Digital photo painting effects.

Photo by Louis.

c2011 (S)



The above picture was created with a digital camera and two different editing programs. The effects were generated using Paint.NET, which is a free download. The free version has certain features withheld, but I use it with the limitations it has.

I used the colour select and the 'bucket' to make the sky all one colour in Paint, for example, while using Nero Photosnap to tilt the photo a half a degree in order to straighten up the horizon, a horizon which disappeared in the final picture.

This is actually a beach scene, whereas it looks like the side of a sand-dune. Possible improvements would include touching up the fine screen of curving branches, and that's about it. Other effects include ink drawing and oil paint effects, sharpening, brightness and contrast, and the 'curves' tool in Paint.NET.

Marketing Image artwork in progress.

This is a cropped version of Edvard Munch's 'Madonna,' of which he painted several versions circa 1894-95.

If you really loved us.

c2011 (S)


If you really loved us

You would kill us

We can't eat, we can't sleep, we can't drink

We're broke

And we can't be fixed

Won't you please dig us a hole

It would give us someplace to go

We are much too strong to compromise

With a face like that

We had better stay out of trouble

Every wrinkle tells a story

And all the world's a tragedy

We're just bad actors

In a story with no end

All that pent-up energy

No useful place to roam

Confused yet?

You bet.

Rain-washed streets

c2011 (S)


When I was fifteen, I bought a 1970 Austin Mini for about $150.

After fixing a broken remote gearshift housing, the car ran very well. The first time I filled the car up it cost $4.50 at sixty-eight cents a gallon.

What I remember about that car is the sense of freedom, and even of accomplishment. We had to fix the thing, and safety-check it, and scrape up the money for insurance.

I learned to drive with a manual gearbox in the field behind our house before I got my beginner's license.

Not all of our little gang of teenagers had a car, and this was a whole lot different from borrowing your mother's car. My buddy and I used to cruise the city streets all night long. It sounds nuts, now. I get tired after a half an hour in a car, and that's not too good when you're the driver.

We talked about everything, everything under the sun. Mostly about girls, though!

I've wanted for a long time to buy a certain car, or even a certain type of car, and go for a long tour down country roads on an autumn day, but what I especially remember is some of the night driving I did.

After one too many trips with five or even six people in an Austin Mini, I bought a two-seater. The Mini was fun when you're sixteen and picking up chicks hitch-hiking, or just going to a movie.

To tour around with no passengers was another kind of freedom.

This evening I went out and drove around, smoking and listening to the radio. It was different, all right. It was dark, windy, and cold. The rain was coming down, and the evil glare of blue light spilling off of a storefront made everything look sinister and alien.

I used to think I was 'the Rainmaster' in my little sports-car. Hell, I beat guys in Galaxy 500's in my Mini, on twisty roads--it was only years later, watching some history of motorsport show on cable TV, when I saw the same scenario at Oulton Park circuit. The Minis won, by the way.

I spent hundreds of hours in that sports-car, driving way too fast. One night my buddy was doing the driving and he had a Triumph TR-6. Approaching a red light intersection, he downshifted into second gear and watched the cross-street's 'don't walk' flashers. Timing it perfectly, he saw the green light and accelerated up to about 40 mph as we went through, and at that exact minute, at 1974 Chevy Nova with no headlights on came zooming past our rear bumber at thirty-five miles per hour.

They missed us by inches.

On another occasion, I was alone, when I saw a vehicle speeding up to an intersection where I knew he had a stopsign. I was going a little fast...stomping the accelerator pedal, the 350-cubic inch engine in my blue, four-door Chevy Impala kicked in and that son of a bitch hit my rear bumper, leaving a baseball-sized dent, and sped off into the night down Colborne Road...

There are dangers in just cruising around all night!

There were some interesting times with one or more girlfriends, but all that's long in the past too.

No, it was different tonight, and while some streets were enjoyable, one in particular, one that has unfamiliar curves, a bit of oncoming traffic and not too many lights, actually made me kind of edgy. All you can do is to slow down and drive a little more carefully.

Before I do that again, I plan on cleaning the inside of the windows. Other than that, it was okay.

Ducks in a Row.

Digital photo by Louis. Dow Wetlands, Sarnia. Samsung ST-67 photo.

c2011 (S)

No One There.

c2011 (S)


Soft fingers tug at my heartstrings

A voice in the night, inside of my head

I turn, and there is no one there.

***

Doigts douce tirant à mes sentiments.

Une voix dans la nuit, à l'intérieur de ma tête.

Je passe, et il n'y a nul il.

Mask.

Stone, bark, feather

c2011 (S)


I paddled upon a great river

Stepping ashore, casting aside my burden

You were there to greet me

Do you recall that day?

Do you remember what you said that day?

That was the day you gave me a stone,

And a feather, and a piece of birchbark

I thank you for your words and your gifts

They come straight from the heart

That's all I was really looking for.

Prophecy.

c2011 (S)


With deadly malice and unerring aim

The slender bolt, its point touched with flame

Into the thatch, so carelessly flown

The hand is revealed, the face still unknown

And the raging flames by the strong winds are blown

Out of the smoke, straight through the pyre

An apparition, he steps from the fire

His armour bright, the blade strong and true...

Lo and behold, from his ashes and his dust

The Phoenix arises, as surely he must--

Surely he knows thee, and the flavour of your mind

For you always come back, and when it is time

He will make short work, of you and your kind.

Mystery

c2011 (S)


The Eleusinian mysteries unfold,

In the darkness of the caverns, in the distant days of old.

For the bright young man who dared, revealed;

By the torches red glare, a sword, tested and annealed.

A scholar by nature, yet destined for purple.

He drank from the fountain, blessed waters that gurgled.

And Julian, in all his humble wisdom,

Swore upon his honour to achieve two things:

Revenge, against the enemies of Rome;

And to restore the Gods to their former glory.

Marching forth at the head of his legions,

Deeper and deeper into the dry desert regions,

The scholar forgot the bloody lessons of history;

Why he should do so, remains quite a mystery,

In the end all was vanity, no one knows why.

A Parthian lance in his guts he did earn,

And with homely courage, his fate he did learn.

There upon the vast empty plain of Carrhae.

Julian forgot, that just like foolish sovereigns,

All of the ancient gods must die.

Sorries for Online Training.

c2011Shalako


One of the things that irks me is trying to put a hyperlink in a Blogger post.

In order to try again to learn, I've cooked up another experiment. The basic premise of which, is that you can get anything you want on the internet, using a few simple key search terms, such as, 'standard play writing format.'

The results may be found here.

Sorries for the online training session, but I nailed it on the third try. And I don't know how to test the link in 'preview.'

Thank you!

Wood Carving.

This wood carving or sculpture is located at Centennial Park in Sarnia. I don't know who is doing it, but when I find out I'll add the credit. This is an old tree and there are several animal figures, including a reaccoon, a fish, and an owl. It's hard to say if it's finished or not, as there are still scaffolding pieces around. It will be interesting to see if the artist paints it or simply lets it weather.

A Poem: Mr. Robot

c2011Shalako

This poem originally appeared in 'Twisted Tongue' #16.


I, robot

Don’t have the capacity

To dream about tomorrow

But I never spell a word wrong

Fueled up, brains all loaded

With everything that’s passed

And I have no place to go

I can never die

As long as the batteries last

Here I come

Here I come

Here I come

I have never speculated

As to where I came from

Did I spring from the dust?

Was I created?

I’ve never cared. I’ve never asked.

Simply because it’s easier

In the Good Lord I trust

Here I come

Here I come

Here I come

Cryogenic heart, skin a polished silver

One thing I am glad of

For this I thank my builder

I can never rust.

And in my own self-assumptions;

I place my deepest trust

I, robot; am happy within myself.

Here I come

Here I come

Here I come…


Twisted Tongue #16:

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/twisted-tongue-magazine-issue-16/11780060

http://badpoetsclub.blogspot.com/2011/01/mr-robot.html (Blog link for my original post.)

The Portal

(NASA)


To hold the keys to the kingdom in our hand

Is to doubt one’s very senses,

But it’s real enough

The view through the door, or the portal

Call it what you will

It’s very beautiful, but are you sure you want to go out there?

Beauty often hides danger,

And this is a dangerous pursuit.

To stand here is to confront two choices

We can stick our tail back between our legs

Pack up our things and go home.

Or; we can go out there and see what is real.

And I have this funny feeling that once we do that—

To achieve the culmination of all of our hopes and our dreams,

To live up to our fullest potential, thieves and charlatans that we are—

Is to discover that there is no going back.

Arbres. Artiste Inconnu.

Détail. Aquarelle sur l'enveloppe # 10. Artiste inconnu. (Sérieusement). Collection de l'éditeur.

Detail. Watercolour on #10 envelope. Artist unknown. (Seriously.) Collection the publisher.

Tree.

New Poem: Saved by Death

c2011Shalako


I used to pray for Death

But then I feared to live

To live in fear is not to live at all

And I was living so very, very badly

To be confronted by Death is a very liberating experience

Maybe that is what saved me.

I was saved by Death.

New Poem: Savour

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2011

All Rights Reserved


Savour the good things in life

You are what you do

Time passes inexorably


Assaporate le buone cose della vita

L'arte è chi siete

Il tempo passa inesorablmente

New Post: Never Explain.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2011

All Rights Reserved


Never explain yourself.

Please don’t tell me everything I need to know.

Leave me guessing about certain things.

Let me dream, just a little bit.

I have some place real to go.

And there are some things.

Some things I just don’t want to know.

I’m just a little confused.

I have enough to figure it out on my own.

Too much information is no big help.


Jamais expliquer vous-même.

Veuillez ne pas me dire tout ce dont j'ai besoin de savoir.

Laissez-moi deviner certaines choses.

Permettez-moi de rêve, juste un petit peu.

J'ai certaines lieu réel d'aller.

Et il y a certaines choses.

Certaines choses que je ne veux juste de savoir.

Je suis juste un peu confus.

J'ai suffisamment pour elle figure out sur mon propre.

Trop d'informations sont sans grande aide.

Ships With Butterfly Wings

A tear falls to the sand

Waves and wind sigh in their passage

Over the sea to a far distant land

Up to the horizon and then a pause

And then he is gone

Heat of the sun never ceased

Gull's plaintive cries without cause

Forlorn hope never stops to sing

Blinking in the glare, she waits

A result must have a cause

When ships with butterfly wings

Beat into the wind on a quest so fine

Lovers torn apart for a time

No one can say the why of these things

The bonds have been released

Each is free to be their own

This is a seed that must have been sown

And no one can say its fate

Sometimes there is no way to win

But only to endure.

When ships with butterfly wings

Beating into the wind

Carry your heart across the ocean

It is all a person can do, sometimes

To wait and to pray, and to mourn.

New Poem.

It is the undiscovered country

Try to remember what it is that you are hiding

This is no place for honest men.

And to ask when time will end

Is a contradiction of your own terms of reference.




c2011 Louis B. Shalako

Untitled Digital Pic.

This picture was taken by Louis and then thoroughly smashed with Nero Photosnap. Canatara Park, Sarnia, Ontario. This one is clearly impressionist, although you could make a case for 'Les Fauvres.'

We all have our influences. Why not pick the good ones?

The Sixth Level: The Void

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2011

All Rights Reserved


It is not in whether you win or lose

But in how you play the game

It’s not what you got.

It’s how you use it—and I suppose what for.

***

On the sixth level of the game, we find a great vast void

It’s a dark and quiet place, full of broken promises

And unfulfilled dreams

There are lots of shadowy figures

And no one seems to know anything

Deathly spectres

None dare look a living man in the eye

The only sound they make

Is a long, draw-out sigh

It is a place where nothing is real, yet solid enough underfoot

A place where you must never say what you are thinking

And you should never believe what you think you are saying

And everything has to be imagined before it can happen…

It is not up to us, to save their world

They should have thought of that before.


The Seventh Level

Oneness with the Game


Having achieved the fullest understanding

Of our own ignorance, and that of others

Then we may achieve true bliss

We have made it this far

And we have learned to listen well

We see beyond what is real

And to look behind that which is false

We have learned so much

We feel the truth within our hearts

And we must be grateful for this

To err is human

To forgive is divine

We are all in it together

Not for a long time, and not for a good time

But only for a short time

Let us see that we make the best of it

Upon achieving the seventh level of the game

We are truly free.


Author's Note: I have three prior fragments of the poem scattered about, so I will dig them up and stick them together. Polish the full length of it, etc.

The Fifth Level.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved


On the fifth level of the game

There is much smoke

And many mirrors

Sounds and footsteps,

Muffled voices from around corners

It is all an illusion

There is nothing here

But mind — many minds, all one mind

It is a babble of mind-stuff

They are all talking at once

Their hearts are all invisible, closely guarded things.

Facts and figures, toes and fingers

Scurrying to and fro.

Such strength, such power, such mean insensitivity

Where did your consciences go?

No one listens, and no one looks.

They pretend not to care

There is much danger here;

And perhaps...

A little fun to be had.

We can learn much here.

Aliens as Metaphor.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved


Once you realize that you might succeed as a writer, there is some inevitablity about teaching. That might be a personal thing, and other writers might tell you something different.

That idea struck me a couple of years ago, (humble as that sounds,) and I've never forgotten it.

***

In the movie, 'The Fifth Element,' starring Bruce Willis and Milla Vovovich, pretty much everyone in that social setting accepts the hierarchical structures of the day.

The big, ugly, 'local' aliens are the only ones who don't.

Certainly the police accept their role, just as Corbin accepts his, and Mr. Zorg accepts his to some degree, although bent on overthrowing the established order.

Zorg accepts his role as a tyrant, which feels perfectly natural to him. Mr. Zorg never questions whether or not he has the right. With a brief command he lays off a million cab drivers. He is a human being with no empathy. This is an archetype common to all societies.

The 'local' aliens are a sub-group within the society, and Lelu and the weird entity in space, (as usual, it is 'pure evil,') are also aliens, but they stand outside of the social order.

(Just for the record, Lelu exhibits human qualities we all admire or identify with, and just exactly what would a character of 'Pure Good' actually look like? Would it be worse than the pure evil one, and would we have to kill it?)

Aliens are always some kind of a metaphor. The bad guys are ugly, violent, and big, they're green, and they talk with rough voices. Corbin Dallas is a working slob and they are sort of beneath him due to 'alienness' and 'criminality.' None of them guys has a job. That's a pretty stock formula. They're there to be killed. The aliens from outside the system represent Good and Evil in the most obvious terms. Whether or not this is good literature I don't know. I've never read the book! But I have seen the movie.

It is one of my favourites, probably because of the parody aspect of it.

I recently read a blog post where an individual lambasted 'zit-laced-pubescent-teen- vampire-God-I'm-worried-no-one-likes-me-and-I-might-be-bi,' type writings and dismissed it in its entirety, using some pretty harsh terms.

As far as I'm concerned the critic is actually giving non-contructive criticism with little formal training as a critic...but I digress.

It is 'alien as metaphor,' only with vampires, demons, and werewolves. It serves a purpose, or people wouldn't do it. It is a trope, a convention.

The simple answer is either don't read it, or look for a better writer, or try a different genre. Try writing one yourself and see how it goes!

***

I'm not a big fan of 'me attempting to write fantasy,' for some reason.

I won't write stuff out of pure commercial cynicism, like this is going to make me a million bucks overnight. First of all, we all know that isn't going to happen, but also the question becomes, 'How do you top the last guy?'

(Think about it.)

In my life I have read science fiction, fantasy, horror, westerns, detective fiction, biographies, history, science, engineering, physics, geography, zoology, everything. I read some of those books at a very young age. I read books on Neanderthals, dinosaurs, soldiers, doctors, politicians, pilots, all kinds of books.

If you don't read well, you will not be able to write well.

The fact that I am reading very little fiction these days is both a blessing and a curse. The curse is that I don't know the fashion of the day and who is publishing what sometimes.

That way I can't really imitate anyone. I think that's a good thing.

Tough as it is, we are on our own! Seriously, there are plenty of classic models to refer to.

People really do learn by imitation. They like something, they want to do that, they want to be like that. They either quit after a while, or they keep going. They might dabble in it for their entire life.

My plan is to go at it systematically, for however long it takes. It it takes ten thousand hours of training to become proficient at something, then get the training.

After that, you can do what you want. I mean that in its most literal sense--you will be able to do anything you want with a story.

All good writing begins as fan fiction, okay? I would prefer to encourage beginning writers rather than condemn them.

The world needs good writers, as never before.

Ad Parody. Canada on $30 per day.

Mr. Robot.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved

I, robot
Don’t have the capacity
To dream about tomorrow
But I never spell a word wrong
Fueled up, brains all loaded
With everything that’s passed
And I have no place to go
I can never die
As long as the batteries last

Here I come
Here I come
Here I come

I have never speculated
As to where I came from
Did I spring from the dust?
Was I created?
I’ve never cared. I’ve never asked.
Simply because it’s easier
In the Good Lord I trust

Here I come
Here I come
Here I come

Cryogenic heart, skin a polished silver
One thing I am glad of
For this I thank my builder
I can never rust.
And in my own self-assumptions;
I place my deepest trust
I, robot; am happy within myself.

Here I come
Here I come
Here I come…

Editor's Note;

This poem originally appeared in 'Twisted Tongue Magazine,' #16, UK.

Wiener. Digital watercolour.

Untitled. Preliminary work.

Sales Trends.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved


Right now my best selling title is, 'Heaven Is Too Far Away,' despite a mediocre cover. The subject matter involves the hunt for the Red Baron, and is clearly labeled 'comedy,' and 'adult content.'

The second best seller, is 'The Case of the Curious Killers,' which is an accessible sci-fi parody and the cover is decent.

Third place goes to 'The Paranoid Cat and other tales,' and that's probably due to a number of factors. One, it's a catchy title, two, it's a cat, three, it has a humourous sound...and it is short stories as opposed to a 100,000-word novel.

The dog of the group, my sentimental favourite, and pretty predictable as the cover is quite forbidding, is of course, 'Core Values,' a wonderful title that scares the crap out of people. Even when reading horror, I think people prefer to escape from reality rather than confront a whole bunch of social issues. It's as funny as the others, but you have to work at it a little more...that one starts off kind of slow and very bleak.

It was a dumb decision to sacrifice commercial considerations for the sake of artistic purity. This may seem nuts, but it is the language, rather than any other material in the books that makes them 'adult content.'

Other than that it's learn as we go around here. We just uploaded our third revision of 'The Case of the Curious Killers,' (the paperback,) in about a week. But to continuously improve the product is one advantage of my system.

That swearing was a serious mistake for a number of reasons. I'm basically just too lazy to fix it. These books will find their audience, of that I am sure. The subsequent books have either less swearing or none.

Price Breakdown: POD v. Bookstore.

by Louis Bertrand Shalako

c2010

All Rights Reserved

This is an editorial opinion.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a bookstore and took a look at current prices in Canada. One book was written by an fb friend, a professional and well-known writer. It was going for $18.99. With 13 % Harmonized Sales Tax, (split between federal and provincial gov'ts for my overseas feebs,) that works out to $2.47 for the tax and a total of $21.46, plus time spent and the gas you burned, and don't forget car insurance and legal stuff like that. You can either drag the kids along or pay for a sitter.

My book lists for $13.49 on Lulu.com, and to ship it by snail mail will cost $6.99 (FOB my own home,) for a total of about $20.50. You will need cable or wireless and to pay for the internet on a monthly basis. The book will take ten days to two weeks to arrive in the customer's mailbox. All it takes is a few clicks and your account number, and yes, the kids may be screaming in the background.

There is such a thing as a coupon code, and I need to learn up on that. Conceivably, people could get a small discount with the use of the coupon. It's a matter of pasting the code into a field when they go to checkout.

The price point is in my favour. The challenge is to get the word out about what a great writer I am, and then of course live up to that when someone actually buys a book for the first time. Clear descriptions and 'reasonable claims' for the book and the writer would seem to be in order.

At the risk of cutting down my own book, which I am about to do, I am still working on a better cover. A different size would bring down the price, e.g. 5x8" or 6x9", etc.

I could take what I have now, make a pdf and zip it over to a local printer, and let them worry about a one-piece cover.

Other sources whom I consider credible indicate this might cost 'x-dollars.'

If anyone complains about the price, I simply point them in the direction of my e-books, which are all over the place, and some of them are free.

What is really interesting to consider, is how much a 'Canadian-published' book would cost in a bookstore--the author I spoke of is an American. But Canadian sci-fi books were going from about $8.99 up to $9.99 and $12.99, and I saw one for $12.58.

But those books are clearly subsidized to the tune of $60 million a year to the publishing industry alone. The logging industry, which includes the pulp and paper industry, is subsidized in any number of ways as well. Another question: how many of Canada's 1500 publishers actually get a piece of the pie, or is it swallowed up by a few big houses, and do a few smaller houses get a few crumbs and keep mum about it?

Rather than rock the boat?

If they were unsubsidized, how much would the suggested retail price of their books actually be?

For an opposing opinion, see the Brantford Expositor's recent editorial, entitled, 'Canada's Publishing Industry Needs a Leg Up."

I see it as a kind of corporate welfare.

Update: See new cover at upper right.

Spring is Just Around the Corner.

The City of God.

The City of God.