The full CV-cum-resume (mostly raw data, of some interest to me, perhaps my grandkids, not likely many others - but if you're considering contacting me about publishing one of my books or anything to do with work, you might want a look at some credentials, some history, something to help you believe I am who I say, not some plagiarizing thief running in the night with other people's work ...)
The somewhat more spontaneous version of the CV-cum-Resume with real sentences...
Physical age 54 in 04, count from there if this doesn't get updated before 05 (mental varies between oh 3 shall we say (MOM! Get these darn bullies away from me now!) to 15 (Oh yeah? Well lookat this! Way bigger than yers!) to maybe almost mature (I really do believe in sharing things, and helping people, and cooperation rather than having an eternal contest to play king of the castle with everyone else in the world, winner take all, fuck the losers - that doesn't mean I choose the role of a servant rather than a servee, as so many smallminds-wannabe-chiefs-but-lack-the-parts-for-real-leadership-so-pick-on-little-guys mistakenly believe - it means I believe that all of us should be treated equally from first principles (some certainly do stand out over time one way or another, and those who deserve respect should have it, and those who have lost our trust through selfishness or greed or pettiness or bullying should be treated with appropriate caution although always given another chance - etc etc etc!!!! It hasn't done me much good, though. Some - don't need ulcer medicine or bodyguards or investment counsellors. But neither do they call me every now and then for my opinion on important events in the world. hahaha).
Great. Just wonderful, really, I mean it. So what about the writing - the kid's books - the reason you enticed us here?
Well - I've written four kid's books, two published, two not yet, and a bit of a fifth - you can peruse the first chapters following (there's a bit more on each of them at the end of the chapter):
Hey - it's been ten years since that started - wha' hoppen mon? Well - life got in the way, I guess. Lost the love of my life (she did what she had to do, and I wasn't part of the picture), was dead tired from a year of heavy work trying to save Canada (no luck), still dealing with emotional trauma from the death of my father, and packed away my belongings from my little castle-shack in the less-travelled paths of Prince Edward Island in Canada, called up my local CUSO volunteer agency, and headed for Thailand for a couple of years. And am still here 10 years later. Many things call at this time, and getting these manuscripts old and new published is one of them. Ok?
There is a lot of other writing - very few days go by without me putting words on paper, or I suppose these days rearranging a bunch of ones and zeros somewhere in the microscopic regions of this box under my desk that appear as letters in front of me that seem to reflect the thoughts passing through my brain at any given time (and periodically disappear even faster than they appeared, due to Microsoft contrariness or one of the frequent unannounced power outages in this my adopted home (some good stuff here, some bad, like Canada - but no snow shovelling, and I hated that above all - not the actual work itself, it's nice to clean your driveway - but it NEVER FUCKING STOPPED!!) - lot of bitching mostly, as I cannot believe what is happening in the world today - we truly do have it in our power and grasp to be living in something approaching Nirvana-Eden-call it what you will, for all of us - but a few greedy ones want it all for themselves, and a whole pile of you all out there let them do it (I'll be damned if I'll include myself in either group - I've been fighting them all (there's as much or probably more pressure to "do as you're told" from your supposed peers as from the dictators) for something like 40 years now, and although the bad guys are still running the place, I have yet to lick their boots - one of the reasons for the lengthy CV). That we (I am not alone here - something I didn't really catch on to until my mid-30s, adding fuel to the speculative fire that maybe I ain't all that bright - just a small star in the midst of a bunch of emptiness, maybe, like that) haven't succeeded yet in convincing the rest of you to wake up and be real people doesn't mean the journey wasn't and isn't useful, to the world as well as individually. But win or lose, when the final scores are tallied somewhere by someone, I'd much rather be on Gandhi's team, for instance, than Brian Mulroney's (oh pewk). And yourself? Anyway, I doubt that's what you're looking for on this page.
Let's see - we have The Beer Story - a True Tale of "Justice" on Prince Edward Island - it really did happen that way, chief - but I know how hard it is to believe. Nobody actually believes how corrupt our entire Canadian judicial system is until you get your hands dirty in the middle of it all, and eventually realise that the whole thing is a scam to validate the people in power who are fucking everyone (just think what a lovely invention the "adversary system" is for them - a lawyer on either side lays out all the best arguments that justify the "judge" doing whatever he wants - and he doesn't even have to acknowledge the arguments from the side he doesn't care for!!). A necessary eye-opener. Or there's The Prince Edward Island Revival Plan - a bit dated, but the main ideas are still the way I think we ought to be running the place. A lot of people liked this - but nobody actually running the place, for some strange reason. A more recent reflection written about the disbelief I constantly feel about how childishly we are acting overall as a society - Where are the adults? And then I decided to try a blog sort of thing starting in June of 03, and there's a LOT of words about how I've seen things in the last year at The Rude Macedon - beware! - this is NOT a site for kids brought up on Sesame St (or "adults" on corporate media, for that matter) - it's more a site where my audience is meant to be my ol buds in the legions and beer halls of my youth. That is to say - if the word "fuck" offends you, you probably ought not to go there.
Parsing the Pretentious Poet Person
It began, one supposes, when one was quite young. The mother reads and gives love, the father supports and gives the example of what it is to be good. But there is little preparation for a brutal world. Retreat into books and dreams. At a young age the society demands "Accept our sacred idols or be cast out!". With no knowledge of the implications, no knowledge of why the path was chosen, perhaps youthful rebellion and hormones, one chooses ostracism - the grand, empty gesture - appreciated by no-one - all are busy sacrificing to the sacred idols, desire no association with the infidel. No mentor to guide, kickass where needed - the Beatles appear with revolutionary words of love and peace, and one follows for a time. Dylan opens doors, one follows for a time. Others. Self-indulgence. Narcissism masquerading as introspection and wisdom, the "examined" life. Attempts to compromise with the sacred idols lead one astray occasionally - the idol will have obedience only - compromise with the rulers means OBEY, ON YOUR KNEES SERF! Meaningless sacrifices. Hurts created. Dreams spiralling down endless sewers of society, washed by tears and piss and beer. Leaderless, looking for guidance, who is great? Who the imposters? The Beatles were part of the problem as much as the solution (oh heresy!). One can only follow so far, then one must go into the night alone, and see what there is to see, find what there is to find, learn what there is to learn. That lonely road, constructed brick by brick by stone by stone - mortared with sand as oft as not. Fall, recover, arise, retrench, examine, start again, maybe learn a small thing of value, maybe not. Time grows late - how many more false paths can be taken before falling and not finding the energy to arise once again? I think - maybe - the death and the enlightenment are one. If one abides true to the path. A fine gamble, it is.
Losses, inevitable losses. Learn through pain. Cry out for release, in code, in code. Writers write - pretentious or not, souls speak, cry out, scream for change. Some call it art, some garbage. It is what it is.
One lives in interesting times. All times are interesting. Life is interesting, Death is interesting, sometimes tragic, often meaningless, often unnecessary, but the passing of one of the unique lives can be nothing if not interesting - life is so plentiful few understand how unique each is. Three kinds of humans - the berserkers, who mindlessly, childishly, selfishly destroy, reptilian instincts powered by human cleverness, and fear; the nurturers, who would save, mothering instincts hampered by a disinclination to harm anyone, even the berserkers; and the vast majority of sheep lemmings, raised, trained, indoctrinated to be so, unlucky enough not to have had some reason to question in time, to leap from the heating pot, who do what whoever is in power commands - it is easier than getting involved. The berserkers dominate, and oceans and forests and frogs are dying. Without change, we will not be far behind. Few see this also.
Of what value a song or a poem, a book or a dream, a dance or a tear - Humpty Dumpty or the Ninth or the Miserable or Desolation Row - if it cannot move the sheep lemmings to cast aside the berserkers and embrace the nurturers?
Will the writer accomplish this with such a bagatelle as this debutante life, these half-formed words? He thinks not. Party while ye may. Remember Nero. Forget not Ludwig. Or John. They tried, as we must.