The Balogne Bulletin

In the headlines tonight: the Federal League of Porn Stars is lobbying for new image rights. They say that the erogenous zone is not covered by current legislation and that our private parts should receive the same legal protection as our faces. Here in the city, confused pilots and irate drivers with bent car antennas applaud the early close of the fourth annual mentalist convention, whose lengthy ceremony was canceled by an unfavorable prophecy. And is the rejection of fraud hate? We'll talk to a convicted fraud who says that he suffers harassment because of his crime. All this and more coming up on the Balogne Bulletin.
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News of the Day

I don't feel sorry for a bunch of spoiled celebrities with mediocre talent, especially when they get caught ganging up like predators on a lone artist. These jerks took my real life and turned it into meaningless gags for their paychecks and now they want to fault me for having a low income. Anyway, I'm glad I don't need my TV or radio. I would rather devote my time to my own original inspirations. It keeps me stimulated when I'm alone. It's probably time for another baloney bulletin. I find nothing wrong with poking fun at the media. I wouldn't punish stars for that.
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The Downsizer

(A commercial garage. Ernie friends struggle to pull him out from under a Buick.) Mechanic: One more time! (With a combined effort, they succeed, thrown off balance and landing uncomfortably.) Ernie, I think its time you did something about your hips. Ernie: I can't help my bone structure. Mechanic: With the right tool, you can fix anything. What you need is the Downsizer. (Ernie in pyjamas, lies on his back and fastens his ankles and wrists to a metal mattress.) Voice: Straighten out your profile as you sleep with the all new Downsizer, guaranteed to reduce unsightly posterior protuberances by as much as fifty-five percent! (The garage. Ernie works under a car, visible only from the hips out.) Mechanic: (crouching) Ernie, how can you see what you're doing on your stomach? Ernie: What do you mean? I'm on my back. (The other turns and is astonished to find Ernie's toes pointed up.) Voice: Tuck your embarrassment somewhere else with the Downsizer.
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Blog at My Known Risk

What trend does the industry have us following now? You can see from the above list that the trend they've had us following for most of the last twenty years has been fraud with my work. And now am I to gather that my songs are not cool any more because I have them? And am I supposed to believe that my scripts lose their appeal in the hands of their author? Am I not enough of a Satanic liar to win any respect from the corporate broadcasters who profited so immensely from stealing my property and leaving me to be mocked by my fans while I stood in soup lines? Am I supposed to feel ashamed of my lack of riches after vast sums of money were made from my work? I don't. If I'm such a drag compared to the exciting TV, why do people come here to read my posts every day? If they need me to stimulate them, then I guess the TV and the radio aren't doing a sufficient job for them. I'd love to offer them the new songs I've been working on. They're turning out well. But if you go over my lyrics index and count up all the songs that have been stolen from me in the last eight years, you'll understand why I must wait before I can present my music fans with any more music. As for my works of humor, they've been plundered just as much, but I have no interest in being a comedian. As such, I consider it less of a risk to share any new scripts that may come up over the next few months. [4:16pm:] I suppose that once an author has shared his childhood memories online, he has crossed a line from whence he may not return. My imagination was the favorite toy of my childhood. I could work wonders on the cheapest candy popcorn prize. I could make toys and superheroes out of almost nothing. I was able to keep myself amused and did not rely too heavily on others for my fun. I wonder if I ever shared the following script in the past. It is not just in recent years that I found myself sleeping on a firm surface. See how I turn something unpleasant from my life into a smile. And what's so tragic about that? Who's crying over this but the guilty?
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The Stampeding Epicure

Good afternoon, and welcome to another enlightening lesson in the art of cuisine. I'm the Stampeding Epicure. Did you ever wonder what goes into that soft meat paste they use for sandwich spread? Down at the butcher shop, there's a room behind the counter where an illegal immigrant with a pair of pliers sits on a chair next to a pail of eyelids, plucking out hairs. If you haggle, he'll sell you the whole pail for five bucks and throw in a shovel full of snouts. I'm just going to take a cup of each and load the blender with it. Set it to puree. (Speaking over the whirring motor) Leave it in there until slimy suds form on its liquified surface. Then uncover, pour into a mixing bowl, add half a box of flour and a teaspoon of margarine and stir vigorously until the flour has absorbed the moisture. And voila! Instant meat paste. This food, which was discovered by necessity during a severe famine, this wholesome spread has proven to be a reliable source of nutrition for everyone from low income earners to weightless space travelers - as long as you use it on whole wheat bread. For the Stampeding Epicure, I'm Jean Paul Leclair.
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Light as a Quill

Not much to say today. I'm into my music and it feels nice to have something private to work on. I'm keeping in good spirits and enjoying very fine weather here. A cooking show sketch came to me from thinking about sausages. I'll post it to lighten the mood. I don't need to make my money from telling jokes.
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Beggars and Schmoozers

It's Sunday again and that always gets me thinking about God and God's perfect love. I identify this love in the figure of Christ, who demonstrated its power by forgiving his enemies for crucifying him, leading ultimately to his own eternal glory. Before he died, George Carlin stole mountains of statements from me to make up his last three standup routines. One of the earliest was his 2006 plagiarizing of a bitter statement I shared while in the darkest throes of my atheism. It attempted to illustrate by numerous examples how a loving God would not punish us. I did not share it for a laugh, as was the case with much of what Carlin and other comedians stole from me since I started sharing my thoughts on Blogger in 1999, but apparently crowds found it amusing. This pleasure has so far torn a sixteen year chunk out of my happiness which can't be made up for in any way I can imagine on this corrupt planet. Let me now tell you who loves you. Your parents love you, at least, in the case of the vast majority of you. Loving is giving and parental sacrifice on behalf of offspring is a daily fact of our culture. And my parents were good parents because they corrected me when I did something wrong. They punished me because they loved me and they wanted to teach me that bad behavior leads to punishment. Better I be punished by their hand than by the brutal hand of the state. And that may be why I've stayed out of prison all my life, unlike so many of these star heroes. Do you think your TV loves you when it tells you how important you are? You'd find out how important it really thinks you are if you ever shared anything on the internet that could rival or surpass the quality of commercially broadcast content. How did my work get so popular in the first place? Did I do that all by myself? Seems to me that I must have had the support of millions of subscribers, all of whom should be nearly as insulted by the industry's crimes with my music and comedy as I am. Does the TV love you when it glamorizes fraud with my work? It sounds like they're behaving in the exact opposite fashion as a loving parent would or, indeed, as would a loving God. One who loves you does not lie to you, but broadcasters have proven to me that Satan's seductive lies have far more commercial appeal than God's troubling truth. Maybe your business leaders don't care about such moral subtleties, but I'm going to be fifty very soon and I'm starting to feel my age. I'm starting to realize that I'm going to die and I want to die peacefully, with the knowledge that I did not waste my whole life in an artificial world of broadcast lies. I look forward to my passing from this world. I believe it was only constructed for temporary use and I hope I can withstand its onslaught of evil for the whole duration of the time I need to leave a sufficient warning to the generations of artists who follow me. With respect to my health, I expect my vitality to hold until my inevitable date with the musical stage. In the meantime, I've made some very positive and sensible lifestyle changes. [4:20pm:] If you're one of these people whose supportive messages to me get drowned out by aggressive TV criminals and their gullible fans who like to surround me at close range, you needn't worry about my spirits. I'm feeling pretty good these days over all. The more I recall those weird childhood dreams I seemed to have about my future, the more I believe I must have been subconsciously prepared for the heartbreak that otherwise would have killed me by now. I clearly recall succumbing to tears as a child over the terrible news that I would grow up and have all my songs stolen from me. I didn't even know how to play the piano yet. But of course, this is just a theory and I might be confusing an old memory with something else. If it were true, however, it would explain why every effort that these fools have made to break my heart in the last ten or twenty years has ultimately only resulted in either making me shout in protest or simply laugh out loud. It would also explain how I am able to detach myself from my songs and other works when the criminal activity around them makes them too troubling to care about. These have proven to be useful advantages in my struggle. If for instance, my subconscious has endured the heartbreak of this crime in advance in all the years leading up to it, there would be nothing left for me to cope with but its shock, which on its own, causes me little discouragement. An essential part of my purpose, as I understand it, thanks to my superior writing skills, is to make information like this available to future online talent, which is why I must include it. Normal people may dismiss it. Normal people might want to party with all the offenders I've listed above. They might think it would be fun. That might even be why my work still gets stolen and turned into fraud. As for me, I wouldn't enjoy partying with intellectual parasites. I certainly don't need them for a laugh or to lose myself in music, as they needed me. And I think of their Heaven as perhaps the lowest level of a multiple tiered structure. I think there is a higher Heaven than the one for which I was sold out. It would be far more exclusive, since its occupants would resent having to rub shoulders with dumb daytime TV hosts, frauds, and arrogant news reporters. If I go to any Heaven on this Earth, it will be that one. On the topic of arrogant news reporters, I've heard a little more detail about NBC's plan when everyone thought they were my heroes. They wanted to lure me onto the stage as a guest musician of a comedy program entirely composed of blog posts that had been stolen from me. It's a good thing I had the sense to tell that something was going on and revisit those Ottawa lawyers in January and February of 2013. Most of NBC's crime, consisting of hundreds if not thousands of violations of my copyrights, has since been exposed in the blogs I have shared in this account from late 2012 to the present, something the success of their evil plan would have made impossible for me to accomplish. Now to discuss love as it exists in my work. The love in my work is not as apparent as that cloying variety one might get from Barney the Dinosaur, though I think my children's song Clouds, which I heard those Dateline girls celebrated, is somewhat related to it. The love I offer in most of my work is for more sophisticated consumers, though not necessarily age specific ones. It is my love of freedom that I express best in my music and poetry. I think that rock is the best musical format for this love because rock is rebellious and rebelling goes hand in hand with freedom. Beyond that, since I was limited to reading the Holy Bible by my devout mother from the age of six to about the age of eight, I have developed a deep love for the beauty of language. Lastly, I love composing. I believe that a strong work of music involves interplay between multiple instruments, rather than having a strong vocalist drowning out an almost non existent backing chord progression. I make a distinction between a song, which I consider a work of art, and someone singing a forgettable melody to a hand clap rhythm. I apply my composing talent to my works of humor, seeking the most effective, fulfilling way to resolve their flow of content, as though I were building up to the ending of a newly recorded original song each time. Anyone who loves my works probably shares these other loves with me. I expected them to comprise a much smaller group than the one I have been facing since 2007, but I may have initially underestimated the sophistication of the average consumer.
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Dreaming of Sleep

I'm feeling refreshed after an eighteen hour snooze. I feel asleep yesterday afternoon at about 2:30 pm and stayed unconscious until about 8:30 this morning. I must have missed my daily post. Sorry, I guess I was exhausted. It must be from working so hard at this job for which they insist on paying frauds in my place. Too bad I can't sleep all the way to my grave. Who'd have thought that so many successful new songs on the [rock] radio came from the same pen that produced those sparkling new witticisms on the TV? That's the last thing those broadcasters wanted you to know. The rarity of authoring talent drastically reduces the number of vending options for such talent's products. Now that they've gone ahead and expanded the TV to over a hundred channels, they need the world to think that authoring talent has been multiplied to accommodate their greedy move. They needed you to believe that so many others like Jay Leno or Ellen Degeneres could produce my poems and dialogues and that so many others, again, like Nickleback or the Crystalids or the Shards could produce my music. Each fraud they credited with my work received strong support from the commercial broadcast media, hailed as artists and geniuses, while my image was commensurately trashed. The more they stamped on my image, the more it opened up profit making potential for my songs and blogs in the hands of frauds. Most of this criminal abuse by irresponsible broadcasters happened when I my back was turned, and to be putting up with it in the present, given the amount of work I've recovered in this account, is utterly unacceptable. It's as plain as day that they put my love into the hands of malicious, hateful fiends and broadcast this sin across the whole planet to try to turn the whole world population against me. If people want my love, they should receive it from me and not from some racist creep who can't make his own stupid hate sound good enough in a song. If they appreciate my humor, they should receive it from me and not from some social climbing asshole who would falsely accuse an innocent author to clear a path for himself among the TV stars whose comedy shows have not yet been cancelled. I don't even try to be amusing most of the time. Frankly, I wish I could express myself in ways that were less coveted by the mediocre authoring talent that opposes me.
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Time for Deflection

I've been making great strides forward with my new recordings. I've started up another new music project. I've a lot of creative energy these days, writing songs two at a time. They carry on from where I left off in Epitomes, contrasting light with darkness, much like a tonal drawing, progressively, within a hard rock framework. I'll be collecting them into a private set over the next few months. About all that 'skivvies talk,' I find it distasteful, but was first exposed to it as its target. I only brought it up to keep the record straight and to make people think twice about stealing from me. I thought I made it clear in my discussions about intuition or instinct that it is followed blindly. Certainty about the future is impossible, but some disasters may be sensed in advance, allowing time to subconsciously prepare for them. I don't know my future. My cupboards are full again and I've done some cleaning. It feels good to be organized. The pressure on my heart has subsided. It was probably from lying prone on a firm mattress. I still get the odd anxiety attack after my fifth or sixth coffee, but I'm still not quite over the shock.
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Lying through His Teeth

Desperate to keep his job, the seventeenth century explorer, Marc LaBalle, lied to the French king to receive support for his second voyage to the New World. King: I am very disappointed in you, LaBalle. I turned the pockets of peasants inside out to pay for your voyage and all you bring back is fish! LaBalle: But look at the size of that mackerel, Majesty. Big enough to feed a family of peasants for more than a month. King: I did not pay you their money to explore for them! The Spanish crown grows richer by the hour from gold mines and the English crown grows even richer from piracy! I need gold, LaBalle. Gold! LaBalle: That is why you must send me on another voyage, Majesty. We found gold but we were not properly equipped to recover it. King: Impossible! I gave you everything! LaBalle: Everything for a surface exploration, but the gold is underwater. King: Mon Dieu! I did not think of that. LaBalle: The natives led us to the site of what used to be a whole kingdom made out of gold. It was drowned by a flood and now lies hidden beneath the waves of the Louisiana coast. The Spanish don't know a thing about it. King: Well, if it is underwater, how did you know it was even there? LaBalle: The tip of its solid gold flagpole still protrudes well above sea level, a rest stop for seagulls. King: Show me this flagpole. LaBalle: As I said, Majesty, we lacked proper equipment. Our pics and shovels were useless. But our ship's artist made this sketch for you. (He hands the king a piece of paper to scrutinize with a magnifying glass.) King: I see. Yes, the shadows and foreshortening appear to be authentic, but I would still like to see some hard evidence. LaBalle: Of course. We were able to chip away these few small samples. (He hands the king a pouch to pour out and examine on a table.) King: That's gold, all right. Very well, I shall sponsor another voyage out of my own pocket, but if you fail, you'd better not come back. LaBalle: (Kissing the king's hand) Thank you, most generous Majesty! You will not be disappointed. And may I recruit a specialist to ensure the success of this vital mission? King: Who did you have in mind? LaBalle: (Stroking his forehead) I think his name is... ah yes, Monsieur Cousteau. King: You shall have him and all the tools you need. Would you care to join me for a bowl of ice cream before you go? LaBalle: (Wincing and holding his jaw) No, thank you, Majesty. It... uh... gives me pimples.
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Doubt with the Old and Sin with the New

They stole Hopeful? That's what I called Careful when I posted it in 2007. Oh well, as long as you know they stole it. Dave saw Davelies? Who's Dave? Me? I only heard about the title. That was enough for me to get lawyers prospecting for a libel suit. Speaking of suits, who was that Vancouver gentleman in the silver suit I reported here on the Sunday before last? The former mayor? It wouldn't surprise me, since the former U.S. president appears to be in on the crimes against me. Oh, and here's a good one: they unsigned his dick. I wonder how. Did they trace over it with a surgical laser? Folks, this information about genital marking is coming to me from outside sources. I'm not a first hand visual witness or anything. Something happened that looked like such a punishment outside my old building in the Spring of 2011, but I only glanced at a fragment of it. All I've reported since about these punishments has come to me from secondary sources. I would like to wish all readers who shun dirty network broadcasts a good morning. Thank you for sparing me from hearing about what they say or don't say about me on the networks. I thought I could avoid disturbing reports by shunning the TV, but the above speaks to the contrary. It looks like I've recovered yet another script from the same library DVD that I parodied in my last installment of my Canadian History series. In Episode Three of CBC's Canada: A People's History, The French explorer, LaSalle, lies to the French king to gain support for his second voyage. I just took that and played with it in my own special way, probably very much as I did the first time I shared it, just like most or all of my thousands of inadvertent reconstructions. [12:10pm:] It's worth noting that LaSalle lied to stay in business and that it worked for him. The king fell for the lie. (It was different from the one I gave my fictional character, LaBalle, from my script.) Thus are lies proven to serve business by this historic example. Therefore, we should expect the broadcasting business to support lies which protect their profits. They depend heavily on public support to set the rates they charge their sponsors for advertising space. This makes them very image conscious and afraid of admitting faults which might lead to a loss of faith from their viewers and listeners. Since I am a glaring example of their dishonesty, it follows that they would lie or distort truth about their violations of my work to sustain their false aura of infallibility. I'm sorry about criticizing the chronic TV viewers, but sometimes they seem to resent me and I don't think it's a coincidence. I gather that a lot of offenders have been caught in the last couple of weeks. One is said to have complained that I make people hate her. I don't hate, I just tell the truth. The truth is that she stole my love. I don't hate anyone, but I thought I was supposed to express myself here. If they're stirring up hate against me, it will deteriorate my good mood. My rare outbursts, which get held up and used against me, only ever occur when my image is under attack. My reaction to this peculiar stress is probably normal. I sometimes feel like a load is bearing down on my heart, but it doesn't trouble me. I recall the mountain I've climbed to the peak in my dreams as I reach for the next plateau. I awoke early this morning after a vivid dream. I was backstage at a suburban outdoor venue, scratching out my song list. I looked up and saw two young women at close range, a brunette in front of me and a blond beside me, but I needed to prepare for the show. I looked more closely at the blond and saw that she had an almost masculine, weather beaten face. She reeked of rum. The event organizer showed up just then and, sniffing, mistook me for the drunk. He angrily stormed off before I could proclaim my innocence. I was upset by this when another performer appeared and invited me to join him in trashing the stage. We came out from behind a band in the middle of a mediocre sounding performance and he kicked over the drum kit while I toppled the P.A. speakers and trampled them into the floor. The small crowd didn't care. Then we jumped into his van and headed downtown, feeling pretty good about ourselves. From that I rose peacefully to consciousness. I wouldn't behave that way awake. I don't like this focus on songs like Careful/Hopeful, which I don't intend to use. Maybe we should check my music posts from the last twelve to sixteen months to see if they've been recently violated. I'll mark the most current in red in my lyrics index after I post this script, which I completed at home, where I shun my free cable. [5:18pm:] Is someone using how I prayed for the workers and 'groupies,' like the ones I heard about who appeared on that November 2012 Dateline broadcast, against me? Are they trying to let themselves off the hook for their crimes because I showed concern for them? As the blind, repeat victim of their greedy, arrogant conspiracy to support continuous and widespread fraud with my songs and blogs, I thought I was just being generous by offering peaceful thoughts here on a Sunday morning. Their law breaking is their own affair. Who are they, by the way? I don't know any of them. They all know me though, since 2007, at least. I managed to get a new work of music started this afternoon. It will try to build onto my last two efforts, Denial and Epitomes. I don't dwell in the past very much, like the ones who had so much fun with their names on my music and humor. I'd rather let my memory fade of that evil time and focus on my future. My music still pleases me. My scripts and poems still enlighten and amuse me. I think my prospects are very good.
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Smitten by a Glance

Was the name of that country star who stole Together Again from me Dwight Y-? I can't be sure. I don't know my country stars very well. Haven't heard very much about this since I first brought it up. Maybe he died or something. I've been hearing a few things from the people around me about the last round of violations of my work and image. Someone said if I would have known..., which tells me that there might have been some kind of interference with my posts to divert my visitors from reading my information. I hope this hasn't been going on too long. In possible connection to this, I recall encountering a suspicious person last year, when I reported what felt like a breach of my music to furnish a fraud with songs for his European tour. I bet he had the full support of CBC Vancouver. His limousine was parked outside a small venue on Pender Street, close to Main, and he stood on the sidewalk in a tuxedo, with a leer on his face, as I made my way home from the library. He had long blond hair and was very sure of himself. Was this the recently foiled music fraud? If so, he has now had more than a year to inflict harm on me. In spite of all I have said against corporations and the business, I still see a possible future for myself as an industry artist. There are some factors in my situation that quite simply defy logic, which force me to keep an open mind. Beyond that, as I've already said, they own every avenue of ultimate advancement for an up and coming artist. In amendment to what I said about 'protecting the pretty workers from the ravages of a criminal psychopath,' I left out an important point: groupies are extraordinary. If wronged, they are capable of a fierce retribution. Do you think she has pretty eyes? They shoot laser beams. Remember what happened to Michael Jackson's hair? That was the work of a disgruntled groupie - probably a Coke drinker. Do you think she looks good in a bikini? Each groupie's navel is fitted with a tiny but powerful spring mechanism that can project a fatally poisonous glass sliver at high velocity, accurate up to a range of twenty meters. So don't mess with groupies or you'll be sorry. These predators love to pick on someone who they think is helpless. They attacked me because they thought I was alone and defenseless. And I have tried to forgive their crimes out of my strong faith in God. But when they attack others around me, they step into an area beyond my authority to forgive. Such might be the case with the recent targeting of my sister-in-law, in response to my request for the faithful among my readers to pray for her. The predators thought they had found a new soft target in a person I loved who suffered from a terminal illness. Now perhaps they have learned that she works for the police. Children, the old, the sick, and the isolated have so far proven to be the favorite prey of these creeps. What are they doing in civilization? They belong in the jungle with the other predators. The only place they fit in here is in a cage. [12:13pm:] Violations of my online posts may be encouraged by certain culpable TV hosts who have shown such zealous support for anyone who would dare to violate my copyrights. Thanks to this insidious criminal attitude among corrupt broadcasting staff, I've lately had to hear repetitions of the phrase that was his hit. And it sounds like a musical fraud recently helped himself to some of my newer songs like Rules and Hot. This somehow happened amid reports that I was diminishing in popularity. I suppose they focus on my image when they say that, having grown used to separating it from my popular work. If you review my history carefully, you'll see that the only way most of the above listed violators of my copyrights were able to temporarily profit from their crimes was by my own voluntary withdrawal from the internet in late 2007. I was oblivious to their offenses at the time because I had forgotten the work I had stored on my cassette and in my notebooks, following the theft of these items from my person by malevolent stalkers. Now I'm back to stay. I am acutely aware of offenses against my copyrights and image and they will always result in the apprehension and punishment of the culpable parties. I'm sick of strangers messing with my songs. My songs are my future! Perhaps I should keep my next ten or twenty works of music to myself until I can visit a lawyer on the first leg of my planned tour. In the meantime, I'm sure I can hold my supporters' interest with daily statements like this one or with new poems and scripts, which are far less consequential to my future success. [2:02pm] I may need to answer the person who recently asked me, where's the magic? As I said in a previous post, my work is charged with an almost supernatural power. This power in the wrong hands, such as the hands of the formerly corrupt host of Dateline, can produce spectacular displays of paranormal dimensions. I have known about my power since I was around the age of ten. That was when I used to play with it as a child, alone in my room. But I have grown up since then, unlike the former host of Dateline. I submitted my work to the public simply to enrich their lives. The most productive magic is hidden magic, just as Christ opened the gates of Heaven by dying miserably on a cross, impressing no one at the time. I want my power to lift spirits, not levitate brooms! Are you reading this, Dateline? If these corrupt hijackers of my power are quite finished poisoning their millions of unassuming viewers with hate and arrogance by their misuse of my work, I invite you all to receive it from my hands now and to be cured of any evil that may remain of such broadcasting crimes. Speaking of Dateline, those workers and groupies who appeared on that show should know that whatever punishments they received by that host were unauthorized. I gain no thrill from imposing pain and humiliation and I allow the police to punish offenders according to public standards. I'm sure that these workers and groupies find my little comparison of that host to Sauron far less amusing than most others. As annoying as these workers can be, I see them as mere workers and would have spared them from the merciless brutality they received from that power tripping Dateline host. I feel the same way about the groupies, who are essentially young and innocent. Do not confuse that host's unauthorized misuse of my power with any act of mine. I did not even piece together what had really happened that night until months later. To mention perhaps another reporter, I sensed an unwelcome presence on my way out of the library earlier, at around 1:15 pm. I also heard an insolent remark as I made my way to the Hamilton Street exit. Was this the retort of an insolent CBC reporter? Was that bus ride last night again insufficient to hold him at bay? Maybe we should let that bus accidentally drive off the side of a mountain. It might be the only way to escape the unjust security such incorrigible public servants apparently enjoy from their cushy government contracts at the public expense and at the expense of my personal peace.
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Sense and Disability

I recall when I first found occasion to visit the Union Gospel Mission in October 1995, a few months after I landed here from Toronto. I thought it was great. The meals were tasty and nutritious. And it was by the love of their volunteers that I found myself returning to a faith I had all but abandoned since childhood. I managed to stay employed for most of the period between then and 2007. Following the wholesale plunder of my blogs and songs by broadcasting corporations in that year and the wretched poverty it imposed on me, my wait for a kind handout from this charity has become extremely stressful. Yesterday I thought I would try my luck for a free coffee. I was only in there for five minutes, just long enough for some stranger to call me Hairball. I returned for dinner, wearing my ear plugs, but they didn't protect me from someone shouting shut the fuck up! as I headed for my place at the back of the queue. There I sat alone and innocent, absorbing more name calling in the form of Hitler and Bighead. That was all I had to take until I returned for my evening coffee. It sounded like the person behind me called me a Seattle cocksucker, though there was a Seahawks game on the TV. Yes, they love their blog stealing, music stealing television down at the UGM waiting room. It might help to explain the treatment I receive from their more unruly clients. It sure makes it hard for me to save my disability checks under these conditions. And are the ones who stole my work being hassled? Oh, poor them! Let me just defend myself against some of this cruelty now, and if you're offended by my defense, I must ask why you need to come here and read my posts every day. Let's start with Hitler. Jon Stewart went to prison for that one. But I suppose going to prison for ripping me off and lying about me on television is a badge of honor to some of the guys I'm forced to eat with. And before you call me Bighead, did anyone see that portrait of Beyonce on the bus stop at Commercial Drive, and 11th? Her head must be six feet high in that thing. So this character walks by the gigantic head of a prosecuted violator of my music copyright who was incarcerated in 2014, and as soon as he sees me sitting behind him, humbly and silently waiting for my free meal, he calls me Bighead. As for Seattle cocksucker, well, I think Vancouver refugee would be more appropriate, given the information in this post and in almost everything else I've had to share online about my experience of the last five years. Oddly enough, I'm probably better off to be treated with this kind of disrespect than I would be if I had the credit I deserve for all the hit songs and entertaining scripts I've shared in the last ten or twenty years. Once you're famous, you can't live a normal life any more. Strangers either insult you out of hate or they clamor all over you out of love. Since I can't escape into my limousine the way those industry heroes did when they had my work, I would rather be rejected and allowed to at least have a little personal space. Yes, being famous is unbearable without the money to insulate you from the crowd. Even the most loved among the wealthy stars would have to put up with daily abuse like the above described if they suddenly ran out of money. Wealth is not so much a luxury as it is a necessity when you're famous. But I'm 'protected,' right? Just not against pitbulls. And not against hate. And not against starvation. Right, great protection. Have the corporations learned all they need to learn from their favorite lab animal yet? When am I going to be euthanized out of humanity? Corporations sponsored Doctor Mengelese's experiments, too, didn't they! What did he do to those twins again? Oh well, they know. When I toss and turn in my bed all night from some new abuse, I just know they're taking notes. The only thing missing from the scene is the bloody scalpel. I wanted to be an artist, not a lab animal, but I'm not rich enough to have my way. Make sure to warn your children about the internet. Tell them that the more love you put out, the more hate you will get in return. Don't lie to your children. Let them know what kind of a life they can look forward to if they have talent like mine. I heard about that story last week: Will David Survive His Talent? Well, if David must survive his talent, his talent must be a disability. And yet David is envied and consequently hated for his disability, rather than pitied. Can you explain this, NBC? How about you, Warner/WEA? [2:05pm:] With respect to what I said about people getting in my face less when I am hated, there are the occasional exceptions, such as the man who leaned in and whispered the word hack into my ear as I climbed the escalator this morning at a few minutes past ten o'clock, increasing my pace to get in front of a large group of schoolchildren. Who was this stranger? David Frum's nephew? Beyonce's chauffeur? Why did he visit the library this morning? Was it just to share his stupid, lying putdown with me? Didn't I already document a similar assault by the same stranger somewhere in my past statements? Didn't I ask if he stalked me to make sure that he could accomplish his mission? Okay, let's talk about being a hack. Did I hack my notices of known and suspected violations of my copyright at the top of every blog I've posted since 2011? Do they let hacks walk down a public street every day to post things like that in a public library? Did I hack my disclaimers at the top of this page? Maybe if he read them, he'd see that I'm a victim of massive network fraud and the very last person in the world who deserves to be called a hack. I struggled to author my scripts and poems that those stupid stars performed for him. So far, every one of the stars I've exposed as frauds in this account has been convicted and incarcerated for their foul crimes. As for the networks' news reporting, I expect that at some point, it will no longer serve their best interests to hide this giant broadcasting offense from the public. By documenting the harm that their cruel policy of shunning the incarcerations of their wealthy stars at my expense has visited on me almost every day, I'm making a strong case for defamation and personal injuries. The amount of money that they would lose in court to compensate me would be more than that which they would lose by any decline in viewership from admitting their fault. What happened to the AC/DC posters promoting the big concert tomorrow? They're gone. Are they not coming now? Did anyone find out who stole Easy from me in October 2007?
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Inside Source

It is only because my faith in God has been such an asset to me in sustaining the onslaught of so much evil that I end up promoting it in my blogs. If I had the same attitude as the ones who've been attacking me for the last ten or twenty years, I would not still be around to discuss it on the internet. My faith has been a moderating influence on my behavior, which leads me to regular self analysis and self criticism. Last night, for instance, I considered my words about that band I posted yesterday, the one that was forced upon me as I sidestepped production trailers along my normal route home from the library. I felt a little bad about bashing them if they were innocent, and if that is the case, I'll make it up to them somehow. On the other hand, if they were not innocent, I may have been too light in my criticism of them. It got me thinking about good work's source, which too many of the industry workers who surround me see as being external. Since the apparent success of my 2007 music posts on YouTube, I have been treated by a certain gang of production workers as though I were a Bonanza Creek to be raked clean of all its glittering contents. They have attached themselves to me literally as vampires, for they even drew blood from my arm to use as contract ink when I stumbled blindly into their workplace seeking part-time employment in 2008. They look for Heaven in me when the Lord said that the Kingdom of God is within. I draw my musical celebration from within myself, which is what makes it so authentic and original sounding, in spite of belonging to a long exploited genre. I am artistically talented, which charges my work with an almost supernatural power. And this intrusive concert, which clearly had their participation, struck me as somehow tapping into this hard won power of mine and draining it to promote a mediocre sounding band in my place. The charm of a good work is deeper than its sight or sound, it is the love behind its creation. Love is an act of giving, not of taking, which is why good work must come from within. To draw it from an outside source is to take, not to give. If you are not an artist, you would know by exploring your own heart, and you would stop wasting time pursuing something that is beyond your reach, or worse, which would bring you public embarrassment or even incarceration. I envy others who are free of the problems that my talent has brought me. And yet, most of these difficulties were caused by the envy that others had for me. Does anyone in show business believe in God? Apparently not among those who pursue stardom. If you believe in God, you don't need to have everything now before you die because you expect that God will still be there for you at the end of your time here. If you believe in God, you dismiss the fleeting glories of this passing world and pray for eternal salvation. If you believe in God, you love your neighbor. Well, that means that I must say a prayer now for these crazy workers who have made the last eight years of my life so excruciating. I pray that they will gain hope from the knowledge that salvation is still possible. I pray that they will find the true Heaven that waits for them in their own hearts. No, I don't hate them. They're so adorably lost. I pity them, and in some inexplicable way, I feel almost responsible for their welfare, maybe because they talent like mine for their jobs. To the Nasco whores, I'm sorry about that rhyming wrath. I was in a lot of pain over my recollections of past Christmas celebrations when I wrote it. I hope I didn't hurt you too much with it, especially the innocent ones among you. I don't consider it a poem, merely a blog post, and exclude it from my poems index for that reason. God bless you all. Technical/Legal Note: I had to paste the contents of this post onto a new page this morning before I could successfully publish it, which is why its URL contains extra characters to distinguish it from the original. It seemed like someone or something was otherwise interfering with my publish function.
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The Real Numbers

Usually after a crime has been exposed, the victim enjoys a hundred percent public support, but in the case of the murderous fraud committed with my web posts by the persons above, I am told that I currently rest at 'fifty/fifty'. Could you broadcasters explain this? Perhaps you already have tried to do so with the latest round of assaults on my image, consisting of the prepubescent putdowns, jerkle and turkle. Can I take this to be the combined output of your entire creative staff across a hundred channels? If so, it won't be nearly as impressive in court as the things I've been writing about you, but it would certainly explain why you depended so heavily on my erased posts for so much of your content and salaries over the last ten years. Jerkle reminded me of my Jerk Alert script, in which a queue jumper is brutally assaulted by a gangster who has been planted in the line ahead of him. Last night, someone tried to jump the queue ahead of me for a free hot dog and I recalled the source of that scene when I originally shared it in 2007. And could you broadcasters tell us all who stole it and paid himself for it? Wasn't it one of you? Wasn't it Jay Leno or someone like that? Did he have to stand in a long queue and wait for a handout too? No? But I'm a jerk, right? Why? Because I want to defend myself against your crimes? Or am I a jerk because I tell undesirable readers to fuck off? Why do they come here if they don't like me? If it's against my will, aren't they sort of breaking and entering? Why would they rather hate than love? Is this the effect of too much television viewing? Why do they leave nasty remarks on my web pages? Isn't that like defecating in a neighbor's yard? But I'm a jerk, right? Yeah, great thinking. I should help the rest of you to accurately assess this appearance of 'fifty/fifty' support, though I may not even be working with reliable information by discussing it. My experience tells me that people are approximately five times more willing to express dislike than they are to show approval. That cuts the fifty percent figure representing my total number of detractors to a mere ten percent against roughly ninety percent popular support. Further to this, the industry which has committed these foul crimes would bash its victim to protect its reputation and employs full time 'staff' to do so. These efforts must also be factored in to reduce the remaining ten percent of those appearing to be against me to a real, much smaller, single digit figure that is hardly worth mentioning outside of Vancouver. Broadcasters dislike reality and go out of their way to shield themselves and us from it with their cameras. Since 2011, I have been beset by productions, which first surrounded me at the Hotel Europe and now clutter my footpath to the library. Each time I walk through a production, I feel as though I'm being molested. Perhaps I am. The latest obstacle seems to have been to highlight a boring band and to deface the local war monument to fallen soldiers by surrounding it with what looked to me like dinosaur dung. Such an act would insult Canada's fallen war heroes. Maybe that ground tremor I felt yesterday morning was their displeasure. These people who steal poems and songs and scripts are so spoiled and comfortable that they lack the passion to produce such works themselves. Their consequent apathy is proven by their senseless mockery of the finest elements of our humanity, from the the talent of our artists to the the courage of our soldiers. They don't see that my creative process is painful and they were hailed as artists with my work while escaping the suffering that gave rise to it. That means that they are owed a tremendous amount of suffering to make up for their crimes; far, far more than they ever could impose on me with their one-word, backstabbing putdowns like jerkle and turkle. On another matter, who played Chair? Was this recent? Please prosecute the responsible violators of my music copyright. I probably won't be using Chair, by the way, but I do like it.
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No Future Now

This internet has really changed things for artists. I owe my fame and all the miseries that have come with it to the internet. Now it is possible for a talented artist to be more popular than TV stars and rock stars before he can even set foot on a stage. This demands a change in our laws to protect such talent. Why are corporate broadcasters allowed to promote malicious lies about their fraud victims? My first feelings about NBC were positive. If you want to know exactly what I said about them, track down that Simpsons episode that ends with the family talking about NBC's 'quality programming,' which was plagiarized from one of my erased posts. I guess the broadcasters thought my pure heart was amusing. Many years have passed since I first shared those naive words and I have only been able to document their offenses against me in all that time. Their lazy hosts, uninspired writers, and burnt out cartoons have plundered my blogs so much over the years that I can barely write anything without looking like a hack. And this morning I had to hear about someone who was interviewed on Dateline where he told the world that I stole Careful from him. Besides the fact that the lyrics to that song are still online in my name with my copyright, why would I want a song like Careful when I am interested in performing rock? For that matter, why would I want a song like Under My Umbrella? Are we going to let this dirty network punish me for authoring the odd song outside my normal genre? Of course, I wouldn't be capable of driving inferior network talent to such outrageous measures if it weren't for the internet. Therefore, if we want to keep the internet, we need to pass tougher laws controlling corporate broadcasts. They should not be allowed to so easily and transparently smear their victims. As for music labels, I concede that they own almost every avenue of advancement for an up and coming artist, but I think that they should be held more responsible for who they sign in the face of the internet. I don't think it's fair to a victim to let the label that made commercial fraud out of his work and sold it in units of millions to his fans to be able to escape punishment and do it again. The first time might even be excusable, but the second time is plainly malicious. After my songs played all over the radio in the names of other bands, the labels should know my music well enough to avoid any further breaches of my copyrights. Given the convenience of the internet for easily tracking down copyright information, such as that which I have posted in the last three years regarding my ownership of my work, I think it is time that we closed the legal loophole that would let a large corporation sign a musical fraud with the full knowledge of the harm it would do to the holder of the copyright. If our laws change along these lines, it will be a boon to the artists who follow me. The way things are going in the present, it looks like I will have to sacrifice all or most of my own success for their sake. [4:35pm:] The protective measures I suggest must come from authority, since the crowd shows little or no sympathy for the plight of artists like myself. I understand this and do not hold it against them. We human beings tend to find it impossible to sympathize with others whose experience is alien to our own. No one in the crowd who celebrated my music or my comedy knows what it feels like to have such personal property ripped from their hearts. Their imaginations fail them in assessing the pain inflicted by such crimes and they end up envying the victim for his talent rather than taking any notice of the thousands of deep psychological wounds from which he bleeds right in front of them. Furthermore, as an artist who has proven himself capable of pleasing crowds with his work, I face adversity from even within my own minority group of authors and poets. Isn't Leonard Cohen also an artist and a songwriter and a poet? Look what he did to me in 2007 when he appeared on TV with my poem Buck Henry turned into a ballad. That just leaves responsible authority to protect people like myself and special members of the crowd like my parents and relatives from the vicious abuse I have received from corporate broadcasters since the outset of my independent authoring debut in the late 1990's. Broadcasting corporations, used to having exclusive control over the public mindset through their giant transmitters, would be inclined to resist any change that reduces their power. Perhaps they don't deserve their power. When I consider their flagrant abuses of my copyrights over the last ten or twenty years, I gather that they see the internet as existing strictly for their sake, as some kind of exclusive resource to help them shore up any gaps in their content without any consideration whatsoever for copyright laws. Whenever they discuss the internet, they always point to stories about mediocre people with ordinary problems as though the only impressive people work for them. In my case, it appears that they took a person with outstanding talent and tried to reduce him to a mediocre fool by getting old friends and relatives to talk about him behind his back and by getting his fans to say that there was nothing 'special' about him. But I can think of at least one thing that separates me from all the people Dateline interviewed on their program: I'm the only one whose content was stolen by NBC by the volume. That also separates me from almost everyone else on the internet, doesn't it? So while the internet may largely be a source of music or comedy that we'd rather not have, this should not turn into a barrier for the rare talent that outmatches the quality of content offered by corporations on the TV and radio. I wouldn't have had any cause to write and share so much work if it weren't for the internet. I probably would have found some normal job and had some kind of a life in the last ten years if it weren't for the internet. Unless the internet is really just a fatal trap for rare talent, I expect our laws to adapt to its presence so that future artists like myself may be spared from suffering any further horrors.
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