(from Waawaashkesh Ke)

Death comes mercifully for prey. The fear, the pain is all in the chase, the struggle. Peace comes with surrender. There’s such peace in surrender. I always feel it when my prey ceases to struggle, that wave of peace that comes over them. I feel for that certain moment when the breath stops and the body relaxes, so limp as to be water. At that moment, I envy them. I’ve never in my life been able to sleep that deep, to rest so completely. I don’t want to die, but only wish that I could feel that kind of serenity. I’ve been finding myself wishing that more and more in recent years. There’s a perfect completeness to death that is just so lacking in my life.

So that’s what she did. She exhaled no more and became like water. She wet my face as I ripped her open and bit by bit, she disappeared into my stomach.

I ate until I felt ill and sat down on my haunches,  tired and stupid, smarting from the wounds and contusions she’d inflicted on me, my muscles quivering from exhaustion. Someone could have come along and kicked me over and I would be too stupid to fight, too full to run. That’s when I’m at my weakest, after I’d gotten what I wanted. Such a quick descent isn’t it? To fall from the power to take a life to the impotence of being unable to save one’s own. There was nothing for me to do then but find a safe place to hide and get some sleep.

from o ánthropos

The thing I love the most about my house is the balcony. I had it made off of my bedroom on the second floor.  From there, I could rise in the morning to watch black squirrels and passerine birds as they chase each other through the network of forest limbs behind my property.  I would sit upon that narrow promontory o ánthropos into the natural world, sipping from my coffee.  I would reset and connect.

It is like a human isthmus of my dream world into the real world available just outside my door. The real world, because it’s not contrived from human hands.  It’s not artificial, so to speak. I think of the word artifice; the use of guile to deceive others out of what is rightfully theirs.  Can it be said that anything artificial has pulled a fast one on Mother Nature? Maybe.  I’m just glad to be here.

Album Review: RHEOSTATICS - Here Come The Wolves

Finally!  The Rheostatics have released their first studio album in 14 years.  They’ve been around since 1978 and slowly gained momentum to become one of the premier Canadian bands of the 90’s, but sadly split up in 2007, possibly for the same reason that many young marriages fall apart- the spouses mature into different people with new things to focus on.  Dave Bidini especially has had success in the field of journalism, writing several non-fiction books and erecting a small newspaper for the west end of Toronto.  Drummer Dave Clark has had a succession of somewhat accomplished bands, culminating in collaborations with none other than Gordon Downie of the Tragically Hip.  Martin Tielli and Tim Vesely also have been involved in their own projects, though they have been more grass roots in their concentrations.

But in 2016, they started touring again.  With Clarkie back behind the kit, and this seemed to bring back the old groove to their sound.  New songs, and new versions of old unreleased songs started finding their way into the setlist and, with the addition of violinist Hugh Marsh and Barenaked Ladies keyboardist Kevin Hearn, their shows have had a polish and power that probably hadn’t been there since their Whale Music days back in 1992.

So then comes this album; Here Come The Wolves.  Produced by Chris Stringer; a stalwart soundsmith for many independent Canadian bands such as Selina Martin, Wooden Sky and Timber Timbre, the album is a return to the fully produced, rich sound that made their most memorable albums so memorable.  They have stuck to the formula of writing their own individual songs, but there is new life in their songwriting, presenting a diverse palette of music for a vibrant whole.  Martin Tielli’s standout is the haunting “Vancouver” which has his trademark ethereal quality and his beautifully weird singing voice.  Tim Vesely seems to remain the hookmaster in the group, offering beautifully hummable songs, but his magnum opus is the heartbreaking “Music is the Message”, which plays like it would accompany the end credits of the most emotionally shattering movie ever made.  Even Dave Clark has a song: “It’s the Super Controller!”, which has that bouncy joviality that has always been integral the Rheos’ repertoire.  Dave Bidini brings his A-game with “AC/DC On My Stereo”, where his lyrical skills remain paramount with delightful turns of phrase, peppered with a deliberate Canadiana namedrop here and there. Also worthy of mention is his memorial song for Gord Downie- a surprisingly jaunty song; “Goodbye Sister Butterfly”: “I know a man who swallowed a country/We followed him to the sea/We were drunk so long at the party/He drove all night in his Chevy Caprice”. I’m sure Wicapi Omani has been bopping along to it up there in the stars.

Point Me To The Sky: Vankleek Hill, September 2017

As a whole, the album shows the maturity and patience of a band that has let their music evolve and cure over time.  Gone are the Dr. Demento novelty tunes and giddy schoolyard ditties.  Enter a full spectrum of sound and emotion that gives the listener a ride not unlike a jazz concert or a classical opus, with rich vocal harmonies, intricate transitions and unexpected twists and turns outside of the pop formula.  Rheostatics have seemed to rediscover themselves and the powers that have always made them great, and this album is the result.

JANUARY 1, 2019

I was sitting here, going through Facebook and just happened on a reminder of the very first serious book I ever read.  I'm not 100% sure, but I think its title is "John Rowand, Fur Trader; A Story of the Old Northwest". I can't find any images of its dust cover, so I can't verify if I'm correct or not.  At any rate, the book was a gift to me from my godmother aunt when I was about 11 or 12, along with a book of indigenous folk tales called "Rubaboo". The John Rowand book took me a long time to read, but in the end, I had an understanding of how Canada was first colonized and how difficult life was back then.  Rubaboo followed suit as the second book I had ever read. It told me legends and stories from many different native cultures. Written for kids the tales are lighthearted and funny, but it explained an underlying commitment to the land and the spirits that reside within it.

Thinking back now, I was so lucky to have been given this knowledge when I was so young.  I knew things about Canada that few kids my age did not know. What a rare gift my aunt had given me.  It's curious now, that she gave me those books in tandem with one another. It wasn't really acknowledged back then, in the late seventies, how intertwined these two histories actually are, how the fur trade effected indigenous culture and how indigenous culture is so ingrained in the Canadian identity.  My aunt was always a progressive thinker. She never married or even dated as far as anyone knows, always bought the latest models of cars (she once owned an AMC Gremlin!), and always dressed in the latest fashions of the times. She once told my sister that I would most likely become a writer or something creative because I always had a unique perspective on the world.  I think my aunt wanted to nurture that, and she saw it before anyone else, even before I did! I'm grateful to her for her gift of understanding.

Today I have a perspective on the Canadian identity.  It's always fundamental in my thoughts. I know the colonial view and I know the indigenous view.  I know both these views didn't grow in tandem with the other. I know that the colonial view overshadowed and very nearly eradicated the indigenous view.  But I know that they both exist side by side. Two solitudes in a large array of land and people. We can live together. I know we can. They live together in my mind, so I know it's possible.  It will take reconciliation, negotiation and co-operation, but it's possible. It will take education, and that will be the key. I hope to be a voice to bring concensus in the future, because I believe we can all live together.  We have to, because we all love this land and need to share it. Let's work on that, okay? Thanks, Tante Jo. Thanks, everybody.

DECEMBER 15, 2018

In the movie, "At Eternity's Gate" a priest asks Vincent Van Gogh (played by Willem Dafoe) why he feels he was born to be a painter.  Vincent/Dafoe struggles with the answer, then sputters out that he just doesn't know what else to do.

That is a lot like how I feel.

I'm consumed with the drive to write. I have a full time job, but it has little to nothing to do with writing.  My coworkers are aware that I've published a chapbook but think it's just a quaint accomplishment, completely unaware of how gigantic the prospect of writing is in my life.  Writing isn't a moon in my sky, it's Jupiter. Filling the sky, looming over me.

Every morning I have to pull myself away from the keyboard to go out and earn a living, though nothing would make me happier than to stay and complete a thought process.  I feel most sane, most content and most powerful when I'm writing. I don't feel like I'm suited for much else.

With everything else in life, I feel woefully inept.  With everything else in life, I feel I'm doing it to satisfy someone other than myself, and never successfully doing so.  I feel that my writing is what I am supposed to be doing, and that something is uncomfortably wrong when I am not.


So I know how Vincent felt.  I feel I have a talent that is yet to be measured.  I highly doubt that my talent measures anywhere near his, but it's all consuming and feels largely unfulfilled, much like he felt his was.  Oh if only I could carry each idea to fruition!!

OCT. 21, 2018

Taking stock of my writing this weekend, I’m happy to report that I have 3 separate books on the go at the moment.

The first and most complete is my ‘Virtus’ project, which has really been in the works for a 10 or so years now.  Through my marriage and after its dissolution, I had been writing stories about the subject of gender issues, mostly from the viewpoint of men.  I wanted to explore the true meaning of the Virtuous Man while examining our failings in becoming one. I’d been writing about fathers, husbands, sons, divorcees, brothers and bros, accidentally at first, but later, when sensing the theme, filling in the gaps to complete a composite collection of 15 stories.  I’m in the editing/reading stage now but soon I’ll be sending out queries to publishers to have it moved to production and publication. To me, it seems inevitable.

Then there is my ‘Holophrasis’ project.  There is a lovely book out there called the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows by John Koenig.  He takes some human conditions and gives them definitions in lovely poetic language. He has even created his own words to fit certain concepts and all of it comes across as a lovely enrichment of language and experience.  Using some of Koenig’s concepts and definitions as writing prompts, I’ve created a few stories that I think have much of the same beauty and profundity. Most are flash fictions with a word count of 1000 or less, though some exceed that count but still fit with the concept I want to achieve.  Each story starts with the single word as its title, and ends with the definition of the word, which I feel encapsulates the whole experience of reading. I have called it Holophrasis, since its definition is “the expression of a whole phrase in a single word.”, which I feel expresses the whole concept nicely.  I have seven stories completed so far, with about five in different stages of development right now. I’m considering self-publishing this book, maybe with some special bookbinding ideas with Jack Pine Press and some bookbinders I know.

Lastly is a collection of short stories I am building that all have a common thread, following the chronicles of a grassroots rock band of middle aged musicians that play the northern circuit of the Canadian bar scene. Inspired by the Tragically Hip, the Rheostatics and Paul Langlois’ band of bros, The Campfire Liars Club, ‘The Conifers’ is really a vehicle for different commentaries on the issues that Canada and The North faces, such as racism, cultural and ethnic diversity, unity and truth/reconciliation with indigenous peoples as well as the individual personal issues of the band members, such as fatherhood, addiction, marital strife, aging, obsolescence, touring and other middle-age crises that travelling musicians over 40 experience.  I’m 3 stories in already, with with several frameworks set up, as well as lots of concepts forming as I go. I plan to do some travelling and a lot of talking with people from the North from different walks of life to get an accurate portrayal for this book. It’s another concept that I feel really good about and look forward to working towards its completion.

I know what a blessing it is to be creative and prolific.  It’s a delicious feeling to be inspired, to feel the push and pull of a piece of work demanding to be made.  Anyone that knows me knows that when I’m like this, it’s hard to get me to emerge from my hermetic sphere. I would rather write than go out and socially engage, I would rather write than go out and have a healthy walk or bike ride.  Truth be told, I would rather write than go out and earn a real living. It’s actually something from which I have to extricate myself and even that takes careful planning. But I’m doing something I love with an energy that can fade at any time, so I take advantage of its presence to its greatest capacity.  I’m grateful for it.

CONGRATS BRANNY!!

One of my best friends Brandy Ford has just made the juried longlist for the CANSCAIP Writing for Children competition with her book "Remember Me"!! Way to go, Branny!!

Favourite Books

In The Skin Of A Lion by Michael Ondaatje: Loosely the prequel to The English Patient, this book casts a spell in the most urban of settings, Toronto in the early 20th century. I found Ondaatje's writing hypnotic, and the fact that it is about familiar settings though set in the past, it just pulls me in even more. One book that I will read again and again, just for the spell it casts on me.

M Train by Patti Smith: This godmother of Punk has lived a deep rich artistic life, not only as an artist but as a patron as well. When she discovers a kindred, she delves with complete immersion into their life as well as their body of work. M Train follows Smith on her pilgrimages as well as her daily walks to show us a life rich in indulgence, in love, art and coffee. After reading this, I learned that her Punk image was very much a misnomer. She truly is a humble bohemian queen and a deep intellectual well of sweet discoveries and heartfelt remembrances.

The Diviners by Margaret Laurence: Part of what is known as the Manawaka period in Laurence’s library, The Diviners is another one of those projects with which she dealt cathartically with growing up in rural Manitoba, this time as a successful middle-aged writer living a quiet life in a cottage by an ever present river, trying to connect with her daughter and looking back on a life of struggling to find and then maintain her identity. I love this book for its idyllic descriptions of the river and her settled cottage life,  which I crave so much in my own life I also relate to all the conflicts that her character and Laurence herself had to deal with; the balance of the writer and the parent/spouse, the assertions of one’s own autonomy in face of outside pressures of assimilation and reconciliation for a past one cannot control nor outlive.

Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut:  As my reading palate was developing, I noticed that many of my favourite writers were being compared to someone named Vonnegut.  With a name like that, I thought he would be a huge eggheaded intellectual a la Heidegger or Wittgenstein, but in sooth, he is all that but so much more.  Slaughterhouse Five is inspired by Vonnegut’s experiences at the Bergen Belsen camp, yet he extrapolates from it a whole lot of things that have earned his place in what is called Gonzo Writing: alien abductions,  time travel and a wholly disjointed post-modern meta-fictional narrative, all unapologetically presented with a twisted, almost annoying, but insanely clever sense of humour. But what grabs me the most about this book is his perspective on time and memory.  He creates an alien race called Tralfamadorians that are able to see time as a fourth dimension, just like depth and height, consequently able to see a person’s life from beginning to end. Reading that, it managed to flip my perspective on life and had me take ownership of what has passed and what is to come, all there as a composite of concrete decisions and actions, thus making it another book that has changed the way I think.

Ulysses by James Joyce:  One of those notorious novels that most have been reputed never to have finished, I am among the ranks to admit the same.  That said, it’s a book that I often return to, simply because I love Joyce’s rhythmic riffing on language. When I read Ulysses, I feel like I am on a linguistic rollercoaster ride.  Though the sentences spin and roll and turn on a dime, it’s all connected and it forms as something luscious and gorgeous in my mind, like a sumptuous meal. When I put it down, I feel an almost opiate high that changes how I think, and consequently how I write.

On A Cold Road by Dave Bidini:  Like Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider, On A Cold Road is a book that I had wished and waited for as a glimpse into a favourite artist’s inner life.  Dave Bidini is the rhythm guitarist and occasional lyricist/vocalist for the band Rheostatics. If you were to pin him down and open his chest cavity, you would find that his heart, though certainly veiny and red in colour, is curiously shaped like a maple leaf.  Written after touring the continent with The Tragically Hip, Bidini recounts the travels and histories of the band, then expands on each point with interviews from such Canadian rock stalwarts as Rik Emmett, Frank Soda and Greg Godovitz. All told, you have a great tome for immortalizing that most unique of experiences; the Canadian Rock Scene.

Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese:  Awareness in indigenous issues has exploded in Canada and  that awareness has not been lost on me. There has been so many opportunities that have appeared in the last 50 years to start a path towards reconciliation, it has now become a new pattern in the fabric of our national consciousness.  Indian Horse is a deeply compassionate story about a survivor of the residential school system, finding redemption in the sport of hockey, but only through dedication to his own Anishinabeg heritage. In this story I see all the things that I have heard people say about Richard Wagamese, what a positive role model he was, what an accessible friend he was and how truly deep his intellect was.  He couldn’t have written a better testament to his own character than this.

The Life of Hope by Paul Quarrington:  Quarrington has always been known for his eccentric characters going through cockeyed existential crises and Life of Hope definitely has its fill of those.  What sets it apart from his other books (which I still love with unwavering devotion) is his beautiful depictions of idyllic lakeside ponderings, barroom camaraderie and heartwrenching prostrations to Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalize” (and yes, he is also why I like to use big words…)  Quarrington seems to encapsulate all the deepest human conditions in the most mundane and/or absurd places, and in doing so, manages to portray what it really means to be completely human.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac:  To me, Kerouac is one of the foundational writers of the last century.  It was his writing that brought about a continental shift in how fiction is approached, the dividing line between the old and new.  After my first read of this book, I opened myself to the expanse of the world around me, sleeping with open windows, driving with eyes on the vanishing point ahead on the highway and cultivating a willingness to indulge in every beautiful experience that life will afford me.  In short, this book changed my life.

Ghost Rider by Neil Peart:  Few men have had as much of an influence on my thinking as Neil Peart, drummer and lyricist for the rock band Rush.  His lyrics read like a manual for being a man, with a complete moral set, and all the zest for adventure and calls for strength that manhood often entails.  Written as a salve after losing both his daughter and wife in the span of a year, the book documents Peart's motorcycle journey from one extreme of the continent to the other in an effort to deal with his grief and his struggle to come to terms with the world he’d been left in.  When my parents passed away within 10 months of each other, Ghost Rider acted as a reference for my own grief and was instrumental in my negotiating my own pathway to healing. Another life changing book for me.

Salvage King, Ya! by Mark Anthony Jarman:  This book was the final component I needed to realize what my narrative voice would be. Everything Jarman writes is like a poetic elegy, with delicious turns of phrase and a musical rhythm that cries to be read aloud.  He also has way of integrating the Canadian secular world in everything he writes; hockey fights, deer hunts in the mountains interrupted by bears, Rheostatic songs playing in smoky bars and wooden decks jutting out into glacial lakes from which you witness a plane crash…  His writing is everything to me.

ABOVE/GROUND PRESS 25TH ANNIVERSARY

A fun night last night at the Vimy Brewing Company as friends and patrons of Rob McLennan gathered to celebrate the 25th anniversary of his above/ground press.  Launched with the D.I.Y., independent aesthetic of the early 90's, the press became a focal point for small press in Ontario, carrying the torch of a similar movement that happened in the early 60's with Coach House and House of Anansi in Toronto.  The press quickly took on talent from all over Canada and points beyond and is now accepted as one of the premier small press publishing entities of Canadian arts and letters.

Emcee'd by Rob with his open-ended and friendly goofiness, 9 diverse poets took the mic and presented a broad spectrum of poetic styles and subjects, from international and gender politics to  concrete and sound poetry, to multimedia, to metaphysics, to the lighthearted poetic punnery. All involved had a story of their involvement with the press and with Rob himself, and it was clear that there is a deep appreciation in the community for both.  Rob's tireless work and constant support has brought many talents to light and it was a night to celebrate and appreciate what Rob and above/ground press has done for Ottawa, Canada and the poetic community in general.

Thank you, Rob.

HEY, THERE'S A SUPER EARTH PLANET OUT THERE NAMED AFTER ME!

London astronomers have confirmed that they managed to find a planet that is very possible to have / support life. Uniquely the distance of the planet when compared with other exoplanets is relatively close to Earth, which is approximately 13 light years. The planet, named Kapteyn B, orbits a dwarf star called Kapteyn Star (Kapteyn Star). Planet Kapteyn b is very strange, because it is very old at 11.5 billion years which means 2.5 times older than the age of the Earth and only a difference of 2 billion years from the age of the universe. From the age of a planet that is so old, it is very possible that there is already life there. "That makes you wonder what kind of life can evolve on a planet for a long time," said the study's author, Guillem Anglada-Escude of Queen Mary University in London. In addition to the age of the planet Kapteyn b which is very old, the planet is also dubbed as Super Earth because its mass is about 5 times larger than the mass of the Earth.

Anglada-Escude also stated that besides the planet Kapteyn b, the planet Kapteyn was also found c. Planet Kapteyn c is a bit different because it doesn't seem to support life because the temperature is too cold. For once around the star, the planet Kapteyn b takes 48 days, while Kapteyn c 121 days.

Both planets were detected by the HARPS spectrometer at the La Silla Observatory in Chile. Then the observation was continued using two other spectrometers namely the HIRES spectrometer at Keck Observatory, Hawaii and PFS at the Magellan II telescope, Chile. Initially astronomers recorded a small vibration from the gravitational pounding induced by Kapteyn star motion. This beat causes the star's light shift. From there astronomers know that there are planets orbiting the star. Kapteyn star itself is a dwarf star that is one third of our Sun and is located in the south of the Pictor constellation.

source: http://blog-astronomi.blogspot.com/

AUGUST 17, 2018

I’m writing today (as I am almost every day, as my friends will attest) as the month turns the last corner before I return back to work.  It’s been a hot summer this year, which has made it hard to sit at the computer and ruminate on my sentences and figure out my plots. Rather than stew in my own sweat at my desk this summer, I often had to escape my apartment and seek either shade or air conditioning to get through. I had big plans for a concept I’d hatched of a loosely related series of short stories concerning a blues/country/rock band that tours the northern circuit; really a device in which to illustrate what it means to be Canadian and a northerner, with all the issues of racism, unemployment, identity, plus the trappings of playing in a mediocre touring band.  I was set afire this winter when I came up with the concept, planning to go up Highway 11 to explore the hamlets in the North, visit little shindigs along the way and hopefully talk to people who had carved out an existence up there. Alas, money had to be diverted and health problems arised and my plans were scaled down considerably. Best I could do this summer was come up with a couple entries for my travel blog: The Drive Between The Lines during some family visits to Toronto and Kingston. In retrospect, these were good things too. I reunited with my siblings and came out with some interesting things to write about as well. No regrets.

That said, though things have not quite worked out as planned for me this summer, things are still moving ahead at a good pace.

I participated in the Ottawa Small Press Book Fair, put on by the busiest man I know, Rob Mclennan this June and did manage to sell some copies of my book.  Look for postings coming up for the autumn installment of the Small Press fair, to take place at the Jack Purcell Centre in November.



I spent every Friday in the month of July at the Byward Author’s Market in downtown Ottawa and had the grace of meeting some great independent writers and managed to sell, again, a few of my books.  I made the rounds to different shops in Ottawa to sell Temperance Ave., and they are still available if you want to visit them (The Barely Bruised Book Club, Books on Beechwood, Perfect Books and Troubadour Books and Music).  I also did a reading at the Barely Bruised Book Club on Willbrod in Sandy Hill and again, met some great poets and had a great time sharing stories and ideas.


My focus lately has turned to carrying through on some ideas that were already in progress.  One project I have on the go is a series of short stories using obscure words as writing prompts that I had tentatively entitled Holophrasis.  One particular word I am exploring is the word eukarya, which is the scientific name for all forms of life whose cellular makeup features a single nucleus containing their genetic makeup, which actually represents every animal, and plant in the world, including us as human beings. (you may notice that I love using scientific concepts in my writing)  This concept is interesting to me because that means that almost every living thing on Earth has a common ancestor; a single celled Eukarya, from which nearly all life has sprung, plants, fungi, animal and PEOPLE.

The story I’m thinking of has to do with global unity and diversity: two concepts that really shouldn’t match, but actually do- if I present my argument right in this story… stay tuned…

… and speaking of ellipsis, there is another story I am working on about a road in Ottawa that seemingly goes on forever.  Most rural areas will have a road that seems to show up at intersections many miles apart, bringing into question where it actually goes and where it ends.  In Ottawa, there is such a road and I’ve always been curious where it led, so I concocted a story of a man who has an encounter on one particular stretch of that road, then ends up eternally curious, though he has left the event buried in his past all his life.  I explore that curiosity and touch on the themes of regret, omission, memory and change.

Yeah, I like my lofty topics.

Lastly, I have a very dear friend looking over and editing the manuscript for my short story collection; Virtus, and soon I will be shooting it out across the country in search of a publisher.  It’s always a long road from conception to publication, but it’s always worth it, no matter where the road turns and no matter where it ends...

MAY 22, 2018 - Indian Horse by Richard Wagamese

When I first started hearing of Richard Wagamese, it was during the upsurgence of awareness concerning indigenous writers in the last couple of years. Then when he passed away in March of 2017, his tributes all spoke of his kindness and gentle nature through all the difficulties he'd had in life. Indian Horse is a composite of everything that is beautiful about the man, as well as a testament to his survival. It is written with a lush but simple language, with a powerful spirituality throughout even the most dark and secular scenes. It also professes an affectionate understanding and deep love for hockey.

I used to think that Paul Quarrington once wrote the most beautiful passage about hockey in history in his own book, King Leary, but Richard surpasses Paul, multiple times, with intricate descriptions of the finer details of the game as well as sweeping odes to its beauty. Hockey is the mortar that holds the two worlds of Indian Horse in place, the spiritual and the secular, holding both in balance. It all makes Indian Horse a perfectly balanced story, as any life can hope to be.

APRIL 7, 2018

Struggling to make a piece set in 1969 work, wanting to have it shine a light on what Canada/Toronto was like at the time, not able to pull it off, frustrating me. But a quote by George Bernard Shaw comes to me: "Never write something unless the not writing of it is a positive nuisance" reverberates for me.  And this indeed has been a nuisance. Laying down in the afternoon, failing to fall asleep, I then considered inserting it into the context of a story series I've been thinking about, focusing on some middle aged bar-circuit musicians looking back on their lives, and it makes sense. Change 1969 to 1981, and it all falls into place.  I've been working on it all day now...