know the cure. We don't need to hack out any organs or anything, it can all be controlled by improved sleeping conditions. I need to be able to sleep vertically. Surely this can't be too hard to accomplish. It's a simple matter of supporting my body in a harness of some sort that suspends me with my feet still touching the floor. We might have some problems with my legs going to sleep at first, but maybe we can get a nurse to help out with my circulation for while, just until I get on my feet.
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Test of Patients

Some of the tightness in my gizzard has returned over the last day or two, and I can just hear my dad if he were still alive: 'Tightness? Is that all? Wait until you get my age! You'll feel like someone stuck a shotgun barrel up your ass and pulled the trigger...' I've got my fingers crossed that I'm going to pass my test on Wednesday. I'm drinking all the fluid I can in the meantime and giving my bladder a good workout. I'm pretty sure I've figured out what happened to me now. It was my hard bed. When your mattress is too firm, it puts pressure on your organs. There's a valve on the kidney that sticks out from your back, kind of a spongy little thing that looks like cauliflower, and if it gets poked too hard, it clenches into a pucker and sucks out all the bile from your gall bladder and pumps it out your nose. You just think you have a cold at first, until you see that your mucus burns holes in your clothing. It burns out all the hairs in your nose so you can't smell anymore and may not realize you are ill. That's probably how it got so far along before we discovered it. Those hospital staff are lucky I used to work in a furniture store and have an expert knowledge of beds.
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The Right Stuffing

As shared in January 2011: Above, you can see how I'm like a human tape recorder when I hear music. I hear every detail and play it all back. These Spiderman (1967) recordings were recorded fast. I feel okay to post them when I recall how CBC broadcast my earlier recordings of this famous soundtrack. You can hear the influence of this style in my instrumental surfer classic, Leg It Up. I've had some time to think of how I can help the medical staff with their diagnosis by analyzing my food choices. I bet my preference for microwaved water in my instant coffee is behind some of the crystalizing. When you splinter molecules like that, it turns them into little ice picks that can wear the lining of your tissues and can cause lesions. I should have told them about that, but I forgot. About my Christmas carols, I'm not playing White Christmas, I'm playing Right Christmas. It's a totally different song. I'm aiming for the right Christmas Just like the ones that used to snow Where the fir trees shimmer And people shiver And fear wind chimes on a bow (Oh-oh, oh) I'm eating for the right Christmas With every pumpkin pie I bite May your crust be flaky and light And I hope you get more than a kite
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The Moaning After

Here's a new live Christmas recording to make up for the commercialized one from 2013: I'm starting to come down from my painkillers and learning how to adjust to my condition. I don't need to see the pink squirrel anymore, I just need to remember him. I didn't want to leave my juice. There was still plenty left. I should have waited to say I was feeling better. Ran through a few classic carols this morning. (You need to warm up early on those. They can be complicated.) I recall how I heard my jazzy 5/4 Good King Wenceslas while waiting for some service over the phone in either '07 or '08. Everyone thought I was a fraud back then. I spoke to the worker and complimented her on the classy Christmas music. She wasn't impressed. There should be no debate on who was playing guitar on those headless Christmas carol videos I released back then, like that plaid shirt White Christmas. You can tell by looking at my hand that it's me with those. I'm all alone with that peculiarly hilarious style of finger picking. This live video will hopefully match up with those headless ones I shared in '08 and '09.
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Mid Life Crisis

You people on the 60's, 70's, and 80's pop station must have a reckless disregard for my health and safety if you're playing Madonna songs after the things I've reported about her in this account. If I'm not mistaken, she knew about the Nasco crime and tried to get me killed on my forklift. But those hospital staff last night are my heroes. You know you've hit middle age when you start suffering organ malfunctions like I did last night. Your kidney can be your worst enemy, firing bullets into your urinary tract as you lie helpless against the stabbing pain. I first felt something funny while in mid discussion with a co-tenant on the prospects of war. (I don't think we need to fear any nuclear assault. Such an attack would only assure the destruction of the attacker.) I threw up and it got worse and I knew there was something wrong. As I twisted and moaned, I wondered if I'd been poisoned. I thought about how the emperor Claudius kept getting poisoned by his wife but stayed married to her because she was the loyalest he could find. But further examination pointed to my kidney as the culprit. The paramedics asked me to rate the pain on a scale of ten. I gave it an 8.5, with ten being crucifixion. It only took about half an hour to get into a bed with an IV tube in my arm. Yes, I had to submit a blood sample, as well. Did you read my post yesterday? Who saw that coming? But unlike Nasco Staffing, the hospital staff put something back in my blood to make up for what they took out. I asked the doctor if it would stop the pain. He said that it would not stop the pain but it would make me oblivious to it. He left and he turned out to be right. When he came back, he was covered in shimmering stardust and had a pink squirrel on his shoulder and as long as I kept my eyes on the squirrel, I felt no pain. The pixies showed me the way out by taxi and I have to go back for more tests. The doctor said I did the right thing by calling the ambulance, but this seems to be more of a pain problem than a life threatening one. I've apologized profusely to God for whatever I did to incur his fury and I have pills to help keep everything pink until I'm cured. I'm sure I'll be fine.
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Icky Experience

I was just poking my straw into my protein shake here at the Vancouver Public Library (Central Branch) and I thought about how I was treated by the workers of Nasco in 2008, when I stumbled blind on their doorstep, looking for a job on a forklift, when no one in town would hire me for anything else. They had all my songs and I couldn't recall any of them clearly since I wrote them all so fast, erased them from my computer for safety, and someone had swiped the cassette I'd saved them on. They tested my memory of the earliest recordings and they wouldn't play any of the powerful ones for me. They might have been afraid I would recognize them easier. Once they were sure that I had forgotten my lyrics, they were still not entirely confident. One of the chapters in my long poem, the Tunesmith, has the hero facing enemies who were after his blood for a recording contract. I'd stumbled on the word ichor in my thesaurus and found it irresistible. And the workers of Nasco knew that I couldn't remember my poems after one of them had stolen my book of handwritten poems. And the workers of Nasco knew that the villains in my poem failed to drain their target of any blood and wanted the villains in my poem to win. So they all got together and agreed to trick me into thinking that 'everyone has to take the blood test' and stabbed me with a syringe to withdraw a little vial of my blood, about enough to fill the straw of a ballpoint pen. I am not making this up. This is fact. It happened through the setup for Madonna's appearance here in 2008. It turns out that I did not hold my poems or my songs or my comedy scripts in my head, but in my heart. If the industry probe would have checked my heart, it would have found that all my work was still inside me, intact. But the industry couldn't check my heart. It has no heart and was incapable of checking my heart for my work. And the industry was in a blind, mad rush to get richer with my hard, honest work. I noticed that it's Novel Month on the way in to the library today. Boy, are those short stories of mine ever naively written, eh? The ones from 2004? You have to write bad before you can write good. (How about that When You Leave? Probably the fourth song I ever wrote in my life. You hear the difference between that and my last recording Nonchalant?) I bet I'd do a better job of those short stories now, after all this experience. I wouldn't have shared them except that I had to show how long the people on TV have been using my work to do their jobs for them and bashing me to cover their trail. At least since 2004, even though they knew I went through a rough time over my friend's suicide a couple years earlier and that I had real talent. I tried to book myself into a hospice but it demands a full psychiatric assessment and I'm not psychotic, just exhausted. I have had to pour out a lot of work over the years and these last couple of personal losses have worn me out a bit. Still, I don't want you to worry about me if you've gotten used to finding me online, so I'm here now, staying in touch. I know I've complained about my 'wonderful music experience' but don't worry, I love my music. It is my joy. I was just talking about the people I've been facing from it, not about the music itself. The music is heaven. I'll see if I can make some videos of me reading my verses. It might be a nice feature for the vision impaired. I'm happiness impaired, but we still haven't determined how much of it is situational, at least to my satisfaction.
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Burnt Out Offering

I've had to aggressively defend myself against fraud for a very long time now. I'm exhausted. A word about the new president. I don't know the guy. He's a businessman, so I'm suspicious about him because of the way businessmen like to sign their contracts in my blood. Nasco Staffing knows what blood I'm talking about, the 'everyone has to take the blood test' blood where I'm the only pincushion. If you've never had blood drained out of your arm for use as contract ink with a band that steals all your songs, I guess you would be less suspicious of businessmen. But maybe a Republican will be a little tougher on crime, which is something I've been pushing for. So Americans, good luck with your new leader and I hope I don't get off on as bad a foot with him as I did with George W. Bush.
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Fighting Stance

The Veteran With ranks of men the young upstart Forfeiting comfort for honour true Turned gunner of uncommon heart To guard the land that shelters you His work a calling few could stand Reducing foes to pulp and bone And marching through the drowning land A sorry military drone The sniper made his mind once snap Depriving him of forty friends On what resources he could tap To rise again my birth depends Although it happened long ago Let time not bury his bold play A broken body may he go A fighting spirit will he stay Although it happened on the ground As camera lenses past him flew The hills will echo one more round For fighting spirit born anew My father was a World War Two combat veteran and I first shared this poem online in April 2004 under the title, The Freedom Fighter. It was published in that big Saskatchewan newsletter, you know, the one you can buy at the truck stop on the trans-Canada highway when you pass through Saskatchewan by bus. Does Tom Hanks know it was already published in my name in 2004? The judge and jury will certainly know, once I'm through with him. ...3 surgeries in the past 6 weeks. First he had another tie removed and 5 weeks later most of the foot due to infection. Friday they had to amputate below the knee. This is all complications of his diabetes. He is currently in critical care on a breathing tube. These are the least gory of the details I've been reading about my father's last days on earth. He was a fighter. War is not the only occasion to fight in this life. Life is a fight. And I am inspired by the strength and the bravery of combat soldiers to fight as hard as I must to sustain my life. Actually, I think I would have wanted to be a pilot, but when I see how those torpedo planes flew through that gauntlet of flak to attack those Japanese carriers in the Battle of Midway, I am amazed by their bravery. That was such a great victory. Life is a fight and there is no escape from the fight. That's the real message of this poem, but I thought it was also a nice way to honor combat veterans. And now that my dad is dead, I really hope that the world can go back to thinking of him and of men like him when they read this work, rather than thinking of Tom Hanks and his greedy movie. Life was too hard for my old artist friend in 2000. Have you ever seen the face of a hanged man? They put that bag over their head for a reason. I'll never forget it. And he said that artists are noble and that God forgives suicide. I gather from his last psychic message to me, which was the same as the one I reported in 2007, that suicide separates you from your loved ones, however, at least for a while. Vladmir talked to me on the last night of his life on earth and he was staring at me with awe. He said that I was going to be an important artist. He made some uncannily accurate predictions about my future and then told me that I should kill myself. He was referring to this time I'm going through now when he advised me to kill myself. I must fight the urge to heed his advice on an almost daily basis. And I don't fault him for it because he said it from love. Tomorrow is Veteran's Day and I'll be taking the day off. Just one last thing, I will have to go to court before I can set foot on a stage but I don't think it will take very long to achieve the result I want. That's why I'm starting to practice my music now. I want to be ready.
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Out of Control

THIS IS MOSTLY SERIOUS: Nov 1/2016: Control Panel Control I think I make a good, harmless point in this discussion and surely you can separate the serious part from the playful, creative part on your own. And who is the un-creative person who stole the playful, creative part? Can't they think of their own ideas? What are they being paid for? It hurts me when they plagiarize me. Why can't they make money without hurting me? I want anything that steals from this post removed from the internet and/or from store shelves and the offender punished for violating my copyrights.
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Gas the Frauds

THIS IS OSTENSIBLE COMEDY: Oct 28/2016: Non-Believer Issue The details of my conversion to Christianity are so far out that they make good comedy material. When I speak of the Christian ghosts, I'm quite serious about knowing them but I also know that it makes me look loony, so I played with that for an extra laugh at the end of this discussion. I first met them as a ten-year-old in 1976 and I forgot about them. I met them again in 2007, when I first shared this video, before Dateline's broadcast transmitter sent me running to a psychiatrist. (Yes, they can physically attack you with their big transmitter. But don't worry, you can send them to prison for it if you survive.) I heard some kid taunting me with a witch's cackle as I walked by that school that gets brainwashed so much here last week. It was shortly after I posted this video. Well, the witch's teat part of this discussion was totally shared in jest. Good Christians don't believe in witch's teats anymore, but I thought it was a humorous explanation for that mark I had on my face, which I pointed to in my Juice video. You all recall when I shared Juice and Gr Moose back in 2010, right? Or did they erase your memories with their big broadcast transmitter? I said that they were twins and that they should never be separated. So why did I hear that some local band had it during the hate summer of 2016? And who was this new bullshit band with my music? Wise Hall Flea? Why don't we ask CFOX? I bet they'd know who stole my song and separated it from its twin against my express orders. They hurt me when they steal my songs and they make everyone in town hate my guts. Why can't they find some more positive way to make money? I thought they were a music business, not a hate business. So who plagiarized the opening line about my desk being below the camera? Is it the same person who plagiarized my discussion about atheists being unhappy and about Nietzsche leaving behind a ticking time bomb with respect to how his writing was used to justify so much slaughter in the 20th century? That hurts me when they plagiarize me. Why can't they make money without hurting me? Why can't they think of their own topics of discussion? What are they getting paid for, to go online and rip off my blogs? Is that what they mean by 'Cheney law'? Great crimocracy. Oh, but never mind that. How's Pizza Hut? Are there any good bargains in the old Sears catalog? Too bad it doesn't know how to write good songs and blogs and then I could have some peace in my life. I want anything that steals from this post removed from the internet and/or store shelves and I want the offenders punished for violating my copyrights.
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