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.
Sample:
Rambling down a back street of
Melbourne-city in 1968 Arthur noticed a sign reading “YOGA” and, with a kind of
weird déjà vu, recognized the word as something important for his life though
he’d never heard of it before. (Perhaps it had sunk into his subconscious as a
boy when he read all those super-hero comics where protagonists such as Batman
and Doc Savage learned arcane powers from Masters in hidden Himalayan
fortresses.) Though finding it eerily exotic, yet fearless at heart, he entered
the Yoga Club, the atmosphere heady with the incense of esoteric knowledge and
mysticism.
The Gita School of Yoga was
run by a Jewish Swiss-German woman by the name of Margaret Sagesman who had
been a refugee from the Second World War, escaping concentration camps,
trekking across the breadth of Europe and down into Asia searching for refuge.
Now here she was, mistress of an establishment that had everyone convinced she
was a self-realized saint, an initiate of the famous Himalayan yogi, Mahadev
Babaji. She promulgated the myth that she had been dying of tuberculosis when
first she staggered into the great yogi’s cave but a rigorous course in Yoga
under the Master cured and enlightened her. Possibly she was over-imaginative
and in reality rehashing Madame Blavatsky’s “Secret Doctrine”, for everything
the old girl went on about was of the same fantastic mythologizing, of Masters
hidden in the Himalayas providing a light unto the mundane, darkening world via
obtuse, "shamanic" discourses.
About 5 foot 6 inches Margaret
looked mighty fit in her black leotards and fishnet stockings, attractive even,
"well-preserved" for a seventy year old, "that's what yoga can
do for you" she often bragged. Like an archaic Priestess of the icy
Tibetan heights, she crept quietly about the carpeted corridors of the five
rooms, ready to impart secret mysteries to Arthur for a few pieces of silver
and a lot of rapt attention. She was a sweet, kooky old soul who mothered him
through his introduction to the practices of Yoga, where he attempted to
gain control over his breathing, his heart-beat, his disordered mind and his
life from the center of his ‘psycho-sphere’ and thereon open the gates of his
chakras and fly throughout the various levels of the wondrous Multiverse.
He
definitely stretched his wound-up muscles, cracked his stiff limbs and squeezed
his endocrine glands, enabling him to remain fit and disease resistant
throughout his life. Hours and hours of exercise, meditation and relaxation did
indeed ameliorate his depression, relieving his existential anxiety over his
deviant sexual dilemma and, exercising the attention muscle of his brain, he
was long able to concentrate on his studies, multi-tasking and achieving his
goals. So it wasn’t all other-worldly hocus-pocus, years of yoga made him
strong, confident, wise, and able to stride through all manner of obstacle and
travail. (If your curiosity is piqued please go to the WEB address above and buy the book to read further.)
