Slime in the back lanes
greasy bacon haired
worm rotted popularity on the suburban to downtown bus
toothless
scabbed hands red from the oedipal clasp on cheap sherry bottles
decorated by filthy hands and nails
that reeks of “please don’t touch”
fleeing refugees from an uncaring society
victims of hedonistic failure
All depends on the needs for idealistic heroes
and funds of the welfare state
Robert K. Stephen
Apologies to our Canadian Inuit
necessary victims of freeze dried
concentration camps called residential school
good intentioned Paul McCartney
dares criticize an aboriginal seal hunt
no harpoon redress
uneasy trust only hastened the inevitable
amongst mineral rights and the sovereign
and commercial Arctic ventures
spouted from white man dollared dentures
accompanied by expanding markets
reduced to fishing guides for the sub 49ers
searching for char
presents of sealskin dolls
fabricated at venerealized encampments
foistered by fiats of ministerial hacks
white sympathy
tempered by budget allocations
remainders from ministerial vacations
Robert K. Stephen
Woes of the protesting protestant grave searcher
Journey to find father
cremated in 64
soon lost
amongst 14,867 interned Catholics
some snickering about certain historical wins
a gate
and the wrong cometary obfuscates the search
Robert K. Stephen
Childhood Plus
Slapped on the ass
wrenched out with plastic gloves
spotlight blinds the primary vision
a warm welcome to life
horrid formula milk
and the accursed Pablum
shitting all over the place
the Big Ones pat our heads
so cute
but so obnoxious so get rid of em quicks
thrust into the gulag of kindergarten barricades
angry ones yell at us
discipline, morals
and proper response to the command
tolerated and patronised
riot after the first joint and a wobbly walk in the front door possible legless lager lout
the women you have been taught to hate
frustration equals the 10 pm. rape
radical
or
suburban
to the factories of imaginary consumption
politely work for the son of a jerk
the son in law
45 team sweatered losers crowd the soccer pitch
elitism of the unemployed
beer bellied
pissing in laneways on the way home
the paranoia of survival
choking onset of the crematorium
companions fall by the wayside
life vanishes
to be bashed on the ass again
the cry
incessant
Robert K. Stephen
Chapter 52 “the post pandemic world : no more biological warfare research”
We knew where to point the fingers for COVID-19 and that was the Americans and the Chinese and for Virus # 26 it was the Turks and the Iranians who the Americans paid back in limited nuclear strikes. In both cases it amounted to negligence by humans in the pursuit of evil ends. Science focused on how to kill millions that did far worse than the murderous scientists working on the Manhattan Project to develop a nuclear bomb for the Americans so they could drop it on Germany or Japan and end World War 2. If there is a God all these scientists would be roasting in hell along with their ambition to kill and maim millions.
So the end result of all this murdering in the name of science came to an end with a United Nations treaty “A Convention to Outlaw Biological Warfare and its Research”. All countries signed this treaty, even North Korea. This time all countries had suffered under biological warfare research gone wrong so it looked as if this treaty was not a treaty made to be broken. So many scientists had become whores for close to a century and we all hoped this would end their murderous inclinations
The man handlers
Squeeze that meat
perhaps too much fatty white slime
chunky rump roast
succulent chop
once attired by a now despondent pig
and at the butcher
the burlesque show continues
Robert K. Stephen
Chapter 51 “the post pandemic world: physical and mental exhaustion yet a time for hope”
After close to 12 years of pandemics the world was exhausted both physically and mentally of having to contend with waves of viral attacks. The endless curtailment of liberties and freedom of assembly. The propaganda. Pig headed politicians. A media sadly lacking in critical analysis and sponging off the dedicated and hardworking front-line workers making wet eyed stories about them. The world was at the end of its rope. It was time to mourn and heal. We all needed a vacation from tragedy. Just some time to live without fear.
Societies learnt a lot about medicine, politics, and all about those damn viruses. They also learnt about good politicians and bad ones. After all this suffering there could be endless bitterness but most of the world took a mindful approach and realized you could not change what had happened so move on and deal with the sad stream of history by responding instead of reacting. By responding I mean making sure that these viruses or their mutated cousins would not return and if they did create a globally accepted plan to manage them properly.
There was also a greater appreciation of what one had and thankfulness for being alive. I lost my wife and son but I kept my daughter Alexis and had a strong and loving relationship with her as we had faced so many horrible things together so one can say that sometimes there is a silver lining in each cloud.
Evening Management Classes
greedy grasping suburban sniffers
assemble after work
haunted by prospects of lower class blues
fired by ambitious dreams
ontological drama forgotten
in the dance of dollars
the future manager
shines like the star of Bethlehem Steel
clamouring to absorb the techniques of worker manipulation
and win the Audi A 7
respect, dignity
wholesome people of the community
and not even that expensive Italian fragrance
masks the smell of their shit
Robert K. Stephen
If you like a short film that has you querying what really is going on when the credits role “All Too Perfect” may very well be for you.
Sam (Nabil Ayoub) and Alex (Bridget Ori) have a seemingly perfect relationship until Sam’s phone starts binging away. Alex jokes when she hears it was a call from Julia that Julia is the love of Sam’s life. However it is no joke as Alex eventually demands Sam’s password for his phone who initially refuses.
Tension between the two rises and Sam says he will give the password to Alex who then apologizes to Sam and in bed they tumble for some passionate lovemaking. While Sam is alone in their bed Julia calls again and apologizes for being a bother and sends her regards to Alex.
So what is going on here? Jealously, mistrust and anger. Or is Alex reading the situation correctly? Who knows and that’s part of the fun. What we do know by the end of the short their relationship is not perfect. Very few are. As Frank Sinatra signs, “That’s Life”.
I wish Counterbalance Collective would end my misery and produce a sequel so we get the low down.
Well written by Erika Nonato and with just the right musical score. Ori and Ayoub play their roles perfectly. Ori can turn on the charm one minute and be aggressive and offensive immediately after. Great tension in the 8-minute short.
You can watch it here on Counterbalance Collective’s YouTube Channel.
Chapter 50 “so what about me Dr. Evan Terpene?”
This is my story so I should update you about where I ended up.
You may recall my gangster patient Spike gave me title to his ritzy Toronto penthouse condo but in addition to that he willed me his “compound” in Sunridge, Ontario, Sunridge is a tiny town 275 kilometres from Toronto. I quit my job at a cardiologist in a major Toronto hospital and headed up to a beautiful heavily forested area with Alexis and the drugs, cash, gold coins and ammo Spike had in his condo.
What a change from the concrete jungle rat race in Toronto. My compound was 10 kilometres from the centre of the town. It was surrounded by heavy forest except for 4 acres of fields where cannabis was growing destined for the illegal Toronto market. I was taken aback by two heavily armed bikers living in a barbed wire enclosed cabin near the fields. Chester and Cedric were Spike’s boys and I struck a deal with them. They were to guard the cannabis and myself, Alexis and Pill Boy my Westie. In return they could keep half the cannabis harvest and I would take the rest.
You would think that Cedric and Chester were very bad ass thugs and they were but inside that vicious exterior they were like shy little boys Even Pill Boy, who barked at any living creature, just loved those two guys and they spoiled him rotten. Friday nights was Italian pasta night with red wine and of course cannabis for Chester and Cedric. Alexis was becoming a fine chef specializing in Italian cuisine. It wasn’t too long after we arrived that Alexis had a truck garden growing beside the cannabis. The annual San Marzano tomato harvest and bottling was far more important to Alexis than the cannabis harvest. Pill Boy was in seventh heaven hunting small rodents and constantly cuddled and belly rubbed by the two “hoodlums” Real life can set you straight on stereotypes!
And the house on the compound was an ultra luxurious “log cabin” with all the gadgets including a home theatre, restaurant equipped kitchen, eight bedrooms and an ultra high-tech security system. The basement was a bunker. A “panic room” stocked with enough food to last for years, a kitchen, a three thousand bottle wine cellar and an arsenal of weapons, a huge vault filled with gold bullion, a sauna and a nuclear grade air filtration system. My oh my what a lifestyle drugs could offer! I was beginning to feel a bit like Pablo Escobar.
Once the locals realized I was but simple cardiologist and not a narco king they were incredibly friendly. In fact their local doctor had ben killed off by Virus # 26 so his abandoned clinic was mine. It took a bit of time to revert to general medicine after being a specialist which was rewarding as I got to know “the whole system” as opposed to the heart. Alexis, Pill Boy and Dr. Evan Terpene fit in nicely in the community. In all the carnage and misery I suppose I felt a bit guilty being so very happy but never look a gift horse in the mouth.
What about all the city people flocking to the country for food. Well the local civil guard so well armed (thanks to Spike putting them on his payroll) occasionally had to repel marauders. My half share of the cannabis harvest was more than enough to give the local civil guard immunity to Virus # 26. Me a gentle physician now a Rambo killer and a narco king! And boy oh boy these local folks make such incredible lemon meringue pies. Real country cooking!
A Bird's Eye View of Fashion, Food, Travel, Culture, Beverage and Curiosity