These stories, that have been available on
Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the
address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1st volume
of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the
archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing,
writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I
need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my
book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to
end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it
straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.
Below are introductory paragraphs and some pictures that I still retain to illustrate this story, hopefully to give you a come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.
The 1960’s rolled along, the white, vanilla ice-cream days of the ‘Fifties
relegated to history, those care-free golden rays of blond beachside bliss now
retrograde, for Australia’s dream of an Anglo-European enclave drifting aloof
and superior in a sea of Asiatics finally woke up to reality. Arthur witnessed
the dying off of the last generation of the bitter-sweet, romantic stoicism of
old colonial white Aussie diggers, true-blue and dinky-di.
Globalization was picking up pace, immigration, especially from Asia, was a
necessity if the nation was to progress and he, for one, gladly grew into it as
a booming New Age Aussie where all colors were welcome. As the high drama of
the Cuban Missile Crisis got resolved by the Russians backing down and nuclear
extinction postponed to another day, Arthur became the magical thirteen years
old and was at last a teenager, that hallowed apprenticeship for liberating
adulthood.
Primary school done with, he was marched off to high school where it was
expected his manhood would be fixed; for the first few years at Rosanna High he
was the perfect student, achieving top marks in a class of brains, and obeying
all the rules. But as puberty took over and flooded him with screwball
hormones, and as his unhappy home-life fell apart, he disrupted his classes
more and more with rambunctious antics and cheeky quips, getting thrown out and
sent for further whippings by the headmaster.
His
ability to break everyone up laughing gave him a sense of character; he
imagined he was brilliant as a comedic thespian destined for greatness in the
movies. He was overlooked in most other accomplishments, being viewed as a wimp
and denigrated as a sissy; only good little brains did science, only good
little machos did sport, and only good little girls did art.
(If you want to read the rest of this story and more, please go to the WEB address above and buy "Vagabond Freak.")
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