Renfield and Jane Austen
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.
South African Artist SAREJESS and The Grandfather Clock
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/
Sherrielock Holmes vs. Jack The Ripper: A Poem
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
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.
King Arthur At The Movies
The movie King Arthur: Legend of the Sword opens in theatres today on what is the 80th Anniversary of the coronation of King George VI as King of Britain (which happened on May 12th 1937).
I’m sure there is no correlation between the two events- the release of a movie that I gather is a real turkey judging from reviews I’m reading at the Rotten Tomatoes film web site and the coronation of a man who was a great and heroic king (in contrast to his brother the Nazi sympathizer King Edward VIII who abdicated the throne for what he thought was a great piece of tail Mrs. Wallis Simpson).
To mark the occasion, I’m posting here two photo montage music videos I made about King Arthur at the OneTrueMedia video making site (an online video making site that sadly no longer exists) and then posted to YouTube.
The 1st King Arthur photo montage I made back on January 24th 2009:
The 2nd King Arthur photo montage music video I made (which was called Merlin, Morgana and Arthur using images from the famous TV series called Merlin) I made back on July 21st 2009:
Here are links to a few chapters I’ve written in my series of vampire novels that pertain to the Arthurian legend:
King Arthur and The Vampire Horus:
https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2011/04/20/king-arthur-and-the-vampire-horus/
Sunset Over Camelot:
https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2011/04/18/sunset-over-camelot/
Morgana Before Dawn:
http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/04/morgana-before-dawn-planned-catnapping.html
Arthur’s Sword and The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men
http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/04/arthurs-sword-and-best-laid-plans-of.html
-A personal essay
written by Christopher
Friday May 12th 2017.
Renfield’s Dream of Hercule Poirot
Renfield R. Renfield was lying in his bed in the John Milton Blue Room (where John Milton and his daughter Anne once stayed) in a Bed and Breakfast in the town of Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire, England.
Renfield was running as a British Transhumanist Techno-Progressive Anti Bio-Conservative Party candidate in the constituency of Tewkesbury In The Cotswolds.
He was running against sitting incumbent British Conservative MP Agathor Christie (who was a great nephew by marriage of the famous British mystery writer Agatha Christie).
Renfield would soon be involved in a campaign debate against Mr. Agathor Christie.
As such, Renfield fell asleep dreaming about Agatha Christie’s famous Belgian detective sleuth character Hercule Poirot.
Hercule Poirot was staying in a huge mansion on a large English country estate.
Hercule and 24 other guests were enjoying a huge dinner party (Monsieur Poirot would have given Renfield’s friend Amadeus Emanon a run for his money about who was able to eat the most).
After the dinner, most of the other guests had retired to their rooms for this evening.
Hercule himself was in the drawing room enjoying a cigar and a glass of port.
Suddenly a gunshot was heard coming from upstairs.
Followed by a woman’s scream.
The butler entered the drawing room, “Sorry to disturb, sir, but it appears that His Lordship has been murdered.”
“Damn,” Poirot remarked.
He was really starting to enjoy his port and his cigar and the comfort of his easy chair.
Reluctantly the Belgian detective made his way upstairs to the crime scene.
“Wait,” Monsieur Poirot in his thick francophonic sounding Belgian accent instructed the guests as he entered the room, “please, touch nothing.”
“Wait, please touch nothing.”
It was a little late for such instructions.
One guest was already examining the murder victim’s head. Another was holding and examining the victim’s right arm. Guest #3 was holding and examining the victim’s left arm. Guest #4 was holding and examining the victim’s right leg. Guest #5 was examining and holding the victim’s left leg. Guest #6 (whom ladies at the dinner party referred to as “the trollop in the little red dress”) was undoing the victim’s zipper on his pants with her mouth.
Guest #7 had picked up and examined the revolver lying on the floor. Guest #8 had picked up and examined the bloodied knife lying on the coffee table. The French maid was examining the open bottle of pills on the bedroom dresser. Guest #9 was examining the open bottle of poison in the medicine cabinet.
Guest #10 had poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher of water on the reading lamp table and promptly keeled over dead after drinking it.
Guest #11 was examining the hangman’s noose hanging from the ceiling. Guest #12 was examining the bloodied chainsaw lying on the bloodied carpet by the desk. Guest #13 was under a ladder trying to retrieve a black cat that was behind the ladder.
Guest #14 was examining a bloodied samurai sword on the desk. Guest #15 was examining a pair of bloodied candlesticks by the fireplace.
And Guests #16 to 23 were examining, handling and imbibing the bottles that were the contents of His Lordship’s private liquor cabinet.
Then Renfield woke up.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday May 4th
2017.
The Cool Cat From Capri: A Poem
He was the cool cat from Capri
an island on the Tyrrhenian Sea
or so he told fellow feline company
In reality, he was just plain Wilkie the Cat
off-Broadway actor minus tux and top hat
but when he came to this place Monte Carlo
to see women dressed like Greta Garbo
he thought being a little known actor wouldn’t pack much weight
and Wilkie the Cat did not want to undergo this fate
So he decided to embellish his resume
like the hetero actor pretending to be gay
he told folks he came from the isle of Capri
and he once dangled on Sophia Loren’s knee
The folks in the Monte Carlo casino were certainly impressed
and the ladies at the gambling tables were very well dressed
Wlikie the Cat was certainly making quite the hit
until the ceiling fan arrived that took the shit
Wilkie’s girlfriend Mitzi showed up
imbibing a great deal of wine from cup
“Wilkie,” she said, “what are you doing here?
Can you afford this on out of work actor’s salary, dear?”
The casino manager said, “Sir, may I see your credit card?”
Wilkie gulped and said, “I loaned it to the Bard.”
“And what Bard would that be?”
The manager asked introspectively.
“The Bard whose sculptured head is on yonder wall,”
Wilkie said as his stomach started to crawl.
“Ah,” the manager nodded, “Bill Shakespeare
who’s been dead these past 400 years I hear.”
The manager motioned to the casino bouncers to come over
Wilkie’s luck had run out like crushed four leaf clover
So out the casino door Wilkie was thrown
have you ever heard a pussy cat moan?
If not, record Wilkie’s with your smart phone.
-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 2nd 2017.
Saint George’s Day 2017
South African cultural attache Lepardia Marango and British Conservative MP Agathor Christie had gone to morning services at Saint George’s Anglican Church in Hanover Square in the city of Westminster, central London to celebrate Saint George’s Day since Saint George is the patron Saint of England.
Afterwards they went to have brunch together in a nearby pub.
Sitting across from them was Renfield R. Renfield in disguise.
Renfield was wearing dark sunglasses, a Scottish kilt with sporran, a t-shirt that said I AM WILLIAM WALLACE and was carrying bagpipes at his side.
“So, Agathor,” Lepardia adjusted her dark navy blue skirt, “you’re the great nephew of British mystery novelist Agatha Christie?”.
“Yes, but only by marriage,” Agathor Christie confessed, “not by blood unfortunately. I’m the great nephew of her cad first husband Archibald Christie whom she divorced in 1928 after he had an extramarital affair with one Nancy Neele (whom he married after his divorcing Agatha).”
“What about your name Agathor?” Lepardia asked, “Were you named after your great aunt by marriage Agatha Christie and given the masculine name Agathor?”.
“Um… actually no I wasn’t,” Agathor sipped his orange juice.
“Were you named after the character in Tolkien then?” Lepardia poured herself some tea.
“No, not him either,” Agathor blushed.
“Then who were you named after?” Lepardia looked at him quizzically.
“Well,” Agathor felt himself turning as red as the fried tomatoes on his plate, “My full Christian name… if you can call it a Christian name… is Agamemnon Thor… I’m Agamemnon Thor Christie. I was named Agamemnon because my father was a Greek mythology buff. And I was given the middle name Thor because my mother is a Norse mythology buff. In school because the kids made fun of the name Agamemnon, I shortened my name to Agathor for short (a shortened form of Agamemnon Thor) because Tolkien is always cool for every generation of kids.”
“I see,” Lepardia smiled and laughed, “And do you have any conditions for marriage?”.
“Well,” Agathor’s face was now turning as red as a Communist who had fallen into a giant bottle of ketchup, “I don’t intend to marry any woman called Clytemnestra.”
“Well, my name isn”t Clytemnestra,” Lepardia Marango who had a good classical education laughed heartedly.
Renfield R. Renfield (who did not have much of a classical education) did not.
-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Sunday April 23rd
2017.
The Death of The March Hare: A Poem
On her throne, Persephone the Queen of the Underworld did decree
that the March Hare had brought joy to far too many
and it was time that this valiant hare should die
and should be now before March time did fly
So on this last day of March 2017
as the Hare drank tea with a Heartly Queen
the Messenger of Death did drop Polonium-210
into the hare’s teacup at the stroke of Big Ben
The hare raised the tea to his lips
as Mad Hatter recalled his latest trips
up through and outside the Rabbit hole
when the poor hare turned as black as coal
“Remember to pay the phone bill” were the Hare’s last words before he died
as into the frying pan went the Heartly queen’s kipper being fried
The March Hare fell over quite dead
and the Heartly queen turned bright red
“I did not say off with his head”.
The March Hare was buried with a carrot in his mouth
payment that Ferryman Charon told to take a hike south
and so the March Hare’s pour soul is now trapped on the River Styx
as Queen Persephone laughs and plays pick up sticks.
-A poem written by Christopher
Friday March 31st 2017.
Waiting For The Flying Dutchman: A Poem
The old sailor always walked down to the beach on moonlit nights like this
waiting… searching… for the Flying Dutchman…
he had once seen the ghost ship as a boy
caught sight of the Ancient Mariner that stood at the helm
that lonely cursed figure
who stirred the wheel
at the helm of the ship
followed by an albatross.
The old sailor saw six birds tonight
but no albatross
He saw seven ships of various sizes
but no Flying Dutchman
The moon, sea and sky looked ghostly haunting tonight
it would be on a night such as this
that the Flying Dutchman would surely appear again.
The sailor felt a chill at his elbow
He looked up
gazed in the distance
and saw…
“There, there,” he pointed with his finger.
The next morning the old sailor was found dead on the beach
he had made contact with the Flying Dutchman after all.
-A poem written
by Christopher’
March 18th 2017.
Orwell’s 1984 Has Arrived In 2017
June 27, 2017 at 3:41 pm (Commentary, Culture, Literature, Personal essays) (George Orwell, homelessness, Orwell, Orwell's 1984, Orwellian)
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.
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