by Travis Mateer
What pulled people out west? Material opportunities, like finding gold. Or other opportunities, like reinventing yourself by moving to a piece of geography where no one know what you’re leaving behind. Or running from.
What are bonds? Bonds can be LOTS of things, apparently. Here are some of them:
And what are drugs and alcohol? For many people, they are a means of escape. Until the ultimate escape from this life occurs, which is death.
Another piece of ephemera I ran across led me to a story about alcohol and death from over a century ago. Here’s the ephemera:
I didn’t find anything on Wilfred Trudeau online, but I did find a story about Special Deputy, Edmund Trudeau, and the death he experienced when he kicked out a drunk from a dance hall in 1904:
Alcohol is quite a substance, one I’m happy to continue abstaining from. I used to think my writing needed its lubrication, but as most successful writers who stop drinking admit, they most certainly do NOT need the bottle–or, for me, the cardboard Bota Box–to write.
Here’s the poem. The song version with ukulele is at the end. Have a safe Memorial Day weekend.
Harley and his booze took a final snooze on the concrete bed he made his own street kids called him pops taking vodka shots on the sidewalk he declared his home say hello to Joe and all the bums you know like ghosts I see them in doorways downtown but they are not there the windows only care for a Zephyr wind blowing dark and cold and say hello to Sean his story holding on though Dogma blinders keep the public dumb Lord, I need your help they hit below the belt like what was done to your only son Lord, look around this Double-Standard Town keeps the word far divorced from ground I will not sit back bemoaning every crack knowing every dam one day will break like a glacial lake their lies will drain away and maybe then we can start anew until then lets prepare don't drink away your cares stand up and find there's good work left to do