The God of Six Points

7 09 2017

God of Six Points

now available through Amazon from Kindle Books

The God of Six Points

Father Larose stood at the entrance of Our Lady of Peace Church and preached to the crowd gathered on the steps and spilling out onto Bloor Street. Traffic was blocked in both directions. Car horns honked, motorists screamed in frustration but still the priest continued to preach. He preached about the illusion of permanence, about the certainty of death, about the bureaucratic neatness of time. God did not operate on a punch clock. The soul of man was always a child. Salvation was as messy as a teenager’s room. We must imitate Christ, climb up onto the Cross, and be crucified with Him, the priest declared.

And then the police arrived and dragged Father Larose off the steps and into a police cruiser. I looked in on the priest as he sat in the back, sad and friendless. I had never been so proud of him. The police dispersed the crowd. Moments later the cruiser sped off into the afternoon.

The next Sunday the pastor informed his congregation that Father Larose had a nervous breakdown. He had been placed in an institution for rest. I looked up at the cross behind the pastor, at the nails in the feet and hands of Christ, put there I thought so he wouldn’t step down off the Cross and start preaching in front of the Church. And I recalled the sad smile on Father Larose’s face sitting like a criminal in the back seat of the cruiser, abandoned.


My Hair Is On Fire

1 04 2013

Shot like a man out of a cannon. My mother almost died giving me birth. Head was too big. Doctors’ thought I might need braces on my neck. Crawled through the first centuries of life. When I was twenty my hair was down my back. Orange and dusty. I felt like a god. Beautiful and outrageously vain. Standing in the Kipling Station. I could have stood there forever. When I stepped on the train I was 40 and everything picked up speed. The last decade has been like a long weekend. My eyes are watering. And my hair is on fire.

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My Hair Is On Fire. A new book of poetry and other nonsense from David Halliday


 At the bottom of the stairs. I used to wait for you. To come down. Head first.

You’re a joy. When you’re fixing the garbage disposal and your fingers are dripping. With sarcasm.

At the wedding your mother wept. Outside in the parking lot. You’re not supposed to get married at 3 o’clock. In the morning.

You say I can take heart ache. Who doesn’t want to find their husband jerking off over the dishes.

This isn’t a marriage. Its an arrangement. The twins aren’t yours. They were adopted. Lets sign the papers. And send them back. UPS will guarantee almost anything.

I had more sex when I was single. Your breath was bad. But not your confidence. I was wrong and now I have to pay my indulgences. Still. I look out the window and hope I see you walking this way.



Homicide: Now and Then

27 04 2012

Death comes in the quiet of our thoughts. When we were looking the wrong way. At the moon being smothered by a cloud. It begins in panic. Thrashing out. We want to live. Something standing over us. Waiting for our last breath. Murder. Now and then.

Read Homicide: Now and Then

I stole that from myself.

13 01 2012

This is an advertisement for myself. That might be a line from Ferlinghetti. I’ve written a number of books. You might check them out on this sight called iAMaBOOK. I stole that from myself.

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Kitty Litter in the Sky

29 10 2011

The Fred and Me stories started off as a conversation between a philosophy student and a compost. The compost was a god. And the questions would have been philosophic in nature. Than a friend of mine had disaster hit him. His wife was having an affair with the kid who took her groceries out to her car. (That became part of the story.) Now the philosophy student had bigger problems than what is the meaning of life? His wife wanted a divorce. And then Fred stepped in. Fred was their cat. He could talk. Not just suddenly. Always could. But when the philosophy student stopped taking his medication for bi-polarism, the cat, Fred, decided he had to get something off his chest. And so started the series (4 inall) of short novels called Fred and Me.

I called the stories ‘animation fiction’. Like Magic Realism. Everything was alive. And anything was possible.  The stories fit into the category of ‘madcap adventures’. They are free. And worth every penny. You can download them at

Fred and Me Episode 1

Leonard Cohen

7 10 2011

Leonard Cohen is one of my favourite public figures. He is a good poet. A so-so writer. A wonderful song writer. A better comedian. I think he always aspired to be Hank Williams. Or Lord Athol Layton. When he lands in a city it is like the fleet has landed. Smart people lock their daughters away. What people don’t realize is that he’s a bit of a dope. And folks don’t like to hear that. Especially women. They want to idolize him. And that’s what he is. An idol. By choice. He is a fraud. A Canadian wonder. Like Niagara Falls. Surrounded by cheap hotels. And lovers who had to get married.

The Death Of Lou Grant

25 09 2011

The Death of Lou Grant is a 2012 Epic Award Finalist in horror fiction.

You can download this ebook for FREE at

the Death of Lou Grant




2 09 2011

I call the sight i AM a BOOK. Its a list of all my books. Some are free. Some just seem that way.

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Only men should read

17 08 2011

I live with 3 women. Sometimes its like living with angels. At other times, its like Macbeth. And the witches. Oh there are things brewing. We have one washroom. In the middle of the winter you can see my footprints in the snow leading to some bushes deep in our back yard. Where unmentionable things happen. I gotta pee. And then they talk. In front of me. About things. Like I wasn’t there. But I have my revenge. In these stories. That only men should read. For sustenance. For support.

Read Women Gone Mad…. Part 1

Calendar Girls

13 08 2011

We measure our lives in years, months, days, seconds. Time does not move. All measurement is a memory. Some memories are true. April made up her own story. I was there. I know she’s telling the truth.

Is it true? Is it a fabrication? You decide. Check out this new book from David Halliday.

Calendar Girls