Wednesday, November 28, 2007


The situation has become critical.

I have somehow totally nuked the left ( analytical side) of my brain.

Comes from too much of what may be laughingly called self expression.

I believe that so-called "creative work" is done by the right side of the brain.
This has thoroughly begaffled the high-seated "all in control" left side of my brain.
"Computer brain", the reptilian part that tells you how to get home--has taken right over.

Never mind the math, "computer brain" was saying. Make your mental connection through words, and words alone.
I have lost all my math ability and what small grasp I had on technology. ..(The great Einstein, of course, would say that what I had produced was "mere literature", and he would be right.
"Doctor of literature"...And my shrinking clientele of "students" is wondering if I could doctor anybody's literature. I am positive one of my poets is going to sue me for malpractice and may go so far as to even push to have my poetic licence revoked!

I have always, in my idleness liked to read up on he workings of he human brain.
The brain, when fed a conundrum, likes to close the problem up, by hook or by crook, whether it has found the right anwer or not. We are impatient with problems--nobody likes problems-- and sometimes the brain supplies a quasi-solution, which is no solution at all...(Like forget E=MC2...Einstein f*cked his sister- in- law! Oh that mischievous right-side brain!)

It all leads to a conundrum.
Conundrum. Now there is a 35-cent word!

Let me try to explain.
Says "Sean Connery" in an SNL routine, "A conundrum is like a problem. I will try to explain the meaning of the word to you..."
"Aw forget it. Your mother is a whore! "

Anyway, conundrums.
I got the conundrums.

Rejected once too often in my bid to have my Light Over Newmarket novel republished, I realized that they had not sent back my manuscript last time around and I went to the local library to see if I could find the actual printed book. Things look better in print, so I would reread the book and answer to myself once and for ll whether the work was any good. I must admit it was kind of a gas to see old Ivan listed in the fiction section; it was less of a gas to see that the work was shot through with mistakes and typos. Ah well...editors are supposed to look after that sort of thing...I had been my own editor of my own publishing company.
There was another book of mine in the library, The Hat People.
Like an aging starlet, I looked over this old work.

Hey. Things look better in print. The Hat People, though published small, eleven years ago, seemed right in the middle of today, the post 911 paranoia, the sense of the absurd, as in the tasering incident at Vancouver Interational Airport. And the arrrogance of officialdom as the RCMP tries to sweep the case under the carpet.

Oh watch out world. I am going to reissue THE HAT PEOPLE and bring the house down.

Yeah, sure.
Anyway, if you're interested at all, you can click onto THE HAT PEOPLE, top right of this very page.

Son of a gun. I seemed to have been better writer thirty years ago.
Or so I tell myself.
Damn that Sean Connery.
My mother is...?



Shesawriter said...

You're not alone. My analytical abilities died with the dodo bird. Why do you think my blog is titled My Irrationalities?

I'd love to blame my brain issues on rejection letters, but I wasn't right to begin with. ;-)

Liz said...

My brain is a trickster! ~Liz

benjibopper said...

i was a better writer 30 years ago too.

i did enjoy the first bit of light over newmarket and i intend to finish it too.

maybe though it's time to burn your book collection and the local library too.

start fresh in the morning and you can get some of the bank's money when you win a giller too. said...


I don't think any one of us was right to begin with.
My mother used to tie me to a tree while hoeing on the farm.
With a fair IQ at the time, this totally destroyed me as kid.
"I look at clouds from both sides now."
Seriously, you site is jammed by spam. You'd better have a look.


Ivan. said...

Mine too, as you can read. :) said...


You are encouraging, as always.
And right on.
Got my pension cheque today.
Screw the rent, I say!

eric1313 said...

Analyze what? Who? Where? How? When?

Fug it! Fug it all!

Let's get a five dollar pizza and a gallon of Popov and go through that manuscript phrase by phrase, Ivan.

I'm sure you can spin gold from it and make a mint. This world is ripe for the taking. Go for it before it's too late.

Anyway, analysis is for the birds. Who are, scientists say, descended from reptiles, and are probably closer living relatives to dinosaurs than even lizards are.

Let them ponder the conundrum of giant monsters evolving to the point that they can no longer survive on each other's massive corpses or all tthe leaves in all the forests.

Like a meteor, they never saw the end coming until the dust covered them for eternity's nap time.

And thus we inherit the earth, and are on the same track, marching toward the butt crack o' doom.

I say, let hope spring eternal, Ivan. Before the waters lie still for the next inheritors, the next master race.

Maybe they'll be smart and burn books right from the start. Maybe they'll laugh at the silliness they think of as coming from the "human" part of their brain.

Analyze the fug out of that, why don;t ya?

TomCat said...

Conundrum... I wish GW Bush's daddy had used one.

Josie said...

I'm just posting on your last blog post. Cute story :-) Now, when I have time, I will read your latest blog post.


I have sent you an e-mail. It's a hoot! said...


You are right. The time is now.
Before the mails are clogged at Christmas.
Norman Mailer would have loved you.
No need for analysis.
Fug 'em all. said...


Yep. Wouldn't it have been nice of George Sr's genes were only half passed down...And I'm not sure about Jeb,though he visites Toronto often. said...


You actually got a note from Mel Carter. The Mel Carter. The singer?

How cool is that?

I think I'll blog about John Updike.
Never mind the name. I've got a doozer too, and Updike is my hero.

eric1313 said...

Hahaha! Fug'em all six ways 'til Sunday!

Sienna said...

**You don't know, perhaps, but I will tell you; the brain is the palest of all the internal organs, and the heart the reddest.

Whatever comes from the brain carries the hue of the place it came from, and whatever comes from the heart carries the heat and color of its birthplace.**

Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

(The Professor at the Breakfast Table )

Ivan keep writing with your heart, there is no place for brains in writing-the best kind.

Pam said...

I have always tried to emulate the Sixties New York writers, including Mailer--who were very brainy.
Maybe I should have leaned more toward the great Fyodor, old Dostoevsky, who seemed to know more about the human heart than anybody. said...


"The long and the short and the tall."
"Our Sergeant-Major's got a hell of a dose of clap."

the walking man said...

Ivan, I had to take a cognitive abilities test yesterday, only got half way through it when they put the pointed hat on that said "DUNCE" I asked them where the brim was because a witches hat had to have brim.



Josie said...

Ivan, I agree with Pam. Write with your heart, not your brain. Those were always the best writers anyway.

Your heart always comes through in your writing. said...

Oh how you remind me of somebody I know here in town.
On the razor's edge, and all the time. Very bright guy, but couldn't sit still in class long enough to get his degree. But the intellect still shone.
I introduced him to the late and great Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges and next thing you know, this friend was writing exactly like Borges. ("Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote"?)

He did worry, however, about college tests and essays in the past he shold have done better on.
If you ever, at any time worry about a test or essay you could have done better on---this bodes well.
You might just move from the Sorcerer's apprentice out of that old Mickey Mouse film to becoming a journeyman sorcerer.
Your hat will be emblazoned with planets and stars.
And probably soon.
Take care. said...


A bouquet of pixels for you.

Shesawriter said...

Tie you to a tree? And here I thought I had it rough. ((Ivan))

Josie said...

Ivan, did you see me do my little dance?

eric1313 said...

Sometimes, you just let the words go and they make sense of themselves.

Thus my crazy responses that go over well. Thanks for the encouragement, Ivan. It's all good.

Anonymous said...

Not only in Indian Country do they have Papooses. :)

Small wonder I used to giggle to a spoof on an old cowboy song:

"Come-a tie my pecker to a tree to a tree
Come a tie my pecker to a tree."


(Durn sarsaparilla).

Anonymous said...


Do you mean dancing to Mel Carter with the gorgeous Tim and his wonderful, flying machine?

This old clunker of a computer here is giving me trouble and the YouTube skips.
I couldn't pick up your "Chippendale" site either, as they wanted me to insall a flash player.
I think the spammers have zeroed in on my and my machine is acting funny.
I am fishing, within my family for a new computer and I've got the funniest feeling I'm going to get one!
Sorry, Josie. Of all the things in the world, I hate to be thick.
I'll blame it on this old Windows 98.


Anonymous said...


Oh, I am thick in these wee hours!

I guess you were a cabaret dancer or something, your face, probably on a gorgeous body, just like your own, I suppose.
I did click onto the link, but they wanted me to install a flash player and with all my computer woes, I did not click on to install.


Anonymous said...


Blogger won't let me comment in my own comment space, but,

Buenos Dias, Amigo.


eric1313 said...

That sucks!

Hope it gets worked out.

I just posted again, and I have to head back to Detroit. Got a wedding of a friend, and a hospital visit as well.

Take'er easy, man. And let your techie son know he messed up your blog!

ivan said...


I am going to put up a new blog just to see if Google and Blogger continue to scotch me.
Maybe a new blog will clear the logjam in my attempt to comment on my own blog.
Indeed. What a drag!


ivan said...

By George, I got 'er.

A little bit, anyway. said...

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