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If I Were A Rich Man As My Email Desires

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(image)https://accelerator-origin.kkomando.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/email-scam-inbox-Komando-created-photo.jpg

From “Dear Email User” to “Dear Beneficiary” my dear email buddies bid me take advantage of the great wealth (and other offers) they wish to shower upon me.

A whole lot of them seem to come in a whole big bunch.

I ponder their kind offers.

OFFICE	OFFICE OF DIRECTOR OF PAYMENT UNITED NATIONS. – OFFICE OF DIRECTOR OF PAYMENT UNITED NATIONS. UNITED NATIONS PAYMENT OFFICE, JAKARTA INDONESIA. Attention, I am Mark Anderson, International Director of Payment United Nations payment office Jakarta		10 Jul
		Mr. Kelly Jackson	CONTACT WESTERN UNION OFFICE FOR YOUR PAYMENT – Attn: We have deposited your fund ($4.7 MILLION UNITED STATE DOLLARS) Via Western Union department after our finally meeting regarding your fund, All you will do is to contact Western Union director MR	9 Jul
		Mr.Robert Gray	YOUR FIRST PAYMENT OF $5,000 – Attn: Beneficiary, This is to inform you that after our meeting with the Ministry of Finance,we have agreed to transfer your Compensation payment of $1.500, 00000 USD through MoneyGram Transfer.However	5 Jul
		DR.PETER IKEY OBI	Re,Attn Sir/Madam – Hello Dear How are you it has been a long time,actually i have sent you severa emails without receiving your responds. However,as i have not seen your email for a long time now,i have decided to open	5 Jul
		Rev. Jerry Mark	ATTN: Fund Beneficiary – ATTN: Fund Beneficiary We have finally succeeded in getting your package worthy of $7.8Million out of delivery your consignment with the help of Dr Ben Moon Attorney General of Federal High Court of	4 Jul
		Mr. Bright Smith	Bank of America Corporate Office, – Bank of America Corporate Office Headquarters 1100 Mohawk St Utica, NY 13501 Our Ref:BOA/IRU/SFE/15.5/WD/011 United States of America Monday-Friday 8 am-9 pm Eastern Daylight Time (EDT) Saturday and	28 Jun
		Pandora	Today is the last day! FREE Shipping with your $75 Purchase. lYNXywLsnDWdhvq – 714 Arborwood Parkway,Chamblee,Garst,922081495030329105 1268 Martinel Court,Jackson,Glendale,182481495030329105 Gifted Jewelries 50% OFF Just For You We are amazed by all your fantastic travel moments!	25 Jun
				22 Jun
		Adweek		20 Jun
		Donald Lewis	Dear Email User, – Dear Email User, This is to inform you once again that Your email address have won the sum of$2500000 Dollars (Two Million Five Hundred Thousand Dollars) in our First quarter Year of Power-ball draw	20 Jun
		Updates Facebook		17 Jun
				14 Jun
		MRS CAROL MARK	Dear:Beneficiary, – Dear:Beneficiary, I have registered your ATM with UPS this morning and we agreed up that your of USD4.8 in ATM CARD delivery will take place Tomorrow morning so kindly reconfirm you full information to	12 Jun

07/11/2017 0

#Trump And #Merkel Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg

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~ You are not quite the tuff bad boy I expected, Herr Donald.

~ Maybe not – but your stiff starchiness is evident, Frau Reich Chancellor.

~ One must keep you and the Tzar of all the Russias in their place.

~ Nothing is going to keep Vlad in his corner of his empire.

~ True.

~ Unless . . .

~ Speak it up, Herr Donald.

~ I dunno – you never know who is listening these days.

~ I think we’re safe – the Tzar is on his way home.

~ But “home” is the operative word, Angie.

~ Then you had best whisper into my shell-like ear.

~ All we’d need is a Twitter GIF of that!

~ Not to worry – I’ll just roll my eyes.

~ Well – Frau Angie – why don’t we form an Anchluss?

~ I think you mean an alliance, Herr Donald.

~ I’ll leave the technicalities to you.

~ And we’d already have an alliance, Der Donald, if you behaved yourself.

~ Did you just say “dear”?

~ Not in this lifetime.

~ Just checking, Angie.

~ Nor the one after.

~ The ladies like a bit of power – if you get my drift.

~ Hell would first freeze over.

~ I’m thinking you might accomplish that, Frau Reich Chancellor.

(image)s.newsweek.com/sites/www.newsweek.com/files/styles/embed-lg/public/2017/07/07/trump-merkel.JPG

07/08/2017 0

#Trump And #Putin Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg

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~ At least you do not offer me poison, Donald.

~ And you kindly offer me nothing, Vladimir.

~ I was taken aback when I learned you don’t drink.

~ Lips that touch liquor is the only way it touches me.

~ Still – Don – what is the point of getting through the day?

~ What do you mean?

~ If you never feel any better from beginning to end.

~ There are other ways – believe me.

~ Nothing as good as vodka – and I’ll drink to that.

~ Gotta admit, Vlad – there is one thing to tempt me to that bottle.

~ What?

~ Reich Chancellor Angela Dorothea Merkel.

~ Oy Vey!

~ “Amen” to that, Vlad.

~ That is one bitch in britches.

~ Freeze the balls right off you and use them for hockey pucks.

~ She gave me such a look.

~ Her handshake had the touch of death.

~ She has done one thing though, Don.

~ What, Vlad?

~ She has made comrades out of us, Comrade.

(image)http://www.google.ca/search?q=Putin+%2B+Trump+%2B+Merkel&client=gmail&rls=aso&authuser=1&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj16ZHF6_fUAhUDcT4KHS0sD68Q_AUICCgD&biw=1366&bih=659#imgrc=7UWKn7dAWUaI3M:

07/07/2017 0

Isle Of Man Celebrates Independence, If Not My Novel

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Because today is Tynwald Day on The Isle of Man, which is the Isle of Man’s National Day celebrating the Oldest Continuous Parliament in the World, it seems fitting (to me) to post the first review I had of my novel, A Lost Tale, that is set on the Isle of Man.

It is not a rave review.

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KIRKUS REVIEW

Lost–but not lost enough, this is an uneasy mix of soothsayers and spies.

Wounded German soldier Rolf lands on the Isle of Man during World War II and is taken under the wing of young Druid virgin Brigid and her friends.

Brigid falls in love with Roll, of course, but his recovery is slow and his fate is tied in with the appearance of a white unicorn on the beach.

Taggart, the leading Druid priest and a master of the supernatural, investigates Rolf’s background by way of other Druid soothsayers.

And then mysterious William Stephenson shows up looking for Rolf–yes, he’s the Stephenson, the Man called Intrepid and master of secret intelligence, and he knows Rolf’s secret: that he was sent to this beach to help his father, a brilliant Nazi scientist, escape from England with atomic secrets.

But the Celts have their own sense of destiny, quite independent of the British secret service, and their mystic signs determine that the secret of the horrible bomb must be destroyed right on the beach before even Stephenson can rescue it.

Will true love survive these warring conflicts?

Will the white unicorn appear once more?

Can Druidic power fight Nazi evil?

The answers are none too enlivening, but Canadian first-novelist Estey shows some talent for characterization and might do better next time, having now gotten both Druids and Nazis out of his system.

07/05/2017 0

Belated Greetings And Returns To Kafka On His Birthday

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03 July

My Present / Your Future

Still in this World

A Life Away

Dear F:

You would find it perverse to be wished a “Happy” birthday, but your response would be gracious. Such is the reality you understand, and how you deal with it. I have found that your reality is actually real.

Although it will give you no pleasure – well, ‘little’ pleasure – you are correct in all your observations.

Governments become the tools of the bureaucracies which run them. It doesn’t matter what type of Government, from the monarchy under which you lived, to the right wing horror of fascists that called themselves socialists, to the inept socialism pretending to be ‘for the people’. All three governments held their sway over the city where you spent your life. All three oppressed the people they ruled. All three looked after themselves first.

Writers are either writers or they aren’t. The urge to write encircles one like a snake around its prey. Feed it and it won’t quite squeeze you to death. You can not ignore it – even at your peril. It is with you every hour of every day, ever inquisitive and (sadly) always looking for something better.

Love is a see-saw of extremes. Every high guarantees a low. Every low reaches for a high. Every high reaches for a high. When these hills and valleys are eventually levelled, they are still desired.

Sex is highly over rated. The thing of it is, even rated fairly, ’tis a consummation devoutly to be had. Yes – I know – you appreciate Shakespeare. On a par with Goethe, even if you can’t bring yourself to say the words.

People are just one damned thing after another. Of course, so many people have brought you blessings, you throw up you hands to ward off the snake. And sometimes – some few times – it loosens its grip.

There is no castle with walls thick enough to hide against the perils of being human. Which is why you never tried.

Except the grave, of course.

Except the grave.

Yours,

(image)http://silverbirchpress.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/405px-franz_kafka_-_4_jahre.jpg

07/04/2017 0

Taking A Vacation – But Not So Much

In a discussion about vacations today, I made the comment that I don’t consider I have had a vacation for forty years. I doubt I was believed and, I’ll accept, it probably isn’t even true. But, when is a writer ever off? Ideas appear at will (not my will) and characters demand that attention must be paid. This can happen any day, and usually every day. This ain’t no complaint, as writer’s block is far worse.

Still, I think I’ll slip some blogs in that I have already done before. There may be no rhyme nor reason for my choices, but, this one came to mind because I think a character somewhat like The Gypsy Lady might have just appeared in my current manuscript. A totally different story and situation, but …

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08 June 1917

A Gypsy confronted me today, and I was in the mood for a bit of sport. Her age was difficult to tell – certainly a decade older than me. In her swirl of shawls and dangling jewellery, heavy make-up on her face, she could almost have been in disguise. She peered at me with an intense sigh, attempting – I am sure – to penetrate my own disguise.

“You are a Jew,” she said.

“And you a Gypsy,” I replied.

She seemed pleased with my response, for her professional smile became real.

“You state the obvious,” she said. “As becomes a Doktor of Laws,”

I replied. “But to your eyes, do you not state the obvious?”

“Are you going to banter with a poor old Gypsy woman, instead of barter? That would make you suspiciously like one of us.” She said this with a growl in her throat.

“The Gypsy and the Jew,” I said, feeling the challenge which I so miss. “Perhaps an opera – but I think it’s been done to death.”

“They will try to do us all unto death,” she said harshly, and turned away.

I had the fear she was going to leave me without another word, but what she did was to spit fulsomely onto the street.

“They can’t kill us all,” I said, but I knew she heard the doubt in my voice.

She slowly faced me again.

“So. Even a Doktor of Laws can have hope. That is refreshing – but foolish.” She took my hand and felt my palm roughly with her thumb, although all the while her eyes never left my face. “You are going to travel.”

“Travel is a vague word. One can go on many types of voyage.”

“And reach many destinations,” she added, still holding my hand. “If you take away my vagueness, you take away my trade.”

“Then let me pay you for your services right now.”

This transaction would make her loose my hand, which is what I wanted most of all. She had frightened me, for her eyes and face were full of truth. I know the truth. I know it when it presents itself, stark and unobscured. I search out truth endlessly, yet still can flee at its approach. As in her eyes. But she gripped me more fiercely, and pulled my hand up.

“The coin, Herr Doktor.” Her voice was now soft. “The coin can wait.”

She at last lowered her eyes and looked closely at my palm. She rubbed the lines and whorls of my skin. She touched her finger to her lips, and spread the moisture along my hand.

“Your lifeline, Herr Doktor,” she took a quick look in my eyes, “of Laws. You deceive with the youth upon your face. Is that not so?”

“If your eyes stop at the mask, then no, the years have not etched themselves deeply.”

“Not on your face, Herr Doktor of Laws.” Her grip was intense. “But on your palm…” She hissed. “You will soon embark upon that final voyage.”

She released my hand, rubbed her fingers across her sleeve.

“But you will not go in haste. There will be many stops along the way.”

Suddenly her face was full of the most beautiful smile, and her laughter was genuine.

“I see you do not complain of vagueness now.” She held out her hand. “The coin, Herr Doktor of Laws. This time I have truly earned it.”

I dug deeply into my pocket, and feared that I may have overpaid her. But, perhaps, that is not possible.

(image)thegraphicsfairy.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/GypsyViolin-GraphicsFairy1.jpg

07/03/2017 0

A Story Of Frolicking Beavers For Canada Day, July First ~ 150 Years

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First of all, we know that Canada Day is really Dominion Day. But – that said – there is still no better symbol for Canada than the industrious beaver. But even hard-working beavers (perhaps, especially hard-working beavers) need their time at play. This is what I saw.

I was walking along the river and heard the strangest noise.

It was one of those noises which, when I found out what It was, sounded exactly as it should. A beaver was chewing at a branch on the bank of the river. First there were small rolling noises, as the branch went through its hands. Then the ‘gnaw gnaw gnaw’. And then the turning noise and the cycles were repeated.

This went on fifteen minutes or so, until the beaver and I both heard noises in the water.

We both saw another beaver approaching. The beaver-at-gnaw quickly went in her direction (though I can only guess which sex was which). They swam toward each other then rubbed faces. The approaching beaver made small bawling noises like a young calf. They rubbed bodies and seemed to sniff each other. They then swam in different directions.

This performance – the swimming away, the languid circling, the approaches – went on for twenty minutes. A couple of times the ‘gnawing’ beaver clambered over the over beaver’s back, but this lasted just a few seconds. The beaver that had first approached rubbed noses once again, then made the bawling sounds one more time.

I never appreciated how large beavers are until one of them came up on the bank. The water was clear enough to see their feet and tail move underwater (I wonder if the portion out of the water might have the 1/10 proportion of an iceberg). The sun was setting and they became difficult to see. However they decided to part anyway. One began to go down river toward the harbour and one headed to the other shore. For me an experience of a lifetime.

(image)teachershelp.ru/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/beaver1.jpg

06/30/2017 0

The Good Ship “Pegasus”, In Story And For Real

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In my historical novel, China Lily, set in the 13th Century, I have spent a good deal of time writing about (and thus aboard) the good ship Pegasus. It has been on a trading voyage from Europe to China for nearly three years. I have become quite acquainted with it.

Currently, a manuscript about the same European trading family, though set a thousand years earlier, is at the historical (though they do other genres) is being considered by the publisher, Pegasus, in New York.

And, this morning, the good ship, The Atlantic Pegasus, is in port.

Let these winged portents coalesce.

Following is a brief portion of China Lily.

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Excerpt from China Lily

Cepa is tending to the onions, even as the waves make Pegasus shudder from bow to stern. He knows many members of the crew begrudge his use of fresh water. He has heard the comments about him using buckets of deck wash for the purpose. A couple of the more unimaginative seamen have suggested that salt water will add to their taste. Cepa has so far refrained from asking how they would feel with no onions at all.

Pegasus makes a huge yaw to starboard. Cepa grabs for the support of his hammock hook. He holds on with his left hand as he watches the braces securing the onion boxes. Of the many things that make the crew question his sanity, perhaps the most talked-about is that he has given up the privilege of having one of the few bunks as a place for the onions. Space is so scarce on the Pegasus that he removed the wooden bunk and put in tiers of shelving of the onion setts. He even devised some crude trickle-down tubing so he only waters the top tier. So far he can claim that not one dipper of water has been wasted.

When Cepa had explained to the captain of the ship what he wanted to do, the man had not scoffed as did many of the crew. He had seen the effects of scurvy on many voyages, and understood that this type of fresh produce did something to control it. In fact, he was very pleased Cepa was willing to sacrifice his bunk space for the purpose.This was not the typical action of the merchants he was paid to transport from Italy to China and back. It usually took half the out-voyage to get these self-important wealthy people to realize that their opinions and needs were of no importance in the world of the ship.

Some sat back and made threats of what retribution would occur when they finally reached port. They always changed their minds after experiencing the first storm at sea. Most soon realized the new world of the ship, and did what they could to fit in.

(image)https://balticshipping.com/uploads/ships/d/a/a/a/7/e/e/c/4/3/1/f/d/5/f/7/3/4/a/8/1/c/5/c/9/a/a/d/f/7/d/2/176447_1443024569_2007.jpg

06/23/2017 0

My Father And The Summer Solstice

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Not that I post this every first day of summer, but I do find it neat to have such a connection to the Celts, about whom I have written three novels.

During World War Two, my father had the unique experience of guarding Stonehenge. Not by himself, of course, there were other members of the Canadian Army with him.
The vast plains around Stonehenge were utilised by the military in both world wars. During the First War, the area was a training ground for troops from various countries. There were many encampments for recruits, with both basic training and preparations to train for the trench warfare awaiting on the continent. There were thousands and thousands of men, and huge amounts of supplies.
During the Second War, the area was used as staging ground for the D-Day invasion. There was great security, and as much secrecy as possible. Soldiers were in place to guard the perimeter.
So, my father found himself not only guarding Stonehenge, but doing so on Midsummer Morn, when the sun rose over the monument. He was a learned man – a school teacher – and versed in the history of the place. He knew of the Celts and the Druids and some of the mythology. He knew this was sacred ground and that Midsummer Morn was especially important. He might have paused and tried to look into the past, and see more in the morning mist than was actually there. I do not know.
He did, however, when their watch was over and they got to eat, tell the other soldiers of the history of the place. He mentioned that, during such celebrations by the Celts, the Druids might have a virgin killed to appease the gods. They were aghast.
“What a waste,” said one.

(image)http://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/news/2017/06/21/TELEMMGLPICT000132550612-large_trans_NvBQzQNjv4Bqek9vKm18v_rkIPH9w2GMNoGXySPv9M1Jbe0Fc3Bi1Fk.jpeg

06/21/2017 0