The Dream

As told by Hillard Graves, 38:

As a boy I had a recurring dream. I had the ability to fly, but if I went too high I would lose control and some force would pull me ever upwards into the stars and deep space. It was like my soul was being lifted from my body and I felt nothing but black, existential terror. I could no longer control my body and was being pulled toward some appetite I neither understood nor saw. Everything I knew and loved was gone, and as I was pulled further and further away I felt more and more transparent, and then I would see a dim, terrifying red glow in the distance and I knew it was for me, and it was always at this point in the dream that I woke up screaming.

And then one time, just as the red glow was starting to appear, a powerful man’s voice, one that I was sure was exterior to me in every conceivable way, said COBRA STRIKE. It was a divine command. I know of no other way to put it. It was my only way out. And so I started to yell COBRA STRIKE and point my fingers in the direction of obstacles and threats, and each time I did so they burst into flames and exploded, and my dream became a video game, one in which I was in control. Strange, though, to have that terrifying dream 25 times or more, and then to have that voice break through my consciousness and offer me the key to salvation. Not a day goes by that I do no think about that voice and the mysterious providence it provided me.

******************************************************

I’m not going to give you any guff.

Ayahuasca is no walk in the park.

Like politics, it’s not for the faint of heart. Only the strongest will survive. You’ve got to be fearless to meet Mother Ayahuasca, and when I looked around the yurt at the lost and dirty hippies sitting around chanting and smelling like carrots, I knew I was the alpha and that I was going win. I knew that Mother Ayahuasca was going to choose me.

Now you’ve probably heard that the potion the little witch doctor guy gives you tastes horrible. That’s a fact, but if you’re smart like I was, you’ll just pour a little bit of chocolate milk into the cup and Presto! It’s still not the best thing you’ll ever taste– kind of like something you might get served on a Cuban cruise ship– but you can take it if you’re disciplined.

Anyway, after a couple of hours of trying to organize the hippies and teach them about the free market, I started to experience visual augmentations to the lights in the yurt. The lights seemed to get more vivid, like they were right up close to my eyeball. The yurt was getting hotter, too, and the hippies, with all their chanting and puking and moaning, were getting more irritating, so I took my shirt off and lay down for a power nap. With my eyes closed I saw all kinds of geometric shapes and started to experience things I’d never experienced before. I felt what it was like to fly through the jungle like a toucan. Eyes looking at opposite sides, I felt what it was like to crawl on the land and slip into the water like an alligator, I felt what it was like to sneak upon a prey like a puma, I felt the energy of a bull.

It was awesome, like playing football or throwing the shot put a mile.

I really felt like I was in the zone, so I started to do some push-ups. I think I was up to around 75 when Mother Ayahuasca appeared to me. Pretty average looking. You hope she might look like Cheryl Ladd or something, but that’s not the way it works.

Anyway, she looked at me, like really deeply into me, as if she was trying to intimidate me or something. Fat chance. So I stared right back at her. There’s not a staring contest, in any dimension, that Doug Ford can’t win, dammit. This seemed to throw her, so she spewed a whole bunch of snakes out of her mouth, but it takes more than that to scare a Ford.

Eventually she turned into a lake and invited me to go for a swim in her waters. Now I’m a happily married man, but I did as I was told, and I tell you it was like one of those Vulcan mind meld things. Suddenly, the sacred herb told me everything all at once, and I knew how essential strong governance and fiscal restraint were, not just to my life, but to all life. 

The other day my book A Van Full of Girls 

was selected by Kerry Clare, author of Mitzi Bytes and literary rainmaker, to be on the One-Of-A-Kind list. https://49thshelf.com/Blog/2017/03/02/The-One-of-a-Kind-List

If you’re thinking that “one-of-a-kind” is some sort of backhanded compliment and that this designation is like being sent to the Island of Misfit Toys,

well, you’re an idiot and you have never been more wrong about anything in your entire, often wrong, life. This is a tremendous honour, and as if that wasn’t enough, Kiley Turner, who owns a goddamn company AND is managing editor of 49^th Shelf, implied, very, very strongly implied, that I had written the BEST BOOK DESCRIPTION IN HISTORY for my book A VAN FULL OF GIRLS, which you can order from any fine bookseller or from me, a shady bookseller.

Put on your sunglasses and read this:

“Have you ever been in a van full of girls? All the girls are alive and they’re happy. You’re all heading off to do something whimsical and flirty and maybe a little bit drunk. You’re going to see a Beach Boys tribute band. You’re going to the casino to bet it all on red. You’re going to a séance that you just know is going to end in skinny-dipping. Something like that. A Van Full of Girls is a collection of short, dizzy, funny things. It’s zippy and unpredictable, like a mongoose, but it’s dead sexy. You will want to take Polaroids of each precious, little missive contained within and then tape each one to your fridge. You will want to give this book to somebody you need to love you.”

That’s the description.

The best book description in the history of the world.

At any rate, all of these accolades have inspired me to write a letter to Canadian literary legend Margaret Atwood. This is the letter:

*********************************************

Dear Margaret:

You probably heard that my book A VAN FULL OF GIRLS was recently awarded the prize for BEST BOOK DESCRIPTION IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

Let that just sink in for a moment.

Maybe a little longer.

Okay.

You feel it?

Peggy, I beat Crime and Punishment.

I beat Paradise Lost.

I beat The Shining.

I beat every book you ever wrote.

I even beat the fucking Bible.

You might be on a stamp,

and one of your books might have been made into a movie, (Only 29% on the Tomatometer, though), but nobody, not even a drunk person, has ever declared that you wrote THE BEST BOOK DESCRIPTION IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

So next time you see a small man dressed in as much Adidas wear as he can afford and using supplemental oxygen

waving frantically at you while you’re out for one of your ponderous, unfriendly strolls through the Annex, you might deign to wave back to him, because you know what? That man is me, your literary better.

Michael Murray

PS: We have one spot available in our fantasy baseball league this year if you care to finish behind me in yet another competition!

This is a link to Kerry Clare’s new book Mitzi Bytes: http://www.harpercollins.ca/9781443449229/mitzi-bytes

Kiley Turner is Managing editor of @49thShelf, dictator at Turner-Riggs ( http://turner-riggs.com/) and content manager at brand-new ReaderBound: the easiest way for publishers to get a great website.

And you can order my book here: https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/a-van-full-of-girls/9781554831685-item.html

As it turns out, Rob Ford, Toronto’s embattled, fiscally conservative, crack-smoking mayor is amongst those who have applied for this one-way ticket to the future.

This is his application.

Tell us a little about yourself:

My name is Rob Ford and I’m still mayor of Toronto, one of North America’s largest cities and greatest sport’s towns!! You might have heard of the Toronto Maple Leafs, the CN Tower or maybe some lies that the media made up about me. We’re pretty big-city here.

Anyway, I’m an alpha male, big and powerful, like a lumberjack or a white football player who ferociously protects his QB; loyal, not stubborn. I’m a straight-shooting son of gun who tells it like it is, and I like to have a good time. Let me tell you, you’ll always know when the Big Dog is in the house because there’ll never be a dull or non-confrontational moment! I will bring the energy and flat-out RAWK the Martian Mansion! I am a walking exclamation point!!! Think Snooki times six!

I’m also straight. The idea of guys kissing grosses me out. They can do what they want underground or wherever, but when it’s in front of me, I need them to show some respect.

I’m really into the ladies, am likely still able to father children and would be totally open to any romantic entanglements that might develop on Mars. I think everybody should have a shot at love, even if it’s on a different planet far away from your wife that you’ve been married to for a like a billion years. Personally, I like blondes the best, blondes like Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager and Jessica Simpson. Hell, I don’t care that Jessica Simpson went out and put on some weight from drinking and having a baby! She was under a lot of stress, which I completely and totally understand, so if Jessie put on a few, big whoop, it just means there’s more for me!

Favourite movie:  A Clockwork Orange

Favourite city: Chicago

Favourite band: Triumph

Tell us why you’d like to go to Mars:

My favourite colour is red. LOL!! I’m just kidding. (I have a really good sense of humour and could really boost the spirits of the other pioneers, and keep our massive viewing audience laughing.)

But seriously, Commander Chris Hadfield, the Canadian who was up in the International Space Station Tweeting back to earth, has inspired me to want to become an astronaut. I could totally do what he did.

Here are some of my sample Tweets:

“From space, Chicago is an intricate tapestry of partying lights.”

“Who let the dogs out? Rob! Rob! Rob!”

“The Earth, small and blue and beautiful in eternal, floating silence.”

“Quietly, like a night bird, floating, soaring, wingless, I can blot you out with my thumb.”

Anyway, Hadfield is like a saint around here and can’t do anything wrong. The media, who tell lies about me and hunt me like I was a big, beautiful wild animal, think that everything he does is right and everything that I do sucks and instantly turns to crap. They’re trying to tackle me, the media, and that’s not fair. Earth people are negative all the time, and just don’t get Rob Ford. I think I’d like to get off this little blue bean and take on the challenge of colonizing a new, media-free planet.

I’m not scared to kill things with my hands if that’s what it takes to live on Mars.

If I can quote, “I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh, no, no, no, I’m a rocket man.”

Also, I believe very strongly in free enterprise and would friggin’ love to start a brand-new economy that has no bureaucrats and very little municipal governance. That would be a dream, that and coaching football again. I would LOVE to be the greatest football coach in Martian history, and one day, I would hope to become mayor of Mars, too, or rather, my district of Mars.

I was built for space.

Rob Ford

PS: The rumors that I was rejected for “Celebrity Apprentice” are ridiculous.