My dinner with Tom Mulcair

imagesSome clever fund-raiser for the  New Democratic Party (NDP) came up with the notion of raffling off leader Tom Mulcair. For one night. Well, a supper date, to be specific.

For a minimum of five bucks, you bought your ticket and took your chance (I don’t suppose either Messrs. Harper and Trudeau were among the contributors).

I didn’t win and I think that’s a shame.

It would have been a very interesting meal.

First of all, we’d likely be dining in some fancy-shmancy Toronto establishment–decidedly not my type of joint. I’d have no idea which fork to use, the proper placement of a cloth napkin and, as a rule, only wear neckties for weddings and funerals. Out of nervousness, and since the Party would be picking up the tab, not taxpayers, I’d quickly order a ripping good scotch (“a double, please”) and the evening would start going downhill from there…

* * *

Mr. Mulcair’s colleague, Andrew Cash, and my co-winner (let’s call her Mary, a retired art teacher from New Brunswick), try to keep the conversation on safe ground, discussing the weather and Liberal policies (both of which are judged to be too fickle, ha ha), but I’m having none of that. That first-rate scotch is working wonders on my system and, after all, this is my chance to talk turkey with one of the big boys.

First off, I’d want to know Tom’s views on Tony Blair’s “New Labour”. Before he had time to lower his eyebrows, I’d go on a tirade about the Blair’s invertebrate ideology (i.e. its utter spinelessness). He purged the party of its leftwing, its visionaries, the folks who carried the red flag and espoused traditional socialist causes like unions, class equality, progressivism, etc.

“Oh, sorry, Tom, I used the ‘S’ word, didn’t I? By the way, do you, in any way, still consider yourself a socialist? Do you believe in a classless society, do you favor universal, state-sponsored health care, a tax regime whereby the wealthy pay their fair share and economic policies that strictly legislate financial institutions and corporations, etc.?” A waiter hovers beside him and Mr. Mulcair raises his eyes hopefully but now I want to know if the Leader is familiar with the work of Nobel Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz, his book The Price of Inequality. I remind him that even the IMF now says that “trickle down economics” (priming the pump at the top of the human food chain) doesn’t work and, in fact, only institutionalizes inequity. Those bastards at the Chicago School of Economics must be chewing the furniture in frustration. Decades of neo-liberal horseshit discounted in one press release…and hardly anyone noticed. Too busy following Caitlyn Jenner’s hijinks. What a bunch of fucking monkeys we are.

“I’m wondering, Tom, if you’ve given much thought to the level of taxation North Americans, particularly Canadians, are willing to absorb in order to guarantee the kind of ‘cradle to the grave’ protection they deserve. The highest income tax bracket in France is something like 70%, isn’t it? Must be the same with those Scandinavian countries leftists are always trotting out as their idea of Utopia. What is it here in Canada? Nowhere near that kind of threshold, I’m afraid. Are you willing to follow the lead of your socialist brothers abroad?” The waiter drifts away and the Leader slumps in his chair.

“And don’t you think it’s time to forget about the PST and GST and instead come up with a GCT–that is, Grotesque Consumption Tax. Targeting those greedhead, hedonistic assholes who spend more than forty thousand dollars on a vehicle or a million bucks on a house. McMansions, fancy boats, lakefront properties; conspicuous consumption far beyond what this planet can possibly sustain.”

The Leader’s eyes light up. He has a set patter on the environment, a power point presentation he’s learned by heart. But does his plan involve:

“…extraordinarily high fines for polluters and serious jail time for the most grievous offenders. Anyone embarking on an enterprise that could be potentially harmful to the environment must put aside a significant pool of money so that after the logging/mining is done, all the environmental damage must be fixed and the land fully rehabilitated. And the transition away from oil, gas and coal (which should have started immediately following Kyoto) must be made official, with a hefty carbon tax, higher fuel taxes, higher plane fares, etc.”

The Leader is turning green, and I don’t mean in the David Suzuki sense. But I know the numbers and one of the guys I absolutely revere is Bill McKibben over at 350.org. He says this planet is already in the red, environmentally speaking, way past the point of no return, and if we want to mitigate the damage for our children and grandchildren we need radical, profound solutions today, rather than mealy-mouthed liberal-democratic claptrap about “improving sustainability”.

I’m furious that the closer the NDP has come to power—and, to be fair to Mr. Mulcair, his predecessor Jack Layton was equally guilty—the less it has reflected its leftwing, progressive roots. I believe that Canadians are looking for a true alternative to the depradations of capitalism they witness every day, locally and internationally. They want the elimination of entrenched power elites and a more egalitarian society where the rule of law is equally applied and citizens pay their fair share.

The alternative of capitalism is not libertarian economics–that merely preserves the cruel philosophy of the survival of the richest, the most cunning and ruthless continuing to have their day. No, the only viable, credible ideology for a near future of shrinking resources, economic uncertainty and the perils accompanying climate change, is socialism. Undiluted and unapologetic, reflecting its root themes: class struggle, equality, human rights.

Socialism demands that we confront our problems together, none among us allowed to shirk responsibility—it’s a way of approaching the world that requires local cooperation, participation on a grassroots level. Councils and bodies created to deal with pressing concerns, the membership constantly rotating to avoid the accumulation of power and influence. The purest form of democracy I can envision.

I see little of that in the NDP platform. I see a lot of talk meant to placate the business and financial communities, letting them know they have nothing to fear from Tommy Mulcair and his crowd. They’re the “new” kind of New Democrats, hugging that yellow streak in the middle of the road, virtually indistinguishable from the Liberals (except for Justin’s commendable stance on marijuana).

At the conclusion of the meal, the Leader politely shakes my hand…then grabs an aide from a nearby table and as the two of them hustle off, it appears “our next Prime Minister” is savagely berating the poor man. I hear him growl “….and be sure to fire whatever dumb sonofabitch thought up this stunt in the first place.”

Ah, well. I tried.

The night is still young and Toronto offers some fine book stores.

Think I’ll go looking for a biography of Rosa Luxemburg.

Remember her, Tom?

There was a gal with the courage and integrity to match her convictions.

Can you, in all conscience, honestly say the same?

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From the Mailbag

I get quite a number of notes from individuals requesting my advice on matters relating to publishing, indie or otherwise.

Recently, two or three people queried me about how to better “monetize” their writing.

Deep breath.

Folks, anyone who has spent even a brief period on this site or has read a mere handful of my Tweets would know that I hold such attitudes in absolute contempt.

Trying to break into writing to make money, seeking fame, fortune and bestseller-dumb? Sorry, you’ve come to the wrong place.

To clarify:

If you’re a purveyor of fan fiction, you should have your hands burned off with an acetylene torch. You are the shit real writers scrape off the bottom of their shoes.

If you concoct shapeshifter/paranormal romance you are a literary pornographer. You exhibit Grade Six-level writing and, it’s clear, retain an absolute horror of penetrative intercourse. As Bill Hicks would say: case fucking closed.

If you “lease” your talent to some franchise, averring that your penny dreadful writing subsidizes your “good” stuff, you’re only fooling yourself…and the gods of Literature can be very, very cruel. Regardless of how you rationalize it, you are whoring your Muse, peddling her ass for a fistful of loot. Your self-righteousness, the ferocity of your denials, only reveals the depth of your insecurity, your secret shame. You disgust me.

A twenty-something twat knows fuck all about life and has no right to claim an authoritative view on anything. You are also far too young and insignificant for a memoir. No one gives a shit about the suffering and pain (largely self-inflicted) you’ve endured during your brief existence. Your life is not unique or particularly interesting. You are part of a growing demographic: an egotistic, narcissistic non-entity with delusions of self-importance. There’s a lot of that going around nowadays and no vaccine in sight. Pity…

Demanding correct spelling and competent syntax is not “old school” thinking.

Unless you approach your craft with devotion and seriousness, work tirelessly and daily at improving yourself, you are a dabbler. A wannabe. Your efforts the equivalent of macaroni art: the gold paint may be slightly more gaudy, the noodles more generous, but it amounts to the same, unsightly mess stuck to the front of your fridge.

This blog is dedicated to a higher purpose, a celebration of the power and majesty of the printed word.

There are plenty of sites for people who compose in crayon, scribble on walls or any available surface and congratulate themselves for their artistry.

If that last sentence describes where you’re at, I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.

There’s the door.

Don’t let it hit you on the ass on the way out.

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Blog Post #374: A New Look

Yes, boys and girls, time to do some house-cleaning, add a lick or two of paint, shake out the cobwebs, freshen up the ol’ joint a little.

Presenting a reboot of “Beautiful Desolation”, hopefully a version that is more readable and easy on the eyes.

Let’s celebrate these latest renovations with some new music.

I mentioned I’d purchased a MIDI keyboard for my Mac—well, yesterday I put the finishing touches on the first batch of music I’ve created with the MIDI and today I loaded a whopping fifty-three minutes worth of aural oddities on to my BandCamp page.

Here’s a sample cut from Primordial, a trippy number called “Corona” that’s quite representative of my recent work.

To listen to the album in its entirety, click here.

New music, new look…a good beginning to my summer.

And there’s more to come. Much more.

Keep watching this space.

For those who suffer through sleepless nights…

ShadowyInsomniac

terror
abrupt/disorienting
like that dreaded midnight call
confirming what you already knew

nowhere
a harbor or sheltering cove
to deflect the tempest—
absorbing the hours like blows

© 2015  Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Photo: Sherron Burns

Neglected Authors, Part II

A gratifying response to my last post, a couple of the writers I cited reaching out and offering words of thanks.

No problem, folks.

But I also took some stick for neglecting to include some other neglected authors on my list and for that let me say merely mea culpa.

Nobody’s perfect.

Here are some more names to ponder and, hopefully, seek out. These wordsmiths are/were absolute masters and deserve to be discovered (or rediscovered):

Wilton Barnhardt
Lydia Davis
Christopher Fowler
Craig Grant
Eric McCormack
Ted Mooney
James Morrow
Christopher Priest
Ishmael Reed
Iain Sinclair
Colson Whitehead

Past (Honorary) Members:

Kathy Acker
Antonin Artaud
Elizabeth Bishop
Thomas Disch
Ivan Doig
Martha Gelhorn
William Goyenne
Knut Hamsun
M. John Harrison
Lucius Shepard
Freya Stark

Compared to the junk currently being excreted by traditional publishing, these fine scribes are like brilliant flowers growing out of dung. Help save great works from obscurity and superb writers from the bottomless trash can of history.

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“Neglected Authors Alliance” (Now Accepting Applications)

shadow1Awhile back, I exchanged some e-mails with my colleague Andrez Bergen, both of us bemoaning the sorry state of the publishing biz. Andrez is a superb writer, his novel Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat a stunning blend of Phil Dick at his best and “literary noir”—if you haven’t read it, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Which is kind of the point of this post.

In one of my final missives I joked to Andrez that I was going to start an association called The Neglected Authors Alliance (NAA), and that the two of us would be charter members. Over the ensuing weeks, the idea kind of stuck with me and sometimes, as I passed my bookshelves, I’d take note of an author or two who weren’t household names, who had either slipped into obscurity or had never been widely read in the first place. I started putting together a roster; the living and the dead.

It was a depressing task; once I saw the sheer amount of raw talent represented, I felt sick. If these guys and gals couldn’t garner the rewards and praise and posterity to which they’re entitled, what chance do I have? Thirty years I’ve been putting pen to paper and my literary profile isn’t exactly where I want it to be (he says, choosing his words with extreme care).

And so, in tribute to Andrew and some other very fine scribes who deserve(d) far, far better from fickle readers and negligent publishers, I would like to recommend to you the following authors who have labored selflessly and courageously to produce innovative, literate prose, and who I am honored to add to the rolls of our oddball “society”:

Andrez Bergen
Michael Blumlein
Nicholas Christopher
John Crowley
Tony Daniel
Dennis Danvers
Peter Darbyshire
Paul Di Filippo
Katherine Dunn
Steve Erickson
Carolyn Forché
Barbara Gowdy
Ken Kalfus
Jim Knipfel
Thomas Ligotti
John Metcalf
Michael Malone
Corey Redekop
Abraham Rodriguez, Jr.
James Sallis
Steve Rasnic Tem
Christopher Tilghman
Wells Tower
Sean Virgo

Past (Honorary) Members:

Charles Beaumont
Martin Booth
Angela Carter
Louis Ferdinand Celine
Blaise Cendrars
Adolfo Bioy Cesares
James Crumley
Mahmoud Darwish
Guy Davenport
Stanley Elkin
William Fairchild
Mavis Gallant
Donald Harington
Georg Heym
Bohumil Hrabal
J.K. Huysmans
B.S. Johnson
Ernst Junger
Crad Kilodney
Rosa Luxemburg
David Markson
Seth Morgan
Flann O’Brien
Silvina Ocampo
Cynthia Ozick
Francis Picabia
James Salter
Bruno Schulz
Georg Trakl
Alexander Trocchi
Robert Walser
Denton Welch
___________________

Notice to any authors on my list who come across this post: drop me a line if you’d like to have your own, official NAA button, with all the perqs and benefits that implies.

And, in the meantime, don’t give up, don’t stop producing great work, refuse to cede the field to the hacks, “share-croppers” and pornographers plying their trade today.

We need you.

The barbarians are at the gate…

Photo by Sherron Burns

“After the Robbery” (Poem)

Fence 1

After the Robbery *

My fence keeps me safe
Yours keeps me out

His fence is broken
Hers like a fortress

Some build a barrier of guns
Others leave a gate

Theirs is but a daisy chain
(God preserve such trusting souls)

Fence 2

* This past week, two individuals used a pretext to gain admission to our home and then stole from us. Initially, I was possessed by feelings of betrayal and rage…but, finally, a sense of equanimity and calm is returning. Although I think this bit of verse reveals some on-going (and longstanding) misgivings regarding my fellow human beings.

(C. Burns)