down on the boardwalk…

13 02 2018




we’ll be watching you…

13 02 2018




sliding into second

13 02 2018




Jack Mows His Ancestors

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

Maybe I’m wrong. Everytime someone tries to put the definition of art in a box, it seeps out. Art sometimes does comfort people. What bothers me is that many artists produce work that is easy. Easy to create. Easy to understand. Filled with cliches. In short – boring. Not to say that there isn’t a lot of garbage that is offered as art under the umbrella of challenging us. But all of us can tell when something is special. It excites  us. Morley Callaghan was teaching a creative fiction course at the university of Windsor. (Mr. Callaghan is a well known Canadian author who wrote about the same time in Paris as Hemingway. The two were friends.) He asked his students how many of them wanted to be writers. All of them put up their hands. Then he said, with a kind of cheeky smile, “well get out of this…

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At Home

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

Sometimes I think we create art, noise, music, garbage, horror, nightmares and fantasies to dullen the monotany of being alone in the universe.

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The Kid

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

The Kid is an iconic figure in American culture. I don’t know if there is a paralled in Europe. I think that Charlie Chaplin might have introduced him into our psyches in The Kid. The kid is a mixture of childhood innocence and adolescent moxy. In a way Chaplin has introduced the ‘teenager’ to the 20th century. After that there are the whole Andy Hardy series, James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, East of Eden, or Brando in The Wild One and then from the 50s on we have all the rock’n’roll heroes from Presley to Springsteen.

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The Queen Mother and Her Silly Puppies

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

I wonder if being in the royal family isn’t a prison sentence. Prince Charles spent some time in Canada and there were rumours that he had fallen in love with a Canadian lass. If that is true then he really messed up. Life is too short to become an actor in the charade of pageantry.

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August 2012

13 02 2018




Amorous suicide – June

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

June was the first girl I loved. We met at university. Because of our appearance people nicknamed us Sonny and Cher, although there was no resemblance. June was a blond and I was a red head. I had never been so happy in my life. I still remember our first kiss. And the smell of her hair. And the feel of her small breast in my hand.  And then I lied to her. And that’s how it began to  unravel. I wrote her during the summer that I had a relationship with another girl. (There was no other girl.) I think that I was scared.  June had started to look at wedding rings. And houses. And I thought that I couldn’t get married without ever tasting the fruit from other trees. (What a brutal metaphor but young men think like that.) She later married an old boyfriend. Someone she’d been…

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That made her laugh- July

13 02 2018

Hallidd's Weblog

She said that we looked like an Oriole cookie. Me so white. Her so black. July laughed easily. And talked about anything. Without a censor. The first thing that came into her head, came out of her mouth. She told me how she liked it when her boyfriends got into fights. When she could hear their fists smacking into someone’s ribs. And the grunts. And cries. It turned her on. Especially when it was over her. And she’d see the expression on my face. (I couldn’t hide my repugnance.) And laugh. (July laughed about everything.) She liked the way I reacted, that I didn’t give into everything she said. Because she was beautiful. And she was beautiful. Long black wavy hair. Dark almost purple coloured skin. (I had never touched such soft skin.) She never used makeup. Never used creams. Never exercised. Her figure was eye catching. Some afternoons she…

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