Saturday, July 05, 2008

Down to the house of the rising sun. Or was it a toga party?

Life leads you down strange paths, and even stranger tactics and ambushes as you try to get back the one you love.

The idea was to ambush the one I love with her new Italian paramour.

Found the address. Silhouettes on the shade.

Silhouettte, Silhouette, Silhouette ...die. .. oh.

From the sublime to the ridiculous. He seems to play with she. I sit in the car an almost play with me.

Jealousy. Night and day you torture me.

Was I bent on revenge, or just a garden variety peeping Tom?
I had to close with my enemy.

I see the man sitting in the nightclub. I think he needed a break from her. Having a beer.
He seems to somehow recognize me. He beckons me to come to his table.
The man is swarthy, natty, Frank Zappa moustache.
I am fair and frazzled.
He is smiling. Says not a word to me. Orders two beers.

I am maddened by jealousy, high on adrenaline. "You Billy Gambini". He keeps smiling and just nods.
"What are you doing with Celia? He shrugs. extends his hands. Certainly one good-looking Cicilian.

Ah well. Positive ID.
Rage, outrage. How dare he steal my woman?

I let fly with a backhander that knocks him well back in his chair. He is not getting up.

I back out of the club.

Well, nothing is revealed, but at least I feel better. And all the worse for Billy Gambini. But I know Billy is in he mob.
These guys answer pretty fast, so I'd better look to my future.

Well, don't they work fast? Answer right away.

Came home to find my aparment on fire.
Lucky this time. Called 911. They put out the fire in the stairwell, wihch was about the extent of it. This time.

The best way to get back at your enemy is right under his sword.

Two weeks later, I went back to the nightclub and asked for a job as a lounge singer. Auditioned for it. Got it.
Was in a duo, the other guy a Greek Bazouki player, on which he could play, strangely, the coolest rock and counry stuff. Also Turkish.
There were two exotic dancers, one thin an svelte and he other Turkish and fat. The owner was trying to line me up with the fat one. Always my luck.
I got hugely turned on by the thin one, who was doing some sort of dance of the seven veils, with the old bazouki player right in there, and I couln't follow. Picked up a tambourine.

The old bazouki player was on his knees with his instrument. Worshipping the eternal feminine.
I banged my tamborine.

What in hell is going on here? I was hoping to catch Gambini again, but, once bitten, twice shy. He had not shown.

Two burly guys came in.

One took a seat just under where I was banging the tambouine. They ordered drinks. "Shut that f*cking thing down" the blond one hissed as I banged the thing six inches from his head.

I am full of adrenaline; I was hoping I would see Gambini again and get him back for trying to torch my house.
Full of adrenalie and machismo. I have the tamburine in one hand and tell the burly to eat right here.
Srtrangely, there was no more complaint about the noise and music.

The following day, my apartment was burned to the ground. Logo on the remainding window pane. "Made in Calabria."

I am at my friend's apartment now. He knows the ways of drug dealers.
"Do you think they'll hit again?
"Nah. You just want the chick. Not the drugs."

I couldn't have invented this story.
It could only happen to me.
My girflriend is trapped by a pimp in Toronto, and she seemed to have liked that kind of thing.

I find her alone outside. Attempt a rescue.
But she just turns from me, applies some sort of black tourniquet to her left arm and runs back to the house.

I hoped they wouldn't burn down my new apartment.

"You were in with the wrong crowd," the busty librarian says when I publish what happened in my own underground paper.

Fok. Damn faggy English teacher and sometimes cabaret musician with a student from the house of the rising sun.

And she had to pick me. Fer nothin.

We would roam around the house of ill repute on off days
A cathoue on off-days? Well, Gambini was growing less and less popular and the consruction workers came less and less. The dungeon, the bunk beds and the upright stove there for cooking drugs. Weekends, the biker chicks in jeans, wating for the call.
Roaming around Dracula's lair.

I would play the guitar. She would dance

Friends had tried to warn me.

"What is it with you Taulouse-Lautrec?"

They will break your knees. They will break your prick.

Look what happened to your bar owner friend.

Well, they almost got me too.

The Scotsman at the bar, picking a fight, almost kicking my head in.

Who was writing this novel, and how did I get myself into it?

Tit and tat warfare between me and Gambini.

I write a Toronto Sun story and identify him as a pimp.

"You have libelled my husband. ..." Husband? and you have libelled me."

Out comes the story. "Girls for hire."

This does cause them to split up for a while. And then permanently.

I lost time, teeth and money during this long episode.

And so did Gambini.
And I myself still have bad teeth. What goes around, comes around.
And now, I'm not sure I want her back.

I sit home at night and listen to stark blues by one Pura Fe.
"Look what your rage has done."
And "House of the Rising Sun."


the walking man said...

Abundaman en todos costados ventanas viejos y abas el derribar debuhan adelante una cella o pozo.

What a pit we get into when someone is with someone else and not us, and is nevertheless keeping us on a string.
Ivan Prokopchuk

the walking man said...

Put Quotation marks before first and last is cited. said...

Yep, Mark.

"Leading to a cell or pit."

I somehow think reading Borges during this period helped.

I swear the genius Argentine helped to find a way out.

I think he also said that when you're in a labyrynth, "You pray to God who may yet put your torturer is a straight labyrinth --whis is the most confounding of all."
I guess she, as a smart type had read Great Expectations and played it out, (where the "bitch" had a bitch mother who made her that way), but it looks like she didn't cotton onto the Borgesian solution for the poor guy with the horns on his head.

I worry a bit about this, but Borges seems to say the only solution to an incubus of a problem like this is violence.
Seem that to this poor dweeb,--or almost a dweeb-- violence was the only solution.

I am hugely impressed with the obvious fact that you'd read Borges, who seems to supply the way out of labyrinths, in romance and in fiction.
I'm beginning to respect your acumen and obvious progress as a writer.

Anonymous said...

Sunday July 6th

Hello RCAF / CFS Foymount Interested and Registered Reunion Attendee's and others whom this email may be of interest to....,

FROM: Dave Thompson - Reunion Coordinator

Here's a reunion update with only one month to go until we all "Congregate on 888" in Eganville, Ontario on Friday August 8th. As of today, Sunday July 6th we now have 180 Registered Attendee's. What a phenomenally supportive group of people you are... THANK YOU!

Some recent additions which I rec'd during the last week while I was away on vacation are listed below, whom are followed by the Registered Attendee list copied from the Reunion web page, whom are listed below in Alphabetical order with their Years at Foymount and Hometown (now) listed beside their names.

Absolutely everything is running perfectly regarding the reunion planning and I am hoping that any fence sitters or undecided persons who are still considering attending the reunion, will be able to do so by this FRIDAY JULY 11th as that is the date which I have set (kinda??) for receiving registrations.

HOWEVER.... do not feel pushed by that date, it is just that I need to start confirming attendee numbers with the caterer and the Legion ladies auxiliary regarding meals and with the venues regarding table and chair set up within the next two weeks, so I am hoping that you can help me out by working with that date.

If you are still deciding or think that you want to attend but am waiting for some form of answer from a family member or your work or for a personal reason which is delaying your decision, please email me and keep me informed / updated.

Receiving your registrations after July 11th will not be a problem as I (we) want you there, but please try to get them to me as quickly as possible after that date.

Email me at: or call me at 905 - 358 - 6924 for questions. This week I am working 3 - 11 (afternoons) so contacting me during the day will be a good choice and or I will respond to your questions / queries the next day.

Most, if not all of the Reunion Tickets (Registrations received so far) will have been or will be sent out by tomorrow and Tuesday. So you should have them by the end of this week or early next week.

The recent additions and Attendee list follows.

Dave Thompson
Reunion Coordinator said...

Ah. Air force reunion.

Fighter control operators. At Foymount (near Barrie, Onario).

And I'm too sick to go.

Lone Grey Squirrel said...

Sorry about the story but it was very intriguing to read. said...

Thanks, LGS.
Kinda get ones fiction from reality, which is somehow stronger, and perhaps more fascinating than anything you can make up.

Anonymous said...

July 7th, 2008

Revoke Henry Morgentaler's Order of Canada

Our petition now has over 8,000 signatures. We have the potential for many more!

Some of your friends may have been reticent to sign the petition as the information was accessible to the public.

We have asked the hosting company to keep this information private, and it now is.

Please circulate again this to your friends.


Bestowing the Order of Canada on Henry Morgentaler was not a political move. Morgentaler, during his life, has acted mostly for personal gain. It is not even a scientific, medical or literary appointment, as he did not achieve success by any of the standards used to award a person with the Order of Canada.

His appointment to the Order of Canada is a sell-out of the nation and its principles to a group of radical feminists.

Canada used to be a decent, moral, Christian-based country. The Governor General of Canada is now declaring that Canada does not respect human life and that Canada is a humanist country by honoring with the Order of Canada the president of the Humanist Association of Canada, abortionist Henry Morgentaler. He is a man with a complete disregard for human life, disregard for the law of the Land and disregard for women (over 50% of the thousands of lives he terminated were women), a man convicted and imprisoned for performing illegal abortions, charged for procuring illegal miscarriages, who had his medical license suspended for a year and a man with an estimated gross annual income from the business of abortion of over $10 Million a year.

With this award, the Governor General of Canada states that the primary role of the government of Canada, which she represents, is NOT to defend the life of its citizens, but to exterminate them, if and when they are "unwanted".

Canada now, represented by the highest post on the Land (The Governor General) has stopped being a decent, civilized country where people are treated with respect.
In today's Canada "honour" is terminating human lives on demand, for money.
In today's Canada "Honour" is wiping out a generation of defenseless children for being "un wanted".

In today's Canada the Order of Canada can be bestowed to a man against the will of 92% of Canadians (recent online poll by the Globe and Mail, with over 300,000 respondents).

We, the people, petition the Governor General of Canada to revoke this award immediately, for the sake of the many who have lost their lives to protect someone else's life. For the sake of the many who have been slaughtered by the hand of abortionist Henry Morgentaler.

To sign the petition, please Click on:

You can find the rationale for the petition, the people responsible, the process for revoking the Order of Canada award, articles and reaction to the award at: (click below the red word PETITION).

Giuseppe Gori, Leader
Family Coalition Party of Ontario said...

Giuseppe. Politics, politics.

I could not reproduce the petition properly with my limited computer skills, but I must say I have striven for the Order of Canada as a writer but end up being beaten by people with rather more accane skills.

Good luck to your party.

Cant do no harm.

ea said...

Happy Birthday, Ivan!

It's a house of the rising sun toga party!

Josie, where's your camera?!

Liz said...

Ah, one's male fantasies.

Ho-down in the city.

Josie migh blush.

the walking man said...

Ivan the straight and narrow gate may be the way to God but it is still frought with confusion wy walking to it.

The thing with violence against someone romancing a woman enamored of is that you are striking out at the lover not at all that the lover is. If one were going to slap the crap out of a Clabrese of low character I would think a gun would be the most efficacious way. Of course then you have to make sure the body is never found eh? More this case it is better to pine away in silence but then what would the author have?

Thanks for the nod Ivan, honestly? Borges sounds familiar but I don't know if I read him or many books have sailed down the river. said...

The long Byzantine episode was a combination of maybe a plan and blind luck.
Would you believe I sort of got myself deputized and had police protection?

I was throughtout, doing a story on the cosa nostra in these parts and the chief of police was my personal friend.
It probably accounted for my survival and avoiding a seaside seminar with the fishes.
Of course, maybe it's something that's never over.
But as I said, I was after the chick an not the drugs.

Maybe after they chased the "Witch" or "wizard" with fire once or twice, they figured that he'd had a good scare and he'd had enough. I certainly had a good scare.
But lawddy, lawdy, lawdy.
In Toronto right now there seems to be a cell of about two dozen vice squad cops who themselves are into the drug trade.

Ah, see no evil, speak no evil.

Looking back at it all now, I wish I'd just stayed home and shut the hell up and done nothing. Yet I had been a vain bastard who had never seriously lost at love or war before.
The situation would have worked itself out, or at least I could have lived through the bad time just by plain living through a hard time. Some things you just have to live through.
Fact is my errant dutchess seemed to be a hell of a lot smarter than the the capo, and somehow found her own way out.
I had held the motto that if you see evil, you beat it with a stick.
But I very nearly lost my stick.

So I talked loudly and carried a small stick?
Ah, yes, I had a stick, but I was no stick- man in his episode.
I did not, along witht Mick Jagger "get what you want", and only by extreme luck get what I needed.
Sheer luck in a backdrop of danger.
Sure wish I'd never gotten involved with any of this, but there are times when you have to put your entire being against something or you end up crumpled.

It's not principle but somehow a law
of nature.
If something doesn't kill you you begin to respect its power to kill you and it really doesn't make you stronger.
Ah well, I am now an old man.
A collosal fossil with a docile tassle, and if my moll would come back now, I would be like a dog chasing cars.
He wouldn't know what to do with one even if he caught one.
Screw it. Leave her parked and send some apprentice down the well.
I had said to my employer and friend at the time that I had been mind-f*cked and hornswoggled and he
had said it was a good thing I was no horn-f8cked and mind-swoggled.

Sometimes the truth can only be supplied by humour.

Maybe they just thought I was a funny f*cker and they left me alone.
But maybe the capo had enemies and it was they who did him in.
Jesus. I sure as hell didn't want to be in that play.
I guess my line would have been, "Hark! Cannon!"

Whereas, I came out into the scene with a "What the f*ck was that noise?"

Out of my depth here as a PI and a lover.
Ah well, one of my mottoes, somewhat self-deprecting, was, "Give it to us. We'll f8ck it up." :)

Borges is mandatory reading, though I can't find the key to this grand little cabalist, as I can with other writers.
If you can find a long-out-of print collecion of stories titled
and read it, it's kind of a PhD in itself.
And still, I can get nowhere near to Borges' awesome knowledge of all, ,all literature and his subsequent ability to condense entire sections of literary leitmotifs and and make jewel-like stories out of those motifs.
You can't ask, "Genius or rewrite man?" because it is almost impossible to get through his maze, his labyrinth, at the centre of which is his minotaur.
Perhaps Dostoevsky can come closer, but Borges seems to be a able to dispatch a novel in a single paragraph. Not the Grand Inquisitor, but the grand condenser.

My fried, seeing me wrestle with an angel during this long , sad, harrowing episode lasting some years, had said, You will win because you have read Borges."
Well, I gues it did but it was Pyrrhic.

Middle Ditch said...

Phew! That was some read!

:-D said...


Funny how that goes.

I was frustrated and flummoxed by an intolerable situation and decided I was going to write a novel about it, do a Samson and Delilah and bring the house down.

It didn't.

First time I published what turned out to be "The Fire in Bradford", the response wss restrained. "That Celia in your book sounds like some gal."

And the wife of a correspondent I often feature in my blog said something like "So what? Here is a guy chasing his girlfriend all over town, and that's about the gist of the book."

I sent the book to big Canadian publisher (heretofore it had been published by, of all places, Vince's Sports Bar, where the owner was my friend He financed the printing of the book).

Ah, how the pssion burns.

The Fire in Bradford came out in three editions.
And all the Newmraket Era had to say about it was that it was published locally. Period.

Maybe Hemingway was right when they asked him if he would ever produce book about Harry Hindmarsh, a well-known SOB in these parts who hapenned to be editor of the Toronto Star in the Late Twenties.

Said Hemingway, "I could not produce a book about an individual I really hated...Just could't do it."

Well, I did. And I think I may have laid a egg.

JR's Thumbprints said...

Hey Mr. Tamborine Man, play a song for me.

JR's Thumbprints said...

For some reason, my last two requests never got to you. Is it the Gambino family? They not giving you my message?


Guess I was sleeping.

Luckily, not with the fishes.

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