Walker's Words

Big Wheel Turning

2012-02-02T13:29:00.000-08:00

I watch with stunned fascination as the Conservatives of North America spend their time and millions of dollars on painting the poor, the aged, the sick, and the lower classes with one brush stroke. I fail to see what such debasement is meant to accomplish in a modern western civilized society. In early American history, old and sick Native Americans would wander off in the wilderness to die so that they would not be a burden on the rest of the tribe or their relatives. At a time when subsistence hunter-gatherer living was the normal mode of life in the Americas such sacrifices were standard. However, should modern society adopt a similar method of dealing the elderly? I think not.
In Victorian England, young children worked in coals mines until the choking dust made them infirm and unable to work. People who could not pay their debts went to prison and the poor were banished to poor houses to life their lives in misery. It was a time of ultra conservatism, a time of change from agrarian society to an industrial society, where people worked from sun up to sundown without breaks for low wages. Conservative thought would institute the same conditions in our modern society. It is rapidly becoming the requirements to live in today’s world. I fear it’s so. Society is turning back the clock to an age when people are no more than props for an industrial machine controlled by only a few powerful and heartless individuals. Through laws and rules of behavior, coupled with policy engineering and cultural upbringing the massive herds of human being are led by the nose into their cattle stalls. Once there they fleece themselves to ensure the abhorrent lifestyles of the rich and famous. Every nail they hammer into a piece of wood makes someone else rich. Every pillow they buy to rest a weary
head makes someone else rich. People are caught on the wheel of commerce and finance with no way off because necessity and survival rests on keeping the wheel turning.
Believe me it’s a big wheel turning.

Introduction to new book The Politicians' Handbook

2012-01-12T11:08:00.000-08:00

The reason for this little paperis to try to make sense of why a person would actually pursue a career as apolitician. In recent years, Politicians have been reviled, hated and verbally bashedwith increased fury. Of course, in their minds they feel unjustly attacked andbelieve they have been clubbed like innocent seals with doe eyes staring backat you with a look of complete innocence. Politicians refuse to understand whypeople don’t like them. Generally, it’s not the person but the career ofpolitician that is reviled. It’s the traits and behavior a man or a womanassumes once they decide on a political life that are the problem.

I wish to make it clear that I amnot only being sarcastic about choosing the life of a politician but alsoridiculing them for that choice. Politicians set themselves up to be judged bytheir actions in office and out of office and those actions give us insightsinto the required character and personality to get elected. Be warned I intendto use a vast amount of cynicism to pepper my assault, as it should whendealing with the life and times of a politician.

If I could I would suggest thatany politician who reads this little treatise take it with a grain of salt andnot take it seriously, but I can’t, really. Ideas that are sometimes born ofhumor are thinly disguised truths. So go ahead be my guess and take itseriously, maybe you’ll learn something, but I doubt it. In any case the callof the madness is, for some irresistible, and many Canadians and Americans willfall prey to its luring siren call. I feel sorry for those that chose the pathof political psychosis, it is a hard road and one that will only lead todistrust, dismissal and vile remarks heaped upon you. If you have the thickskin needed to bounce insult and injury away from your pride then maybe you aresuited to be a politician, but those qualities will make you a politicalpsychotic and reviled by the rest of society.

There is no denying the fact thatthe majority of people have a very low opinion of politicians. Some say thatpoliticians are the scum of the earth; they cannot be trusted or respected. Isuggest that they may be beyond redemption and need re-education for the sakeof humanities continued survival.

Butthat’s just my opinion.

Who Knows

2012-01-06T10:01:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in the corner at my favorite Starbucks. The place I use as my writing office, my little den away from my home. Today I am confused and feeling displaced as I read the twitter comments on #cdpoli and #bcpoli and the views expressed by citizens from all over Canada and BC in particular. For the last 40 years I have been in a state of wonderment. Nothing has changed in our society other than higher levels of misery for certain social classes of people. When I was a child I looked forward to working and buying a house, having kids and getting married. In those days I wanted to be a professional hockey player or a cop but I stood only five foot five and one half inches and was deemed too short. I took up music, cartooning, art and writing: all the creative aspects of life. I still believed I could have the wife, kids, and house while chasing that dream but I was mistaken. As the years went by job opportunities diminished, career possibilities were only available to those that could afford university and were healthy enough to finish. I was not so lucky, sickness has plagued me all my life from depression, allergies, sleep apnea, diabetes and now arthritis. I could say that life is unfair and it is but so what. What I do take offense at is the attitudes of the healthy and successful who have never understood life long battles with weaknesses and blame those who fight daily calling them bums and losers. Who knows what I would have become if I had the energy of the average person or the education of the elite. Maybe I too would have been more of a success.

Happy new year

2011-12-31T12:28:00.001-08:00

Another year has passed and little has changed in the world. The problems are the same, only the players have changed. Here in my country a man with a cold heart and an ego problem has finally got what he mistakenly assumes is a majority, and has proceeded to dismantle the social programs that poor and disabled people rely on. Happy new year prime minister I hope you enjoy your thousand dollar bottle of wine while others starve and freeze to death.

Political Consequences

2011-12-06T11:52:00.001-08:00

The startling revelation hit me like a custard pie right inthe kisser. It went splat with the creamy whiteness bathing my eyeballs in aflash of pure sugary realization that politicians are the most-useless banana-peeledparasitical comedians in the universe.

Outside our solar system, somewhere in the depths of deepspace, on another blue green planet other parasites of the public good revel inthe suppression of intellect but they are not quite as proficient as ours are.I am sure of that. No other race of supposed intelligent beings could possiblematch the inane stupidity of human politicians. Not only are they in a classall their own, they don’t even know what class is anymore.

To put it bluntly: politician equals moral moron and that isbeing too kind. Let’s analyze some of their thinking. In the US the congress ishell bent on destroying the poor with their cold hearted rationale, ‘get a jobyou bum’ and in Canada with the notion that Aboriginals don’t really new tostay warm in the winter with all that whale blubber through their veins.

The treatment of your most unfortunate citizens shows yourcontempt for humanity and the manner in which government treats the poor is anindication of the cruel mind set of the well to do and their servants, theruling classes.

The well-to-do demand the ruling class drive the uselessparasites, the poor, the sick and the idle into the forest to die, to freeze inthe winter’s cold wind as a lesson to stay healthy, don’t lose your job andwork your ass off for some boss with lily white hands and stogies drooping fromtheir nicotine stained lips.

There is no other choice for the huddled masses of sick andpoor souls then to die off as quickly as they can, or so the rich believe.Poverty does not affect them, getting sick is easy to deal with if you themoney to pay for the best care available. Must be nice to be so isolated fromthe lower classes, and use the peasants under their feet, like sand used asgrit to prevent an icy fall from their lofty a position.

Before you decide to take up the mantle of a politician,think about how useless you will be, or how controlled you will be as youfollow the orders of your leader or the big corporations. You may think thereward are nice but are losing your ethical beliefs and moral standings rewardenough for you to asleep at night with a clear conscience.

What's the difference?

2011-10-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

The Arab people in the Middle East rose up against the tyranny of their oppressive dictators for a better life. While dictators wallowed in luxury, the average citizen barely eked out a living. The people Egypt, Libya and Syria died to attain some measure of freedom from oppression. The Western world applauded them for fighting for their freedom.
Therefore, why are American politicians and corporations surprised that their own citizens are protesting against the oppression perpetrated by its own economic elite – an elite that wallow in luxury while people starve, lose their homes and die from a lack of health care.
I believe Politicians, Republicans, Bankers and Psychotic Corporations are no better than the Dictators of the Middle East are. They may cloak themselves in the fallacy of freedom, and praise the virtues of capitalism, but in truth, they have enslaved its citizens to an economic tyranny designed and administered by the compassionless elite.
In response to protests in Boston and New York, these economic elite are responding with pepper spray, violence and arrests. They are telling the world they will not abide civil disobedience. Others call it freedom of assembly and an exercise in free speech.
Democracy is being defined by those that are the ”haves” and the “have not” are tired of being used and abused, stolen from, evicted, subjected to usury interest rates and starved into submission.
The answer is not oppression of the 99%; it is the re-education of the 1% who must learn they need the 99% to maintain their status. The 1% must learn to give more or perish. The French Revolution is a good case in point. The Royals who wallowed in their opulence were eliminated. The new royalty, the economic elite run the risk of the same fate. The 1% should remember they are part of society, not above it.

Land Sharks

2011-10-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I wrote anything in my blog and that's mostly because I didn't have anything positive to say. Most of what I have been thinking is quite negative: things like not being able to sell my condo so that my wife can retire, or trying to get my local politicians to advocate for the return of the money I had to spend to fix my leaky condo. The world has descended into a pool of sharks and prey. No more sitting on the shore line and watching the sharks attack each other. We are the prey, we are the food for their insatiable appetite.
Saturday Night Live wasn't far off when they created the sketch "Land Sharks" and there are plenty of them walking around. The shame of it is these Land Sharks are proud of their ability to chew up and swallow people. It is taught in seminars to the rich and worshipped at the high Altar of wall street.
When did living a good life, treating others with compassion and knowing how to share. Not all people are equal and society has its share of sick and handicapped, old and young that deserve compassion not disdain. When did it become okay to demand that the old, the sick and the disadvantage wander off into the wilderness and die?
The world is a cruel place but it isn't written in stone that it has to be.

fair

2011-08-21T11:33:00.001-07:00

I have been pondering the notion of 'life is not fair' an idea that the rich use to justify their wealth. They have used this rationale for the failures of others as a truth of liffe, a platatude for holding the mass of people in check. I posit there is only one life and if the priveleged believe that life is not fair then why do they complain when the have not take up arms to steal from the rich and powerful. If life is unfair for the poor then why can it not be just as unfair for the well to do? We must remember each of us have only one life to live and to live in poverty, starvation, slavery and want because the powerful have decided life is unfair, exccept for them, then there is something definately wrong with the world.
Those in power must come to reallize that continuing to subject the common man to a place of servitude without adequate reward must be responded with contempt and resistence Because you're weallthy doesn't mean your llife is more valluable than anyone else's. You have to ask yourself if the question - how long do you think you can continue in that belief before the world revoltss. After all, people have only one life and to live it in misery because the rich and power tell us life isn't fair over and over again is wearing thin.

biscuit bizarre video

2011-07-29T12:26:00.000-07:00

2011-06-20T11:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I have written anything but I felt inspired thanks to Salome in England who posed a story idea in a tale about a red phone box. I read the first couple of submissions and liked the project so I wrote up a quick ditty and sent it to her. Thankfully she didn't just send it back with the usual rejection.

Thanks Salome.

The exercise proved to be educational and a quick boot in the arsehole. Up until then I was suffering the 'what's the point' blues, better known as 'is that all there is.' It seems depression is suffered by a lot of creative folk, I know I have succumbed to it often and for long periods. Climbing out of the pit of despair is always hard especially when you jump from one to the other. I've even managed to learn how to dig a tunnel from one pit to the next sometimes never seeing the light of day. But then again, I live in Vancouver where the sun god Ra has decided to avoid for most of the year.

Once in a while a little light shines when I produce a project like a book, a painting, a CD or a cartoon, but then the fog of failure shrouds the project because it doesn't sell or make me famous enough to write books on the French Riveria. I often doubt that the creative experience is meant to be a happy one. I certainly know that for me it often feels like a curse, a burden that I will never be able to lay down. Top that all off with the usual self doubt about my ability and I jump into another pit. The problem is that the pits keep getting deeper and deeper. No wonder Hemmingway killed himself.

Money for Nothing

2011-05-20T11:50:00.000-07:00

Years ago I was convinced to buy a condo with assurance by insurance companies, new home warranties and the government. Unfortunately the condo was quickly found to be a leaky one and all the people who promoted, insured and guaranteed the perfect nature of condominiums ran for the hills. They ran as soon as they realized they were expected to fulfil their obligations to protect the condo purchaser. You might have guessed that the poor condo owners were left holding the bag. They became victims of a man made disaster and were told it was their fault for buying a condo in the first place despite the assurances of the industry, the government and the insurance companies. They were hit with the heartless phrase "Buyer Beware."

Now, what is making me a little pissed off is the Government making promises to cover the cost of natural disasters. Take for example the farmers and other people who live along flooding rivers, these rivers flood all the time, should the government pay for their stupidity for buying a house by a river that floods, shouldn't they be told Buyer Beware and set adrift on their own to fix their houses.

My point is, if the government is going to deny compensation for the victims of man made disasters shouldn't they deny compensation for natural disasters. It only seems fair. Don't get me wrong I believe the government should pay but they should pay for both.

The Conservative Conspiracy

2011-03-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

The Conservative Conspiracy or as it is should be known as the introduction of Tea Bagger Republicanism in Canada. It's hard to believe that a compassion nation such as ours has fallen prey to the fear mongering and cut to the bone sentiments American Tea Bagger insist is the only answer to eliminating their deficit.

The truth is deficits come and go as the economy waxes and wanes in it's natural cycles. It's the yin and yang process of the economic world but politicians and corporate heads use the deficit as a weapon to enforce their own philosophy of political economy.

As a Canadian I see through the rhetoric, the garblegook explanations of over educated policy engineers, and the constant barrage of greed as a lifestyle, to see that the answer is simple.

Everyone wants to live comfortable, without fear of their lives being repossessed by the banks. Everyone wants to eat regularly, in a home that provides them with security and warmth. Only a few demand more and more and more.

With the conservative philosophy controlling our lives we will never be safe, secure and comfortable. We will always be fighting for our survival, fighting for the basic things in life like water, food, and even the air we breath.

According to the conservative philosophy once your working life is over, or you are sick and in need of care, you are no longer a useful part of society, you are no longer productive or making money for your bosses. You become expendable, redundant and eventually sent off into the forest to die as the useless waste of space conservatives think you have become.

The Conservative Conspiracy in Canada is just a reflection of American Republican values that were once rejected by the majority of caring and rational Canadians.

We need to stop Conservative Republicanism from destroying our culture.

2011-03-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

In a time of austerity, where governments and corporations advocate fiscal restraint at the expense of the middle class and the poor an ancient organization seeking justice for the down trodden begins to slit the throats of the disgustingly wealthy who are intent on squeezing the last drops of blood from their prey.

The Black Monks target and kill the wealthy, while government fails to control the avarice of a the few the Black Monks hold the rich accountable for their moral and ethical crimes against humanity.

They kill the sinners guilty of uncontrolled greed with the flash of a knife across the neck, bleeding the redemption they would never attain any other way.

Redemption, the watch word of the Monks, through the knife the rich will be redeemed in the eyes of the rest of the world.

To order contact me at www.chuckwalker.net

2011-03-01T11:41:00.000-08:00

The wife is thinking of retiring. I wonder if she will be able to cope with the lack of activity.
Worse, her retirement means I'm gonna have to start doing stuff just to avoid her. Taunts of get off your fat ass, and "is that all you're going to do, sit in front of the TV will necessitate my learning to disappear into the woodwork. Unfortunately we have a small apartment and there are few places to hide.
No more naps in the afternoon, morning, or evening.
It's amazing how someone else's retirement can ruin your own. I kid, I'm really looking forward to the company, I'm looking forward to it like another hemorrhoid. The retirement pain in the ass gift that will keep on giving. No really I love her but not that close up.

2011-02-02T14:47:00.000-08:00

Stupid cold, don't want to do anything but sit on my butt and sneeze. Stupid TV, nothing on it to make me forget the cold. Can't take medicine cause of diabetes. Nose all plugged up and I am getting so whiney the wife thinks I'm pitiful. Hmph.

I had the flu shot but it don't cover head colds. Yeah I said it, it's all in my head. Stupid critics. If I felt better I'd say something sarcastic but the brain is full of self pity and silly moans. Whoa is me, alas the end of my nose is red and raw and the doctor wouldn't give me good drugs. Whine, Whine, Whine.

I'd whine some more but my eyes are fogging over from the water pouring out my eyes. Crap.

I think I'll take a nap.

The Monk

2011-01-18T12:23:00.000-08:00

So here is the cover for my new book that will be available soon. Let me know what you think.

The book is about humanism, greed and the uncontrolled avarice of the rich.

In a time when banks are unregulated and greed is good, a group of individuals who call themselves the Black Monks try to balance the inequity between the rich and the poor by the only means available to them, Murder.

The idea came from the writings of a thirteenth century Monk who saw the rape of a young girl and the murder of her parents by a Baron who considered himself above morality and the Church.

He was wrong and was redeemed at the hands of the Monk who chose the only form of redemption he could -- the Baron had to die.

2011-01-18T11:23:00.001-08:00

Have you ever noticed trouble is never alone. On most days trouble hides in a dark corner, ignored and relatively harmless. But some days when it gets lonely it emerges into the light and it brings a few of its friends.

It seems that when trouble decides to find you it comes as a gang of related and unrelated thugs disguised in snowfalls where your car manages to get scratched on a cement pole lurking in a snow drift or a badly dressed vandal who, for some reason, decides the sparkly gleam of the lock securing your trunk lid, has to be his, to wear around his neck as a decorative bobble.

Some days you just want to find trouble and knock him or her or them on the head.

2010-12-20T13:36:00.000-08:00

Christmas is almost here. I have finished my shopping and am poorer, it's amazing how much things cost today. A box of chocolates, I mean a decent box of chocolates cost $5o.00, go figure. It's just chocolate not gold but then gold cost something like $1,500 an ounce.

Somehow in the grab for hard earned savings by retail stores we have lost the inner most joy of Christmas and of course I am talking about getting stuff. You know, all those presents addressed to me, the ones I drool over, impatiently waiting to rip open (just to be disappointed) to find stuff, magical stuff (sometimes useless).

Some would believe it is the act of giving that is most important but that's crap. It's the act of getting stuff that is importance. Each year I feel slighted because the world is forgetting to give me stuff. Hey where's mine has become my new motto especially at Christmas.

So humbug and Merry Christmas.

Just kidding.

2010-12-06T11:59:00.000-08:00

Some days you have just got to take a look into the heavens and ask why me, why now?

You only need to worry if you get an answer and you don't know where it came from.

Rain is the tears of the world falling on the undeserving, the precious lives of possibilities.

Listen without any sense of shame to the rain and know you deserve to be here.

2010-12-02T11:20:00.000-08:00

It's almost done. The Monk, this isn't a cover just an image that looks interesting. Well the book is almost half way through the editing process which is great. I'm not a big fan of editing. I know it's necessary but sometimes my eyes refuse to focus on the words that I have written.

The Monk is about the murder of rich people in the name of humanism. There is an underlying theme of secular and religious humanism which I have examined in my research.

To tell the truth I lean towards the secular form of humanism, it just seems more logical than relying on God to look after the poor and the miserable, but that's just me. You can make up your own mind if The Black Monk's are justified in committing all the murders they do in the book.

It should be out next year, January probably.

Snow

2010-11-25T12:24:00.001-08:00

The snow is falling in Surrey. People are herding into the coffee shops to escape the white bits of the sky falling on their heads. Not surprisingly drivers are failing to come to grips with the white sludge coating the ground. If snow could produce the sound of squealing tires the air would be filled a cacophony of brakes being slammed trying to stop. Alas snow does not produce sounds other than the occasional curse word as drivers get out of their smashed up vehicles. What snow does do in Surrey is turn relatively sane drivers into speeding piles of metal intent on getting home before it really gets bad.
Too often the bald tires hinder this mass exodus to home and safety. Instead cars can be seen on hillsides with tachometers red lining while cars are standing still, even sliding backwards.
It's a Lower Mainland phenomenon and I believe we should give the disease a label such as snowicus speediamus stupidius.

Tweets

2010-11-15T12:25:00.000-08:00

Here I am sitting in my favorite Starbucks chair at my favorite table watching twitters go by in tweet deck. They come so fast I barely get to read them before they are shifted down the column.
But some I catch and latch onto, managing to go to the site they suggest or the blog they mention and to my surprise there is always something interesting there when I arrive. I'm new to twittering and I expect I'll learn to be selective or quicker to catch what is being said. It's quite the learning experience. Unfortunately some of the really interesting comments are said by people who don't follow me so I don't know if my response ever gets back to them. That's too bad because I sometimes say the funniest things.

Furnace Filters

2010-11-08T14:48:00.001-08:00

It’s fall once again and the chore – a horrible chore – loomed in evil repose, I really didn’t want to disturb its slumber. I shivered in fear. One day I walked into the house and quickly grabbing my nose and with all my effort refused to sneeze. The air was definitely clouded with particulates of unknown and lethal properties. Dog dander, cat dander and invisible specks of mite poop.

I had no choice I had to change the furnace filter. I had to look into the slot of death and yank out the filth covered cookie of death. Okay, so I exaggerate a little – you can’t blame me – changing a furnace filter is dangerously simple.

I would gird my loin if I knew what that meant – and face the inevitable. Actually, my wife was pushing me toward the basement door. She had an evil glint in her eye and a twisted smile on her face. Her intent was clear – I was to be sacrificed to the furnace Gods. I had no choice, so down the stairs I went, grabbing a dust mask and a pair of plastic gloves that covered my arms just past my elbows. My safety glasses were perched on my noggin – already forgotten.

In the darkest corner of the basement, it breathed – motor thumping like my heart. It was alive – a fact I never doubted. I drew near the alien life force and heard the whirring protest of a fan straining to push air through a clogged filter. I began to tremble as if I was approaching a sleeping lion with a thorn in its paw – my intent was to yank it out.

My nerves frazzled I slowly unclipped the housing holding the filter in place – so far so good – reached into the tight space, my fingers trembled, and touched the edge of the cardboard frame. At first tug, it resisted. My second try proved no better. The living breathing monster was not going to let go easily. I yarded on it, using as much strength as I could. It gave and I paid the consequences. A cloud of dust and pollen covered me quickly penetrating the mask and getting into my unprotected eyes. In a vain attempt to look like I was in control I pulled the safety glasses down – too late but it bolstered what little pride I had left.

It was done; the filter lay on the floor in a mound of its collected dirt. The furnace breathed easier. I survived.

Taking a green garbage bag I tossed the filter in and headed upstairs. The wife was waiting and once she saw me she sighed in relief. I told her I had to get a new filter from the store. I wouldn’t be gone very long, I really needed to hurry – I could see the house dusting up there was no filter to prevent it. So off I raced to get a new one.

It was then the trouble really began.

Standing in the filter aisle, I gawked, open mouth, confused dribble running down my chin. In front of me was a ten-foot high and twenty-foot wide wall of filters. Filters of all sizes and different functions, now what was I going to do?

It was then the pimply face teenager asked if he could help me. I wiped the spittle from my chin, raised my eyebrows and nodded yes.

He looked at the green plastic bag and asked me if I’d brought the old filter. I nodded stupidly and handed him the bag. He told me it was twelve inches by sixteen inches – a standard size. I asked if that would make it easy to replace. He said sure, as long as I knew what I wanted my filter to do. Stop dust I told him. How much dust do you want to stop he asked. I went glassy eyed.

“You see, he went on to say there are many different kinds of filters. There are Micro Allergen reduction filters and simple Allergen reduction filters and airborne micro particle filters. There is a combination of Micro particle and airborne micro particle reduction filters just to name a few.”

My eyelids began to twitch.

“There are also electrostatic filters that remove dust from the air by using static electricity or can be plugged in. They work great but increase your electric bill.”

“Is that all?” I asked knowing the kid was enjoying my discomfort and was eager to forge ahead.

“One of the best filters is a HEPA filter, which filters out 99.97% of air particles down to .3 microns in size.”

I didn’t know what a micron was and I didn’t want to. He tells me anyway.

“That’s 300 times smaller than the diameter of a human hair.”

I pointed at my filter he held in his hand.

He ignored me.

With a smart aleck smile, he continued piling on the information. “There is also the matter of the Merv rating.”

“What a fellow named Merv got to do with furnace filters,” I was about to snap at him. “It’s simple,” he said. “The Merv rating determines the size of particles that pass through the filter. Merv rating 1-16 filters out pet dander, insecticide dust, smog, dust, viruses, wood, tobacco smoke, spore, bacteria and pollen.

“That’s all,” I said flabbergasted.

“There’s more, He says. Merv rated 5-8 are a good choice for home owners like yourself.”

“So what is mine?” I ask expecting to be told it’s a good one.

“Well it’s a 1-4 and not very good for the home.”

I was devastated.

“There is also a Merv rated filter of 9-12 which is used for commercial applications but the best Merv rating is 13-16. They are used in hospitals and such.

“Is that the one I should get?” I ask.

“It’s up to you.”

He left me. I was more confused than I was when I first came into the store. I stared at the choices and began to weep. The green garbage bag once again, in my possession I fell to my knees and grabbed the filter I thought was best for my furnace and hoped it would forgive me if I didn’t please it.

Special Needs

2010-11-04T23:37:00.001-07:00

From a friend back east Ron
Specialneeds kids are not sick or gross. They only want what we all want, to be accepted. Can I make a request? Is anyone willing to post this and leave it on your status for at least an hour. It is special education week, and this is in honor of all children made in a unique way!!

Mr. Beamish

2010-11-02T12:03:00.001-07:00

Mr. Beamish felt the skinny sun beat upon his hairpiece. Well actually, it was cooking the bare skin underneath. His soft white hairless scalp was tender and the only reason Mr. Beamish wore the rug was to prevent the inevitable scalding sunburn his bare pate, if exposed, would experience. The squat, bulging man didn’t want to be know for his ability to drop hair where ever he went but over his thinning years that was exactly what he became famous for, in the small New England town of Beadersville. He was also famous for the hair he left in a trail behind him. No one in the long history of the world had ever shed so much hair from a baldhead.

Little did the few residents of Beadersville know that Mr. Beamish was in fact a walking hairball, a minor Greek God? Shunned by all the other Gods Mr. Beamish was banished to Beadersville for the rest of eternity.

You can be assured Mr. Beamish was not a happy minor God and hated everyone.

“Good morning Mr. Beamish,” the local librarian Kathy Rose said as she passed him on the sideway.

“Humph,” Mr. Beamish replied, adding a further comment. “What’s so good about it?”

“Well the sun is shinning, there are no clouds in the sky. It couldn’t be a more pleasant day if it tried.”

Mr. Beamish raised a hairy finger and blasted Kathy Rose into a billion bits. “How’s that for a pleasant day.” He snarled, knowing what was going to happen next.

The billion little bits of Kathy Rose coalesced right where she was standing a moment before and she simply carried on talking.

“Well you have a nice day Mr. Beamish.” She said cheerily, oblivious to the squat little man’s rudeness.

“Go away,” Mr. Beamish, said as he toyed with the idea of blasting the annoying librarian once again but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. The rest of the Gods had made sure he couldn’t do any real harm.

Mr. Beamish was the saddest and angriest minor God ever to grace the earth and his prison called Beadersville was his punishment for being born. Gods are vain and bald Gods were laughed at down on earth.

Mr. Beamish sighed and carried on down the sidewalk muttering under his breath about the unfairness of his situation.

The Lake

2010-11-02T00:06:00.001-07:00

This is a view of the lake twenty yards behind our house. It’s where my dad tossed me off the dock and into the water. Yup, you guessed it, I learned how to swim quite quickly.

When the lake froze over in the winter time bob skates were tied to uncontrollable feet and off I slipped and tumbled on the clear blue ice.

The little hill down to the lake was great for tobogganing, a great treat except for the time I hit a tree and punctured my lower lip on a tooth.

There is nothing like growing up by a lake, the only downside was the mosquitos. When you’re five years old the hungry, pointy nosed pests were huge.

Wickwood Adventures

2010-10-31T23:43:00.000-07:00

The new book is now available at Amazon.com, or will be as soon as I okay the proof copy on its way to me now. It's the first time I've uploaded a book to Amazon through createspace.com. I sure hope it works.
This is the first book in the series 'The Stone Table.' It follows the Whisperniki children on their search for their parents. The kidnap victims of the ogre Ogrethorpe. Follow their adventures through the forest called Wickwood.

Just for fun Soap Box Derby

2010-10-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

Shadowed in the dark of the basement, poised majestically on four red wheels, Lightning sat, complete, and ready to speed down Tyler Hill. It filled me with dreams of winning the annual soapbox derby and taking the trophy home to sit on the mantle. The red wheels with the matted black rubber treads gleamed in the yellow glow of the 60-watt light bulb. My father bought them at Canadian Tire with Canadian Tire money he had saved over the year.
My dad had spent days making the awesome go-cart. A wooden miracle – just big enough for me to climb into easily with its angled seat and roomy hood, I was in heaven.
The anticipation, and waiting for derby day building inside me I would sneak through the kitchen and down into the basement often and gaze in wonder at Lightning. My head would fill with dreams of victory.
Sleek and aerodynamic it stretched out – a long cylinder with curved sides. My dad had made a metal axle for the front wheels and hinged them so I could steer the cart with a steering wheel. No rope burns for me. I was spared the need to yank on twists of rope ends, to make the cart roll in a straight line. The brake, a stick pivoted on the inside of the cart with a nail that would drag on the ground when I wrenched on it. I couldn’t wait to hear the noise of wood on asphalt, the feel of wood dragging on the uneven road.
I barely slept the night before the big day. Twisting and turning in bed, throwing the covers off in the heat of a June night in Aurora Ontario. The metal screens stopping not only the mosquitoes but the still breeze of summer as well. I didn’t care; I lay there, sweating in the humid night air waiting for the morning to come. The night seemed to take forever.
With the dawn, Lightning would emerge from the basement to see the sun for the first time. My dad would push me to the hill and I would finally race to victory.
Tyler Hill was on the other side of Yonge Street – it was the biggest hill in town yet at the starting line, ramps had been built to make the carts go faster. All the kids were thrilled with the ramps.
The morning was still warm – my dad sweating as we pushed the go-cart up to the staging area and registered for the racing. The time was finally here and my nervous anticipation had somehow turned into a calm acquiescence of the fun to come. Lightning sat beside the other haphazardly constructed go-karts, I gazed at its sleek design I swelled with pride at its beauty.
I was finally called to the starting line; I climbed into Lightning, my hands shaking slightly. My dad and one of the other dads pushed the go-cart backwards up the ramp and blocked the wheels with a wedge of wood. When the two carts were in place, the wooden wedges would be pulled out at the same time. I looked at my opponent in his rickety go-cart and nodded. He didn’t nod back; I was convinced it was jealousy.
It was time, the wedges were pulled out, and Lightning took off down the ramp, picking up speed as it hit the hill. The other kid was right beside me, he was picking up speed as well. I hunkered down in the cart and aimed it as straight as it could go. The street had been repaved recently and the smoothness of the track made it easy to race. There were no bumps or potholes to content with anymore.
Kids on both sides of the road cheered as the carts sped down the hill. I was in the lead and pulling further ahead of my opponent. The race ended and I had managed to win. Lightening and I would go on to race another in the next round. I was ecstatic. My dad smiled and told me I did a great job.
I was eliminated a couple of rounds later but I will always remember the feeling of accomplishment and the pride of winning. I didn’t get a trophy but I got the next best thing a shinny silver dollar. My efforts were rewarded. Lightning was the last go-cart my dad built, the next year they didn’t hold the soapbox derby. Insurance companies and liability issues raised their ugly heads and put a stop to the fun.

2010-10-27T12:17:00.001-07:00

Demise of Canadian Culture

The nationalizing and the internationalizing of retail companies such as Starbucks, Home Depot, Chapters, Office Depot and Lowes not only eliminate competition it eliminates community involvement and the fostering of local artists. These companies and others like them adhere to policies that exclude local artists, musicians, and writers. As simple a thing as requesting a poster in a window is met with we aren’t allowed to do that according to head office policy. Try to promote anything individual in nature by talking to employees of these types of retail business and you can be ejected from the premises. If you happen to work at one of them, you can be fired.
In Canada, the spread of Canadiana is already restricted by the dominance of American culture through music, radio, television and much to the countries loss, American corporations that restrict all avenues of independent thought.
A case in point, in Canada the Starbuck stores sell music CDs that are mostly famous American bands and musicians and if asked to carry independent local CDs the answer is a resounding NO. The reason is always we are not allowed head office won’t let us.
Another example, at Home Depot there is a lunchroom with a bulletin board that is supposed to be for employees but only things pertinent to Home Depot are allowed on the board. Anything else is quickly removed and thrown out. Is it their right to censor Canadian content or the propagation of Canadian culture? It is difficult enough for the independent or unknown artist to earn a living, and for potential market places and customers to close their doors because of company policy, is just not acceptable.
Attitudes in the workplace in this country are dominated by Americanisms, American ideals, and American policies. The slow assimilation of our country is occurring in the workforce and not just the media. The cold psychotic, ‘it is only business’, attitude is purely American in origin and daily enforced in companies who adhere to greed and domination as a policy for conducting business.
We may as well hang up our hats and politic to become the next American state. If we do not step up and fight the policies that remove our compassion, our willingness to compromise, our politeness, then we may as well be Americans.
It is unfortunate that Canadian corporation are adopting the policies of American international corporations. They exclude Canadian artists for the same reasons.
If our own culture cannot be spread through the businesses we frequent, such as the local Starbucks, or Home Depot then we are in trouble. The greatest shame is that the Canadians who manage these companies are contributing to the demise of our identity by refusing independent artist, writers, and musicians. Individually we are afraid of the consequences, like losing one’s job but collectively they could change the face of the corporate world in Canada.
Simple adjustments in policy and practice could alleviate a world of discrimination towards the independent artist and control the unbridled domination of corporate America. The recent financial crisis is no different from the one in 1929 where uncontrolled capitalism crashed. The same uncontrolled capitalism happened this year, exactly 90 years later. With the same result, massive unemployment, millions, and millions paid to an elite few.
Canada is tied to the ups-and-downs of American political economy and it is time to change. The first step is to resist the defamation and dismissal or our culture in the retail world. It should no longer be a matter of following policy. It should be a matter of deciding to follow a Canadian perspective. American corporations need to adapt to Canadian sensibilities, Canadian cultural values and reflect the independent art, music, and written word of the country in which they do business.

2010-10-26T16:27:00.000-07:00

I just love drawing cartoon, this one is done in coloured pencil and took a while to do but I like the effect.

The SIWC Experience

2010-10-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

It was Thursday night and I couldn't sleep. The anxiety and excitement of being in a room full of writers and other creative people kept me awake. Would I be able to breathe with all the positivism permeating the air, or would I faint from the shear volume of friendliness. I would have to wait and see - and hope that my dreams didn't fill with night terrors of agent meeting or publisher pitches.
I closed my eyes and drifted off onto a cloud of feathery paper, comfortable between the crisp sheets of my own flowery prose when suddenly my peace was shattered as the ugly hand of a hard-nosed editor snatched my cover sheet and mercilessly attacked it with a blue pencil. It bled dark ink that soaked all my feathery pages with despair.
I woke in a pool of sweat. It was time to get ready for my first day.
I arrived at the hotel early - good thing I did - parking was scarce.
Inside the elevator I starred at the buttons - trepidation keeping me from pressing the L.
My horde of books and survival gear neatly tucked in my briefcase on wheels trailed behind me as I stepped out of the elevator. I made it but my bag was trapped by the light-speed closing door. My free hand went to my face to stifle any corrosive verbal retort that might pass my lips. It would have worked except for the Starbucks coffee I was carrying in that hand. --- A half full paper coffee cup makes a very unusual sound as it collapses against a cheek. I don't recommend you try that little experiment.
I stood in front of the elevator - my bag stuck in the doors - sweat and coffee pooling at my feet when a bright and chipper volunteer took pity on me - released me from the jaws of the elevator and hosed me down.
"The registration table is over there." She said then pranced away cheerily.
Despite the mishap I was still happy to be at my first writer's conference. Even my rolling survival bag seemed excited in spite of its recent coffee bath or maybe I should call the incident a coffee enema because I'm sure some of the precious liquid made it through the cracks.
Registration went fine and off to the opening speeches I went. I was quite lucky I only crippled a few writers on the way - some times my rolling bag attacks without warning and I'm always remiss in not keeping it under control.

More later....

2010-10-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

The Surrey International Writers Conference turned out to be a good source of information. I learned a lot and meet a few people who I am sure will help me market my books. I'm glad I went

Writing

2010-03-14T12:56:00.000-07:00

Creating believable character is still one of the hardest things to do in writing. It is not enough to just describe outward appearance, hair colour, eyes, build, style of dress, all of which are important but a writer needs to delve into the emotions, thoughts and justifications of the character to make him/her believable.
Just a thought, one I forget myself at times.

Facebook | chuck walker

2010-01-29T12:14:00.000-08:00

Facebook | chuck walker: "chuck walkerWhile I'm writing 'the whisperniki's of wickwood during the day I am writing another book just before I go to bed. It sure is nice have two laptops. The book I am writing, sitting on the edge of my bed (yes I said bed, it is not true that I sleep in a box of negativity) is called Paradigm and I hope I finish soon.13 hours ago clear"

Social Critic

2009-12-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

I have a major problem with the notion that questioning the reason and purpose of corporate policy is somehow a criminal act, resulting in dismissal and banishment from the working world.
It comes as an utterly dismal condition of leadership practices. In a Market based society where retail chains and international corporations dictate human behaviour for the world. Where ethical beliefs, morality, and personality are twisted for the sole purpose of making money, the quality of life has suffered immensely.
The quality of life is probably the single most important goal to aim for and it certainly is great for the elite who prey upon the weak.

Mindless

2009-11-08T11:31:00.001-08:00

The noise was unbearable, smiling mindless people running around yelling ‘yes we can, yes we can’. Blithering idiots full of glass half-full emotions, jumping up and down to the each other’s puerile ecstasy. It really doesn’t take much to send hordes of fools into a state of happy silliness. It is the modern curse of humanity, the need to remain upbeat, to refute the unenthusiastic, and kill any and all lacklustre thoughts. For some it’s an okay condition to be in, too many in fact share the delusion in the face of world misery, starvation, and war.
People are obedient drones of political whims, of corporate ideas of perfect workers and of the bright and smiley T.V. host persona. Schools are turning out people like wheat from hoppers who are taught what to think, not how to think. Creativity has become formulaic, without passion or originality. It is as if the sole purpose of society is to control each other’s hearts and minds. The prevailing thought is, if we deny the ills of the world then they just don’t exist, well, at least not in my neighbourhood. You see we don’t count the junkies, the homeless, and the hookers as people anyway.
The world has gone mindless, dependent on oil; the world has gone mad for oil. Little dwarf like people smoking cigars, sitting in huge offices where the echo takes at least 10 seconds to be heard again, send little rat like creatures scurrying across the face of the globe to hunt for more oil. Imagine if they redirected that money to alternatives, of course that would require an absolute miraculous intervention. It is the mindless who buy into the spreading nonsense about gas mileage as if getting better gas mileage will fix the problems with killing the earth. The only problem it will fix is to kill it sooner.
Still we pay entertainers, politicians and corporate heads big money to reassure us that nothing is wrong. Nothing that half of their salaries wouldn’t help fix if they weren’t so greedy. There sits the actor, living in Hollywood in a multi million-dollar mansion, telling us to help the poor, the destitute while drinking their fruity punch beside their heated pool. All the time being served by third world Mexican servants dressed in uniforms they had to buy just to get the job.
It seems as if Morality has lost its battle with blind denial and the happy face button. Ethics are adjusted to fit sales goals and the capacity to catch people in the credit trap like fish in a net. False promises and outright lies are gobbled up like cheeseburgers, ruining the diet of principles and humane behaviour. People have decided that the only way to survive is to put on blinders like the horses of the economy they are, they wear the blinders willingly so they don’t have to distinguish truth from lies, good from evil and black from white.
So what can we do about it? Do we run naked through the streets in protest? Do we string up the positivity policy makers from the nearest ‘be happy’ sign? Do we rid ourselves of all the rich, pampered elites who profess they care for us yet treat us as sheep lead to slaughter? Maybe we should run for office, unfortunately, if we win, there is nothing stopping us from becoming exactly the same thing, not much of an option.
The only viable thing we can do is resist, resist the positive rhetoric, the happy-happy, joy-joy, mindless attitudes others expect of us. Resist the temptation to smile when you really don’t feel like it. Look your boss straight in the eye and ask him/her to be honest about how he/she actually feels.
Scoff at the political rhetoric and spread the news that politicians lie and are really only out for themselves just like everyone else. If you go to political rallies stand up and say to the speaker’s face, ‘that’s a lie,’ in other words point out to them they aren’t fooling anyone anymore. Just like the old movie, scream at them “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it any more.”
Write your television stations and complain about the lack of creativity, complain about the 30-second sound bytes on the news and in the entertainment programs. Point out to them that it is not acceptable to show the same thing on 400 stations two and three times a day for three days in a row. Voice your objection to the paid programming that takes up hours and hours of airtime and tell them you don’t want to pay for them. Tell them you’re paying for cablevision and you’re tired of paying for hour-long commercials. It’s not the reason you pay for cable.
Resist the urge to leave things as they are. If you see an injustice, no matter how small it is point it out; change only comes when the truth is exposed to the world. The world will be a happier place if people remove the blinders, stand up for themselves, and face the world with eyes wide open, ready to live life to the fullest, instead of fighting to be at the head of the line in the lemming run.
I’m not advocating you be miserable, rather I’m urging you learn to distinguish between the external things that control your like and those internal powers you have to set the course of your own life. Don’t rely on others to think for you, think for yourself. Question authority, question euphemisms, and doubt the words of others until you see the truth or the lies in them. Be sceptical when some one tells you something is a fact, especially if it’s impossible to prove. Learn to think, to use your brain, so that you are better able to resist the laziness of becoming a mindless member of the human herd.

Holiday

2009-09-28T11:26:00.000-07:00

Back from holiday and happy I went to Ontario. The change in culture, transportation and food was vast.
Gas was $0.12 cheaper. The highways were car friendly and growth is supported. Very few areas of Ontario wanted to return to the horse and buggy era and to my surprise there were no bicycle lanes anywhere to be found.
Food was cheaper as well, restaurant meals were at least $5.00 cheaper than here in the lower mainland
Real Estate was less expensive even in the city of Toronto. Average price in a small town two hours outside of Toronto was $150,000.
Unfortunately the pollution is bad around the Greater Toronto Area but a steady wind seems to keep it livable.

Compacency

2009-08-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

Complacency a Canadian Virtue or a Canadian Curse.

Canadians are often complacent as the world changes. Business organizations have conducted a war against Keynesianism since the early 60's. The most famous supporters of this war were Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher.
Keynesianism became the Nemesis of big business because their avarice was stunted by government regulation.
As a result of the defeat of Keynesian economic principals, financial speculators control the market place. In the past, nearly 85% of trade was associated with actual commodities, solid products. Unfortunately at present less than 10% of international financial transactions involve commodities. Most is associated with financial speculations and currency exchange.
Keynesian political economy was introduced after the depression in the 1930's and introduced many social measures that benefited the population in general. But the limitations on financial speculations were too confining for big business organizations and as a result successive governments introduced international trade agreements that undercut the tenants of Keynesianism. Let by the economic powerhouse, the United States, the assault on social programs began soon after World War 2.
As this war on compassion wages the only victims are ourselves. The middle income group who have been propagandized into believing it's okay because just maybe, we'll win the lottery and can then join the elite who have enough money to rise above the huddled masses.
The problem is that our complacency allows this assault to continue. Each successive move by provincial and federal governments to take away health care, to increase taxes, to pay large bonuses to corporate heads, we just sit back and scratch our heads and mutter, "oh well there's nothing I can do about it."
I ask you is this a virtue or a curse? Because in the end it is us the average, struggling Canadian who is being forced into the stone age where only the strong survive.
Chuck Walker
Social Critic

Greed

2009-08-20T13:07:00.000-07:00

You just have to wonder about the premise our society is based on. After World War, the politicians and the people of Western culture held a belief that life was important, that looking after each other through social programs, like health care and pensions formed an intricate part of life. Referred to as Keynesian economics the prevalent thought was that government had a duty to control the excesses of unfettered capitalism, to step in when the greedy were out of control.
Over the previous decades, these ideals were dismantled by greed. I use the word greed as a designation of acceptable thought. Even thought in the majority of the religions of the world, greed is considered a sin; in western society, it has attained the status of a virtue. If you are not greedy, you are a non-person and a target of the greedy, you are doomed to failure, mediocrity is not acceptable, and a simple life is not an option. The world is a place of the user and the used, the predator and the prey and economics decides which one you are destined to become.
It was the greedy of the world that fought to throw off the shackles of control in order to run free to rape the world of what it had to offer. The greedy promised that the economy would balance itself through supply and demand, economic peaks, and valleys. Unfortunately, for the world the greedy didn’t accept any of the valleys and turned to government for taxpayer money. They won regardless of what happened nationally or globally. It became apparent that without some measure of control by the government, the greedy became Pandora’s Box. It is now open and the evils of capitalism left a trail of havoc across the face of the planet.

The work place promotes greed, television praises greed, research rewards greed and leaders support greed as the only worthwhile goal that should be taught in society. Take for example the pharmaceutical companies who profess to benefit humankind with each medical break through. They are the same ones who charge enormous fees to acquire the results of their labours. It can be questioned; are they benefiting humankind or their own bank accounts?
However, the greatest proponent of greed and our self-centered selfish culture is television. Shows like Donald Trumps and Gene Simmons praise greed in a God like manner. Shows that report stock markets and investment portfolios praise at the altar of commerce. Games shows where millions can be won bombard us with visions of a better live and instil in us a passion to acquire money.
Modern society has lost its compassion and the greedy don’t even wonder why. Homelessness, for them, is not a social problem but a public nuisance. The worst aspect of greed is the willingness of people to fall prey to it, to express the notion that they would rather be on the user side of it than change the process entirely.
It is of course the rich who benefit the most from others greed. The simple act of putting money in the bank allows those that control the bank to pursue varied aspects of greed, gambling your money on ventures they see fit in which to invest. People seldom think of the bonuses those individuals receive regardless of whether or not the investments make money.

Greed is an international epidemic, an uncontrolled disease that is acceptable and even reverenced by the humankind.

2009-08-18T12:27:00.000-07:00

Should I be worried or self reproachful if Corporate America thinks I'm a bad person.
Bad in the sense that I don't want to be the model worker they have designed. Bad in the sense that I recognize the lies and half truths corporate policy makers spread through their ranks. Bad in the sense that I criticize the insanity and hold them to the ideals they preach about workers being the backbone of the company. Bad in the sense of pointing out greed, profit and increased bottom end are not virtues but immoral abuses of the world.

I have recently came to the conclusion that the worst ones for the accumulation of wealth and indifference to others hide in the entertainment industry. Obscene amounts of money are paid to a select few and the only redeeming quality they have is they can entertain. And they do that, not by work but by a freak of nature. They are born with looks, or an arrangement of vocal tissue that enables them to sing well.
This includes athlete who again are freaks of nature as well. Born with muscle arrangements that allow them to compete. I say this without malice but as a warning of natural selection.

Some work is certainly involved but without the proper tools the chances of succeeding in a field you are not equipped to, is impossible.

The point is that certain individuals are born with abilities that are a result of an accident of birth and we reward them. Set them in a class above the rest of us, shower them with gifts, money and prestige.

Maybe it's time we re-evaluated this human cycle of preference.

school

2009-08-10T11:36:00.000-07:00

Well I'm bored so I signed up for another course at SFU. It should be an interesting course as it has to do with Canada and WTA. It will be fun to learn how the rest of the world views Canadian economics.

Beginning of new book

2009-07-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

Hippies of the sixties led by socially conscious intellectuals lived and promoted a life espousing the ideals of peace, love and happiness. They fought the man, gathering in peaceful demonstrations demanding equality for the races and an end to war. They exhibited a desire to make the planet a better place, a utopia where freedom of expression, happiness and love abounded. It was their desire to make the acquisition of money as irrelevantly evil and tried to replace it with the notion that to live a good life, hurting no one, and loving all was the better option. Love ins, bed ins, sit ins, peaceful protests took place all around the world to impress upon others the beauty of their ideal.
In their eyes spiritual enlightenment replaced climbing the corporate ladder, meditation replaced company mantras. They believed life was supposed to be a journey in which the basic pleasures of life were of prime importance. Making love, perfecting friendship, enjoying food, laughing, crying, talking of the mysteries of life filled our heads for countless hours. To create art, music, the written word took up their time in a never-ending cycle of contentment. To understand the universe, to dream of greater things for humanity other than greed and war was their goal. Lofty aspirations of humanistic freedom and the desire to be free of the dogma of organized religion, social stratification and political manipulation bore heavily on their consciousness. Life was short and it was to be savoured not squandered behind a desk in a cubicle acting as a conduit where money passed to the rich and the privileged. Servitude was evil in their eyes and freedom was the ultimate goal. They believe that no one had the right to own things for the sake of taxation and control. The planet belonged to the human race not just a few elite. It was the dream to roam free across the face of the planet that drew them into the folds of the unwritten idea. A place was believed to exist where people were more important than things where people were not thought of as commodities but living breathing individuals capable of great beauty.

It was this utopia where everyone lived in peace and harmony Hippies envisioned for the future. Their generation, when it aged, would have the power to ensure it would come about.

So, what the hell happened?

ebooks

2009-07-17T12:29:00.001-07:00

I'm curious to know if people like the idea of ebooks. I know the cost is less but without the feel of a solid book in your hands do people think ebooks are worth while.

There is always talk about ebooks eventually replacing printed books. I don't know if that's true?

What do you think.

Update

2009-07-15T12:35:00.000-07:00

I have finished the first draft of Murder at Starbucks. The revisions and rewrites are starting now. 200 pages to read, tighten up enough to send to the printer. I'm looking forward to it.

My new book Illusions of Feathers Falling is now at the printer and I'm waiting for the draft copy so I can make the necessary corrections. It will be available soon.

Sales have stalled on the Big Box Store and Condo Buyer Beware I hope it's because everyone is out there enjoying the sun.

2009-07-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

The rain has gone and the sun is out once again. Don't you just love it. Just a quick sarcastic comment coming up next.

"Run for your lives the negatives are coming, the negatives are coming. They are going to eat up your positivism and spit out the truth. We gotta lynch them before they corrupt the herd of blindly feel good folk."

"Luther, you got to round up the naysayers and wrastle them into 'yes we can' zombies."

"Murgatroid, you help build the wall of contempt for when them negatives to overcome."

"Come on lads we can do it."

Education

2009-06-30T13:24:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that all the seminars and facilitated group training sessions all lack the same thing. The practical aspect of the subject.
While time and effort is spent on the positive message and the ideal method, training lacks the reality of the thing.
People are trained to look positively at their approach to everything from birth to death. The practicality is always overlooked as unimportant.
The theory of how to say, put gas in a tank, is stressed at the expense of actually putting gas in the tank.
I had a conversation with a retail friend of mine who truly believes that selling credit to people is okay. He refused or was unable to see the destruction too much credit wreaks upon people. The sale of the credit is more important than the social or moral implications of burdening people with 29% interest rates.
Just a thought, if credit companies want more customers maybe they should lower interested rates to a reasonable level.

Summer

2009-06-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

Well it's summer and it reminds me of an old poem.

The sun has come
The grass has ris
I wonder where herbie the birdy is

Out in the back
burping and chirping and
Eating dirty worms.

Dumb poem but it made us all laugh when we were kids.

Where to now

2009-06-21T12:57:00.001-07:00

I was watching an article on TV about environmentalists now arguing with environmentalists over wind turbines.
As I age I wonder why the healthy earth people who don't watch TV and grow their own vegetables and live in a crazy looking self sufficient house, expect the rest of us less healthier aging people to do.
I get the impression they want us to wander off in the wilderness of downtown anywhere and curl up on the concrete and die.
I don't mean to sound so harsh but people don't seem to be able to think through the problems that face us.
No matter what, the world is run by the healthy, the energetic, the go getter's who believe in the supremacy of capitalism and the individuals right to trod on those that can't keep up.
Just a thought.
Chuck

Subversive identity theft

2009-06-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

Here is a little bit of an idea just off the cuff. I've started to think that the problem with the lack of a Canadian culture stems from the fact that not only are we bombarded with American culture in the media but also our work ethic and our attitude at work is Americanized. We no longer have a Canadian corporate world. We have an American corporate world that espouses the ideals of the American way of life based on their philosophy and identity.
Canada's moral and compassionate society is being killed off in the American style business structure.

Writing at Starbuck

2009-06-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

Despite the noise I seem to get more done at Starbucks than I do at home. It's as if I've made it my office. Are there any other writers out there that have found a place like a coffee shop to write in.

2009-06-09T12:27:00.000-07:00

I have eleven books published and yet fame and fortune have eluded me. I know there is something I've missed but I can't figure out what it is.
I have my own publishing company, I have advertised, sent out mailings, talked to people. I've been promised things that never appear and continue to trust those around me.
Life is too busy for everyone to fulfill their promises and commitments. It's too bad the world has devolved to lowly ideals, money, greed etc.

Murder at the Starbucks

2009-06-07T20:06:00.000-07:00

One of the baristas at my local starbucks hinted I should write a book about the people there. So I did.
The detective is a celtic sleuth by the name of Dyfan Rusbridge, a part time investigative lawyer who lost his wife in a car crash.
The death of a homeless man found in the bathroom of the Starbucks starts off a search for a murderer.

The Rock

2007-04-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

Today is rainy and miserable and I think of my next book, I've finished a Childrens book called Mirth and I am having difficulty designing the cover. It will come to me eventually.

I've given the first chapter of 'The Rock' to someone to edit. I am eager to see what they do.

The Last Dragon

2007-04-22T23:33:00.000-07:00

In the dark and stormy night of being an artist one comes to understand the need to express the madness that swirls around in one's head. I've started this blog to background some of the thoughts that led to the creation of my books, my music and my art.
Here is a few paragraphs of a book called 'The Last Dragon'
I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

The adventure begins with the first step
Few know where it leads
Trust in self, have faith in deeds
True heart does bravery keep

From the Tome of the Mages

Belin huddled inside his threadbare cloak, shivering. The icy wind drove the rain at him, stinging his face and hands, numbing him with the cold and soaking him to the bone. There was no shelter in sight. The Saranak Plains were featureless, flat — a never-ending expanse of nothing.
“I have to keep going!” he shouted into the wind. For the first time, fear gripped him. He did not want to die, not here, not now. He knew the plains would swallow up his corpse and no one would ever know what had happened to him. His father would search until there was nothing left to search for but dust.
The thunder rumbled low and ominously, frightening Belin’s mare and straining the fragile hold he had on her. The downpour thickened, and Belin could not see where he was going through the wall of rain. More lightning lit the sky, bathing the desolate plains in a momentary brightness, but not enough for him to get his bearings.
The storm was odd and out of place. It had started quickly, north of him. He thought about changing his direction, but he knew that would be useless — there was no time to turn back and he couldn’t outrun the approaching clouds. His mistake had been his decision to ride directly into the heart of the storm, hoping to reach the safety of the foothills. The storm proved to be faster, and it caught him in the open, far from shelter.
“I wish I had stayed home!” he shouted, but even his horse did not hear him.
Nothing strange had happened until he had started to cross the Saranak, the plains to the northwest of his village Gilburth. The ride had begun in sunshine and warmth, with a feeling of adventure. It was the first time he had left Gilburth, and he had been excited to be going to the famous Academy at Bradnerl to learn about the world — but all that seemed far less important now, because he would die if he did not find some shelter.
It was the wrong time of the year for such a storm, and he had not prepared for the extreme weather. In all the tales Belin’s father, Bral, had told him, never had such a fearsome storm been the subject. Never had he mentioned such powerful rain, thunder or lightning in any of his travels. Bral — who knew the plains well because he traveled across them often — had planned this trip. He was one the best traders in the Four Lands, and he had assured his son that this time of year was best for crossing the Saranak.
“The best plan is not always the perfect plan, father,” Belin said aloud with a sigh, but the wind carried his voice away before it ever reached his ears.
The ground was soaked and the horse was losing her footing in the slippery mud. The wind whipped the rain into the horse’s face and lifted the saddlebags, causing them to slap her flanks repeatedly. A bolt of lightning struck perilously close and the horse reared, throwing Belin to the ground. The young lad hit hard; the breath was knocked from him and he sat senseless for a moment, barely managing to hold onto the reins. He knew he wouldn’t survive if the horse bolted. Struggling to stand, he used the stirrups as a hand-hold and leaned on the horse until, slowly and painfully, he managed to rise. Watered-down blood ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. The taste of salt worried him.