Stupefiction

When I read about our Edmontonian doctors, I didn't think of Dr Szell but of the doctor's from which the hero of Naked Lunch gets his fixes. Even though I read that book ages ago, when I was too young to understand it, the chill of their linoleum floored offices hasn't forsaken me. Maybe I should reread it. It's made up of lots of little bits and pieces which can be read in any order, and that's not only like the life story of Burrogh's junkie but also of your's truly father and parent, whose days may be read in any order. Linear progress is made by the new generation, in chess, violin, English, and crafts, while I cycle back and fro between grosheries (Obama) and school. Alas, it is so considerable and wonderful to behold that the heart of the any-order-dad boils with admiration, and that must be enough. And now, shall I go to meet Szell, or shouldn't I? Wouldn't we miss a welcome and dramatic interruption of our live of rural tranquility in a city with trees? Do we not owe a visit to Dr Hyde to readers, so we can tell them how when we entered his office we found him sitting at his table with a white paper face hanging of his neck and a loaded syringe dripping clear fluid from a steal needle, sucking us in with hollow eyes? No; I am not of the beat but of the drum generation. I grew up with the fear of an atomic war and having survived that, I prefer to interact with rational and sensible doctors, bus drivers, colleagues, people (DD Lewis). So, adventure cancelled.

Fiction becomes enough reality elswhere in Canada, in Edson. Unlike the beheadings and stabbings on the Greyhound, which had fictonal potential and will be turned into novel and film in due course, in Edson fiction is turning into reality.


The ubiquitous Metro, "the world's largest global newspaper" - can you get any bigger than that? - informs us that in this little lumber and oil town to the west of Edmonton, right on the road to Jasper, a young blonde, Laura Joy Stauffer, was killed, on a "tree covered wooden path", quite close to town. A perfect daughter, and a well loved and wholly innocent girl, the daughter of a local priest.

Police describe the attacker as a white male, about 40 years old, with brown, long hair. He was wearing a blue jacket and blue jeans.

Dear RCMP, I don't know if you do, but look out for the one armed man! Now with agent Cooper on the dark side, your chances are dim. Who will hold up against the breath of sha that is coming at us like the Hecatonchires, with the credit crisis, the oil prices, the coming winter, the pine beetle and Bob? To live in a world governed by the theodicy is a dire predicament, my friends.

One claims he will stand up to faces the odds, not Spiderman factorial or even Hancock/Barfly, but - Starbucks:


Big language, and as we expected not a whiff of the spirit of Norma's diner. Just a mocking of the rightly homesick, - laughing, ach, spitting at their last dream of a save haven, only to sell a vanilla latte green tee. Oh Starbuck, what has come of you, since side by side with Queequeg though foughtst the leviathan?

Woe to him who seeks to pour oil upon the waters when God has brewed them into a gale! Woe to him who seeks to please rather than to appal!