Haiku About Autumn 🍂

September 28, 2017 at 5:30 pm (Art, Arts, Literature, Nature, Poetry) (, , , )

Haiku About Autumn 🍂

That time when the trees
wear coats of many colours
a fall fashion show

Advertisements

Permalink 17 Comments

Haiku About The Portrait of Dorian Gray

August 27, 2017 at 7:06 pm (Art, Arts, Literature, Poetry) (, , , , , )

Haiku About The Portrait of Dorian Gray

Portrait figure old
its subject eternal youth
free from sin’s karma

Permalink 12 Comments

Orson Welles and The Woman of Mystery Part 3

August 15, 2017 at 9:24 pm (Arts, Culture, Entertainment, Film, History, Literature, Movies, Mystery, News, Science-Fiction, The Supernatural, Vampire novel, western) (, , , , , )

Orson Welles and The Woman of Mystery Part 3

“So,” Welles looked over again at Serena, “From where did Serena learn this ancient Egyptian spell that turned Belvedere into a ghost white salamander?”.

“You mean from whom?” Serena smiled seductively at Welles and licked her lips.

“From whom?” Welles looked at her quizzically, “You mean it was a person who taught her this spell?”.

“Let’s just say a being or an entity,” Serena laughed once again as she threw back her hair.

“And who is this being or entity?” Welles asked the blonde enchantress seated on the desk in front of him.

“It’s revealed at the end of the script,” Serena winked at him, “at the end of the movie.”

“But I notice the last few pages of the script are missing,” Welles held up the papers in his hand.

“That’s because I want you to take an oath never to reveal the ending of the script before I show it to you,” Serena brought out a King James Bible from her purse since she knew Welles loved the language of the King James Bible.

“An oath?” Welles looked shocked, “But my grandmother warned me never under any circumstances to join the Freemasons.”

“I’m not asking you to take a Freemasonic oath,” answered Serena who had recently seen a Vatican Cardinal do just that.

“That’s good,” Welles breathed a sigh of relief, “I don’t really relish the idea of getting my throat slit from ear to ear or getting disembowelled within stepping distance of the ocean.”

“No sane sensible person would,” Serena agreed.

“But how then are we to make this movie if the ending is kept a secret?” Welles looked at her.

“This will be the most unique movie in all recorded history, Mr. Welles,” Serena spoke in a whisper, “to go along with all the unique movies you have made. This movie will be released to the general public to see within a year of its making but its ending will only be seen in a re-release of the film several years down the road. You of course will shoot the ending Mr. Welles with your own unique style but the ending will be kept on a separate reel stored in a Swiss bank vault and released to the general public several years down the road during the film’s re-release.”

“What a splendid idea,” Welles enthused, “so splendid in fact that it’s a wonder I didn’t think of it…”

“You will, Orson, you will,” Serena laughed.

“So how long will the public have to wait before they see the film’s ending during the movie’s re-release?” Welles asked.

“August 2017,” Serena answered with a smile and a sudden flick of her classic vintage antique railway watch.

“That’s a long way aways,” Welles looked at Serena with an understated expression of shock and astonishment.

“72 years,” Serena did not bother counting the years down on her fingers and toes as she did not have that many fingers and toes.

. . .

Needless to say the chief executive of RKO Radio Pictures Studios did not look at Welles with an understated expression of shock and astonishment when Welles described the project to him.

In fact, the studio head had even taken back the cigar he had offered Welles when the young genius film maker had entered his office.

“A bit early in the day for you to be drinking isn’t it, Orson?” The studio head exploded, “Now get out of here and come back with a more practical idea for a picture.”

Welles hurriedly exited the studio head’s office.

As he left, he heard the studio head’s pet parrot say, “Squawk. You should drink no wine 🍷 before its time. Squawk. You should drink no wine before its time.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday August 15th
2017.

Permalink Leave a Comment

Donald Trump’s Inspirational Pre-Fry Kim Jong-un Day Speech To U.S. Troops

August 12, 2017 at 3:43 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, Literature, News, Poetry, Satire) (, , , , , , )

Donald Trump’s Inspirational Pre-Fry Kim Jong-Un Day Speech To U.S. Troops

(with apologies to Will Shakespeare and Henry V over the Saint Crispin’s Day speech)

Donald Trump, preparing for war with North Korea, is set to address the troops.

He is informed by the ghost of the late U.S. Army General William Westmoreland that all transgendered enlisted have now left the U.S. Army.

Donald Trump gazing at what’s left says, “We happy few…”

Trump (beginning speech):

What’s he that twitters so?
My heroes don’t die Westmoreland? No, my late General
If we are marked to fry, we are enow
To do our country loss, and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour (if we ignore the lying news media)
My will, I pray me, wish not one man more
By Trump, I am not covetous for gold (for I have plenty already),
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost (whatever the Hell that’s supposed to mean
I’ll have to fire my latest speechwriter or Chief of Staff or press secretary),
It yearns me not if men my garments wear (for I am not transgendered- real men
can wear my garments),
Such outward things dwell not in my desires
(save to grab a fair woman’s ass as I said long years ago),
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive
(wow, this Bill Shakespeare was really prophetic
concerning my Presidency).
No faith my coz (save to attract Bible belt voters), wish not a man from England
(since my campaign slogan was America First!).
Trump’s pence! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more (my VP) methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have (finishing my term without impeachment)
O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through thy ghost,
That he which hath no stomach for this fight,
Let him depart (or be deported); his passport shall be made (and then revoked!),
And crowns for convoy put into his purse (when he is thrown beyon’ yonder wall);

(At this point the amateur actor Snout from the Midsummer Night’s Theatre Company appears in front of Trump dressed as a brick wall. He has graffiti on his brick wall garment that says Gringoland or Bust!)

Snout (as Wall);

In this same interlude it doth befall
That I, one Snout by name, present a wall;
And such a wall, as I would have you think,…

Trump (pointing): Someone get this idiot out of here! Security! Security! Throw the bum out!

(Snout is grabbed by security and hauled away)

Trump (continues his speech quite literally ghostwritten by William Shakespeare):

We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called Fry Kim Jong-un Day
(how Saint Hannibal of Lecter celebrated pre-Vatican II teaching on Friday’s culinary diets)
He that shall live this day (shall feel he’s been microwaved) and comes peeling away home
Shall watch his toes fall off when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Kim Jong-un.
He that shall live this day (singing Whoa, whoa, I’m radioactive) and welcome the New Age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast on his neighbours (or at least their remains),
And say ‘Tomorrow is Fry Kim Jong-un.’
Then will he strip his sleeve (with his new metallic cyborg hands) and show his scars,
And say, ‘These wounds I had on Fry Kim Jong-un Day.’
Old men forget (sometimes that they’re wearing a toupee); yet all shall be forgot
But he’ll remember, with cancerous sores,
What feets he lost that day. Then shall our names
Familiar in his mouth as decaying teeth-
Donald The Trump, Mattis and Tillerson,
McMaster and Kelly, Ivanka and Jared,
Be in their flowing cups (and streams of blood red) freshly rememb’ red.
This story shall the good man teach his son (Barron, where are you?);
And Fry Kim Jong-un shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world (Trump looks at his watch) “Possibly another hour”,
But we in it shall be remembered (if the lying news media says I’m senile, it’s fake news) –
We few, we happy (but not gay) few, we band of brothers,
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother, be he ne’er so vile (as to be transgendered),
This day shall toughen his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves lucky they were not here,
And hold their (TV) remotes cheap while none will speak
As they watch on the screen the mushroom cloud that fell on Fry Kim Jong-un Day.

-A Shakespearean satirical speech
written by Christopher
Saturday August 12th
2017.

Permalink 10 Comments

The Strange Case of The Emerald Green Cat of Bulgaria 🇧🇬: A Poem

August 10, 2017 at 7:45 pm (Comedy, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Humour, Literature, Mystery, News, Poetry) (, , , , , )

The Strange Case of The Emerald Green Cat of Bulgaria 🇧🇬: A Poem

Jack O’ Hare
jack rabbit fair
he really was quite the bunny
that some thought was very funny

One day while he was out hopping
he decided to do some shopping
he spent some time looking at phones
as well as browsing through books about Sherlock Holmes

He bought the latter
avoided walking under a ladder
and went back to his quaint little home 🏡
right next to an abandoned honeycomb
Which was indeed a very wise thing
for Jack loved the way the birds sing
but not the way the bees sting

The latter could be a real pain in the ass
made it unpleasant to sit on the grass
so the honeycomb was long abandoned
possibly since the time of Aladdin

I wonder what became of his genie
Jack thought while eating a vegan weenie
He really should have bought some hot dog buns
although the raisin bran flavoured ones
often gave him the runs

Jack then read the Sherlock Holmes story A Study In Scarlet
and discovered it wasn’t about Mystery Babylon’s harlot
He read the huge volume straight through
while munching on his multi-carrot stew
he finally finished at The Adventure of Schoscombe Old Place
published in 1927
and closed the volume thinking Sherlock’s exploits were heaven

He decided upon putting the book 📚 on the shelf
and dusting off the statue of the garden elf
that like Holmes he’d become a consulting detective
because to be Inspector Lestrade was to be defective

So he put an ad to that effect in the Rabbit Weekly
even though his girlfriend told him it was so geeky 🤓
But come the Wednesday after the ad
came a Saint Bernard dog looking sad 😭 🐶

“I can’t get to sleep at night,” said he
the Saint Bernard dog Wally McGee
Asked Jack, Have you tried drinking herbal tea ☕️

It’s the apparition that appears outside my window each night that is the problem
I’m not sure if it’s ghost or goblin
sighed Wally with fear in his eyes
as he ate the last of Jack’s French fries 🍟

This will mean another run to the grocery store thought Jack
as I have no potatoes left in the sack
Neither will I have Lola
thought Jack as he sipped his Cola
ever since she caught him looking at Mae West’s melons
in an old movie about call girls and felons
She left Jack with these parting words, Aloha.

So as far as Jack’s love life went, he was now in the Lone Star ⭐️ State
but such were the quirks, twists and turns of Fate
Getting back to the problem at hand
Jack looked at the Saint Bernard dog well tanned
for this was a dog who had his day in the sun
as unleashed through a park, he went on a run

So describe the apparition you saw
Jack motioned with his foot to Wally’s paw
All right said Wally
pausing to look at a collie,
“Wow! There’s a real bitch in heat!”.
Sighed Jack, Be less like Trump and be more discreet.

So Wally went on, Getting back to the apparition at hand
it was the most terrifying sight in all the land
it frightened away our neighbourhood Calypso band
and turned my rock garden into mounds of sand

Sounds like quite the spectacle,
Jack was forming thoughts diametrical,
What was it exactly that you did see?
Well, said Wally, I had gotten up to pee,
I went out the back door to my favourite tree
And it was there I saw it
I don’t know what to call it

Describe it as best as you can,
Jack used a carrot 🥕 for a fan
for it was one heck of a hot summer night
the kind where goose bumps make your pants too tight

Said Wally,
By golly!
It was a ghostly ghastly feline
It was blocking the way to my tree line
It glowed emerald green
really quite the scene
and everywhere it went, it glowed in the dark
it could totally light up Central Park
and what I’m telling you is certainly no lark

Jack put on his deerstalker cap
his thinking hat with a flap
He lit up his Sherlockian style pipe
he had Basil Rathbone down to type

Well, Jack coughed
sending the chickens aloft,
this cat you describe I think I’ve heard of
from the lips of Vladimir Birdov
He died in my arms
On Green Acres Farms

He had recently come back from Varna, Bulgaria 🇧🇬
having encountered a cat with menthyl malaria
which it contracted from a little green frog 🐸
that had sat there like a bump on a log

And this unusual type of malaria
previously unknown in Bulgaria 🇧🇬
turned the cat’s colour to a ghostly emerald green
making this tabby the talk of the bar scene

But what’s it doing here in Canada 🇨🇦, Wally wanted to know
He was bursting a gut and quite possibly his toe
Jack looked at Wally and gave his hat a twirl
sending up pipe smoke in quite a widening curl
And then quietly said, Don’t be such a nerd
For you mean to say you haven’t heard,
Prime Minister Justin, unlike Trump, is welcoming all refugees
even those with a emerald green cat furry sneeze.

-A Jack O’ Hare poem
written by Christopher
Thursday August 10th
2017.

Permalink 2 Comments

The Real Reason Coleridge Never Completed His Poem Kublai Khan

August 10, 2017 at 3:24 pm (Humour, Literature, Poetry, The Supernatural) (, )

“What the Hell? But it’s only a crescent moon tonight…”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge Werewolf

The real reason Samuel Taylor Coleridge never completed his poem Kublai Khan.

Permalink 2 Comments

Renfield and Jane Austen

July 18, 2017 at 3:01 pm (books, Celebrities, History, Literature, News, Vampire novel) (, , , )

British Transhumanist MP Renfield R. Renfield returned to his home- the colossal London mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.

At the door, he was greeted by Set’s personal valet and butler Athelstan.

“You’re wearing more black than usual today, Athelstan,” Renfield noted, “Is there something wrong?”.

“Begging your pardon today, sir,” Athelstan answered, “but I’m in mourning.”

“Did your mother die after being killed in a bar room brawl arguing over who’s the best premier league football player in all England?” Renfield asked.

“No, sir,” Athelstan shook his head, “but I do worry about that happening, I must admit. Every time I see her, I keep telling her, Mother, you’re going to have to stop drinking and getting into violent arguments about British, European and FIFA World Football at the same time. Having to bail you out of jail all the time is starting to affect my savings to say nothing of my worrying about you being killed in one of these silly arguments.”

“If it’s not your mother,” Renfield inquired, “who is it that you’re in mourning for?”.

“It was 200 years ago today, sir, on July 18th 1817 that the great British novelist Jane Austen died,” Athelstan looked sad, “I’m in mourning for her.”

“Did you personally know her, Athelstan?” Renfield opened up a bottle of Brown Ale.

“No, sir, I’m not a vampire, I’m a mortal 50 years old,” Athelstan replied, “but I do love her work.”

“Didn’t Dracul Van Helsing once play Mr. Darcy in an amateur drama company’s live theatrical production of Pride and Prejudice in his home town in Alberta, Canada?” Renfield asked.

“I believe he did, sir,” Athelstan nodded.

“Well, carry on then, Athelstan,” Renfield looked at his watch, “and do let me know when it’s the 200th Anniversary of Charles Dickens’ death.”

“I will, sir,” Athelstan took Renfield’s hat and cane and now empty bottle of Brown Ale.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday June 18th
2017.

Permalink 2 Comments

South African Artist SAREJESS and The Grandfather Clock

July 10, 2017 at 7:52 pm (Art, Arts, Literature, Vampire novel) (, , )

South African Artist SAREJESS and The Grandfather Clock

The great South African artist SAREJESS awoke from his sleep.

For he had dreamed a dream as did great historic Josephs in both Old and New Testament periods.

He felt compelled to go down to his studio and paint even though it was the middle of the night.

As he walked though the house, he looked in one of the rooms and noticed his little grandson Joshua James sleeping in his bed.

SAREJESS had to laugh.

For in his sleep, little Joshua James was pointing his little finger at the beautiful portrait painting of himself on the wall.

A portrait that had been lovingly painted by his grandfather.

SAREJESS got to his studio.

He reached for his paints and his paintbrush and began to paint.

He painted like a man on a mission.

He felt compelled to paint a picture of a grandfather clock.

But a grandfather clock whose pendulum went back and forth between two images of Egyptian Pharaohs seated on their pharaonic thrones which were located at the top of the clock.

Then at the bottom of the clock were two Sphinxes looking mysterious and foreboding.

One on either side of the bottom of the clock.

At the top of the clock just above the swinging pendulum itself was a mysterious looking Eye of Horus dripping blood.

As SAREJESS painted it, he felt like he was painting a picture for an old episode of the early 1970s Rod Serling TV series Night Gallery.

What, SAREJESS wondered, could this possibly all mean?

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday July 10th
2017.

To purchase an authentic genuine oil painting by the great South African artist SAREJESS for yourself, please go to
http://www.sarejess.co.za/

Permalink 2 Comments

Orwell’s 1984 Has Arrived In 2017

June 27, 2017 at 3:41 pm (Commentary, Culture, Literature, Personal essays) (, , , , )

I’m currently sitting here in a coffee shop with free wi-fi having borrowed an honest looking stranger’s laptop to use for a while.

Hopefully he is honest and this laptop won’t remember my passwords.

I don’t know if he believed my story but I think to his shock he did.

Because the way I talked, I think he realized my story did have the ring of truth to it even though what happened to me 24 hours ago feels (and will probably read to you the reader) like a dystopian sci-fi novel.

Judging from his expression, I don’t think he thinks I’m a crazy person either.

He seems to be thinking “What the Hell sort of world are we now living in?” judging from the expression on his face.

Since I’m borrowing a stranger’s laptop, I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish this blog post today (I’m starting it just after 2:30 PM Mountain Daylight Time June 25th 2017) as he may have elsewhere to go in the next hour or so.

But I’m writing this blog post in the form of an email to myself which I will then save as a draft if I don’t finish it before the gentleman wants to leave.

The long and short of it is I can no longer use the computers in the Calgary Public Library- my only source for being able to use computers as I do not own a computer nor do I no longer have a smart phone (as it was stolen from me back in January).

The past couple of months as I’ve been writing, I’ve noticed I’ve attracted an incredible amount of new readers.

Since I don’t really like talking about myself much (I’ve always been an introvert), I spend most of my time at this blog Dracul Van Helsing writing the chapters in my on-line vampire novel, writing short stories or writing poems or haikus (as all my long time readers can probably attest to).

Only when something traumatic happens like not being able to find a job after months of searching, being evicted from my apartment, winding up in a homeless shelter or having my smart phone stolen off me while I slept on a mat in a homeless shelter and then what happened yesterday (which my mind still has trouble adjusting to- I feel like I’ve fallen asleep and can’t wake up- that somehow I’m trapped in the middle of a dystopian sci-f film about an Orwellian future).

Most of my new readers (who have joined my blog the past couple of months) would probably be shocked to realize that I am homeless and jobless. (that’s why I’ve had to use the computers in the Calgary Public Library to do my writing).

I’m currently living in a transitional housing facility for single homeless men (which is a step above a homeless shelter) and getting my rent paid for by a disability income supplement I’m now on through Alberta Social Services.

I don’t drink or smoke or take drugs (and that’s been the case all my life).

How I wound up jobless and homeless is a very long story.

But for those who’d like to know my background of how I’ve wound up in this predicament, please read the following past blog posts where I’ve explained what’s happened to me in the past:

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2015/11/17/please-email-vancouvers-mayor/

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2016/07/27/im-in-a-homeless-shelter/

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/01/04/theft-in-a-homeless-shelter/

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/02/17/homeless-and-suicidal-in-calgary/

(Please note that the bank account behind my GoFundMe page that I mention in some of those blog posts is no longer operational since that bank account has now been shut down plus I no longer own an apartment to pay rent to).

I hope some of my readers will take the time to read those blog posts.

To help them realize that all homeless people cannot be painted all with one brush.

I think the number of new readers I have who enjoy my writing would probably be shocked to know that I am homeless and jobless.

Well I’m now telling them.

I’m Christopher who writes vampire novel chapters and poems and short stories and haikus here in this blog post which I sign off at the end of each blog post saying written by Christopher and I then give the date on which I wrote it.

One of my new readers Aak fictionspawn has a friend and fellow blogger who wrote a short story called The Shoemaker Who Made Wooden Toys. I forget her name -the woman who wrote the story- but I strongly identify with her character.

Like the character in that story I’m just brimming with new ideas and insights but a world whose sole concern is with business and making money in the usual time honoured manner (no wanting to accept or hire people who think outside the box even though the great Steve Jobs of Apple started out as a man who thought outside the box), I don’t fit into this current world.

And that’s why I’m jobless and homeless.

Although someone somewhere has obviously taken note of my writing and doesn’t like what I’m writing and furthermore sees me as a threat to what they’re doing.

And that’s the reason why I can no longer use computers in the Calgary Public Library system.

And now we’ll get to the main point of this particular blog post:

First off, I’ll start out by saying that I do believe in God.

At one time, I wouldn’t have thought that people who believe in God would ever seriously contemplate suicide.

But after the sheer Hell I’ve been through the past 7 years since my dad died from cancer (the Hell I’ve described in the blog posts I posted above there), I’m sad to say that there have been several times the past 7 years where I’ve seriously contemplated suicide.

This may be due to the severe clinical depression I was diagnosed with by a doctor when I arrived in Calgary last July from Vancouver.

A clinical depression brought on by the PTSD she says I experienced after my dad died and then suddenly finding myself in a legal battle with my sister over his estate. That PTSD of course remained undiagnosed and untreated for years leading to the severe condition that my depression is in today.

Bearing that in mind with my belief in God, I’ve had this strong overwhelming urge to write and continue writing since last November.

When I got an eviction notice from the town house I was living in last December and spent a lot of time away from my writing to search for a new place to live (which I didn’t find since Christmas and the pre-Christmas season isn’t exactly an ideal time to search for new accommodation) and finally ended up again in a homeless shelter on January 1st New Year’s Day this year where my iPhone was then stolen off of me in that same shelter back on January 3rd.

So without an iPhone where I could do my writing using the free wi-fi in coffee shops, I was then forced to do all my writing using the computers in the Calgary Public Library.

I’ve not been able to afford a new smartphone and I definitely can’t afford a new computer (be it tablet, laptop or PC) since I have to use my disability income allowance (which is only about $750 a month) to pay for rent and food.

And of course one could only use the computers in the Calgary Public Library for a maximum of 2 hours a day (although that has now been increased to 3 hours in the summer when many people are no longer indoors using the computers but unfortunately I can no longer do that).

A friend and fellow blogger Daniel (a former employee of DARPA in the U.S.) once told me in reference to my writing that probably a lot of intelligence agencies throughout the world would be or are interested in my writing since Daniel says that even though I write fiction, I often show very astute geopolitical analysis in my writing and can often predict some major geopolitical events before they happen.

This can often happen in the medium of writing.

For example the 1898 novella The Wreck of The Titan by Morgan Robertson was about an ocean liner called The Titan which sinks in the North Atlantic after striking an iceberg. The Titan and its sinking was very similar to the sinking of the real life passenger ship RMS Titanic which sank 14 years later in 1912.

Both Titan and Titanic sank in the month of April in the North Atlantic and there were not enough lifeboats for all the passengers. The Titan was 800 ft. long and the Titanic was 882 ft. long. The speed of the Titan was 25 knots and the speed of the Titanic was 22.5 knots.

Both were triple screw propeller ships. Both were described as “unsinkable”. The Titan was 45,000 tons and the Titanic was 46,000 tons.

Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World has been described as a prophetic novel.

And as the title of my blog post suggests, George Orwell’s 1984 has seemed to arrive in the year 2017.

Although what happened to me yesterday (Saturday June 24th 2017) might better be seen as a combination of Orwell’s 1984 meets Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Although instead of burning and banning books, certain individuals are now prohibited from using the computers in the public library.

In terms of my own writing, I was shocked when I read the manuscript for my 1st vampire novel The Vampiress With Amnesia (which I wrote between April 2009 and July 2010) last year. The novel is now available for sale on Amazon.

Since I do not know how to convert text to a PDF format (which is required for upload to Amazon), my friend and fellow blogger Daniel (the former DARPA employee) did it for me.

He then emailed me the entire PDF manuscript to look over and check for corrections.

Which I did early last year (2016).

I of course had not read that novel in 6 years.

I was shocked to discover back in 2010 to see that I had written a chapter about a group of cardinals plotting to force Pope Benedict XVI to abdicate the Papacy. I even described the methods they would use to do it. And how the German magazine Der Spiegel and the U.S. newsmagazine TIME would be used for their purposes.

Because at the time I re-read my novel, there were stories starting to break in the news media about how that is exactly what happened with the papal resignation of Pope Benedict XVI.

(And that was a cliffhanger about Pope Benedict XVI because I had to stop writing and save this blog post as an email draft at that point because the gentleman whose laptop I was using finally had to leave. Today Monday June 25th 217, I found another honest looking person with a laptop and a mouse (because I only know how to use a laptop with a mouse. I don’t know how to use a laptop without a mouse) and I’m currently using their laptop to continue writing this post which I’m starting just past 3 PM Mountain Standard Time).

Journalists such as Antonio Socci and others discovered the existence of a group of Cardinals called the Saint Gallen Group who did in fact force the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI and promote the election of Pope Francis.

Bearing that in mind, I’ve often wondered whether something I’m currently writing is unbeknownst to me foretelling another certain geopolitical trend that someone very powerful wants kept quiet.

At first I thought this was just my own imagination running wild.

Brought on by the fact that a couple of months ago, the computers in the branch of the public library where I did most of my writing started getting hit en masse by viruses and hackers.

One day when I went there, there were signs put up on over 1/3 of the computers saying Not Available For Service.

I overheard one of the librarians remarking to a library patron that this was strange because none of the other branches in the Calgary Public Library system seemed to be undergoing the massive computer problems that this branch was undergoing.

So in my imagination (brought on by the occasional teasing I get from my friend Daniel and another friend Timothy who lives in South Africa that intelligence services across the world are profoundly disturbed by what I write), I thought that maybe the reason was someone powerful didn’t like what I was writing and so was targeting the computers in the Public Library branch where I do most of my writing.

But I didn’t really take it seriously.

I just used it as an imaginative fancy brought on by the pair of Robert Ludlum novels that I was reading at the time.

But that all changed last Saturday June 24th at around 4:30 PM just as I was about to post my vampire novel chapter entitled Belvedere Discovers His Enchantress.

I was in my WordPress editing function at the time.

I had just copied and pasted my vampire novel chapter from my email to my WordPress dashboard of posts.

I had just finished selecting the categories and my tags for my post and was about to copy and paste the URL for the photo I was using for the chapter when these two librarians with very sinister looking expressions on their faces walked up to me.

Said the female librarian with a Russian accent (and no I’m not making this up- she did have a Russian accent- by the time the conversation was finished- I was imagining she was probably one of Vladimir Putin’s most evil FSB agents), “We couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been sitting at this computer all afternoon.”

I didn’t know that it was a crime to sit at a public library computer all afternoon but maybe it is in this Orwellian world that’s starting to emerge in 2017.

“What time did you get here?” Russian Gestapo Girl asked me.

“2:00,” I said.

What business was it of theirs, what time I got there, I don’t know.

“We have had concerns expressed to us about the blog you’re writing on our computers,” said the middle-aged librarian with glasses and moustache who looked like the head of the most evil Black Ops operation within the American CIA.

“Blog? How do you know that I’m writing a blog? Are you monitoring what people are doing on their computers here?” I asked.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Big Brother’s Little Brother answered.

“May I see your library card?” Russian Gestapo Girl asked me. (No doubt back in the USSR, she said to people, “Your papers please.”)

I handed her my library card whereupon she promptly pounced on it and grabbed it and said, “I’m canceling this card and blocking you from using our public library computers.”

“What? What for? For what reason?” I demanded to know.

“We have had concerns expressed to us by many about the blog you’re writing,” said the Russian FSB librarian.

“Who is expressing these concerns? And what are their specific concerns?” I asked.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Big Brother’s Little Brother expressed the same brainless mantra over again.

“Shut down your computer,” the Gestapo bitch then directed.

“Let me finish posting this blog post first,” I said.

“No, people have expressed concerns about the blog you’re writing,” Gestapo Bitch was starting to turn that line into her personal mantra.

“And of course you’re not at liberty to say?” I said looking at Big Brother’s Little Brother who had such an intense look of stupidity on his face that one could almost take it for a strange form of beauty.

“That is correct,” he said sounding exactly like a robot talking.

“Are you going to shut this computer down?” Gestapo Bitch demanded to know.

“No!” I said looking directly at her.

Both Russian Gestapo Girl and Big Brother’s Little Brother stood there with stupefied stupid looking expressions on their faces.

Then they walked away.

No doubt off to call the cops to report me for defending freedom and liberty in Canada when of course enlightened people such as themselves knew that for the good of everyone, Canada should really be part of the Orwellian Brave New World New World Order.

I don’t know who or what didn’t like the blog I was writing.

What were their concerns?

Was I promoting terrorism?

Of course not.

I’m against terrorism whether it’s of the ISIS variety or of the neo-Nazi or Klu Klux Klan variety or of any variety.

Do I promote pornography?

Of course not.

Unless of course they consider posting photos of beautiful women (who are among the many loves of my characters Dracul Van Helsing and Renfield R. Renfield) pornography.

If that’s the case, then they’re very much like the group of women who called themselves The Anti-Sex League in George Orwell’s novel 1984.

So now I’ve finished writing this blog post.

And now I’ll have to edit it.

But the person whose laptop this is now has to leave.

So I’ll hopefully be able to edit this tomorrow.

And get it posted tomorrow.

To my readers, this may be the last blog post of mine you’ll be able to read for awhile.

Because I can no longer use the computers in the public library.

And I can’t keep borrowing laptops from people in coffee shops no matter how honest they look- because chances are I’d probably run into somebody eventually who would keep track of the passwords I’d use.

And I can’t afford to buy a new smartphone or tablet or laptop or PC of my own.

There is a program in Calgary called CLIC (Computers For Low-Income Calgarians).

What the program does is if anybody has a working smartphone or tablet or laptop or PC that they no longer use (because they’ve probably upgraded to a new one), they can then donate those to this program and CLIC will then give the smartphone or tablet or laptop or PC to a low-income Calgarian who can’t afford to buy one of their own.

I was told this by my social worker a couple of months ago.

The program has about a 6 month waiting list she said.

So I applied right after I was told.

That was 2 months ago.

So technically I have another 4 months to wait.

Of course if the waiting list at the time I applied was then even more than 6 months, I’ll have even longer to wait.

To be quite frank, I don’t know if I can wait that long.

The biggest antidote to combating my PTSD inspired depression I’ve found has been my writing.

My writing and my immediately posting it to a blog so I can judge reaction to my writing.

Judging from the number of Likes I get on my Blog posts each day and the number of new followers and new readers I get each day, I realize that my blog is making an impact.

It’s my writing and my blogging that seems to give me meaning and purpose in life.

If I don’t feel I have any meaning or purpose in my life, I don’t see how I’ll be able to successfully overcome my depression.

When my dad was dying from cancer, he made me promise on his deathbed that I would continue my writing (which I did).

“Continue your writing, Christopher,” he told me, “your writing is extremely important to the world and I really mean that. So continue writing, Christopher. Always continue writing. You may not realize how important your writing is but I do. Always continue writing.”

So that’s what I’ve done.

And in the past 7 years since he died, it’s been my writing and my blogging which has given me the greatest sense of relief from my despair and the greatest sense of meaning and purpose in life.

Now my avenues for that writing and blogging have slowly been erased away.

I was forced to abandon my PC and my laptop (with a mouse) in my Vancouver apartment when I was evicted because I couldn’t fit them into my small suitcases.

My smartphone was stolen off me while I slept on the mat in a homeless shelter this past January.

And now I’ve been blocked from using the computers in the Calgary Public Library because Person or Persons Unknown have concerns about the blog I’m writing..

What person or persons unknown?

The U.S. National Security Agency?

Britain’s MI-6?

Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau? (Because I’ve written vampire novel chapters where I have an ET gray from the planet Nibiru called Gali-Gula (who’s possessed by the spirit of the late Roman Emperor Caligula) appear to him and give him advice whenever he’s smoking marijuana?).

Is what I considered fictional in that case reality?

Or maybe it’s Hillary Clinton?

Hillary: Bill, what’s that blog you keep reading all the time?

Bill: You mean Dracul Van Helsing?

The next day:

Hillary: Bill, is the reason you keep reading that blog is because you enjoy looking at all those photos of beautiful women in alluring outfits who are among the many loves of the characters Dracul Van Helsing, Renfield R. Renfield and the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set?

Bill: Of course not. I read the blog to get Christopher’s insightful geopolitical analysis into the current world situation.

Hillary: The same as the time when I found all those Playboy magazines in your desk shortly after you were first elected Governor of Arkansas and you told me that you had just bought them to read the articles?

Bill (grinning): Exactly.

I do not know what are the reasons or who objected to my blog.

But it was someone powerful enough to get the Calgary Public Library system to ban me from using their computers.

My dad thought my writing would someday have impact on the world.

And I guess he was right.

Who would have thought writing a series of novels where I combine vampire legends and ghost stories with Greek and Norse and Egyptian mythology thrown together with current geopolitical happenings would get me banned?

But I guess it did.

And yet somehow I think my father would be pleased.

He’d say, “You’ve upset the right people, Christopher. You’ve upset the right people. And you’ve got the right people for your readers and blog followers.”

-A personal essay written by Christopher
June 25th, June 26th and June 27th
2017.

Permalink 20 Comments

Sherrielock Holmes vs. Jack The Ripper: A Poem

June 11, 2017 at 3:42 pm (Crime, Culture, Detective story, History, Horror, Literature, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

It was London in the year 1888
a place and a year of great ill-fate
in which ladies of the night in the streets of London
were approached by an evil man and done in.

He wore black hat and cloak, black gloves and cane
he was Jekyll’s Hyde come to life in an evil reign
and Sherlock Holmes was naturally called in to solve the case
as Scotland Yard’s Inspector Lestrade was tired of losing face

But even the great Sherlock Holmes could not catch the Ripper
instead Sherlock ended up ripping his pants and breaking his zipper
and he hurried back to 221B Baker Street in shame
said he to Watson, “In no article, mention my name.”

And Sherlock’s little known twin sister Sherrielock heard of her brother’s failure
as well as the Great Detective’s little known nocturnal flight to London tailor
Now Sherrielock was a brothel owning dominatrix by trade
one who always managed to avoid a Scotland Yard raid

Said she, I’ll capture the Ripper and put an end to his Reign of Terror
I”ll do what no one else in London has dreamed to dare
and I’ll do it keeping in place my shampooed hair

So she put on her undercover dominatrix outfit and walked the East End’s Whitechapel streets
Sherrielock Holmes
and she heard in the approaching distance the sound of fancy carriage horses’ hoof beats

A tall dark stranger dressed entirely in black
exited the cab saying, “Just call me Jack”.
“I’ll certainly do that, Jack dear,
if you let me whip your rear”
said Sherrielock pulling out a cat o’ nine tails
and before Jack knew it, he got a fist full of nails.

He was down on the ground, his pants all around
his buttocks were turning a fiery red
his ass no longer filled with Plutonian lead

But by the time the night was over, Jack The Ripper was no more
his ass had positively melted on London’s paved cobblestone floor
Scotland Yard never revealed how the Ripper had died
what was the successful antidote to this Jekyll’s poisoned Hyde.
But the cause was really rather simple in the end
a bright spot on a black and blue covered rear end
Food poisoning had done in the Ripper under dominatrix’s nylon runs
Food poisoning brought on by red tomatoed buns.

-A Sherrielock Holmes poem
written by Christopher
Sunday June 11th
2017.

Permalink 6 Comments

Next page »