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:
Dropped off on a country road, with no need of a visa, he
walked into Greece rejoicing loudly, singing into a glorious morning as
pelicans flew from the chimney tops and sheep wandered in the meadows, and in
the tinkle of the bells around their necks he seemed to hear Pan’s pipes
calling, welcoming him home. And he sang, “The great god Pan IS NOT dead!”
It was the hallowed land of pagan love, of Alexander and
Hephaestion, Achilles and Petrachus, Dionysius and the Bacchae. Pan had come to
dwell in the temple of Arthur’s heart now that he was delightfully free of
childhood hang-ups of the heavenly father and hellish devil, for he desired
nothing more in his masturbatory dreams than a half-man, half goat: a
hairy-legged and eminently priapic Greek warrior.
He was singing a paean to the Horned One, consort of
Gaia, Goddess of fertility and mother Earth deified; without the phallus erect
there is nothing, no procreation, it must be adored by both sexes. Pan, the
pagan god that the uptight Christian fathers demonized and modeled their image
of Satan upon, the very Underworld-god that chased Arthur throughout his
psychedelic travails and who he swore would never claim him, now fascinated
him.
For he’d come to understand that the Christian anti-fun
brigade had usurped and twisted an age-old myth, an appreciation of the natural
universe, turning the Green Man into a horned devil, an evil to be feared
instead of an orgasm that thrilled, the church leaders pushing dumb ignorance
instead of an enlightening knowledge that the ancients had practiced for eons.
The cult of Pan had hundreds of thousands of years of
evolution behind it, an animalism that surged in Arthur’s hot blood, it tripped
him out of himself, and he longed for the ecstatic dance of unification with
the cosmos as hinted at in the Greek myths. It wasn’t the flip-side of
Christianity he was suckered into, as in God versus Satan: he didn’t believe in
either. Nor was he a sucker for yet another religion, gods made in man’s image,
philosophical concepts reified; supernatural beings in reality were nonsense;
relishing the revolt of the angels, like Lucifer fighting the tyrannical Hebrew
Yahweh, he simply celebrated the poetry of such myths.
Late at night, in the first Greek town he came to, he
straight off met one of Pan’s children, but he didn’t know it as he still
couldn’t quite believe he’d landed in a long sought after realm of priapic
rapture. He’d had his beard trimmed and with his spaced-out blue-eyes he looked
like a dazed Ulysses just washed up on the shore. A very handsome young Greek
man playing billiards in a café saw him enter the premises and order a drink
and, surreptitiously unzipping his fly, he revealed a bush of curly, black
pubic hair and the base of his cock. He proceeded to blithely chat up a stunned
Arthur while he knocked the billiard balls about with his cue-stick, open
crotch at table level, nobody else in the café bothering to notice. He was a
sailor, he was lonely, he liked Arthur and wanted to help him find a room, and
still Arthur didn’t take the hint.
(If your curiosity is piqued please go to the WEB
address above and buy the book to read further.)
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| Crete |
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| Goodbye Crete. |
