Books I’ve Published – 2013

I already have these books listed on My Book Shelf page, but most of you folks don’t visit that (the numbers don’t lie), so I figured I’d do something I rarely do these days, and actually post a link farm. I apologize for those hoping for a new, proper post from me, but I’m a little out of sorts and not feeling too chatty. Included with these links are the brief summaries I wrote for these books a week or two ago:

A series of short stories and novellas about spies, sultans, genies, detectives, bad angels, a man’s best friend, the God of Squirrels, Christmas dinner for two, thieves, sorceresses, lost children, working while you sleep, writer’s block, soul-eating vampires, and a giant squid.

TERMINAL MONDAY: a Dream of New York City
A man meets an old girlfriend who convinces him to return to novel writing, but not before his wife leaves him, he gets his old band back together, and suffers a nervous breakdown.

TERMINAL MONDAY: Under Observation
A man has a mental breakdown and wakes up to find himself under observation in a New York City hospital.

ASHES: Infinite Redress
A scientist becomes infected by a space-borne virus that contains the soul of an alien missionary who bonds with her and draws her into solving the mystery of how the aliens all died.

A knight falls in love with a young woman designated to be sacrificed to a mystical dragon, and undertakes a quest to learn how to defeat the dragon and break the centuries-old pact.

LINKTALES volume one
(excerpts from The Dark Guild) A series of mysterious events lead to the old city of Londonis being invaded by soul-eating vampires.

You know what I’m asking you to do. Please. Thank you.


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You Never Give Me Your Money… You Only Give Me Your Funny Paper


I write fiction. You can find it in the following places:

I do Graphic Design, cartooning and painting. You can see a gallery of some of my work here:

I also also make music. You can hear it here:

and you can buy some of it here:

I can be followed on many social networks. I don’t have a Foursquare account or an Instagram account, but I subscribe to just about everything else. I don’t IM much anymore, so don’t ask.

I post these things for you because I am told people don’t like using mouse buttons. This is alien to me, but I don’t want to alienate any of you aliens, so voilá. Don’t say I never did anything for you. And don’t say I don’t do anything for you now. I already know that.


Posted in Art, Canadian Music, Etcetera Thesis Music, Graphic Design, Station Identification, Writing | Leave a comment

Like Tears In Rain

Sometimes it’s hard to appreciate the passage of time in a lifetime.

I started typing that as a brief status update on Facebook, of all things. I do that a lot, these days. I start with a small motif and build a symphony of words. I do it mostly in emails, but I do occasionally share it elsewhere, as well. Today, I think I’ll do my job and post on my own blog. But that’s not the point I came to make.

I’m listening to the first Supertramp album AFTER Roger Hodgson left. It’s the first time I’m hearing it. It has a lot to recommend it. Rick really pulled out the stops. I’m ashamed I missed it.

In the album, snippet recordings of Reagan and Bush and probably Margaret Thatcher and others, play in the background periodically. They’re all gone now, more or less. These are different days. Stephen Harper, the Prime Minister of Canada, is trying to revive the good old days of late 20th Century pseudo-democratic fascism, and is doing a damned good job of it. But he doesn’t make that many memorable public speeches, the way his predecessors did, so we’re not going to hear as many soundbites and such in twenty to thirty years, ironically reframing his sinister reign. We’ll have newspaper clippings, and someone will catalogue and share out the public addresses he did make, but he’s so anonymous here in Canada that it’s impossible to point to a speech he made that really cements his reign. He’s remembered these days for his blatant, bald faced lies and obfuscations, the flat denials, and for having written a treatise on the possibility of a dictatorship in Canada. Oh, and his famous quote (misquoted here, because I hate quotes), ‘In ten years, you won’t recognize Canada’. Hitler is famous for having said something similar. Yes, I just Godwinned myself. Make of that what you will.

The point I’m actually trying to make isn’t a political one, though. What I really want to say is, these are the best of times, and these are the worst of times, but they’re also living times, and we have living memories of veritable dictators, both foreign and domestic, who have set the tone for the beginning of the 21st Century in a way that none of us, save a few savvy Sci-Fi authors in the 60s, ever really imagined. We note with irony the rise of groups like Anonymous, whose infamous Guy Fawkes mask made it into modern pop culture thanks to a graphic novel written by one of my personal writing heroes, Alan Moore. It was a cute film, but you need to read V For Vendetta to really grasp what a marvellous tale it is. But again, that’s not what I came to talk about.

The thing is, we all live with our own slightly skewed sets of recollections of how it all went down. Science is empirical and truth is not subjective, except that, in a very real sense, lies become the truth when we accept them and allow them to mold our viewpoint. The colours change, but we scarcely notice, because our world is full of myriad mixed colours already, like one of my abstract paintings. In a way, I paint those to help illustrate my individual perception of the lack of harmony that I perceive in the world. But again I digress.

Like Roy Batty up on the rooftop at the end of the film, I feel like all of this raw experience is going to be lost and misunderstood in time. You only have to look at the activities of Tea Partiers, who tend to extol the virtues of Saint Ronnie, to realize how badly our public perception has been manipulated. Remember how Richard Nixon was virtually canonized in the last few years before he died? Many of us felt like he’d served his sentence. He didn’t. He lived out his days relatively quietly, but he wasn’t pounding rocks, and he wasn’t lining up with food stamps, either.

The point I’m really trying to make is, memory is a sieve. Even in these days of forensic historical data, we revere the garbled memories of dead tyrants and wave a heavily edited and translated book like a flag. I know. I was one of them. I have several copies of the Holy Bible, in different editions, including one with a fake leather cover. I was considering becoming a missionary, in fact. Nowadays, I think of the way modern missionary work has pretty much infected poorer nations with a rabid, fervent religious zealotry that could only lead to trouble, and it does. Executions of gays and rape gangs trying to convert lesbians. When faith becomes a gateway to barbarism, you have to question not the faith, but the mentality behind it, because every faith has its dark history, but in modern times, most if not all of them are meaningful and hopeful. Or at least, they were when I was younger. These days, it seems everyone is trying to bring about Armageddon as early as possible, so they can be posthumously declared the winner. The irony just knocks me out. We’re all gambling on an afterlife we can’t see, thinking we can afford to burn the bridge we’re standing on, because angels will catch us when we fall. But again, I didn’t come to talk about this, either.

“Memories. You’re talking about memories.”

Yes, Deckard. I mean memories. We all have them, and we can barely keep track of them, and we scarcely recall things correctly or in the right order, but we insist we understand reality better than everyone around us, and push our agendas on one another like it’s our sole imperative in this life to leave behind ideological clones of ourselves to carry on our work, no matter how odious it was.

Is it any wonder we’re all so angry and tense all of the time? The happy few are those that ignore just about everything going on around them, until the badness comes for them too. I think I’ve reached a point where I believe in only one thing, and it’s a sentiment that is echoed in numerous of my favourite songs: Something’s gotta change. I think we have to start with really looking at the way we misremember the recent past and really try to see where our perceptions have been coloured and manipulated to allow us to more easily accept and even condone the tragedy and the high crime of the world around us. We can’t make things better if we don’t even see the problems clearly. We have everything explained to us so vividly by our elected authorities that we actually start to believe this is how it has to be. When we start accepting injustice and ineffective government and poverty and economic disparity, we climb onto a spiralling chute pointed downward, leading to nowhere, but giving us the impression we’re going somewhere inexorable.

The only thing that is inevitable is, if we keep going the way we have, we’ll exhaust everything and die off. Our ashes and bones will wash away, unremembered and unmourned. We’re gambling on the big afterlife lottery, and failing to recognize that, whether you believe or not, there is no empirical evidence anywhere that any reward waits for us after we die. None. All we actually have is each other, and we have the temerity to treat each other like despicable competition for the last seat on the last great train ride into the sky.

I think our world has a death wish, and it’s poisoning everything, including us. I refuse to believe there is a sky father judging everything we do, but I also refuse to believe that there is anything for us to become a greater part of if we can’t manage the simple task of not defecating where we eat. Not poisoning and ruining the very ground we stand on. We have one great world, so far, and we can’t bring ourselves to take better care of it and our neighbours on it. We are all looking for the exit door, and failing to recognize that there is no exit.

But if we burn it all down around our ears, it’s a dead certainty that we all lose. And all of our efforts and grand schemes, our science, our history, our achievements, our successes and failures, will all wash away. All lost.

Like tears in rain.


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Such Happenings!

I am so busy right now, I can only stop by long enough to say I’m too busy. I apologize.

Here’s one thing I’m trying out:
VFMD 2015 05 11a sml

Yes, I’m playing ABBA. Don’t judge me!

Back to work. Much more soonish.


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Retraced Steps: Participatory Budgeting Reconsidered

Okay, I’ve written some long posts on this, fairly recently. I don’t know if I have a long post in me today [Sure you do. ~Ed]. I just want to say that, owing to the way in which PeeBeeHamOnt has not yet had a chance to properly ask the people of Ward 2 whether they even want a PB process this year, let alone who gets one and for how much, I’ve temporarily climbed back into the saddle. Almost no one seems to have figured out that I left in any case, so it’s just as well. I’ll still ask if anyone wants to take over, once we’ve got the Good ship PeeBee back in the water. But for now, I’m back.

The plan now is to share information and get people talking about whether they even want a proper PB process in their ward of Hamilton, Ontario. It’s something that nobody has really done this year. Even our Councillor has been fairly circumspect in his consultation, largely sticking to the neighbourhood associations, but that’s neither here nor there. PB isn’t really as much about him as residents of the ward have come to believe, and really, why should it be? He’s a representative of the City of Hamilton, and he has a job to do, which doesn’t really include designing and implementing direct democratic processes. It’s actually a bit surprising to me that anyone would expect otherwise. It took my colleagues and I almost two years to devise a comprehensive but simple process that everyone could grasp, and I had time on my hands. The Councillor has two overworked assistants who are neither political scientists nor social planners. What do you expect?

We will be unveiling that basic plan on its own website in a few days (if I get it assembled and working quickly enough), where you will be able to sign up and discuss the plan, to help us refine it well enough to win Council approval.

The timeline was the most complicated part about our plan this year, and required varying but in some cases quite considerable amounts of volunteer work and resident involvement, which some were less impressed with than others. In some instances, it was a pretty big ask, even I will admit. But I realized early on that, without a dedicated core of volunteers, no truly participatory process can be implemented. You simply can’t hire enough people to run a grassroots engagement campaign to build groundswell support for a fairly untried (and to date still not completely implemented; some 2013 and 2014 projects still haven’t broken ground, for various largely bureaucratic reasons that the City has not been fully transparent and forthcoming about) system of problem solving self-governance.

The key is, it really does build true community engagement. That’s the real brass ring attraction to PeeBee: communities coming together to find, indicate and try to solve problems that professional staff experts don’t always really see as simple fixes. Some problems really are delicate, Byzantine and expensive procedures, no matter who is hired to handle it. There are huge liability issues for the city, and contractors know this well enough to know that their fees go up in scale when working for the City, whether they’re the best for the job or not. City Staffers are always on the lookout for these liability issues that can hamper a city-approved project, and it slows up the works immeasurably.

When I think back to the first year of PBW2, I am inevitably reminded of the largely unrealistic ballpark figures and sparse feedback supplied by the City Staff. I don’t really blame them. They have their own timelines and workloads, and we hadn’t yet had the opportunity to show them that we would see this stuff through. Why would they open the doors wide to let us in to pull the levers and make things happen that weren’t part of their carefully crafted, vetted and approved timelines? Direct Democracy isn’t actually in any City Staffer or Councillor’s job description. Public Consultation, as defined by the City of Hamilton, is a fairly rigorous and time consuming top-down process that is largely handled in a set-and-forget style. Ideally, we’re asked what we want, and then the elves step in and do the real work, no muss, no fuss. This is the way Canadian politics is handled in general. We are conditioned not to look behind the curtain. And when we don’t get the desired result, we largely shrug and go home, chastened for having dared to imagine it would or could be different.

What we don’t understand, because it hasn’t been here that long, is that PeeBee changes all of that. It empowers the public in many ways. It asks for ideas, yes, but it also asks for innovation and a level of critical problem solving that most bureaucracies and politicians are not conditioned to expect. It’s messy. It’s noisy. and like Kenneth, it doesn’t respect or give a damn about established best practices, or the status quo. It demands change, and it demands it sooner rather than later. And interestingly, though we haven’t seen enough of it yet here in Hamilton, it’s a proven and effective means of solving problems and engaging citizens in countries around the world. This stuff works. But you have to let it work, or it costs everyone dearly.

The first hurdle is getting tax payers to trust one another. We tend to vote for politicians who woo us and give us the impression, right or wrong, that they are trustworthy and diligent, and can communicate with us to learn what our concerns are ahead of City Staff timelines. Many of these people are not really schooled or qualified in any meaningful way to help a governing body identify and solve problems, but we hire them–and they are hired by us, you need to remember–largely because they are one short step away from being just like us. The very real problem is, our politicians, like City Staff in general, work in a bubble that some of us activist types call City Culture, and if you’ve ever taken high school science, you’ll remember what happens to petrie dish cultures that are allowed to go too long without being cleaned out properly. It’s not a criticism; more of an observation of systems and their nature for incubating defects as well as assets.

Long story short: PeeBee circumvents a lot of that inculcated mess, giving regular folks a chance to speak directly to representatives and city staff on an almost daily basis, to clarify and resolve problems that cost everyone time and money if left unfixed. The many dominoes that get knocked over when someone stumbles across a seemingly minor problem, like, say, cracks in the sidewalk, are quite surprising: damaged shoes (meh), damaged mobility devices (not quite so meh), and personal injury (now we’re talking) lead to health outcomes that, in a society largely covered by universal health care, winds up costing taxpayers in ways they never imagined. The longer a problem persists, the more damage and cost to the tax base.

But, if you take a resident’s problem seriously enough to implement or invite a novel solution, you spend a bit of money now, but you save more down the road, particularly if you do it responsibly, with an eye to safety and especially to durability. Filling potholes with hot asphalt is a pretty inadequate solution to the problems the city is beset with now. The suggestions may not all be as useful, but by taking the suggestions and testing them, or eliminating them based on empirical evidence that proves it doesn’t work, we can all help to arrive at solutions that last, and that everyone will be satisfied with.

PeeBee isn’t the only way this can get done, but it’s one of the most immediate and certainly most gratifying way that I know of to engage citizens and solve problems at the local level. Whether that translates to stronger, more responsible government is down to how well the City and the residents learn to get along with one another. Engaged residents can be your friend or your enemy, depending on how reasonable and responsive you are to their (sometimes seemingly irrational) demands.

It’s a handful of seemingly simple steps to get from problem spotted to problem solved, and not all problems can be solved the same way, or even with the same pot of money. There is no magic cure all for local level discord and civil unrest. But mutual respect and a willingness to work together in good faith can mend more than just fences.

If you are a resident of Hamilton, Ontario, expect to see a petition to be coming to you soon, to let Council know that you too would like to participate in a PeeBee (Participatory Budgeting) exercise. We’re planning to be at Art Crawl, and may even be doing some informal canvassing of the neighbourhoods, starting with Ward 2, where PBW2 is currently being retooled to better serve everyone’s needs.


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Drums and Buyers

So I woke up this morning with a painting concept sorting itself out in my head. I’m just about to start trying to sketch it out, if I can. It’s been over an hour of sorting my desk out to make room for the sketchbook. This is what multidisciplinary Creatives go through, folks.

Anyway, I’m listening to UK, a classic prog rock band that reunited a year or two ago for a series of gigs I couldn’t afford to see, and whom, IIRC, are once again gone into retirement, not even having recorded a new studio album together. The headphones are on. The coffee is half-drunk (*hic*), I am under-medicated, and the sketchbook is in front of me.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was jamming with an amazing young guitarist who was a total proghead, and took umbrage at my suggestion that Bill Bruford was the Ringo Starr of the prog scene? He thought I was insulting Bill’s amazing drum skills. I thought he was insulting the importance of Ringo in the rock firmament, and to the Beatles catalogue specifically. Many people, even fifty years on, still slag off Ringo, utterly failing to understand how essential he was to the formula. Without him, rock wouldn’t be what it is. It’s not important that there were technically flashier drummers on the scene. It’s not important that he was a mediocre songwriter. It’s not important that he rarely ever took a solo during his Beatle days. What’s important is that he made those songs swing like nobody’s business. He was just restrained enough to serve the music he was playing, but still wildly inventive within that very tight framework, and he invented most of the drum beats that kids in pop and rock are still ripping off to this day.

So when Ari stormed out of my apartment in a huff, I felt only the slightest pang of regret that I’d lost a chance to get involved in a truly progressive unit. Only slightly. I can’t abide someone who can’t think outside of the tight little box they’ve squeezed themselves into. Is Bill Bruford a better drummer than Ringo Starr? Well, not at the moment, because Bill is retired and Ringo is still going strong. But technically and on record, Bill is still one of the most inventive jazz/prog drummers in rock history. But that’s not grounds to dump on Ringo, who helped create the metier that Bill excelled in: jazz-based pop drumming. Before that, is was jazz drumming or country drumming. There WAS no rock drumming before Ringo. Remember that, kiddies.

We won’t go into the importance of Keith Moon (whom Bruford didn’t care for) or Ginger Baker or Carmine Appice or Cozy Powell or Mitch Mitchell or John Bonham or Phil Collins or any of those others who came up through the 60s to emerge as rock gods or sink into drug-addled ignominy after the Beatles ended. That’s another story.

Okay, so in other news, I’m trying to put together a Creative Collective here in Hamilton, Ontario. It’s my answer to a lot of things, including:
– the retirement of the Tiger Group, the most steady and innovative arts collective in Hamilton’s history (there, I said it, so we can all relax now);
– the inexorable and ongoing gentrification of the James Street North Art Scene (I’m sorry, gang; that’s what we’re seeing, here. No matter how THEY try to paint it, the buildings are coming down or being bought out or both, and you’ll only understand what really happened when GAP and Starbucks arrive);
– ODSP is being outpaced by inflation on rent and groceries (I know how the world works, so this isn’t a surprise; it’s just demoralizing watching the fairly healthy sum of money they grant Dawn and I, which is invariably gone in the first or second week, leaving two to three months of scraping by; I don’t expect an easy ride, but it’s incredibly stressful wondering where your next meal is coming from)
– Artist friends of mine are all in need of a work space and more art sales;
– Hamilton’s property taxes and rental/leasing/ownership rates are skyrocketing, so if we don’t move now, we’ll probably never have another chance to get in while there is a scene to be part of.

The plan is to get an interesting mix of multimedia people together and start not only painting, but printing and designing and writing and producing stuff that gets us out of the creative ghetto. We have a pool of expertise that should enable us to at least plan any project we need, and we can probably reach out to a handful of other Creatives we know to help do the things we can’t, yet.

One person I’m determined to get involved in the founding of this collective is my very dear friend, Dawn McKechnie. I was going to post my impressions of her CV to the group FB discussion, but decided to post it here instead, to minimize the embarrassment to her. It’s a bit gushy. Here’s what I wrote:

Okay, so I suspect my friend Dawn McKechnie is probably too busy to answer for herself right now. I won’t pretend to be her representative, as she can doubtless sell herself far better than I can, but I’m gonna give it a try, nonetheless (Dawn, I apologize if I get anything wrong):

Dawn and I were very close schoolmates back in Glen Brae and Glendale SS, in the east end of Hamilton. She was instrumental in getting me back into comics, and a lot of my school ambitions as a writer and artist were ignited because of her influence. After high school, I followed her to Sheridan, where she was making in-roads as a student in first and then second year Animation. I failed to get accepted to Animation, but then, I was pretty shaky as a cartoonist back then. I’m a little better now. Dawn, by comparison, is and has always been hands-down the best all-round cartoonist I know (and I know a few who are professional animators and cartoonists, now, thanks mainly to her; personally, I think she smokes them all).

Dawn also amazes me with her ability to build costumes (FYI: she’s a veritable and legendary fixture at nearly every cosplay/fandom convention scene you or I know of, and is heavily involved in the American haunted house, Castle Blood), illustrate Sci-Fi/Fantasy scenery, and mount and research projects and all of the other things I was always lousy at. Whenever I start trying to figure out how to do something I’ve never been very good at, I try to imagine what Dawn would say or do. I rarely give endorsements to anyone for any reason. Dawn is one of the very, very few exceptions. She may not be able to stay with us long, but I honestly believe that her expertise and capability is an immeasurable asset to any project, and even if I can only have her involvement for weeks or months, I’ll take it in a heartbeat.

So there you have it.

As you can tell, I think fairly highly of her, and have trouble imagining getting this ball rolling without her influence. So I’m determined to get her involved, in whatever way possible, while she is still available to me.

Thank you for reading. Have a good day.


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Women Are Not The Enemy

My quiet night of rest and recovery from illness has once again been interrupted by another disturbing story of undisguised male hatred towards women.

I’m gonna let that sit there for a moment and settle into your brains.

Sue Perkins is a brilliantly funny and beautiful British comedian. She’s also a lesbian, but that’s not relevant to this discussion, beleive it or not. What is relevant is that a bunch of idiots have started attacking her on social media for the simple crime of having been shortlisted by FANS (not by the producers) of the British man-cave program, Top Gear, as a replacement for Jeremy Clarkson, whose prima donna behaviour and violence towards his producers led to his rightful shit-canning last month. News Flash, kids: Sue Perkins is not up for the job. She doesn’t even want the fucking job. You monkeys lost your shit over a rumour. It’s the equivalent (if I may use a false equivalency here, and I think I can, because you assholes certainly have), of saying Harrison Ford can’t play Han Solo because he can’t walk through a door without getting injured. It’s an internet rumour. It’s bullshit. And you ass-monkeys ate it up.

But you and I know the truth. It’s not the rumour that upset you. It was the fact that, yet again, a woman was being given a semblance of equal status to a man. You dickless morons have been chomping at the bit for years, quietly choking down every perceived indignity, because you could never get the prom queen to give you a hand job; because you never got to third base with the girl next door; because your mother obviously weaned you off the tit too soon; and because of that angst and confusion, you have been secretly resenting and even hating women, all while telling yourselves that you love them, because after all, how can you hate someone you desperately want to fuck? Right?

I have written a couple of fairly polite blog articles on this subject before. It’s not my forte. I write to please myself and share my thoughts with my small but important (to me) readership. I don’t write to get up on my soapbox and excoriate myself from the drooling stupidity of what seems to be a growing army of otherwise intelligent, well-spoken, usually rational men who nevertheless cannot for the life of them see how ridiculous, foolish and dangerous they look clutching their dicks, pounding their chests, and flinging shit at every woman who passes by.

Feeling a little sensitive from being baselessly insulted by a member of your own gender? Conjuring up ad hominem arguments to the tune of ‘he swore at me, so he loses the right to debate me’? Or are you now looking through my About Page to find some dirt on me to prove that I’m not a ‘real man’, so you can go on deluding yourselves into thinking you are taking part in a civil rights movement for the poor, misunderstood, beset upon (and, let us not forget, privileged) patriarchy of old? Because, yeah, the patriarchy needs saving, boys. Round up the wagons and get the shotguns out.

You assholes. Are your feeble intellects so easily unsettled by the notions that women have human rights, and that their G-spots (which you have probably never found) are not your personal property?

Well, that’s too fucking bad. This shit has to stop.

For years now, I’ve been hearing how rape culture does or does not exist; how male privilege does or does not exist. How fight club does or does not exist. Well, here’s a clue, guys and gals: if it was in a hit movie with violence and testosterone, it might be fiction designed to mollify your savage egos. Otherwise, it might be documented fact that you are determined not to acknowledge, because none of your expert assholes have been bothered enough to do the actual fucking science and determine if it’s merely anecdotal, or if there is in fact a shred of truth to it.

And you know what? Until such a time as I see your expert assholes come forth with more than ad hominem attacks on people of the opposite gender (who happen to speak to and for other members of their gender, who agree with said spokespersons, and thus corroborate their claims, which in layman’s terms is called ‘establishing a fact’), I’m calling bullshit. That’s right. All the attack videos I’ve seen or deliberately skipped over because the first five seconds repeated the same tired bullshit in the hopes that somebody (anybody) would agree, are not scientific proof.

The same could probably have been said for any videos posted by women simply talking about their hypotheses about sexism and violence towards women in mass media, including video games.

But you know what? Your reaction and your continued misconduct have validated their hypothesis 1000%. You lost the whole fucking argument when you refused to actually listen to what they were saying and consider the possibility that they might actually have a fucking point. And in doing so, you proved it for them. Assholes.

I am a man. I am married to a woman from New York City who keeps me abreast of this debate, whether I want to know or not. So yeah, it is a bit like poking a sleeping bear. I have often stated I don’t consider myself a proper feminist, simply because I don’t think I have fairly represented women’s suffering and their needs accurately in my own work. I consider myself a friend to womankind, and I do wish to see their rights upheld and extended. By definition, that makes me a feminist. Because that’s all it takes, kids. A willingness to recognize that women have had a raw deal, and that despite the forward progress on the women’s rights front that we have seen in the last 100 or so years, nevertheless, women are still hounded, harassed, abused, raped, beaten, stabbed, burned and shot for expressing their simple and unequivocal right to be treated like a proper, first class human being.

All the clever arguments and obfuscation I have witnessed from men on this front, all the backpedalling and brow beating and smiley-faced aggression I have witnessed, shames me, and shames humanity, for it is nothing less than a sign that our brilliant civilisation, which our parents, grandparents, and the generations before them worked and fought and bled and died to build, is being eroded overnight and from within by a bunch of rabid, reactionary savages disguised as rational men, who dare to use words and images and the power of internet communication, things I hold to be sacred, in order to tear down the structures and institutions built to preserve the rights of our fellow human beings. Because those women you are demeaning and threatening or denying the right to due consideration of their views? They are human beings, the same as you. No better, no worse. They have a right to be heard.

I wish I could say I’ve been fair with you assholes. I can’t. I hear that snide tone creep into your discussions, and I have to leave the room before I vomit. I did not grow up through the 70s, 80s and 90s, three decades of progress and careful building up of relations between the sexes, only to sit and watch as you pathetic shitheads make a mockery of everything that demonstrates our right to live as we choose, to express our opinions freely, and to mold and create our environment to better serve our world. We are not stewards, we are not fellow citizens of the planet, and we are not part of the fabric of our world, because we can’t even have a civil discussion with over 51% of our own species to redress the balance of power and the abuses and injuries heaped upon them by centuries of male oppression, aggression, and willful ignorance.

I know some of you. I have called you friend. Shook your hands in friendship. Even hugged some of you. And you shame and embarrass me, and all of us, regardless of our gender, race, creed or culture. You were supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to be worthy of the sacrifices made by this world and its many creatures, of which we are only one. You are not. As a collective, you, and by you I mean WE… have failed utterly to manifest our right to continue here. This world… this reality… deserves better than to be continually damaged and demeaned by such savage and irrational bastards as us.

I have long maintained that I love humanity, even as I am disgusted with some of its more aggressive and nasty creatures. That love is being eroded by your every act, your every word, your every thought about what it will take to set humanity back on the path of self-righteous ignorance and sexual domination.

Check your privilege, boys, because you have an enemy now. And it’s not women.

It’s me.

Lee Edward McIlmoyle,
Wednesday, April 15th, 2015

Posted in Feminism, One a Day | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Well My Mind Is Going Through Them Changes

Been sick with a chest cold for just over a week now. *sigh*

So, I’ve been pretty focussed on artwork lately. For those of you NOT following my art page, it’s HERE.

I’ve also been working on music again. I recorded a tiny piece of music that had originally come from my buddy Gary Falkins quite a long time ago, and that I had gussied up a bit, also a very long time ago. You and listen to it here:

But today, I think I’m going to focus on some writing. I haven’t published anything brand new in a few months, and it’s starting to get on my nerves (especially because nobody actually read the last two books I wrote). The current volume is another collection of short stories, which is only about a third done. I may take some of the more questionable stories out of the volume before I publish it, even though the focus of the book, if you can call it focus, is personal stories interspersed with fictional tales of taboo and transgression. I once had a slim volume of original erotica planned, and nearly got it done, but just haven’t had the nerve to put it out. The naughtier stuff in this volume may wind up in there as well. We’ll see.
[click to embiggen]
VFMD 2015 04 14a

I think that’s all of the Show & Tell I’ve got for today. Thank you for reading.


Posted in Art, Books, Books of Limbo, Canadian Music, Eroticism, Etcetera Thesis Music, Health, Music, my wife, One a Day, Steep Inclinations, Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Not Really News

I think it’s about time I said something about the lack of news on this and most other blogs I currently maintain. The thing that has been holding up any news at all has been my mental state, which has been a relatively dark and unfriendly place. If you were to look at my StumbleUpon page, you’d see that all I’ve really posted about in the last month or two has been art with a dash of local politics. I haven’t been able to write much, and I definitely haven’t been able to record much music.

But the big news on the horizon is, I haven’t been able to plan much for PBW2, either. This is because I’m not involved in PBW2. The Councillor has other plans, which he has chosen not to share with me. I’d say something plucky like ‘fair enough’, or ‘we’ll see about that’, but to be honest, I no longer see the point. Jay’s gonna do what Jay’s gonna do, and it’s got nothing to do with me or PBHamOnt, such as it is.

Which begs the question, ‘Is it PB if the resident volunteers aren’t involved?’ Well, a number of people got involved in last year’s PBW2 experiment, even though they hadn’t been involved in the first year campaign. As well, a number of us old war horses barged our way into the process last year to prop it up and give it wings (whether we were truly needed or not is another question). So the short answer is ‘No’. Some of our superstars of 2013 dropped out completely because they were alienated by the 2014 process (through no fault of Karen or nathalie, who tried hard to engage us, when they could). Some of us were determined to keep the ship afloat, come what may.

Me? I was an idiot. I thought I was helping to usher in some new age of democratic process to Hamilton. Helping to give average Hamiltonians a say in how their tax money was spent, and how their lives are governed. Of course I was wrong.

And this year’s PBW2 process is almost certainly going to involve more division, more top down control, and far, far less real, meaningful resident and volunteer participation. There will probably be no cross-ward buy-in projects. There will almost certainly be no real continuity with the past two years. There will be no social programs. There probably won’t be much in the way of events (sorry, Chewie). There will be probably no real consensus building exercises. There will almost certainly be no volunteers from the last two years, unless a few decide to step up to the plate and handle whatever neighbourhood level PB process is devised. I encourage them to do so.

And there will be no me. Boo fucking hoo.

I’m done, folks. I didn’t sign up to have my ego stroked, by friends, family, volunteers, or politicians. But I also didn’t sign up to be ignored, either. I’ve been polite. Too polite. I said nothing when I was ASKED not to say anything. The silence has been deafening. So you win again, Jay. You conned me, and I let you do it. That was my mistake. Good show. You’ve really grown into that chair you occupy on Council. Good luck with your oversized condo developments, your infill problems, your growing lack of affordable housing, and your ‘participatory’ budget process. I’m out.

I feel a rant coming on. I have no desire to rant. So I’m gonna go work on a painting or two and forget all about civic engagement and politics and Jason Farr and PBW2, and focus on getting my life back. My career is in the toilet over this bullshit, and for what? There are still PBW2_2013 proposals that haven’t broken ground. Again, that’s probably my fault. Hopefully Dave Stephens will continue to implement those until the backlog of proposals are complete. I believe I’d just be getting in his way, so I’m stepping off that portfolio as well.

2013 Proposal Update Spreadsheet:
2013 Proposal Update

To Norman, Karen, Rebecca, Mike, Peggy, Dave, Chewie, Sunil, the entire PB Office/Staff/Mangoes, the NAs, and my wife, I apologize. Obviously I’m not up to the job. Best we get someone else in here who’s more capable of calling bullshit when they see it. I saw it, plain as day, and I still let all of this shit happen. I’m just too fucking nice for this gig. For that, I’m sorry.

I’ll make a much more polite announcement on the PBHamOnt blog in a bit. Mike, Rebecca, I’ll hand over the keys to whomever wants them. Except you, Jay. You clearly don’t need my help, so you won’t get any.

Thank you for reading. Regular posting resumes shortly.


Posted in One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, Politics | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Comfort Food For the Soul: A Few Observations About Art

When I was a student, I was subjected to years of art textbooks that tried in vain to explain what art was. They talked at length about the artistic qualities that could be compared from one piece to the next, to in some way quantify what made a piece ‘Art’ as opposed to plain old art. Those qualities do exist in most art, in one form or another, so it seemed a fairly systematic way of breaking things down and figuring out what made them ‘art’.

Except that it’s a load of horse shit.

The thing is, we get caught up in determining the worth of art, and we try to draw hard lines in the sand between High Art (painting, sculpture, architecture, ballet, opera, symphonic composition, and theatre) and low art (everything else that thinks it’s art, but isn’t). We explain that Mondrian and Modigliani and Michelangelo cannot be compared to the rock videos and commercials of Russell Mulcahy, though comparing Russell’s videos can be compared to The Highlander, which is a movie I quite enjoyed (many times).

And that’s the point. Or A point, anyway. Not all art is ‘enjoyable’ in the strictest sense (although there’s always one weirdo who thinks the works of Schiele are beautiful), but all art expresses a concept, state of being, event or action that is not directly connected to the struggle for survival. Even the conveyance of that self-same struggle can be elevated to art (if elevation is an appropriate term) There are no actual divisions. It’s very democratic, even in its unfairness to less popular works of art. it’s only the limits we set on the flights of the imagination that determine whether one product of artistic endeavour is considered worthy, while another is considered substandard. These are very subjective limitations, and come in and out of fashion over time.

Which argues the questions, what is the value of art critique?

Now, I’m not saying all artistic expression is the same. It’s not even really equal. But it has a high value to precisely two people: the creator, and the owner. If that happens to be the same person, that is perhaps even better, for even in their relative ignorance or insecurity, they have at least recognized the value of that piece of work, and don’t regard it as a mere commodity to be exchanged for a Whopper combo.

I think I have more to say on this subject, but I’m busy doing other stuff, so it’s going to have to wait. I’ll see if I can come back to this tomorrow.


Posted in Art | Leave a comment

The Obligatory Song Lyric Title Withheld As Statement

I’ve been sitting on a big post about PB for about two weeks. Today isn’t going to be the day I post it either. I can’t express how confusing and frustrating it is to know a thing in your heart, but to still be hoping against hope that something good will come before you reach any sad conclusions. Take that for what it almost is.

In other less significant news, I need to invite to invite you all to come see me and a few of my smaller paintings, live and in person, at the Baltimore House on King William, between Hughson and John, on April 8th, starting at 5PM. This is all part of Megan Rae’s Obscured Oddities and Curiosities Art Exhibition, with a handful of other local unestablished artists will be showing. I’ll be the quiet, chubby one in the corner trying not to get hammered and make an ass of himself.

I also believe Dawn (Iwanowski, my wife) and I are going to have a joint show of our art at the Central branch of the Hamilton Public Library in October. More details to follow soon.
InDifferentSpaces Banner 001a

(Which reminds me, I really need to get the promo artwork in today)

I’m open to other curators who want to show our work. Dawn and I are both talking to friends about showing our work at a really nice house here in town, but that’s still tentative. And I hope to have other events to advertise soonish. I don’t know for sure if this is the year that things take off for us, but I do believe the change starts now, however long it will take to transform our career from inspired amateurism to whatever it is professional artists enjoy.

One thing we definitely want to do is start a studio with a photography room, a giclée printer setup and some other facilities, as well as a splatter box area for me to work up larger pieces in. We’re thinking of rolling it all together into a business plan to also do community-based newspaper printing at a discount rate (if not ‘free’, based on whatever deal most of the other community papers have been tapping into; I know our StinZine is in really rough shape, based on the costs of printing and the small staff we’ve been getting by on lately).

Time to do some serious research.

Also time to do some other work. Still have writing and music plans for this year, as well. Thank you for reading. Have a great day.


Posted in Art, Art For Sale, One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2 | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Everybody’s Got The Blues In The Morning Day

I want to apologize for not posting anything new these last handful of days.

I want to, but I won’t.

The fact is, I’ve been feeling depressed and miserable, and haven’t been able to manage a conversation with anyone other than my wife for much of it. I certainly haven’t been able to be as creative as I would like.

So, updates. A few days ago, I started a Patreon account. That may or may not be your thing, but I would like to explain that a lot of what I do is very resource-dependent. I spent thousands of dollars buying musical gear and computer equipment over the last fifteen years, and I also go through paint and such like it’s nobody’s business. Only my writing habit is relatively resource-light, and even that takes hydro, because I can’t stand manual typewriters. Sorry. I used them for two years in highschool, and haven’t looked back once. I also really didn’t care for electric typewriters. I don’t get it, folks. The fascination isn’t there for me. I’ve hand-written manuscripts, but they’re a pain in the ass to edit without winding up with a lot of ink scribbles that take hours to decipher. If I ever get a professional editor, I’ll consider going back to hard copy, but frankly, I prefer editing on my ancient (donated) titanium MacBook G4 (though it’s just about ready to be put out to pasture, I’m afraid).

So, point is, this Creative Engine stuff I do for what I laughingly call ‘a living’ (minus my disability payments, which may go away because they may decide I’m not disabled enough after all) requires that I make stuff pretty regularly just to keep my sanity. That’s not some melodramatic flourish; I’m Bipolar, and I get really miserable and unstable when I’m not creating stuff. But the thing is, while I take great professional pride i my work, not a lot of people know who I am or realize I should be paid to do what I do. Most of my readers (ie YOU) seem to be as poor and easily distracted as me, so I don’t resent that you aren’t buying my work. No, really, I get it. My work is not cheap. Well, okay, my writing is cheapish, but I really did think I would make up for the low prices in higher sales points. Not so much. I seem to sell more books when I buy them myself, sign them, and sell them to my friends in person (of whom I’m running out of; no really, they aren’t returning calls or anything anymore; the honeymoon is SO over, there). So the brilliant writing career I’ve been envisioning hasn’t come to pass yet. The painting career is still in the shop being retooled; I used to paint quite a bit in my teens and twenties, but stopped in my thirties and early forties to pursue music and writing, as well as professional graphic design. Returning to painting, and especially abstract expressionism painting, was pretty much unplanned. The graphic design business is now well and truly in the crapper. I haven’t had a paying client in years. I’ve always said I was a better designer than I am a salesman. Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, voila! And yeah, I still haven’t officially published a comic book or graphic novel, and my rock albums sold in single digits.

So, demonstrably better a Creative than a Businessman.

Patreon might never work for me, either. Hard to say. My luck with these things doesn’t seem to be good. No one really knows who I am, and even when they do get to know me better, most seem to think I don’t need money to keep working. I probably should shoulder the blame for that misunderstanding. It DOES take money to do what I do. And I have very little of it. So, Patreon… it’s a crowdfunding platform, but it’s not like Kickstarter or Indiegogo or whatever other platform you’re familiar with or favour. It’s more of a ‘microfunding’ setup, where you pay pennies or dollars towards small integer goals like, one dollar for one song, or in my case, ten dollars for one collection of songs, although i may nix that, because it doesn’t seem to have traction, and requires a lot of work with little reward. Plus, most folks want to see really, really small numbers in that column, and my ten dollar thing probably puts people off.

Anyway, the page is HERE.

Go take a look at it. support my work if you feel so inclined. I haven’t done much in the way of updates there yet, but I will be shortly. I just have to edit down the size of a video I’ve been working on. soon.

Off to clean at Mom’s, shortly.


Posted in One a Day, Patreon | Tagged | Leave a comment


I’ve been thinking about a problem many well-meaning people are having when it comes to raising children and struggling with mandatory sex ed courses.

CAVEAT: I’m NOT a parent. I helped raise a little boy for a couple of years in my twenties, but I’ve never been (to the best of my knowledge) a father myself. To many parents, that automatically invalidates anything I may say that could perhaps impact on the institution of parenthood. Perhaps that’s as it should be. I don’t pretend to be smarter or wiser than anyone else. It’s quite possible that I only see this problem differently because I’m not actively engaged in parenting, which perhaps makes it difficult or even impossible for actual parents to identify the problem.

That said, parents are not unintelligent people, and their takes may be very different from mine. I respect that.

Therefore, if I write anything here that upsets or offends you personally, I apologize unreservedly.

Innocence is a funny state; it is assumed in our society that all things are born into a blissful state of innocence, and that this state is somehow closer to some Divine state of being, and should be preserved as carefully and for as long as possible. Maybe this is true. Maybe it isn’t. As a fairly newly minted Atheist, I don’t see it quite the same, but I recognize the need to protect children from things that can make their lives dark and miserable, like disease, poverty, and physical and sexual abuse.

But where I differ is that I see no intrinsic value on this supposed state of innocence. Innocence, to me, is a manufactured concept, based on our hazy memories of a golden childhood and how delightful it seemed, if we enjoyed a ‘happy childhood’, or how lamentable, if we suffered a sad one. I had a bit of a mixed bag. I grew up in a household that saw a fair bit of violence and more than a little drug abuse and criminal activity. It wasn’t all there was to my childhood. Lots of happy memories and fond associations. But there were also fist fights, a battered mother, and a cavalcade of dangerous individuals with addiction problems and, occasionally, access to knives and small firearms. So I had to learn fairly early on how to behave around people who weren’t particularly altruistic or caring about a child’s so-called innocence and well-being.

There was also one occasion (which I am reluctant to mention even now, as my memory is fairly faded) where I convinced one of our babysitters, a male, as it happened, not to sexually abuse my brother, by insisting that I wouldn’t leave the bedroom until he did. He did (and never babysat for us again). Not all children have the internal resources to navigate a situation like that successfully. Personally, it’s so muddled in my head that I’m not sure exactly how it all transpired. If someone sat me down and explained that something bad HAD happened that night, I would disappointed, but not entirely surprised.

I don’t tell that story to sound like any sort of hero. I’m not. We all grew up through similar experiences. Close scrapes and could have beens, or in some cases, very real, very bad things that actually did go down, and the years of self-doubt and self-loathing and anger that come from being a helpless victim. I’m not a victim of physical or sexual abuse, but I’ve known and loved several who were, throughout my life, so I know the ghosts they live with. I’ve seen them out of the corners of my eyes, lurking, looking for a new place to haunt, and wondering if they can hurt me, too. And they did, and do. We are all victims, when the ones we love have experienced pain and suffering.

So how can I say all this and still cast aspersions about innocence as a concept? To tell that story, I have to tell another:

An interesting thing happened in the 80s and especially the 90s; parents decided to change the channel on the whole victim cycle, by removing their children from all forms of harm and lack of parental guidance. We went from being latchkey kids to being bubble children, protected by our helicopter parents who would fly in at a moment’s notice to correct any and every little problem set before us that might impact on our ability to grow to be confident, healthy, stable children. In some cases, this seems to have worked out. Like other social experiments of the last century or two, we created a whole new generation of human beings with a completely different outlook on life. Most of us from prior generations can’t help but suspect that such people are deluded into thinking themselves more important than they are. However, I’m a Speculative Fiction writer, so I find myself thinking, that’s how it happens. That’s what real social change looks like. Disappointments and failures and misfires aside, that’s how you rebuild in the midst of the old generations slowly fading out.

But the thing is, innocence as we know and define it presently is sort of a fantastical construct we invented in Victorian times to create what we think of as childhood perfected. In the same way, we invented the teenager in the 40s and 50s, to spectacular results in the 60s. Prior to the 20th Century, teenagers were basically young adults being groomed for early marriage, early pregnancy, early employment, early retirement and early death. In the 18th Century, children were little more than young adults in training, with little or no real differentiation, save that they were smaller, and thus able to do things larger humans no longer could. This was the status quo, and only our modern reinterpretations cast a different light on the situation, by our reenactments and retellings of classic tales with modern flourishes. Wendy Darling was the responsible almost-adult of a Victorian children’s fantasy, one with dark magic and dark consequences. Prior to that, children’s stories were all Grimm and moralistic tales about what not to do in bad situations.

These days, we deliberately sugar coat (courtesy of Walt Disney) all of those old fables to preserve our children’s innocence for as long as we can get away with, as if innocence were a priceless commodity that instills a state of grace we all lose the moment we emerge from our cocoons into the ugly, dirty, sweaty, sexual, violent world. Maybe it is. I’m not so sure of that myself, but it might be. But let’s look at that a little more closely.

Our society in the Western World is longer lived and supposedly more enlightened and generous of spirit than it was, and perhaps it is, to some extent. But the thing to take away from this isn’t that children don’t exist; it’s that the qualities we attribute to childhood aren’t necessarily present by their very nature as children, but because we dictate how childhood looks. It’s all prepackaged and indoctrinated through decades of careful shaping and molding of our society. How many of us have watched A Christmas Story and thought that was a great example of how life in the late forties and early fifties was in middle America, and by extension, most of white North America? We know in our hearts that that isn’t the whole story, but it certainly feels ‘truthy’. It’s better than the truth. Except that it’s not the whole truth, and in that, perhaps it’s not even close. So what are we teaching our children? What world are we creating? Are we elevating our children into a new world with less tragedy, or are we setting them up for a dreadful fall when the dirty old world at last pierces the bubble and gets its grubby hands on our children? I honestly don’t know. I believe the jury is still out. But it worries me.

Now, what, you may ask, does all of this have to do with what my friends are struggling with presently? Simply, it’s the problem of deciding when is too soon to teach our children responsible sexual habits before they do something life-altering like become pregnant or contract AIDS.

Let’s let that one sink in for a minute. Children having children because they didn’t know it was possible. Children contracting deadly venereal diseases because their parents were afraid to tell them the whole story. Children going through their tweens and teen years thinking they are somehow deviant, defective, deranged, all because they are feeling stirrings of desire to couple with their peers, whether of the opposite or the same sex. If parents are prepared to teach children at an appropriately early enough stage what to expect when they are growing curious, a lot of this trouble can probably be avoided.

But the fact is, a goodly number of modern parents fall into the trap of thinking they can stave off impending the teenage years and burgeoning adulthood simply by raising their hand and voice and saying ‘Not in my house’. I think that, if we’re really honest without ourselves, we’ll remember that it didn’t work that way when we were that age, so what int he world makes us think we can change that without tweens and teens?

See, the problem starts long before we want to remember. Many of us see nudity for the first time and are immediately taught to be ashamed or embarrassed about it. The human body is something we are all a little sensitive about, even when we’re pretty hip and institute clothing optional rules int he privacy of our own homes. Public nudity is still frowned upon. And child nudity… OMG don’t even dare to go there. Forget that some of us were hippies and children of hippies trying to make that type of body shame disappear from society. The more prudish of us won that battle and reinforced it in the 80s with the discovery of HIV infection, which was inevitably blamed on the sexual revolution and all of its social ills.

When I was around seven or eight, in about 1978, I was at a school friend’s house during the lunch hour, getting ready to head back to school, when a tween-aged girl pounced me on the sofa and gave me some very saucy kisses. I was both embarrassed and thrilled (even though I had already been through a childishly kissy phase with Pamela Banyard, a lovely girl I’d been crushing on since we first met in the cloakroom area of Hillsdale Elementary). Kissing girls wasn’t alien to me, but the obvious sexuality of those particular kisses were something of an eye opener. There were other crushes and other experiments in the intervening years. Lots of them. And yet, I didn’t actually lose my virginity until my early twenties. No regrets there, or at least, very few. A few ladies who might actually read this should know, despite my teenaged fumblings with them, I was just as inexperienced and uncertain as they were. And I thank them all for tolerating me, and apologize to the ladies I was a disgusting little twerp to. You didn’t deserve to be the target of my very pathetic sexual advances, and I regret ever mistreating you.

So you see, it’s all a mixed up, muddled bag of goods. But I at least had the advantage of a mother who was pretty frank and fairly prepared to deal with the oncoming sexual awakening with something resembling coherent thoughtfulness and honesty.

I guess the question is, do you really believe in the intrinsic nature of innocence, or, like me, do you suspect that it’s a bit of wish fulfillment and a lot of misplaced expectation?

See, because it’s children’s lives we are playing with when we decide we’re too embarrassed or unprepared to deal with sexual education lessons in our schools. We know on one level that preparedness is needed, but we refuse to let anyone dictate to us when that might be, even if we’re dragging our feet. Perhaps childhood sex ed seems like a terrible idea, but the thing is, we’re trying to reinforce the feeling of non-judgemental security we wish to instill in our children. It seems like the helicopter parent method has produced mixed results, as most parents are incapable of being present 24-7, no matter how much they wish they could be, and children still know their parents will be disappointed if they do things that their parents are unprepared to accept or allow. Under such circumstances, which are still fairly universal, regardless of what your child might tell you to reassure you that there are no problems you need to fix, the smart money is on giving them all the right tools as early as possible. When they master the basics, move on to the more complicated stuff, and hopefully you will have conditioned them to think smartly before they actually become active themselves.

Because the fact is, you’re not going to be there the first time it happens for them, and in many if not most cases, they aren’t going to wait until they’re adult and married to have their first experience, good or bad. I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s changed as much as we’d like to believe. They’re going to learn one way or another. The responsible thing to do is to make sure they learn the right things as early as prudence dictates. That is different for every child, but most are starting to get curious a lot earlier than we like to admit, to ourselves or anyone else.

So if you’re thinking you can stem the tide of puberty by putting your foot down and invoking your authority as a parent, you’d probably be better looking in the mirror long and hard and remembering what it was like when you were a child/tween/teen, and remind yourself that, in most cases, your parents tried as hard as you think you are, whether you respect their efforts now or not. They did try. And they lost, the same way you’re going to lose.

Your job isn’t to protect your child from every eventuality; it’s to PREPARE them to cope and make sound judgements on their own.

That’s the only way it has ever worked. They WILL make mistakes. They WILL break rules. They WILL defy you.

Isn’t it better to make sure they know what they’re getting into?

Okay, that’s enough from this bush league armchair parent. As you were. thanks for reading.


Posted in One a Day | Leave a comment

My Spec Article on Bus Lanes and LRT

This was the opinion article I wrote back in january, slightly edited to reflect the fact that we lost the bus land vote, which I am reposting here for easier searching:

Jan 26, 2015
Public transit knits city together
Initiatives to improve foot, bike or bus travel should be embraced

Hamilton Spectator
By Lee Edward McIlmoyle
I’d like to say a few things about the state of our relationships between wards in our city, and how it adversely affects us all.

I’m 44 years old, and I’ve been a Hamilton resident for almost all of that time. I grew up in the far east end (Ward 5) in the ’70s, ’80s, and early ’90s, but after a brief residency on King Street near Scott Park/Ivor Wynne Stadium (Ward 3), these days I live just outside the downtown core (Ward 2). For a number of years, I commuted out of town to various jobs, but these days, I spend most of my time within the boundaries of modern Hamilton. On the face of it, I appear to be a pretty consistent and loyal denizen of the core, a proper urbanite, but when you look a little closer, you find that it’s not quite that simple.

For starters, I do most of my meat shopping at either Costco (Ward 12) or at Lococo’s (Ward 5). My wife and I shop for clothing at Pennington’s (Ward 5), Target (soon-to-be-gone in Ward 4) and Walmart at either Centre on Barton (Ward 4) or Centennial (Ward 5). I bought my air conditioner at Home Depot (Ward 5), as well, and various paints and hardware at Canadian Tire on Queenston (Ward 5) or Lowe’s on Barton (Ward 4).

My semi-retired mother lives near Rymal and Upper Gage (Ward 7), where I clean house twice a week on average, and occasionally grab lunch at Wendy’s or dinner at Sobey’s (now a FreshCo; still a nice store; Ward 6). It puts me a stone’s throw away from Ward 11, but I will admit I infrequently pass through or shop there. I used to pass through a fair bit when visiting Grand River Enterprises, way out in Ohsweken, where I did graphic design for a few years.

I DO occasionally shop for books and pet supplies over at Heritage Greene Mall on Stone Church (Ward 9), and my vet’s office is East Mountain Animal Hospital (Ward 6). My wife’s doctor’s office is on Concession (Ward 7), and she also has a therapist in Ward 8.

My psychiatrist is on the border of Wards 1 and 2, and I like to visit Locke Street and Westdale Village on occasion; I shop far too often at Curry’s and Fortinos near Dundurn, and still think the best burger is at Wimpy’s Diner, and the best roast beef sandwich is at Tally Ho (all in Ward 1).

I buy my medication at the Shoppers Drug Mart on Main and Sherman (Ward 3), near where some of my dearest friends live. I also get my Good Food Box at the HARRRP Centre in Ward 3, across from the KFC I’ve been eating at since I was a boy visiting my grandparents on Burris, also in Ward 3.

I don’t get out to Ward 13 as often as I used to, but I used to love singing karaoke Wednesday nights at the Collins Hotel on King Street in Dundas. I also went to the Cactus festival a few times, and occasionally visited one of my oldest, dearest friends, back when she briefly lived with her father near the valley, after moving away from Greenhill Avenue (Ward 5). And of course, though I’ve been vocally critical of it, I’ve visited the Ancaster Fair Grounds (Ward 12) for the Festival of Friends since the year it moved from Gage Park (Ward 3).

I miss out on travelling to or through wards 11, 14 and 15 most of the time these days (though I am a huge supporter of the No Downtown Casino movement, so I like to think I’ve helped Flamborough, too). But I’ve worked in restaurants and factories in Wards 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9 and 10 over the years.

I know all of that may seem dull and trivial, but consider this: I don’t drive a car. I’ve travelled to all of those locations, day after day, year after year, either by foot, bike or bus, and these days, most often the latter. I know what your public transit woes are, because they are my woes, too. I spend a fair bit of my time and money in almost every ward in this city, and though it’s a meagre amount most of the time, I nevertheless consider myself to be a true citizen of this amalgamated Hamilton. I also refuse to believe I’m the only one.

So in light of all that, how can it be honestly claimed that the downtown core, which used to be the central hub for the entire region, does not or has never contributed to the welfare and local economies of the rest of Hamilton? And in light of that, was it truly fair to vote against an improved public transit initiative simply because the short-term benefits to the rest of the city are not readily apparent?

If you are not in support of public transit improvements (of which the now-cancelled bus lane and LRT are but two), for whatever reason, please consider the needs of that portion of the population that doesn’t drive everywhere, whether they own a car or not, and simply opt to abstain on the issue. We can all move forward better if we find common ground to agree upon, but lacking that, we should at least be able to help each other out, if it’s not really costing us more than it already would have, before the improvements were offered.

Lee Edward McIlmoyle is a local author, artist, songwriter and graphic designer, living in the Stinson neighbourhood with his NYC wife and two cats.

Posted in Hamilton, The New Hamilton | Leave a comment

I Look At You All, And See The Love There That’s Sleeping

I have a pretty big announcement I’m holding off on until I’m sure it’s what I want to do. Or not do, as the case may be.

I have art and novels and music to contemplate.

I need to make some sales. Money is very tight again this month, and there are still important things that need paying off. So if you’ve been holding off until now, now would be a really nice time to pay me for some of my work. Or if you haven’t, but just feel like being nice to me, I’d very much appreciate you buying some of my work. In fact, just abotu now, I’ll gladly accept money from people who didn’t even realize they wanted to own some of my work. Thank you.

I never really wanted to be rich or even famous. Wouldn’t hate it outright, but it’s never been my goal. I think I just always wished I were better understood. At least, I’d always hoped I would be appreciated by more people than I seem to be appreciated by today… which is sort of not a lot. ‘A few’ might even be a stretch.

*sigh* Seems I’m still wrestling with a bout of depression. Please pardon me.


Posted in Art, Art For Sale, bipolar disorder, Books, Ebooks, Etcetera Thesis Music, Music, Writing | Leave a comment

We Are Broken

So, I’ve been taking some time off to think about the directions I’ve been being pulled in, and I have to confess that, while I feel a strong sense of responsibility to the people I’ve gotten involved with over the last few years, I am also feeling very strongly the responsibility I have to my wife, and to my impoverished household. I’ve been letting my career/financial situation drift for the last couple of years, doing very little to bring in new money to replace all of the piles of stuff that are breaking down, wearing out, or just generally giving up the ghost.

As well, this time off has really been cathartic for me; even fun, at times. I’m actually enjoying not thinking about all of the stuff that usually bothers me about this city and its government. It’s never too far from my mind, but I’m feeling less anxious about it. And in the meantime, I’ve been getting a sense of fulfillment from working on my writing and art and music, instead; things I’ve been cramming in around the sides for the last couple of years while I’ve been focussing on local politics. The last two or three books? Written during brief breaks in civic activities. No wonder no one bought them.

So, I don’t know if a decision has been made yet. But it’s not looking good for civic engagement, just now. People need to step up and take ownership of the changes they want to see happen in our society. But I’m starting to feel like I can do more privately than I have been able to thus far publicly, if I can only get my career interests in order and start making real money, instead of trying to leverage operating budgets that won’t come, or seeking grants that have more strings attached than flies on you-know-what. And consensus? I haven’t felt the warm glow of true consensus, even amongst my dearest, closest activist friends, for a while now. Support, yes; even gratitude; but consensus, not so much.

It’s been interesting (I won’t say fun; it’s rarely been that) trying to play the big man on the ideological campus of the civic landscape these past few years, and there have been a few lovely milestones, mostly thanks to the efforts of people who are much better at civic engagement than me, but I’m starting to think my time here is running out. Political activism is and has been in my heart for longer than my actual involvement (I was at the Red Hill Valley Rally at City Hall back in the early 90s, as well; that ended well), and I hate to walk away from any challenge, particularly when the cause is just. Direct Democracy IS how things are going to go, in the future; I believe that with all my heart.

But I’m growing tired of feeling like I’m the only one who is willing to carry this particular bag of unwanted goodies to market, and I’m long past wondering if I’m the right person for the job. Few have asked me to do it, some have suggested I shouldn’t, and almost nobody has shown me what I would call a real vote of confidence in my abilities to carry the ball further than I have. I certainly don’t hear anyone telling me I should try harder or be more proactive. I hear ‘build capacities’, which is good and right and true, but also sounds distinctly like ‘get somebody else’. Maybe my lack of proactivity thus far has left some people thinking I can’t do the job. Maybe they’re right. I don’t know. I may never learn the truth. I certainly don’t feel good thinking of walking away. But I feel as if the only way to carry it all off and make it work is to stick my neck further into the noose and abandon all hope. A month ago, I’d have said ‘Hell, Yes’.

But just now, when I haven’t heard from most of the main players on our team (or the Councillor, who admittedly–and somewhat reluctantly–asked me to email him for a follow-up appointment) in the last few weeks (my fault as much as anything, but very telling, nonetheless), I’m left thinking, maybe now is as good a time as any to just let it all go. If someone wants it, they should pick up the ball and run with it. Me? I’m thinking about going out for a burger and a movie. I hear good things about one or two films currently showing at Jackson Square.

Despite all this, I’m STILL deciding. Not sure which way things are going to go. Just saying, right now, it’s blowing me homeward. It would take more encouragement than I’m likely to get any time soon to want to keep carrying this particular ball, especially when I’m going broke and will likely to lose everything if I proceed further. Do I have the political will? Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m feeling pretty lonely, right now, and it’s not a good feeling.

That’s what I’m thinking, anyway.

Thanks for reading.


Posted in Hamilton, One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, Politics, Stinson Community Association, StinZine, The New Hamilton | Leave a comment

Coming Home: a realisation about Arts as a Career

Some time in 2012 or 2013, while I was becoming engulfed in civic engagement activities and local neighbourhood politics, very quietly and without much fanfare, I started painting again. It started quietly enough with four or five abstracts and one hand-lettered logo for a representational painting that still isn’t finished.

The theme of the paintings was Tarot. I’m not a huge supernatural phenomenon guy. Tarot is mostly an intellectual curiosity to me. But it intrigues me all the same. The psychological implications of reading people, that is. Prognostication is kind of a mug’s game, in my books, but you can lightly forecast probability by studying your querent’s responses to the lay of the cards.

But I was talking about art.

The paintings lead to drawings and plans for an entire series, not so much to make my own deck, but to have a large body of new painted work to show. See, I like abstract painting, but I’ve been doing graphic design and illustration for the last 15+ years, so I wasn’t expecting to pick back up on the whole abstract expression thing, which was a phase I went through from 1990 to 1992. I finished my last major piece after flunking art school, and then stopped painting for roughly 22 or 23 years.

But I’m back in a big way. Last year, I worked on or completed about 29 paintings (10 of which are mounted on two large boards of five each; plus, I also made 20 abstract buttons; four left, going for $15 a piece), and this year, just in the last month, I’ve painted another 14 paintings and am working on three more. All this, plus plans for a new series that I haven’t even started yet.


Now, I’ve only sold a few pieces here and there (not including the buttons, many of which sold, though some I gave away as Christmas presents), but I’m pretty happy with the direction my painting career comeback is taking so far. I did about fifteen or so abstracts in the early 90s, and I’ve tripled that in less than a year. The work is mostly ‘of a quality’, as I like to say (meaning it’s of a quality that I believe measures up to professional standards). I may not be selling yet, but I believe these pieces will fetch a nice sum one of these days.

I just hope I live to see it.

With any luck, this will be the year I break into gallery exhibitions. I don’t have an agent yet, but I think the proverbial corner is coming up. Maybe next year, if things don’t come together as I’m hoping. I also hope to have us living in a larger space some time this year, with more room for larger scale paintings. We shall see.


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Shaken; Not Stirred

Still haven’t made my final decision about civic engagement activities.

Still haven’t decided what to work on next.

Thinking about writing the rest of THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD. Also thinking more about writing PASSAGE TO BUJAH. Not sure which I’ll go with first. There’s a bit of a rethink for both titles dancing through my head. More humour? More pathos? More realism? Haven’t decided yet.

Haven’t decided on the next painting yet, either. 3′ x 1′, probably, but not decided whether to do another abstract or get back to work on the representational concepts I’ve been mulling over. TAROT is still on the planning table, as is my Zoe-meets-Edward-Hopper homage concept. But I’m wondering if I have another abstract in me at the moment…

Music is a little fallow right now. Still not able to practice or rehearse, because my wife has me on a strict no-practice regimen while my arm finishes healing. Feels pretty good to me, but hey, what do I know?

I DID sign up on a Reddit thread to potentially jam with some locals. We’ll see if that happens.

I’ve got plans… big f%^&ing plans…

Not sure if I should post anything else today. nothing new on my mind. Just watching James Bond and relaxing for a change. Feels weird, and I’m a little tired and in need of engagement.

Anyway, that should do for now. Hope everyone is indoors and safe.


Posted in Art, Booyah Train, Etcetera Thesis Music, Steep Inclinations, Tarot Series, The People's Republic of Limbo, Writing, Zoe | Leave a comment

Supertramp – Crime of the Century (1974) – a classic rock album review

Well, we haven’t done one of these in a while, eh? I have plenty of other bands I could choose to write one of these about, and I will, but I’ve been in a Supertramp mood just lately (I may or may not have recently written a short story that is most emphatically NOT Supertramp fanfic), so I figured I’d go back and look critically at a few of their classic albums, starting with their third album, the star-making Crime of the Century.

Supertramp Crime of the Century

tl;dr Version: If you don’t already know this album front to back, I have no idea how you got here. But just in case you need help deciding, here’s my review.

‘Splain, Lucy Version: This album was one of the then-current rock albums playing in my household around the time my baby sister was born, and it is as deeply embedded into my musical DNA as Sgt. Peppers, A Night at the Opera, and Boston’s first album. I don’t need any other reason to like it, but there are a great many reasons to do so, and most of them are musical.

Boring Version: My favourite art teacher basically hated these guys (he called them Supercramp), and in the late 80s, it was fashionable to dump on any band that had prog rock pretentions, and Supertramp was a pretty ripe target, given that they managed three albums of middling progressive rock sensibilities, and then began shedding that mantle for a more jazzy pop stance that eventually lead them to Breakfast In America and a brief touch with super stardom, followed by the obligatory 80s breakup album, and the long, slow descent into rock obscurity. But during this period of their career, they were brilliant, and this album, though not as commercially successful as Breakfast, is perhaps their critical high water mark, bookending their most fertile period.

School starts with high, wailing harmonica. We’ve heard plenty of harmonica in westerns, folk songs and classic blues records, but for a prog rock album, that’s a new one, at this point in the game. Roger Hodgson eventually takes over, singing the opening lines as guitars approach from either side like sparring partners feeling each other out, and then a crescendo of sound initiates the dance. This is a poignant number trying to explain the complexities of the social conditioning institution that is school. The instrumental on this is monumental and goes through a building phase and an arrival phase, never being too chops-heavy, but being both very muscular and melodic, piano and bass waltzing with a bit of synth in the background. The bridge back to the verse is pretty beefy, delivered by songwriting partner Rick Davies, and then Roger takes it back and hammers it home with a verse that leads directly into the surprise outro. Very strong opener.

Bloody Well Right opens up with a slightly bluesy chops fest on the mighty Wurlitzer electric piano, and then a mountain of saxaphone and funky guitar escort in Rick’s answer to Roger’s opening statement, thus establishing this as something of a concept album, though I hesitate to name it as such outright, for reasons I’ll explain later. This number is a rollicking, rocking number with a bit of a clever twist, as the chorus is pinned on this almost dancehall piano figure, and the outro, when it arrives, is a jazzy pop turn. A very cool song.

Hide In Your Shell is where the theme of the album gets a little more ethereal, Roger singing about a philosophical outlook on life against a gentle stack of layered keyboard lines, and then the chorus arrives. The thing is, as pop songs go, this has three or four different distinct sections of music that come and go almost too quickly to write about. There’s even Theremin in there. After the second go round of the verse and chorus sections, they go into a long refrain segment where Roger basically concludes that he needs to make some kind of connection to his audience. And then another distinct section of music as they wind to the finish with a singalong chorus and R&B saxaphone.

Asylum is where they dial it down a bit, Rick on grand piano, singing about his pal Jimmy and his funny ways, before it comes clear that someone wants to have our singer locked up in the titular asylum. The premise might seem a little trite or absurd from my little precis, but the thing is, the musical themes (and there are several) make it clear that this is a very considered piece of music. The lyrics are some of Rick’s most cutting, as he makes it clear that people really don’t understand him, even as he laughs at their confusion over his behaviour. It has this elegiac refrain section with organ, strings and carillon bells and all the rest, and the thing is, the twist is, he starts to break down towards the end, and it becomes apparent that the joke is on him, and it’s such a dark ending, you can’t help but feel a little hollowed out by the finish. And then it finishes with that jaunty little piano figure from the top.

Dreamer Is probably the first truly dyed in the wool pop song in their entire canon, and yet, this is no meager Britney Spears track. Roger delivers this refrained chorus intro with an electric piano figure bouncing along behind him that carries the entire song, and the piece winds round and round until we find ourselves in a call and answer section with big damn drums and the whole thing winding to a crashing halt with a little xylophone chiming away to the rhythm of the now vacant piano. Incredible.

Rudy opens with a truly gorgeous piece of grand piano figure, and then Rick starts singing about Rudy, whose story seems to tie us back to the main story, but by the slenderest of threads; a possible reference to his troubles as a school boy. There are several lovely sections of music in this seven minute track, including a bit with a voiceover in the background, and a fierce call and answer between Roger and Rick to a Shaft-like funk theme. It’s a truly powerful piece of music, arriving at an almost Day In The Life moment that leads us into a brief coda, and it becomes clear that he has been watching a sad movie, and he’ll soon be back on his train.

If Everyone Was Listening has another piano opener, Roger spelling out a theatrical presentation, alluding to the metaphor time and again as an analysis of the audience and life in general as a theatrical performance. The music goes through a few distinct phase using strings, clarinet and piano, but I won’t attempt to break it down for you. it’s short enough.

Crime of the Century is without a doubt the closing number, and it’s a moody thing with piano and huge drums slide guitar and then carnival organ as it becomes apparent that the titular crime of the century has been committed not by some criminal mastermind, but by you and me. And what is our crime, we’re left to wonder, as the guitars and pianos and swirling organ and Moog bass and immense drums and a string ensemble and finally the greatest saxaphone solo in the universe leave us to ponder. By the end of the song, you really want to know what the hell you did wrong.

This album is and has always been a bit of a mystery to me: a concept album in almost exactly the same mold as Sgt. Peppers, where the story is actually made of several seemingly disconnected vignettes (a lot like my latest novel, but I digress), tied together by a unifying theme of powerful dissatisfaction with life and society as we know it. It burns through and exhausts easily two album’s worth of song segments in half the time, chewing scenery and leaving you feeling like you’ve just had open heart surgery. So it IS a concept album of sorts, but not a neat and tidy narrative one as we have come to know them thanks to the efforts of Pete Townshend and Roger Waters. It’s still a most affecting album for me, and chokes me up in a few places when I think too long about what certain lines have come to mean to me personally.

So yeah, if you’ve actually never heard it–HOW have you never heard it?–and this review has done nothing to inspire you to check it out, or even if, like my high school art teacher you don’t like the band or the album, I’m at a loss for what to say. Truly. It’s a monumental album, and maybe not the most progressive, but certainly one of the most moving of it’s day. And in the end, isn’t that what life’s about?

© 2015 Lee Edward McIlmoyle

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What Do You Say To People Who Won’t Buy Your Work?

I’m in the middle of a lot of long term projects, and trying to productize and market a number of finished works and ideas. so I’ve been a little quiet. Not disengaged. Just preoccupied.

I have a few problems in the offing. Projects I’ve been working on for months, or even years, are facing the scrap heap because people I’m working with are looking for either:
a) me to carry the ball the rest of the way myself;
or b) me to give up, so they can go home and get some rest.

I’m sure that’s not the whole story. I’m certainly overreacting in the absence of actual data. But the impression I’m getting from a few different groups is that my efforts are not appreciated, and I’d be better off dropping the ball and taking it in the neck for getting people’s hopes up, rather than waste lots of energy trying to recruit new people to carry the ball for me, when in actuality, the ball has definitely dropped on at least three projects I’ve been involved with.

Perhaps my credibility is being questioned. Certainly my expertise is in question. And my results? Well, nothing has come of the work I’ve done so far, so what results would I be showing them?

What’s lacking in a number of the projects I find myself involved in is a simple matter of Vision. I have some vision (some would say too much, implying I’m delusional), but not enough consensus behind it to get even the slenderest of visions implemented. As always, to get what I want, I have to do everything myself. Good for publishing books and making paintings and albums, but not so effective when it comes to civic engagement and neighbourhood improvement strategies.

I’m all for consensus. I really am. But what I’m not so good at is waiting… and waiting… and waiting for the right number of people to say they agree, enough times to satisfy those who aren’t sure of the direction a project or team should take. There is building consensus (and capacities), and then there is committee rule, which tends to lead to inactivity. Inactivity CAN be the right answer, if the answer you’re looking for is ‘how do I get out of this?’ The Ostrich method of problem solving isn’t without its merits, because it gets definite results with the least amount of effort. It just doesn’t break any new ground, or achieve any major goals.

I suffer from the problem that I never like any answer that coems too easy. It might be the right answer, but I still won’t like it. My motto is, “If it’s worth having, it’s worth working for”. The corollary to that is, “If it’s not worth working for, it’s not worth having”. Point is, Time + Work = Value.

If I offer to do a bit of work, it’s not because I want something specific from the project. My motives are often as simple as ‘Let’s make it better for everyone involved’. Occasionally, I see a personal opportunity in the offing, but they so rarely come to fruition that I rarely waste time or energy on pursuing them. I just take on the work and get it done to the best of my abilities within the time allotted, and hope it translates to successful objective results. Profit is somebody else’s problem.

I’m left with the options of either stating my intention to take over certain specific tasks /projects, or giving up and letting them fall to the wayside, for other people to pick up if and when they choose to.

Right now, I’m still on the fence about most, if not all of these activities. I feel as if I’ve been wasting a lot of my time and energy dithering over stuff that was already decided by the teams back when they were healthier and more proactive.

I’m talking around things, here, and I know how unentertaining that can be to read. I apologize for that. I wish I could be more direct, but things are still in flux. I just need to vent a little, because the tension and lack of activity is starting to make me rash. Even writing this is probably an exercise in self-immolation. I’m not going to self destruct. I’m just tired of having people–friends, even–question my abilities and my sanity. I’m thinking it might be more productive just to walk away and focus on my career interests again. I just don’t like quitting when there’s still a chance that things could get done.

I’ve babbled too much. Time to go do something constructive. Thank you for reading. Have a good day.


Posted in Hamilton, One a Day, Participatory Budgeting Ward 2, Stinson Community Association, StinZine | Leave a comment

Will The Music Be Your Master… Will You Heed The Master’s Call

Seems like I post more like once a week rather than once a day, lately, doesn’t it?

I’ve been posting art, so it’s over at THE ART PAGE.

My arm is healing, but it still feels weird, and it’s going to have a funky scar that I can actually feel (by the lack of sensation). Wish it didn’t feel as it I have a zipper that will pop open if I exert it too much. And my arm still gets tired if I type or especially play instruments for too long. *sigh*

I’ve been thinking about writing fiction. I’ve got two or three newish ideas, and a drive to reinvestigate the Passage To Bujah series, which has been languishing since I started to detect that YA Dystopia fiction is beginning to lose its cache. My main stumbling block was the strange sex concepts I had in mind for the series, which I rather liked, but feared were too Samuel R. Delaney for YA fic. I’m still waffling on that, but it occurs to me that it might be possible to handle it in a more light-hearted manner. Not convinced yet, but thinking about it. Also thinking it’s time I got back to work on Sterling Carcieri, who has been inordinately patient.

Got Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti playing in the headphones this morning. Kashmir is on deck at the moment. Still one of the most moving tracks in the canon. Still inspires me, after all these years. Give me a second… *stops track… turns it up… restarts…* Ah, that’s better.

The idea of working on a drum program isn’t that appealing just now, but my guitar student requires it to record himself playing Maroon 5’s Payphone. I may put in some time on it this morning.

I have canvases waiting for me to decide if it’s going to be representational or abstract work I use them for. There were plans, but they’re all in my head at present, and they’re pretty involved… sort of a cross between Salvador Dali (or probably more like Rene Magritte) and Edward Hopper. Lots of drawing involved, and I’ve had very little time for derwing, ironically enough. But I haven’t done any foundation drawings on the canvases yet, so I can pretty much just do as I like and buy more canvases if and as needed.

I feel like I should be doing both, but the representational stuff takes time, where the abstracts are things I can do in a day or two if I work at it. Sometimes, they happen so fast, I feel like I’m cheating, but really, it’s a special process and a mindset I get in that enables me to work faster than normal. I used to labour over them for weeks or even months, depending on the size. I may get back to that level of deliberation, but right now, I just want to build a body of attractive abstract work, so I can mount a show. I really feel like it’s time I put these little darlings in the spotlight to sing and dance.

Part of me thinks that there is a kind of sex appeal to the layers of paint I apply to these pieces. I want to strip bare the process and lay it all out naked for people to deliberate over, but I think the tension comes from seeing glimpses of something recognizable, like a slipped nipple or a glimpse of cleavage within the swirling, towering layers of paint, and wondering if there’s a full image beneath. The answer is… maybe? Get a little closer and see for yourself.

Coming up on 5:30. Been writing this post for a half hour. Time to get to work. Thanks for reading. Stay warm.


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Turn On My VCR… Same One I’ve Had For Years

I’m tired. No. really. Yeah, I know I said it before, but it’s true now, too.

Probably a little depressed at the moment. Please excuse the look of the place.

I did a set of paintings (I paint in sets, most of the time, when I’m doing abstracts these days). You can see them HERE.

I’ve got two novels on the starting block (THE THIRD RAIL and THE COMPLICATED PRINCE), and dozens more novels and collections jockeying for position in line (too numerous to mention). I started designing a game last year that I’ve lost momentum on, but I suspect it’s still a Very Good Idea™. STEEP INCLINATIONS (album). TAROT series (paintings). Guitar lessons for Drake. Stuff.

Time I got dressed and got stuff done. Laundry and dishes, too. Fun times. Thanks for reading.


Posted in Health, One a Day | Leave a comment