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*** FREE ***

Madelaine duBois

A COMPLETE Short Story
Dear Madelaine, a "country gal of a certain age" is a sweet widow born and raised ("growed" as it is) on a farm of considerable size, on the out-skirts of a small town up in The North Country. She's rather the stereotypical North Country woman, steadfast in her ways, most of which are the product of an old-world up-bringing. For the most part, dear Madelaine is rather self-sufficent, but she's also a touch "eccentric" as might be expected. She has her ways of handling situations and, for the most part, they work well for her, until... well... there's the little matter of fire-wood. An other-wise possibly banal chore turns into a rather almost poignant bit of comedy, as the cold Winter winds blow in, hauling with it, the snows of Winter. CLICK HERE to read on-line/on-site or down-load to your computer for your COPY TO KEEP. And as always, PLEASE come back to the "COMMENTS" page and leave a review.





Journal DaysThe Holiday Excerpts
The holidays can be exceptionally stressful under regular or "normal" circumstances, but, if you will, imagine being Homeless and in a public shelter with no-where to go to and no-one with whom to observe them. People who've called themselves your "friends" are no-where to be found and haven't extended an invitation to you to join them in their celebrations. So it's either just another day, working if that's an option (this book is about the "Working Homeless", those who DO have jobs and yet, still can't afford both, a place to call "home" and the necessities that go with that, like food and/or utilities), or simply passing the day in any other way possible.
Pick a holiday. Know the facts. Read the excerpts then PURCHASE the book.
The Christmas Day excerpt OR The Thanksgiving Day excerpt.


Lembrook© A COMPLETE Short Story
Lembrook© "...not so much an island as it is a village and yet, perhaps not so much a village as an island, but as remote as one could possibly imagine, many kilometres from its nearest neighbouring towns or villages. It's settled quite peacefully and contentedly in the middle of a river that argues the term “rural” in every sense imaginable of the term." Lembrook© is a place in time in a time quite long ago, long gone. It is a place and people that Time forgot and that the world never knew. It's a village in the heart and memory, protected, cherished, farther than arms can reach and closer than any possession imaginable. Narrow streets and old, massive stone buildings, heart-warming and... well... you'll just have to read it to know the rest. NOW AVAILABLE, ON-LINE, the dream in 20 pages, the story you'll never regret having read, but will keep with you in your heart forever. And perhaps you'll find it for yourself one day... or find a "Lembrook©" of your own. If you've got some-one special in your life, this is a wonderful little gift to tell them how much they mean to you. It's a gift of a story guaranteed to bring a unique peace of mind and spirit, and a wonderful place to go to when life becomes even a bit un-settled. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE your own copy... instantly. And as always, PLEASE come back to the “COMMENTS” page and leave a review or general comments. Thank you.


Death Of A Zionist - Child Of The Galut
If you're Jewish, you should know this. If you're not, you should be aware of it. Either way, you owe it to yourself to learn. "Zionism" was, and, at its base remains a benign ideology, whose followers merely believe that all Jews have the inalienable right to the re-establishment of their "Home-land" (Israel), to exist amongst all nations, in peace. Quite the contrast to contemporary misunderstanding and general global ignorance. Yes? And for many years, Israel held fast to a most important rule, law and ideal: ALL Jews of ALL nations around the world were entitled to "return" to the established "Home-land" of Israel under what was declared the "Law Of Return". All one needed was the heart-felt desire, the dream and with help from those who had re-established the country, it would be possible. That was until rather recent times when a particular sect of self-proclaimed "higher", delusionally omnipotent Jews decided that THEY alone had the right and held the power to decide who would be welcome and who would be shunned. So as to ensure that their policies would become law and enforced, one faction of world Jewry gained control over the entire land, and, as their henchmen, they appointed their own "judges" in the Jewish law courts. Three rabbis... a "Beit Din" were bestowed with the power and authority to decide and decree who amongst the people of the world is and is not a "Jew", and with that decree who can and who cannot "return" to the Biblically historical home-land. "Death Of A Zionist" is just one account of the confrontation of one person by such a "Beit Din" and, with nothing more than the electronic "click" of a computer mouse and an impersonal e-mail, chaos and havoc reigned, depression ensued and all seemed doomed... one way or another. "Death Of A Zionist" isn't simply a "Jewish" story, it's a story of inspiration for every and any person who has ever faced horrors and believed that there was no next moment, no next step. It teaches not only the misconceptions of an ideology, but of the ability of each of us to overcome adversity in what-ever form it presents itself. If you're Jewish, you should know this. If you're not, you should be aware of it. Either way, you owe it to yourself to learn. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE YOUR COPY.


For the most part it was a normal Monday morning. No shit. No time. Unlike other mornings, this time I tossed tooth-brush/paste, deodorant. Gave shampoo to Tony. He got my other wheeled duffle. Cruz got the extra shelter pillow. Tony kept wishing me well. Said I was the perfect room-mate. I’ll miss that room. – Showered. Dressed. Re-packed the plastic bag for me. Emptied the locker. All was done. I left alone… alone… my entire Life… alone. – Out the front door. Nr.5 pulled in at 28th almost immediately. Off to Zuccotti Park. Occupy Wall Street. Submitted on 2011/10/24 at 9:35 18

*Monday 24 Octobre: It was an “un-reality” this morning. The actuality of the day felt “distant”, some-how removed from me, from my body, from my person. I was aware of what was about to happen. I was aware of what I had to do. I moved, mechanically, just moved. A clang of a locker door, the echoing of the walkie-talkie down the hall, the clang of something in a garbage can, the howl of a voice with no reason or cause or purpose. A dead-line imposed. Somebody else’s dead-line at 8, my dead-line. I simply moved along some invisible time-line. To the loo. Behind a wooden stall door that didn’t bolt so it could be opened, accidentally by some stranger, oblivious to my presence, or a “security guard” who noticed my cigarette smoke rising in the space above me. I peed, but as usual, could not eliminate the remains of yesterday’s “nourishment”. There was no time. My body cramped in the normal morning anxieties. I brushed my teeth in the lead-heavy water. I returned to my bed, wondering if, in my absence, a stranger had crept into the room in silence and had taken my pillow, my towel, my few belongings. All was there, as I’d left it. Ariel (“the old man”, E2) stood in front of me. “Is it today that you are leaving? Will you be back?” I snapped at him, “Yes I’m leaving, no I’m not coming back! And I’m rushed here!” I grabbed towel, soap, shampoo, I went across the hall to the one shower available for 30-some others. The “hot” water was cool. I bathed, quickly, towelled dry, returned to the room. Mechanically, I dressed, checked the locker. All was emptied. Tony, E1, commented “Good luck. You’re gonna be fine.” I grabbed the plastic bags, 1 containing storage, the other containing the fleece blankets that were going to Occupy Wall Street. Silently, I walked out the door, open now because previously, in anger, I’d pushed it with such force I’d pulled the closing mechanism from it. My “mark”. It was a normal departure. Nothing remarkable. Just another Homeless case leaving the Homeless shelter. I said good-bye to the quiet “security” guard as I waited for the one lift. She just looked at me. The lift arrived, I boarded, oblivious to anyone else. On the first floor I walked past the Operations and security offices, past the DHS “police” and, in silence, through the door into the final NYC morning. I knew where I was, where I was going, how to go… I didn’t care. I moved forward… just moved forward. The “end” was beginning. Submitted on 2011/10/26 at 9:10 07

At 28th Street, the Dyer pulled in. Well, NYC transit running normal… The express running local. But this morning it was to my benefit. No changing trains. I got off at Fulton and came up to the street at a time when, in years past, Wall Street would have been in full throttle. This morning, there were people, but not the quantity nor the pace. Wall Street is blatantly dead. I went to Zuccotti Park. Quiet oasis in the midst of street construction, the “new” so-called “World Trade Center”. I brought the 2 blankets and a few plastic bags. I came to contribute. I came to say “Good-bye”. I came to leave. It was quick. It was “business”. It was NYC. I, a New Yorker, was leaving. As I left, I could feel The City closing into the space that had been me. Already, I no longer existed. I hadn’t left but already, I no longer occupied a space. Replaced. Gone. I headed to the A. I was out, gone, done. – Of course, the train that came in was the Far Rock. I didn’t need it this morning so it was the one I got. OK. I was off to Lefferts. – Into storage, up to the locker, up the step ladder. Packed luggage out. Bag of last clothes worn in. Lock it up. Down the ladder. First floor. Out the door. It was day-light. It was warm. I was dressed for the North. I didn’t care. I was still merely “functioning”. Submitted on 2011/10/26 at 10:04 56

NYC is a kind city, a considerate place. To get to the A train, 42 stairs to climb… with luggage! At the turnstile? A cop! I had the duffle, my back-pack, and the back-pack of water-colours. Yes, he wanted to search. Of course he did! My last trip! 2 stops! Search! But in all fairness I have to say, he was a prince. He must have seen how exhausted I was when I said “You’ve got to be kidding.” Only a quick zip of the back-packs AND he opened the gate for me! “Of course I can; I’m the law.” he said with a smile. And I was on my way. – On the platform, a train, right away and which one? Far Rock! NYC MTA was determined to get me OUT! NO PROB! – HoBe: I needed a smoke. Through another gate, down the lift to the street. But I had to take a lift up to take one down to get out! OK. Back up. I needed more money on the MetroCard! Shit! Another 5$ I can’t afford! NYC was going to get every dollar out of me before it let me go. – Finally, through to the AirTrain. It too pulled in as I got to the platform! Timing this morning was with me, NYC was shoving me out and I wasn’t complaining. The AirTrain was good. I was so glad I’d taken the 10$ trial run… Submitted on 2011/10/26 at 11:35 06

JFK: As if I’d done the journey every day, I headed along what they call a “Skywalk” and I call a ridiculous corridor. The only good thing about it? Moving walk-ways… but not on the bends. On and off and on and off. Then down the escalator. The “fun” began: 3 Italian guys in front of me and 1 who wanted to join them. OK. Sure. They travel together. But THEN? A young, fat, Black guy with “dreads” comes up insisting that he was behind the Italians. Bull! They’re so predictable, liars! I call ‘em as they are. No more, no less. No sense arguing. I let him go. Odd? He wasn’t prepared, had an argument with the guy at the check and walked away pissed. My turn… Submitted on 2011/10/27 at 9:41 41

For Monday 24: JFK – The young fellow at the counter wasn’t friendly but he wasn’t rude. He simply asked how he could help me. I told him I’d booked on the flight, he asked for ID and when I’d presented it, he typed my name. Asked if I was checking any bags. Well, indeed I was! The new duffle certainly wouldn’t pass as carry-on (I was a bit concerned it would be over the weight allowance). No problemme with the duffle. But I did suspect that it might be opened and, if so, it wouldn’t be re-packed properly. I’m still very much in a mind-set of the Shelter where every-thing has been opened and fingered, if not removed out-right. I’m certainly not used to the scrutiny or invasion, but I suppose I’ve become accustomed to it and it’s become part of me now. Sad, really. As one fellow put it a while back: Some become institutionalised, we’ve become “shelterised”. I asked this young man where I should go next and he mechanically directed me to the security queue. That would bring me into the terminal-proper where I could wait. There would be no smoking there. – I strolled out-side to an area designated for smokers. There I heard a man say that the air-line took his toothpaste! I was a bit relieved now that I’d trashed mine in the barrel at the shelter and had given my shampoo to Tony. – I had 2 smokes and went in for the “Full Security” check. – The queue wasn’t too long and was conducted in a pleasant manner. I simply watched those before me and learned. Although calm, orderly and such, the thoughts of Shelter security at the entrance kept their presence in the forefront of my mind. I felt as if I’d never escape from that routine. Outer clothing, jacket/hoodie in a bin with my belt (my chinos almost dropped to the floor… I’ve lost so much weight since buying them last Summer), boots into another bin, back-pack on the conveyor. In stocking feet I was “invited” into the body scanner. Stand, arms raised, 10 seconds. It was almost demeaning to think this machine was scanning my entire person! It was sickening when I thought of the x-rays thrusting through my body AND how many of the DHS cops would get their jollies if given one of these scanners at the Shelter! (Through the entire check-in process my mind was comparing it all to the Shelter, that was the saddest aspect of it all.) – Done. Retrieve bins and back-pack and happily find a seat to put my boots back on. Down the ramp and to the terminal proper where all was scrubbed and clean and the world was sterile… sterile. I wanted coffee. I needed something to eat and there was a DunkinDonuts. 2 BostonCreme and a coffee. I sat and enjoyed… alone. No particular anxieties about this LUNGE into the complete Un-known that I was taking. I’ve acclimated so, to being up-rooted, to being so transient through my life that THIS was only another bit of my normalcy. – Coffee done, a stroll to the gate. At the windowed waiting area I looked out, tried to get my bearings. I could see Rockaway off in the distance and what I think is B108 and east. I already missed it. Not painfully, that part of me is gone with all other circumstances, but sadly, none-the-less. Yes, I SHALL miss Rockaway. And yes, I am resentful. But I’m off to bigger adventures now and an entirely new Life in an entirely un-known town and state! I found a place to sit at the gate and waited in my own silence. Submitted on 2011/10/30 at 12:30 53

Sitting, pondering just about absolutely nothing, the sweetest sound filled my ears, wrapped round me like a soft, warm, cuddly blanket and lulled me into such calm… To my left, 4 people waited to board the same air-craft, engaged in conversation… they were speaking… QUEBECOISE! I was en route… NORTH! I listened, not so much to their words but to the sound of their words as they floated like silent, brilliantly-hued butterflies and luminescent dragon flies through the air that surrounded me. My heart swelled in my chest as tears welled in my eyes. I was headed NORTH, but this time, NOT for a brief holiday. Rather, THIS was my new Life! In my personal silence, I danced and sang in utter Joy! I wondered what these people would think of me if I’d told them what Happiness they were giving me simply by conducting their general conversation. How silly, really. But it was fact: I was Jubilant! They were my escorts to the NORTH, to a town and state completely strange and new to me; both of which I looked forward, in great anticipation to becoming a part of. How wonderfully serendipitous! – As I waited, several announcements were made on the public addresse: in English, then in Spanish. The Spanish turned my stomach. It brought me to the reality that I NEEDED to get AWAY from here, from this pandering city. I resented the fact that the announcements weren’t made in French! How dare the air-line have such disregard, particularly considering the Northern destination of this flight. I considered it an affront. Yes, I was headed North and language became the old battle-ground of my days in Montreal. But I was headed North. Soon I would be closer to that city where my Soul resides. – Came the announcement to board. I stood, queued, in my silence, with-holding my Joy and Anticipation and… Uncertainty. Submitted on 2011/10/30 at 23:57 14

9.33 JFK HA8539266 E4 6W-107 departing. God bless the MobileHomeless. Submitted on 2011/10/23 at 14:08 55

The air-craft was quite small and the young gentleman in the aisle seat was quite tall. But I made my way to the window seat and fiddled with the seat belt. I still had the old “regular flyer” in me and all was well. We taxied for what seemed to be the entire air-port, over 2 over-passes of the GCP or LIE. AT LAST! ACCELERATION! AND UP WE WE LIFTED! I was removed from NY soil and en route to… VERMONT and an opportunity to actually LIVE! I actually FELT a burdensome part of my being leave, being removed from me, thrust backward, left behind. And I settled, looking out the window as we floated high above Long Island and up into the clouds. New York was gone… gone… gone. Submitted on 2011/10/31 at 0:18 38

The flight: There was nothing to watch out-side the window. We flew through cloud most of the way. I declined the chips, cookies and sodas offered. I simply had no want. I bundled my hoodie against the window, closed my eyes and tried to rest a bit. I thought of tonight when the line beside my name on the Sign-In sheet would be blank where my signature would have been and silently amused my-self with wondering what would be on the mind of the guy who’d do the “BED-CHECK!” (as they scream coming through the halls at 22.00 nightly… if they perform it at all). I wondered “what”, if not “who” would be placed in my stead and bed tonight. And I prayed he’d be respectful, clean, quiet. I regretted only the uncertainty I’d caused for my “dorm-mates” now. I dozed a moment. – When next I looked out the window, below was a patch-work of various shades of green, dotted sparsely with the roof-tops of an occasional house here and there. Other-wise much empty, un-inhabited space. VERMONT! The announcement came: we were about to land. I watched as Champlain came into view. It was exhilarating! CHAMPLAIN! NORTH! I’d arrived! Then came the structures and land-scape of the Burlington suburbs. Sparce. I thought: This is my new Home… I’ll live here now… I shall LIVE here now! When the wheels touched the tarmac, I softly sighed “YES!” The flight was finished. My “flight” was finished. I ARRIVED. Me, the person, the human-being. No longer in NY. In a new state, land, reality, Life. I suddenly experienced… Peace. Submitted on 2011/10/31 at 0:27 15

Wed. 26 Oct. 8.43 Shelburne North Star: Although this room is a total wreck, in dire need of a total make-over, I woke, in Peace, rested, a Human, not annoyed, not pressured to bolt. No strangers in other beds. No strangers roaming about. No banging of lockers, no slamming garbage can, no echoed screaming, no walkie-talkie radios, no “security”. This morning I woke to a window with a view of the dream-land of the Adirondacks. This morning the door opens to the World, the open air, I step out to the Northern skies, the North air, to 3 degrees, to Life and Living. This morning I wake as a Human being. This morning I wake as a person, not a number, not a file, not a “case”, not a “client”. I wake, I go to the loo not having to be concerned about walking away from my bed, occupied with thoughts of someone coming by in my absence to take my pillow, my towel, my anything. I wake, with time to stroll about. I wake, clear, rested, not anxious, not aggitated, not annoyed. THIS morning, I wake with dignity… even in this little box, still trying to get rid of the heavy scent of old cigarettes. But I wake… I gaze at the majesty of the Adirondack mountains, the inspiration of their greatness; I wake to news, in French; I wake to news of Bennington; I wake to weather of Burlington, the Champlain Valley, the NorthEast Kingdom; I wake in a dream-turned-reality. I wake in… reality. Submitted on 2011/10/24 at 9:49 06
DREAM last night: I was sitting on the toilet, having a smoke when I noticed a very black head peering over the stall door. Security. I was about to leave the shelter that morning (this morning) and I simply looked up and calmly said “Oh, it just figures. Well, you caught me. No sense in arguing. Do what you feel you have to.” – I woke. 4.58 (Sunday, 23 February 2014)



I have found my night-shade
and discovered my pokeweed.
My fare and ticket away from you
and all that I need
to leave this misery far behind me,
departing from mountain-top or sea.
(02:07.16.08 9h31 Seton Park Gaston67)





In my mind I heard the music
of gentle guitar
I’ll never play.
A lyric written
long ago…
I can’t remember it any more.
( 9h51 Seton Park Gaston67)



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