Yawkee Bush by Wild Bill
If you didn't have the excitement of discovery in a complex bush when you were young, you missed days of adventure. We lived within four miles of an overgrown, forested area which was our favourite place to become everything from Robin Hood, to the ancients who created Stonehenge. Such a place, with an abundant imagination, had no boundaries. Yawkee Bush had the reputation of being one of the prime areas for burgeoning youth to visit with that special young thing who was yearning to become enjoyed. Now that was something you will always remember. The twisted trees sending shoots in every direction gave ample cover once you had prepared the nest.
Swamps, and a murky river dotted with bullrushes made you want to go deeper into the mystery of this ageless forest. It was then I made one of my greatest Yawkee discoveries. After making it across the winding creek, I saw that surface water was flowing towards a concrete opening, about four feet across. Using my special penlight I had obtained by saving Rolled Oat coupons, I looked through the opening and there were rusted metal steps leading into a wet well about a hundred feet below me. I just had to see where this structure was going. Usually I wouldn't take a chance like this alone, but I thought I might never find this well again.
At the bottom, I saw the shallow water was flowing towards the right, into a black void. This must be one of those storm sewers I had read about. Just a few months before my experience, the body of a young rape victim had been discovered in one of these storm sewers. That's enough for now.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Search for Truth
Search For Truth by Wild Bill
The smiling president has had his time in presenting the truth as he sees it, and there have been no reports of the sky falling as expected by western doom sayers. One aggressive reporter's major evaluation of Ahmadinejad was his shoddy appearance, looking like he had selected his clothes at a recycled shop. What a shabby way for the president of a country as large as Iran to present himself to the world. Is this meant to be a significant observation. Maybe Iran should find a taller man to replace this unsavory looking, raggy bearded leader, with the disarming smile that must be hiding his real intent.
Let me take you back to one of the most remarkable displays of falsehood ever seen at the United Nations. Remember the presentation of Colin Powell, slides, charts, aluminum pipes, transport vehicles equipped to fabricate weapons of mass destruction. The lies went on and on. When it was demonstrated that he was presenting a Rumsfelt/Cheney scenario based on hypotheticals, the Bush administration was not forced to admit they were dealing in lies to justify their involvement in a war against a sovereign country, to ensure U.S. control of Arab oil.
You cannot find truth when searching among the scraps remaining after the most powerful nation in the world has its way, whenever and wherever it wishes. No exit plan. The chance of a changing administration in the next 18 months may give us a brief glance at truth. But I doubt it. I see war as being easy in, but almost impossible out.
The smiling president has had his time in presenting the truth as he sees it, and there have been no reports of the sky falling as expected by western doom sayers. One aggressive reporter's major evaluation of Ahmadinejad was his shoddy appearance, looking like he had selected his clothes at a recycled shop. What a shabby way for the president of a country as large as Iran to present himself to the world. Is this meant to be a significant observation. Maybe Iran should find a taller man to replace this unsavory looking, raggy bearded leader, with the disarming smile that must be hiding his real intent.
Let me take you back to one of the most remarkable displays of falsehood ever seen at the United Nations. Remember the presentation of Colin Powell, slides, charts, aluminum pipes, transport vehicles equipped to fabricate weapons of mass destruction. The lies went on and on. When it was demonstrated that he was presenting a Rumsfelt/Cheney scenario based on hypotheticals, the Bush administration was not forced to admit they were dealing in lies to justify their involvement in a war against a sovereign country, to ensure U.S. control of Arab oil.
You cannot find truth when searching among the scraps remaining after the most powerful nation in the world has its way, whenever and wherever it wishes. No exit plan. The chance of a changing administration in the next 18 months may give us a brief glance at truth. But I doubt it. I see war as being easy in, but almost impossible out.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Sound and Fury
The Sound and the Fury by Wild Bill
I acquired a limited edition of fifty classic books in exchange for an original watercolour I did when I was sent to Cyprus by the Department of Defence to record artistically the activities of Canada's Peace Keeping Troops.
The following is my critique of the American masterpiece by William Faulkner:
The stream of consciousness style of writing used by James Joyce in "Ulysses", is in many ways the same technique used by William Faulkner in his novel,"The Sound and the Fury". Faulkner's method of shifting time by using italics, adds to the confusion of the reader, but is more realistic in capturing the switches of thought experienced when one's moods change with the perceptions of the present. Unfortunately, he does not remain in the same time frame as he allows the action to flashback and forth, altering not only the mood, but calling up the action of many past memories to intrude on the present.
His method of telling his story in four parts, from four different points of view, provides us with insights into the family which could never have been experienced if he he had taken a straight forward approach to presenting the lives of the Compton family.
You get the feeling you are a member of this complex group, and you are sharing intimate details of each in his or her turn to tell the events which altered their lives. He adds to the confusion when he had Caddy's child, a girl, named Quentin, after her brother who committed suicide because of an admitted incestuous relationship with his sister. Like all families, this is one which has an abundant number of skeletons in its closet.
His use of the blacks in the novel convinces me the family felt the blacks had an easier go in life because they were cared for throughout their lives by the whites who treated them like material goods.
I acquired a limited edition of fifty classic books in exchange for an original watercolour I did when I was sent to Cyprus by the Department of Defence to record artistically the activities of Canada's Peace Keeping Troops.
The following is my critique of the American masterpiece by William Faulkner:
The stream of consciousness style of writing used by James Joyce in "Ulysses", is in many ways the same technique used by William Faulkner in his novel,"The Sound and the Fury". Faulkner's method of shifting time by using italics, adds to the confusion of the reader, but is more realistic in capturing the switches of thought experienced when one's moods change with the perceptions of the present. Unfortunately, he does not remain in the same time frame as he allows the action to flashback and forth, altering not only the mood, but calling up the action of many past memories to intrude on the present.
His method of telling his story in four parts, from four different points of view, provides us with insights into the family which could never have been experienced if he he had taken a straight forward approach to presenting the lives of the Compton family.
You get the feeling you are a member of this complex group, and you are sharing intimate details of each in his or her turn to tell the events which altered their lives. He adds to the confusion when he had Caddy's child, a girl, named Quentin, after her brother who committed suicide because of an admitted incestuous relationship with his sister. Like all families, this is one which has an abundant number of skeletons in its closet.
His use of the blacks in the novel convinces me the family felt the blacks had an easier go in life because they were cared for throughout their lives by the whites who treated them like material goods.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Accidents Happen
Accidents Happen by Wild Bill
I know this for a fact, having just survived a freak accident working in my vegetable garden. I enjoy getting outdoors in the fresh air, using my secret fertilizer,(well aged turkey poop) producing prize winning goodies for my family. I always feel that despite the many hours of weeding, watering, and babying my young plants, I'm getting all this wonderful food for nothing.
Anyone who has accepted the challenge to return to the soil will know that most gardeners are self-delusional. We are like the fishermen who enthrall any who are patient enough to listen, about the great one who got away. In our experience is the year each "Red Chieftain" potato plant produced 20 spuds.
Gardeners are the ultimate optimists. Next year will always be better. That's why we last so long. I'm 80 and counting. We can always come up with an excuse. If the tomatoes get scorch marks, it is because it was an unusually hot summer. I have a problem with a cocky groundhog, and several cotton tailed rabbits who have taken up residence in my extensive wood pile, where years of accumulated trimmings are gradually changing into home-made compost. What annoys me, is when I see my uninvited creatures dropping by my struggling young greens to feast on a delicious salad. This year those intruders ate every yellow green corn stalk as it pushed its way through the soil. Not even one made it to the cob producing stage. It is even worse when using a flashlight in the dark, and you see adult raccoons with their young'uns eating at Wild Bill's Fresh Food Emporium.
I told you all of this, to set the stage for the accident I wanted to tell you about. The crisp drop in the temperature is the sign fall, and an early frost will soon follow. It's time to harvest the wonderful shining orange pumpkins. Some are huge, weighing forty pounds or more. After cutting the stem off one of my prize beauties, I bent over to pick it up, to stack beside the barn. I didn't get a very good grip on the beast. Accidents occur when our attention is interrupted. I had not noticed how my boot had become so completely entangled in the winding mass of root structure which cluttered the ground. I attempted to move forward, and the huge vegetable swung around against my gut, throwing me off balance, and I fell forward, face down into the unyielding root mass. The full weight of my body squashed against the pumpkin now lying below me. Trying to ease my fall, I thrust both hands forward, bruising my palms, and damaging my wrist severely. I've got to go now for x-rays. When the swelling goes down I still have a lot of cleaning to do in my garden.
Take care nature lovers, and look where you are walking if you are carrying a pumpkin.
I know this for a fact, having just survived a freak accident working in my vegetable garden. I enjoy getting outdoors in the fresh air, using my secret fertilizer,(well aged turkey poop) producing prize winning goodies for my family. I always feel that despite the many hours of weeding, watering, and babying my young plants, I'm getting all this wonderful food for nothing.
Anyone who has accepted the challenge to return to the soil will know that most gardeners are self-delusional. We are like the fishermen who enthrall any who are patient enough to listen, about the great one who got away. In our experience is the year each "Red Chieftain" potato plant produced 20 spuds.
Gardeners are the ultimate optimists. Next year will always be better. That's why we last so long. I'm 80 and counting. We can always come up with an excuse. If the tomatoes get scorch marks, it is because it was an unusually hot summer. I have a problem with a cocky groundhog, and several cotton tailed rabbits who have taken up residence in my extensive wood pile, where years of accumulated trimmings are gradually changing into home-made compost. What annoys me, is when I see my uninvited creatures dropping by my struggling young greens to feast on a delicious salad. This year those intruders ate every yellow green corn stalk as it pushed its way through the soil. Not even one made it to the cob producing stage. It is even worse when using a flashlight in the dark, and you see adult raccoons with their young'uns eating at Wild Bill's Fresh Food Emporium.
I told you all of this, to set the stage for the accident I wanted to tell you about. The crisp drop in the temperature is the sign fall, and an early frost will soon follow. It's time to harvest the wonderful shining orange pumpkins. Some are huge, weighing forty pounds or more. After cutting the stem off one of my prize beauties, I bent over to pick it up, to stack beside the barn. I didn't get a very good grip on the beast. Accidents occur when our attention is interrupted. I had not noticed how my boot had become so completely entangled in the winding mass of root structure which cluttered the ground. I attempted to move forward, and the huge vegetable swung around against my gut, throwing me off balance, and I fell forward, face down into the unyielding root mass. The full weight of my body squashed against the pumpkin now lying below me. Trying to ease my fall, I thrust both hands forward, bruising my palms, and damaging my wrist severely. I've got to go now for x-rays. When the swelling goes down I still have a lot of cleaning to do in my garden.
Take care nature lovers, and look where you are walking if you are carrying a pumpkin.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Faith Based Schools
Faith Based Schools by Wild Bill
During an interview on TVO, a local politician made the point that public school boards spend $6000.00 per student, and the Catholic school boards pay $7000.00 per student. The interviewer asked why there was such a difference. The politician replied,"in Catholic Schools, the child gets an education."
So what do you think? Is this going to be the provincial election that will be known as "The Tory Story." Separate schools struggled for years to be given financial support equal to the public schools and removing this hard earned right, could be the feather that impaired the dromedary's back.
Picture it. A cosmopolitan melting pot like Toronto with numerous diverse schools, concentrating on their unique beliefs, varied in ethics, customs, uniforms, and a myriad other differences. This is not how a government achieves assimilation. Unity is not strengthened by advocating visible variety.
But we are trying to be fair. Every individual should be free to worship in the religion of his choice. But here is the rub. Places of worship throughout the world are established by adherents on the bases of their traditions. It is in each of these temples, mosques, and churches that the believers train their children about the fundamentals of their faith.
I propose that the government stop its financial support of institutions of religious belief, and put the onus of establishing places of worship on those who revere their ideologies. They are being helped now by not having their establishments taxed.
Following my proposal, universal public funding of schools would provide large sums of money. Enriching the quality of education will provide ethical training of our young, and would give the students valuable cross cultural experience. Let's keep religious fundamentals where they belong and ensure that youngsters are not deprived of the opportunity to learn about the roots of their family's religious beliefs.
Wild Bill
During an interview on TVO, a local politician made the point that public school boards spend $6000.00 per student, and the Catholic school boards pay $7000.00 per student. The interviewer asked why there was such a difference. The politician replied,"in Catholic Schools, the child gets an education."
So what do you think? Is this going to be the provincial election that will be known as "The Tory Story." Separate schools struggled for years to be given financial support equal to the public schools and removing this hard earned right, could be the feather that impaired the dromedary's back.
Picture it. A cosmopolitan melting pot like Toronto with numerous diverse schools, concentrating on their unique beliefs, varied in ethics, customs, uniforms, and a myriad other differences. This is not how a government achieves assimilation. Unity is not strengthened by advocating visible variety.
But we are trying to be fair. Every individual should be free to worship in the religion of his choice. But here is the rub. Places of worship throughout the world are established by adherents on the bases of their traditions. It is in each of these temples, mosques, and churches that the believers train their children about the fundamentals of their faith.
I propose that the government stop its financial support of institutions of religious belief, and put the onus of establishing places of worship on those who revere their ideologies. They are being helped now by not having their establishments taxed.
Following my proposal, universal public funding of schools would provide large sums of money. Enriching the quality of education will provide ethical training of our young, and would give the students valuable cross cultural experience. Let's keep religious fundamentals where they belong and ensure that youngsters are not deprived of the opportunity to learn about the roots of their family's religious beliefs.
Wild Bill
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Psychic by Wild Bill 80
Are you old enough to remember the love-children of the sixties, who would stare at you, unblinking, convinced they could see your aura, "whatever that was." I was told that there was an energy field of gold emanating from my taut body. My body was taut back then. Remember I'm referring to those years when I tried whatever was going on, except drugs, booze, sex, and there must have been something else I missed. Mother Theresa was probably wilder in her life than I could even imagine in mine. A cool, mixed-gender type wench who studied astrology was convinced she could find the source which made me golden. I went along with the adventure and supplied her with my place and time of birth. After weeks of plotting detailed charts she proclaimed I was a "grand trine". Apparently we trines are rare. Of the 12 astrological signs, ten of mine were all fire signs. "No wonder you have so much energy. My god. Ten fire signs. You are going to do something important in your life."
The fall fair came to London this week, and in a narrow tent like structure, made of tie-dye fabrics, sat an attractive gypsy-styled creature who read palms, tarot cards, tea leaves, and had a fist of tiny bones scattered on a velvet cloth which framed her glistening crystal ball.
"Come in and I will give you a reading at only half cost."
That was when it hit me. It was an experience I have to share with you. It happened when I was teaching high school art. A few of my students urged me to let Frank one of my students, read my tarot record. Why not. They said he had seen and predicted that one of my students would die of an over-dose, a month before the tragedy happened.
Frank hardly knew my name, but what he revealed was outstandingly weird. He said there was a tall, heavy-set man who was out to destroy me. It came true. He stole my entire savings, which then was about fifteen thousand dollars. Then Frank said," I don't understand why, but it looks as though within a year, you are going to quit teaching and become very successful at your new field." Frank was right. I became very financially successful as a professional artist, and several of my paintings are now in Canadian Galleries.
He also foretold that I would survive a serious illness and will have a long happy life. Again my psychic, way back then, could hardly know that a few weeks ago I made it to 80. But unfortunately Frank did not see his life and its imminent tragedy. He moved to Vancouver, where he admitted he was gay, and a few un-gay guys tried to beat some sense into him, and Frank died of his injuries in his early twenties.
So do I believe there are genuine psychics. I'm not sure. How about you?
The fall fair came to London this week, and in a narrow tent like structure, made of tie-dye fabrics, sat an attractive gypsy-styled creature who read palms, tarot cards, tea leaves, and had a fist of tiny bones scattered on a velvet cloth which framed her glistening crystal ball.
"Come in and I will give you a reading at only half cost."
That was when it hit me. It was an experience I have to share with you. It happened when I was teaching high school art. A few of my students urged me to let Frank one of my students, read my tarot record. Why not. They said he had seen and predicted that one of my students would die of an over-dose, a month before the tragedy happened.
Frank hardly knew my name, but what he revealed was outstandingly weird. He said there was a tall, heavy-set man who was out to destroy me. It came true. He stole my entire savings, which then was about fifteen thousand dollars. Then Frank said," I don't understand why, but it looks as though within a year, you are going to quit teaching and become very successful at your new field." Frank was right. I became very financially successful as a professional artist, and several of my paintings are now in Canadian Galleries.
He also foretold that I would survive a serious illness and will have a long happy life. Again my psychic, way back then, could hardly know that a few weeks ago I made it to 80. But unfortunately Frank did not see his life and its imminent tragedy. He moved to Vancouver, where he admitted he was gay, and a few un-gay guys tried to beat some sense into him, and Frank died of his injuries in his early twenties.
So do I believe there are genuine psychics. I'm not sure. How about you?
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