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Louis Shalako
Poor but free. Here we are, poor but free, looking
into the mirror of eternal truth. It has revealed much, and it has also left a
lot of things out, bearing in mind the time and space available. It is the tip
of the iceberg, the world’s longest written confession, all true, and the best
I can do, considering that memory is a reconstructive process and much time has
passed between then and now. It is some kind of confession, and what are you
going to do about that after all these years. Maybe it is also some kind of attempt
to get real with the world, to get right with the world.
Maybe it’s just a shit-load of moral questions, and
not too many clear, simple and concise answers.
It is an act of contrition, in some sense—
And so, the years fly by, and we find ourselves older,
hopefully wiser, and maybe just a little bit sadder.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen.
What a trip down memory lane, though. At least for a
while, it was like it all came back to life again…I miss those people
sometimes.
And now I find myself poor but free.
It could be worse—a lot worse.
After thirty years on disability, which if nothing
else provided a little stability in my life, or two-thirds of stability, when
you consider it really is well below the poverty line, now I get to retire. I
get to move on to the next phase of my life, which as far as I can make out,
involves being some kind of irascible old man, one who also has seen you
coming. I know who you are.
I like to go on the internet and give young people a
hard time sometimes, I really do.
And I’m not putting up with your shit, either.
The Canada Pension Plan, the Old Age Security, the
Guaranteed Income Supplement, a part-time job and a rent-controlled apartment
in a working-class walk-up in the central city area. This is what I have to look
forward to.
A hot meal and a cold beer once in a while, and what
an irony, in that now the government is selling pot and probably thinking of
getting into the heroin market, when you consider their ideological emphasis on
paying down debt at the expense of any form of rational social solutions….
But, I digress.
It could be a lot worse.
***
I will make the best of it.
This will be my twenty-fourth book, and this is about
the time when I write The End, and go
right back to the front of the book, and begin the process of re-reading, and
rewriting it.
It really is a pain in the ass, I have to admit. Thank
Darwin I have nothing better to do, and at least I don’t have to sing for my
supper, or steal bread to feed my family.
Anyhow.
This is when I flesh out a few details, and fill in a
few blanks, but all of those chapters were long enough to begin with, bearing
in mind the average blog post. Essentially, anyone who followed along got to
sort of watch me do this, a bit like watching Bob Ross paint one of his not particularly
good oils on the Public Broadcasting System, Channel 56, Detroit Michigan, on cable
television, all of those long years ago…if I had the time, I would show you how
that’s really done.
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| Time to pop that chute and bring this old crop tour to an end... #Louis |
All those happy little trees, right.
I doubt if you could write your memoirs in anything
less than a million words, once you really set out to do it. The problem is,
that no one would ever want to read it.
No one really wants to get all that fucking involved.
Thanks for coming along, on what turned out to be a
rather extensive crop tour. It means a lot to me.
I don’t know about you guys, but I have enjoyed the
ride.
When you ride with me, you’re riding with the best.
***
There
are eight million stories in the naked city.
This
is but one of them.
Who
knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.
The
Shadow knows.
And who knows.
Maybe it will all work out.
END
Poor old Louis has books and stories available fromGoogle Play, don’t forget to check out the audiobooks.
See his art on Fine
Art America.
Check out One Million Words of Crap, an audio essay on independent, digital publishing, in celebration of fourteen years here at Long Cool One Books.
Image: This guy here.
My Criminal Memoir. (Part One).
My Criminal Memoir, Part Three.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Four.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Five.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Seven.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Eight.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Nine.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Eleven.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Twelve. (Access restricted due
to content. 18+)
My Criminal Memoir, Part Thirteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Fourteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Fifteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Sixteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Seventeen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Eighteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Nineteen.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Twenty.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Twenty-One
My Criminal Memoir, Part Twenty-Two.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Twenty-Three.
Thank you for reading, and listening.
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