Tuesday, December 16, 2014

He Knows All About It.

Louis Shalako

He knows all about it.

He knows all about authority.

He knows all about bureaucrats.

He knows all about pain.

He knows all about pensions, and poverty, and deprivation.

He knows all about landlords.

He knows all about food banks.

He knows all about soup kitchens, and Christmas Hampers, and one hot meal a day.

He knows all about cops, and doctors and lawyers and judges, and public health officials.

He knows all about this town.

He knows all about its people.

And he knows all about being written off.

He knows all about tenements, and slumlords, and walking down the street, numb from the waist down.

He knows all about things that go bump in the night.

He knows all about losing his home.

He knows all about being booted.

He knows all about living in someone’s basement while he looks for another place.

He knows all about sleeping in his car.

He knows all about hunger and thirst, and the cold and the wet.

He knows all about the government.

He knows all about the insurance company.

He knows all about it, people—he knows all about it.

He knows all about you, doesn’t he?

He knows all about the Workplace Safety and Insurance Board.

He knows all about the ODSP and the CMHA and the OPP.

He knows all about it.

He knows all about the drop-in centre, and he knows all about your outreach program.

He knows all about a hot drink and one blanker per customer.

He knows all about Animal Control.

He knows all about men in white coats and carrying big nets.

He knows all about Tasers and .40 calibre Colts in a polished leather holster.

He knows all about N-5s and Form Ones and he knows all about the T-5000 once a year.

He knows he’d better not be late handing that in.

He knows all about his rights—and exactly what all that’s worth these days.

He knows exactly what he can do about it if he doesn’t like it.

He knows that nothing, absolutely nothing, is expected of him—nothing good that is.

He knows all of this very well indeed.

The only thing he doesn’t know is when it all might end.

He doesn’t know when there might be some relief.

He doesn’t know who might help him, or why they even should.

He doesn’t know how far he should go—or when he should go there.

He doesn’t know exactly where to draw that line in the sand.

He doesn’t know how to talk to you.

He doesn’t quite know how to get through to you people.

Until he figures that out, he really doesn’t know much at all, does he?


Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Thoughts On Love.

Louis Shalako

Once they’re in there, they’re in there for good.

You will never forget anyone that you have truly loved.

They are in your heart forever.

I can remember every person I ever had a crush on, too.

Even hatred fades with time, and age, or wisdom.

But love is the stronger force.

I’ve often wondered, what would happen.

If I ran into someone from a long time ago.

Would we even recognize each other?

What would it be like, after all this time?

We would be two completely different people—

And yet we would still be the same—wouldn’t we?

It is merely the circumstances that would be different.  

Would it rekindle, that old flame, that once was there?

Unless one or the other or both had really let ourselves go

It might be all right to find out.


Thursday, March 20, 2014

Angst. Rubbed Raw, Ya'aw.

Canadian Film Centre. (Wiki.)

Louis Shalako


To be read in a kind of Chris Tucker/Fifth Element Kind of Voice

Other than that, really, it's quite all right.


There’s been just a whole lot of sturm und drang around here lately, Baby.

Oh, yeah

All kinds of angst.

It’s like some kind of God-damned (Gotterdamerung? – ed.)


Some kind of God-damned funeral pyre, a flaming blaze of glory.

Gesundheit, by the way.

(What? – ed.)

Never mind.

Anyhow, it really is a freakin’ soap opera ‘round here sometimes, Baby.

Soft soap, hard soap, soft shoes, the old Soupie Shuffle, whatever turns your crank, lady.


We be doing the Charleston, Baby.

Nose to nose

And eyeball to eyeball

Tender flesh

Rubbed raw.

All night, ya’aw?

Like dat, you know?

Got the time?

We go.

It’s just a little party on the floor

Only it gets worse from there.

‘Cause you got you a sweet little ‘magination there Baby, and it’s connected to the rest of ya


That’s all right.

Don’t worry ‘bout nuffin’

We is just gonna mind-meld for a while.

And then maybe you can tell me—

If you think it’s going to be all right.


Chris Tucker in Fifth Element. (Clip.)

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

The Inky Cloak of Blackness.

The inky cloak of blackness prevails

The terrors of the night unfold

The pillows mashed, the covers rolled

It never fails—

They gnash their teeth and scream and yell

Evil laughs for evil is bold

Evil is as evil does, and as it dares

And so ever rarely does evil fare thee well

And in the dim red eyes of the darkness

In existence since times before old

There is a word, a message, a glance,

A stare, a look; such an intimate dance.

It was long ago, when our hearts went cold

And long, long ago, did they foretell

The message is lost now, and no one cares

But it is this, and I say it unto you.

The likes of you—and your kind—can all go straight to hell.