Sunday, December 30, 2007

Going Away

The story will deal with "going away".

This kind of story is standard for us misfits everywhere who want to be writers.

Working at a donkey job, with donkey associates. Everybody greying. Pigeon-grey Dilbert cubicles. Pigeon-grey people.

Oh to strike out, to see colour, to finally make it with Britney Spears. Hey.

Walter Mitty fantasies.

They say neurotics build castles in the air.

The psychotic moves right in.

I can at least dream the story I am going to write.

Love and Sacrifice in the Labor Movement (No not Britney's sister)

I am, probably a closet communist.
Certainly interested in labour movements of the past the --Wobblies, the Winnipeg General Strike, the first insurrection of this kind in Canada.
They squashed the Wobblies (One Big Union) movement, squashed it good, as in, maybe, Pakistan.
They absolutely pilloried the leaders of the Winnipeg General Strike, which took place at about the time of the First World War.
The McCarhyists weeded out anybody even knowing a Communist in the Fifties.
And Stalin was shown to be a monster.

Communism has a past of despotism, genocide, murder--certainly most foul.

Yet I hate capitalism.

Kingston Trio: And I don't give a damn about a greenback dollar
Spend it fast as I can

I am dreaming of a story of going away, of heading off to some Tahitian Island, like Gaugin, to have wahines, concubines, mistresses.

I want to get Clamidia (Do I like Roman chicks?) and, maybe become really fashionable, contract AIDS--I mean, wouldn't you?
I am tired of garden-variety ailments. I want to get "designer diseases"...Maybe I could get to meet Stephen Lewis, champion of the AIDS fight.

I want to meet a Tahitian girl who lives by water.
I want to wear a sarong...Heh. I worry about this.

These matters are, of course, resolved in the process of growing up.
But I never have.
I sleepwalked through my marriage, sleepwalked through my pigeon-greay job, sleepwalked through my affair with the beautiful lover, and I'm still sleepwalking, still dreaming.
My children have grown up in my sleepwalking.
I don't think I ever grew up.
I still want to be wonderful. I still want any number of beautiful lovers.

But, as in the past, you need words. The beautiful words.
If you produce the beautiful words, you will surely get laid. My professor said so.
And, as a published writer of grand mysteries, he should know:

"Two things are certain: You will get published, and you will get laid."

Hey c'mon. Times a-wastin'!

I am given to understand that one good novel will do it for you. Doesn't matter if you're a limp spaghetti noodle in bed, artistic power will be enough. It is all up to the bounty of the woman, and women are bountiful. Bootyful.

I am off to write my wonderful novel.

This, of course, will require a trip.

I am going away.


Josie said...

Nooooo! Where are you going?

ivan said...

Hey Josie,

You live by the ocean, right?


the walking man said...

Try some LSD with that BC bud you will go on a trip that might shake the martini mixer of your mind into the right frame, barring the LSD try to find the yellow Belladonna.



ivan said...

I will consult my pharmacist/dealer immediately.

Charles Gramlich said...

I prefer the phrase "getting my ashes hauled." I did discover once upon a time that words were the key to cybersex.

ivan said...

Hi Charles.

Just a few weeks ago, this site could well have been Lava Life.

Hot and cold running women seriously upsetting the Quarks, with whom I have a great friendship.
The "Quarks" and me, the "AntiQuark"--are inseparable.

Oh there were words aplenty!

Anonymous said...

The use of metaphor and double entendre to describe actions and things has always been common in blues lyrics. Sexual wordplay became especially popular during the early days of recording when the public wanted racy songs but the performers were enjoined from using graphic language in the studio. The sex/work metaphor is prevalent; the most common usage is a reference to "rolling." Literally, "rolling" is moving freight or materials from one place to another. It's repetitive, time-consuming work that requires strength and endurance to do well. Get it? Hauling ashes is what you do after cleaning out a stove or hearth prior to lighting the fire. This suggestive image was used by Sleepy John Estes when he sang, 'You may starch my jumper / Hang it upside your wall / You know by that, baby / I need my ashes hauled.'
Broom dusting is another metaphor entirely, and a poignant one. It refers to sweeping out a domicile before vacating it. (Landlords often ask departing tenants to leave the premises 'broom clean.') The lyric, originally recorded by Kokomo Arnold, was modified by Robert Johnson, who sang,'I'm getting up in the morning / I believe I'll dust my broom . . . / The black man you been loving / Girlfriend, can have my room.'"

From: Dear A.G., February 1997,Acoustic Guitar, PO Box 767, San Anselmo, CA 94979-0767; or to our E-mail address,

Reply from Leif Thorvaldson (Eatonville - U.S.A.)

TomCat said...

Very interesting, Ivan, even if I missed the story that wen't with the pic. ;-)

Enjoy tour trip... To Quarkville?

ivan said...


Britney is sort of uh, arresting, isn't she.
Like a bad boy this holiday season, I googled for Fed Ex's sex tapes. Ooh-la-la.
Britney eating a salami!

Lucky Fed Ex. Too bad for him that he is now indeed ex.
I'm gonna marry that girl!

Uh, Happy New Yesr!

eric1313 said...

Hey, it's grand adventure time on the south seas!

Every read "Paradise" by good old Larry McMurtry? I have a copy, a gift from my favorite professor. It's a memoir of his south pacific cruise, a two month long affair from Fiji, to Micronesia, to Tonga, to Bougainville and Tahiti and Easter Island (a creepy place if ever there was one). He was soul searching after the death of his parents, reflecting on his career amidst a pack of wealthy French and German passengers who had never heard of him, but wished him luck on his writing career. It's rife with daydreams and fantasies of lazy love and novels to be in the seedy little villas by the sea. Excellent book, as is his usual fare.

Get that novel of yours out of your system or not, Brittney is well within your grasp, Ivan.

Write us when you get back!

ea monroe said...

Take the last train to Quarksville, Ivan! Hop on board!

Just don't travel away too far! Keep us posted on the novel!

Ya know, sometimes life seems like the Big Sleepwalk.

See ya tomorrow! ;-)

Happy New Year!! ~Liz

Donnetta Lee said...

Peter Pan in Never Never Land.

You'll never grow up-never grow up-never grow up! Thank goodness.
Who wants to grow up?

So much better to be Walter Mitty and curl up into your dreams. Dreams of words. Words that create worlds. Created worlds with Tinkerbell in them. Forget about chlamydia. Catch the stardust.

Have a good trip. The Quarks will always wait for you.


Kate S said...

Great post.

Sienna said...

The ocean sounds that would be (in no preferential order); seafood, sun, sex, sea, sand, drinkies to go with seafood and writing.

Excellent dream...apart from Brits! I am fairly positive I am a monogamous and heterosexual...but you could do this Ivan, one for you and one for your country.

Brilliant and funny. :)

Happy nearly new year....had mine last night, about midnight; saw it in with a bang and a half. (Thats firecrackers up the back paddock :) )

Rock on mate.


ivan said...


Ah, the spirit was willing, but the body was weak.
My intention was to set out on New Year's Eve and catch the Via Train, our Continental, in hopes of going somewhere grand. (My usual luck is to find instant companions on such trains and toast the new year in the club car).
Alas, it was not to be.
Right from early morning, Dec. 31, two top right teeth, suddenly without the libation of a daily case of beer, began to get looser than Paris Hilton on a porn shoot,and the extraction of an earlier bad tooth had loosened my bridgework on the front teeth.
There also seemed an onset of the flu. Dizziness.
Oh damn. Why me, and why now?

I took a town bus back from the Via station.
Well, here, at least was luck. I didn't have to pay for the town bus because it was New Year's Eve, the driver was in a smiling mood, all sorts of people were wishing me and others a happy New Year, and we sort of toured around quite a bit before I got back home.
I temporatily forgot the pain and the sick sensation.
Once home--ain and the furies on a New Year's Eve.
"Death, you bastard, I've been dodging you for the past thirty years, right from the time I left my wife, which was a kind of death."

My usual lack of holiday planning left me with only a half mickey and some wine dregs to drink, where serious remedy, such a Jack Daniels was really needed.
Well, I drank up everything in the house, including one lonely, cowering half-beer and an unfinished glass of Chablis--until the pain in my teeth and the pain in my head subsided.
I finally found a half-bottle of rum and found out, once again, that death goes better with Coca Cola.
...This was one trip I was on!

Never mind the shitty band televised at Natha Phillips Square, where some seventy thousand people had gathered.(We used to get Ronnie Hawkins and Bruce Cockburn).

New Year's Eve and I was without the one I love, and sick as a dog.

Serious measures had to be taken.
I gathered up every vegetalble I could find, threw in a half-eaten chicken leg, boiled the mother for about two hours while all the time drinking wine dregs. I had my broth and somehow got to sleep.

Well. Don't miracles happen.
Death on New Year's Eve-- and this morning, Jan. 1, I am born again.
The pain in my teethi is still there, but I do have a strong sense of being reborn. The chicken and the vegetables did her!
So here am I finally, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but certainly not in Tahiti.
It was kind of a dream of a madman in the first place.

But once I see the doc and the dentist, I shall surely go forth on my odyssey.

Heh. Liz Monroe was right. "See ya in the morning."

Yep. Felt the earth turn under my feet and almost (I swear) died, but the miracle of the new year is upon me.

What the hell.
Happy New Year everybody!

ivan said...


Well, yes, the last train to Quarkville.
I just noticed that all four quarks have reported in and I hardly have to go anywhere.
Yep, you are seeing me in the morning. Heh.
I did intend to go off on my odyssey right on Dec. 31, but God somehow stopped me (The SNAFU is described in my response to Eric up above).
So it's January One-- here I am in the morning, though not like poor Imus in the Morning.
Happy New Year, Liz and all.

ivan said...

p.s. to Eric,

Seems like Larry McMurtry has written my book already.

I'm going to have to seriously have check out that MoFo.

ivan said...

"Welcome to your new destination for romantic fiction,Aphrodite's Apples! We believe that a good romance should have a driving plot, and a thriving love story. Make it hot, but give it plot! This is not your mother’s romance novel; so if you’re ready, take a bite"

Hello kate s.

That is quite a header on your blog.
I see that you are a part-time editor and a working mother.
So you want a romance story?
Hell, have I got a story for you.
It even involves animals...Definitely not for my mother!

Thanks for the comment and Happy New Year.

ivan said...


How nice.

A note from knowledgeable Wendy.

There be oceans. There be beasties.
There be pirates!
Peter Pan(chuk) is off!

ivan said...


In with a bang! LOL.

I am having a very good morning here in Canada on Jan.1, though it is snowing like the dickens and people are illegally driving up and down Main Street in Skidoos.
No kiddingl!
Ah well. I tried to go off on my odyssay, got stymied by aching teeth and the onset of flu (besides the onset of snow).
So I am back in my warm apartment.
...Got no place to go.

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Happy New Year, Sienna (Pam)!

ea monroe said...

Happy New Year, Ivan! It's the Year of the Rat. ~Liz

ivan said...


You were so right at me being back from my "odyssey" in the morning!

Yep. Year of the Rat.

I looked in the mirror this morning on the year of the Rat, and said to myself, "Ah. So!"

Happy New Year dear, and the same to all the Quarks and ones who would like to be Quarks.

Josie said...

Ivan, are you back? I think the law of physics states that the Quarks would disintegrate without the PentaQuark.

Or something like that.

Happy New Year!

ivan said...


Yep. Something Einstinian stopped me.

Happy New Year!

Donnetta Lee said...

Ivan: So sorry you have been sick. I above all right now sure know about teeth and sickness! Take care of yourself and get to that dentist! Doesn't chicken do wonders!


Donnetta (Wendy)

ivan said...


I must have been vitamin-depleted myself.
Yep, the chicken and all those vegetables--broccoli, cauliflower, spinach, carrots, cabbage, onions--really did 'er.

Save for a small tingle in my crummy teeth, I feel like a million bucks.
...My handbook "What to do until the psychiatriest comes"--high humour!--says beware of feeling quite so good..."The next stage is depressive, so watch out."

Hell with depressive.
One is off to a grand start...

I even found out that the first editor who got me published big time now has her own literary gency.
Hey, there's hope.
"Moira, you have rejected my short pieces all this year.
Look out. Here comes my fiction to the Cooke Agency!..."


One is like a balloon with the end nipped off.
(Very likely last night's wine!)

Sienna said...

You take care Ivan; if you've got some chicken soup that will be good, rest and keep warm as much as possible.

I'm thinking Brit needs to consult an underwear specialist, her cup size fittings are painful, she doesn't need to squish herself up like that; breasts just need cupping, not carving.

I think we could help her. See the light. Get herself back in touch with her dignity. :)


ivan said...

Thanks. I have reduced some movement (have to in the current snowstorm) and am sort of just moseying about.
Lots of chicken left; it's working.

Yeah, Brit.

I do believe she has had work done on her breasts--maybe that's why she looks so Vava-va-voom!.

But if she has implants, it must be doubly painful.

Ah well. All for the career, and her DVD sales prove it. She is still up there.

...But I just saw some pics of her and Kevin Federline.

Wow. She was really down there.

(All this in the pursuit of serious reseach, you understand.) :)

eric1313 said...

Glad to see the new improved robo Ivan, Slavic Cyborg, ghost in the machine whispering in the hollows of past and future glories.

Yeah, McMurtry's novel is really good. But I bet your take would be totally different.

Happy New Year! I know about teeth problems, I have half a molar that sometimes kills during the night.

If I ever get rich, I'm going to get those porcelain chompers permanently put in there.

Peace out.

ivan said...

Deus ex machina.

Looks like the lowered the f*cker right intohe middle of my play.

Margaret Laurence to Dan Bailey:
"You are a writer. Don't be a lunchbucket."

I used to be master of the calculated risk.

Sure losin' the touch.

We'll see.

This seems the year to cut out the bullshit and dehorn the cattle.
There is steam up, anyaway.

ivan said...

Ode Dear!

That last should read (for all it's worth): "Looks like they lowered the f*cker right into the middle of my play."

...Think I'm losin' it, losin' it.


eric1313 said...

I got it, first and second time.

I love the term Deus Ex Machina.

Put it to use in this poem from back in August. Note: A Win Dixie is like Wal Mart for the southeastern populace.


Go ahead and comment if you like, too. I turned on my email notification--Somebody put a link on one of my old short stories and I was getting new comments that I didn't know about! It was great!

Plus I was getting a few "secret" communications from someone dear to me, in the form of comments in the archive. A very nice person, indeed.

As the governator once said...
I'll be back!

eric1313 said...

Yeah, it's a pain in the butt to copy in piece by piece, so you can find it in August on the 8th

Note--the girl flirting with me at the end of those comments is not the secret cool girl.

ivan said...

Hm. I guess you mean:

Hourglass of a Widow Scorned

The threads were dark and worn thin,
the black silky night vision underwear
for her
dangling in front of my face
limp like a very small, very dead animal
and I know it even by smell
and somewhere the reaper smiles.
I am making his job easier.

Angry serpents and her sick smile
reflect in the dagger at my throat.
I'm sure it all looks divine,
with the light flaring in her eyes like
stardeath blossoming in the black.

Everything she is
or everything I thought she was
or will be
is telling me its just not my day.

She won't let me play god with her
she wants me to lay my cards down
and tally up the score.

The only way out
is straight up--

But the deus ex machina
is out of order
at the Win-Dixie market.

So I told her where
the little lacy black silk spun
spiderqueen sex-goddess corset
six sizes too small for her
came from.

I left out the Victoria Secret part
She didn't want to hear it,
not now or then or later...

Then i realized she wasn't smiling--
Her dagger smiled
Her jaw was set, a trap for the kill.

Fire from her eyes melted my face
and gallows of guilt were built in a day--

This night~right now as i write,
I'm dead and buried and forgotten.


--Eric Bachman.


Would be interesting to hear what the Quarks may have to say.

...And Eric, I know the United States rather well.
Winn-Dixie Stores all over Florida.
(I am a former Snowbird)


I once complimented my wife on her dress.
She said, "If you like it so much, you can wear it."

Gallows laughter. :)

eric1313 said...

Ha! You even know how to spell it--I don't! That's how long it's been since I was on a southbound road trip.

Yeah, Maybe I should have just brought it here to begin with, instead of hoeing myself for comments. (I like comments, they make me happy!)

I hope everyone else is well,

and the rest of the crew!

Happy New Year, you guys!

Take it easy, Ivan.

Here's another shot...

And I won;t even drink it too fast on accident.

Cheers/Mazal Tov/Here's mud in your eye

ivan said...

The last guy who sang this song was zapped from above, but I think I heard, at a party:

Do they have Mogen David
in Heaven, sweet Jesus?

Dear Lord,
I'd like to know

If they don't have Mogen David
in heaven, sweet Jesus

If they don't
Who the hell wants to go.


And on top of that, I' pretty sure Heaven is smoke-free.

So we smoke and drink here on earth.

(But then up here in Baffin Island, they sometimes like a cold cup of Caribout come, on the rocks, and that must be pure hell)...

You can see that I've totally lost it!

Ah well. Chimo!

ivan said...


It's spelled Mazel Tov,
Goyissche meshuggah. :)

the walking man said...

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha Detroit itself got less than an inch of snow, it all went west and north of us. I keep telling people that Detroit is so mean that even bad weather won't come here.



ivan said...

Certainly not the caribou.

People would say, You think those Detroit guys are mean?
You should see their pets.

benjibopper said...

communism and capitalism are just different stages of the same disease. not quite as famous as AIDS, but even more dangerous.

i guess i'm lucky, the beautiful affair is with my wife. but the masterpiece awaits.

ivan said...

Flash of insight, Benji!

I see Eric1313 has listed you as one of the top-drawer bloggers he likes to visit.
I guess it's a kind of award and you should be proud.
(Didn't even mention me, but after you've read some of my comments to him above, maybe he knew). :)

A said...

LSD . . . or DMT?

Happy New Year, Ivan!

ivan said...

Hi "A".

Yep, it's a bit like watching the old Kubrick movie on LSD:

HAL 2,000 to Dave the astronaut in 2001:

"I am coming apart, Dave.
I can feel it.
I can feel it.

I was assembled in Texas.
My creator was...


Give me your answer true
I'm half crazy
For the love of you.

I'm coming apart, Dave.
I can feel it.
I can feelit."

Russell said...

Have a nice year, Ivan!

My first suggestion would be to do away with the Brittany picture!! I think life without the Brittanys and Nicoles of the world will go a long ways towards acheiving peace on earth! I am not a fan of either, but, then again, I am 53 years old and, as the kids say, don't relate any more....!

I enjoy your thoughts and am glad you are back. You do provoke some thought and that is what any good writer does, right??

Take care.

ivan said...

Hi Russell,

You teach community college too?

Revealing, isn't it, especially after the standars set by your own profession. Loosey-goosey, especially among the faculty--at least that's what I found.

Thanks for the greeting, and Happy New Year to you.

eric1313 said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
eric1313 said...

I was going to list you, but I didn't want to call you a monkey, Ivan!

**Sings the Rolling Stones song**

This is one of my favorite places, as can be seen by my comments.

There is life here, a vibrance. Your takes on the world are priceless, and luckily so--I'm broke as a joke.
Mazel Tovv, ehh?

Take the spelling issue up with the Jewish person I copied from!

ivan said...


Yeah, I would feel a bit odd if I wee to receive the "This Blogger Has Inner Monkey" award.

John Prine:

"And to gold rolled through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains
And gave him all the confidence he lacked
With a Purple Heart and a monkey on his back..."

The only thing I have on my back these days is my accountant, and that's bad enough.
But I am cross- addicted to the unholy trinity of cigarettes, coffee, booze, prescription drugs.
Also women.

There was a time, long ago when a Jewish family sort of took me under its wing, "edjucated" me
and taught me how to straighten up and fly right.
Unfortunately, the lesson didn't take.
You have three chances.
Unfortunately, I ate the grubstake in all three instances.
Looks like a writer in the family is not he same thing as a doctor in the family.
Once educated, I stopped working.
I mean, wouldn't you?

eric1313 said...

I'm with you there, Ivan.

Let someone else break their butts for a day job. All we need are words and an audience.

Let's see, I've got the words right here...



ivan said...

I've been trying for years to suppress the first rush of an instinctive response, like "afta suppah, muddafukkah", but it has been my sad experience that words don't come all that well without a good dinner.
So you got somethin' strictly from hunger?
I wouldn't bother all that much if I didn't think you were good.

eric1313 said...

Haha-- Thanks Ivan, i try--most of the time.

Good reading is like a meal too, I read good words and they inspire me to right good.

That's the theory, anyway. Most of the time, it holds true.

I've heard people say "the ideas a person comes up with at 4:00 in the morning are their worst ones."

I could defintiely argue with that. You've seen my post times. There isn't an hour in they schedule of the day that I haven't posted at. Although, the mornings between six and noon tend not to see much use!

ivan said...

My mornings between six and noon are first preoccupied with the question, "Dare I have a drink in the morning?"
I phone my friend, and he says, "Should there be any doubt?"

I'd better get started early on the drink part. It's only l:15 a.m.
Maybe I'll sleep through the satanic train whistles just under my balcony.
My turn to say Mazel Tov.
And shalom.

eric1313 said...

Well, whenever you feel like it, drop by! I'll be there with something new.

And I have a shot at the ready

There it went! Night!

Shesawriter said...

Ivan, why do you have that ... um ... what's up with the Britney picture? You're starting to worry me....

Happy New Year! :-)

ivan said...

Hi Tanya,

And Happy New Year to you!

re Britney:
I am probably the one person in the world who is convinced that Britney is talented.
And then she do brighten up a page, don't she?

...Just an old man's fantasy.
Be worried. Lol.

Shesawriter said...

Fantasies are okay, Ivan. But could you chose someone a bit less skanky the next time? LOL

ivan said...

That poor woman.
She was just hauled into rehab again during a custody pick-up that went terribly wrong. She was drunk. Very.


Sigourney Weaver.
But she got old.

I picked up a Yuppie flu over the weekend and my teeth are falling out.
Too ruined to even fantasize.

Heathcliff sitting wrecked on his hill on the moors.
Coughing, but not fruitily. :)