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Quarantine: where time decides to ignore all of its own rules of propriety. How odd it has been, I must tell you. I've found myself doing normal activities and not being able to remember the actions I'm doing as I'm doing them. What separates one moment from the next anymore? Your own decision to make this second now and the next, later. So in this gulf that names itself quarantine, it's all apparently one single moment - seconds fall into more seconds, minutes fall into hours, and soon seconds fall into weeks, and I wake up not knowing when the clocks hands moved from one number to the next. So, one minute I'll be washing my hands, and in the next, or maybe in the same minute, or perhaps in the previous minute, I'll be outside the next day, on a walk. It appears I am powerless to time's effects. As numbers climb, in this second that's passed since this all started (or one year, I am no longer sure), I've been left to thoughts that know no time either. I find myself in constant disorder, being confused, much like time, by rules of living I cultivated for myself. Example: I'm a collection of existing, breathing parts. But I'm also a collation of people's perceptions of my those parts, dreamt into a version of me that I have never met. Conclusively I'm left alone in my own hull of a body, in a position where I have to truly stare myself in the face and ask, who are you? What makes you do as you do? The issue is I never reply. Nuisance. I knew my introversion would catch up with me at some point. So, amidst all the turmoil, I searched for some sort of salvation from my own petulance and pouting, and discovered a reprieve. The only answer for me, was to do magic, as I'm doing now. You may know it as creating. You see, creating is real magic. I don't mean the kind you find hidden in wands and cauldrons. That magic is finite and clearly fictional. Creativity is real life magic. It's the type of magic that's like being alive with animation so vicious, it's as though you have ambrosia for blood. It's the way fire is constantly dancing in spite of everything. It's the old emotions forgotten under your bed, rediscovered on a rainy day. It's the way we're all connected by the empty space that separates us. It's built into citadels, condensed into paint tubes, translated into words on a page. It's everywhere, boundless and undeniable. So I create, and I create, and I create, and sometimes I sit stunted, with worlds at my fingertips, and I can feel them stirring, opening their eyes, and all I need to figure out is how to summon them, but the magic is there. In this, I have discovered a state of being where I can calm my thoughts when they become disquieting, and the news becomes evermore, hellish. Magic is quite the magnificent tool. A marvelous outlet. Thus, I compose for you a poem, comprised of my griefs and perfidious thoughts, magicked into something beautiful as an example, because it's the only way I know how to quell my loquacious whelp of a think-tank. Title: A Glass Filled With The Universe. What do you feel when you look up at the stars? Look at the endless expanse that encompasses you more than you've ever thought to think about? Is it hurt? Do you ache with longing for this thing you've never known? Do you feel its absence? Or are you already acquainted with Andromeda, and Taurus, and it is in fact yourself you are unfamiliar with And what you feel is rather a painless awakeness An awakeness so urgently present and real, you wonder when you'd ever gone to sleep In which pain is so lacking, you find it mystifying that you've been living a life where every breath had some aspect of woe or affliction Or perhaps it's quietness you feel, synonymous with candlelight Unlike silence, the deafening, deceitful creature A quietness that hasn't ever existed to us human beings who fill the earth with such copious amounts of clamor and entitled whining Noise, that midnight soul you peer into now, once knew to be without Or maybe it's not the stars at all you seek Maybe what you feel is restless moon-drunk wondering as to why that cratered rock has never loved you back We are fickle beings, faithless and forever erratically changing But the inexplicable tightening in your chest never strays when you tilt your head back does it? You haven't noticed it have you? Nonetheless the jamais vu whispers to you And your dreams are filled with them too, you can't deny To conclude, friend, this piece of writing is in shambles, but such is the world, and I am a mirror that cannot help but reflect. The point is to tell you, even if you are at the depths of the pit of these trialing times, or of the canyon of the ‘undiscovered you', create where you can. Sing into the void, paint coloured lights, create portals with your words. Magic is a victor over the lives of the weighted. It will fill you with a lightness, even if the day leaves you brittle.

Oh my gosh! I am almost there! I have just chosen the cover for my book Viktor which is estimated to be out sometime in the summer of 2020. Time is flying by or have you not noticed?? LOL It is so great to be publishing. I have waited forty years to do this and I am ever so excited. My fantasy fiction novel is about a young vampire who has fallen in love. He desires a normal life and wife and kids and the whole nine yards. He is moral and loving; but, he must fight for all that is good. He is loved by many and wanted by all. In his fight for his life he must save himself and everyone else for if he doesn't; all will fall into hell. I'm proud to say so far that Friesen Press is helping me to Self publish this book. I am so excited and thrilled to be able to see my work in a real book. This is amazing to me and something everyone should try and do. This past summer I retrieved myself another Chi. She is adorable and her name is D'aff N'aia. She compliments my Bonzo quite nicely. Quite the little monkey she is; I might add, yet her lovely demeanor is very loving. Right now she is teething and biting my hands up to shreds. She loves my knuckles and has taken a liking to chomping on them at any chance she gets. She cries whenever she can't see you and has dug up the dirt in my plants. I love that she airrates; but the mess!!!LOL puppies! She's also discovered she likes coffee! Yes, when she kisses me she can taste it on my lips. She is very smart and has come to using her paws to pull my lips apart and get in a few laps. Her nails are so sharp when she paws you, that you cannot help but open your mouth! You're laughing too hard not too and she just jumps in there and starts lapping up the remnants! I swear she's too smart for her own good! Well, she's not getting any more than that! She's definitely hyper already without coffee in the mix! Honestly, she is too cute! Well, at some point this winter I must carry on with "In the Garden of Life". It has been waiting for me. Doing the re-writes for Viktor has taken me away from writing it; but now, I have the time to dedicate to this children's novel about two bees in the garden. I'm trying to make it a magical story and yet I'm not polished at all on magic! Time to study!! Honestly, I haven't a clue how this story will turn out and yet I am excited to write it. Time will tell! Looking forward to hearing from you, Best Regards, Jules

The Monsters Beneath Me That's where they were: beneath me...under my bed, actually...the grizzly and ghoulish creatures of my childhood imaginings. But, for a six year old boy, still treading the perplexing waters between fantasy and reality, they were as real as the bed I lay upon. Night after night I would lay rigid in my bed, dreading falling asleep, for I knew that once asleep, my arm or leg would come to dangle over the side of my all-too-narrow bed. And that's when it would happen: some hideous, cartoonish monster, or team of them, would snatch my dangling limb and pull me under the bed, where all manner of horrors awaited me. Fearing what lay in wait for me, I would try to fall asleep laying perfectly still in the middle of my bed, legs together, arms tight to my sides, and hope that somehow I might safely awaken in the morning. Often, I would awaken in darkness and deep dread (did I yell for help?), sweating and shaking. Unconvinced that this was “just” a dream, I would lay there in that fixed, rigid position, trying to stay awake, but failing and falling again into sleep. To my great relief, I would indeed awaken safely each morning -- another treacherous and fearful night, survived. And although I would rise to meet the morning with my childish exuberance -- forgetting the sweat-inducing panic and fear of the night before -- all would return upon bedtime. I am not certain how long this phantasmic phase persisted. The memory is fuzzy, distorted by a lifetime since lived. But it seems to have recurred over many days, or periodically, over a week or two. I don't recall sharing these night terrors with my brothers or ever mentioning it to my dad or mom. I was, even at the age of six, deeply embarrassed by the whole thing. And so I felt rather helpless as well. But, possibly due to some innate stubbornness, or exasperation, this terrifying dreaming would abruptly stop. I can recall only opening my eyes, one morning, peering straight up at what seemed to be a wall of wooden slats pressing in on me. Startled, I lifted my head, banging it hard against the wood, exclaiming “Ow!” as one might expect. What was this? What's going on? A few seconds of disorientation and rousing consciousness passed before I realized what was ‘going on' -- where I was: I was underneath my bed! Somehow, in my sleeping state -- and I possessed no memory of doing so -- I had gotten out of bed, and, blanket and all, maneuvered myself onto the floor beneath my bed -- a tight space with just enough room, plus an inch or two, for one six year old boy. I laid there for some time, awake and marveling at this strange feat of magical transportation. And then, another profound realization came over me: if I was under my bed, then there couldn't be monsters under my bed, too -- there was simply no room for them. I remember smiling, even laughing out loud. That whole day I felt a strange, all-pervading sense of calm and confidence that I had never felt previously. I had, unknowingly, found the solution to my night time hallucinations. I had confronted the monsters where they lived and had emerged the stronger! I had become my own hero. No help from mom or dad or divine intervention. And, something in me had changed, permanently. My view of ‘reality', however limited by youthful inexperience, had been forever altered. I felt, deeply, that my Life was no longer the same. Possibly, I might have spent a night or two more sleeping under my bed (just to be sure), but I distinctly recall the complete vanquishing of those limb-snatching ghouls that were just out of sight, and yet so close beneath me. And, over the months following, whenever a new night time phantasm emerged, I would somehow find a way to thwart or out-smart it, as if now possessing magic powers. Over the years, I would come to confront other fears common to many...such as the ‘panic' of having to speak in front of others and even a fear of hypodermic needles. I remember a nurse rubbing the alcohol-soaked swab on my arm, just moments before being ‘stuck'. I started to feel that familiar panic rising up in me. Closing my eyes, slowing my breathing, I recalled that long-ago morning when I woke up beneath my bed. But now, I felt only an eye blink of anxiety, and then a wave of calm flowing over me as the needle pierced my skin. I think I laughed -- surprising myself, and the nurse. This ‘extinguishing' would ultimately prove invaluable as, only a few years afterwards, my dad developed an acute form of dysplastic anemia and was in need of a familial blood supply for possible transfusions. And, in the ride to the hospital, feeling no little pride, I recalled the vanquishing of those monsters once more. It might seem strange to say it now but I believe I first started ‘growing up' the moment that my six-year-old-self woke up, under my bed, bumped my head, and laughed.