4 11 2010

I promised myself a poem yesterday.

Instead of which

I shoveled chicken shit.

What kind of occupation is that

For a man poised upon the brink

Of eternal dissolution?

Shouldn’t I be shouting

To you back there

That there are special things

To do, and think and feel?

Ultimate verities – the efflorescences

Of enlightenment that arrive

As a result of hard spiritual work

In the right direction?

I’m sorry

Something must have gone wrong

I can only feel the goodly ache

Of tired muscles

And hear the primeval blessing

Of the frogs in the slough.

Before enlightenment- chicken shit.

After enlightenment

Shovel it.

How beautiful!

Chase Oct 17 2010



Book photos

                           CIMG1889 CIMG1651

 CIMG1870  CIMG1871



Well Hello, Dear World, which is a lame kind of greeting from a blogger who hasn’t written  a word for about six months.Some of my friends have been telling me for a long time that I should tell my readers (reader?) a little more about myself so here at least is a contemporary mug shot. The truth is that I am technologically challenged with confusers and it has taken ages for me to get these  shots on the page here . Things don’t seem to respond the way they should in Live Writer and photos skate all over the place or even disappear so when I do manage to get them on the page I am reluctant to fiddle with ‘em. Anyway this is a kind of Ad.These are my four books. Top left, Child of the River is a memoir of my first twenty years—growing  up during the bombing of wartime London.Bad, bad kids! Really bad kids.The book concludes with my memories of being in the front line in the Korean War.  One young life . Two wars. Time for a change? Top right. Shawandasse, is a novel set in British Columbia Canada and briefly in Mexico. It is an action story with a romance on the side and a spiritual leitmotif. It depicts the story of a man who becomes a fugitive in his own country (Canada)after he gets up the nose of a U.S. Homeland Security colonel who has him ‘flagged’.The blue book, bottom left, Mush and the big Blue Flower, is a kids book about a child who takes too literally some adults ’questions’ such as  “Have you lost your voice” and goes looking for it through increasingly crazy situations. It is a book about childhood magic and courage. The fourth, the gold one on the bottom right, Glimpses, is a book of poetry and etchings, many of them from the turbulent inception of the sixties.But many of the poems are from the years of my pioneering a home in the remote mountains of British Columbia as a back-to-the-lander. I am a wild old dog and during the early sixties was mixed up with Ken Kesey and the Merry pranksters as acid hit the western world and the establishment blew all it’s fuses.I was a radical then and am now.

So that’s got all the introductions dealt with and stowed awayI Regarding the books, I am new to this distribution game so let me say that the cost of the books is thirteen dollars plus whatever is the cost of mailing it.The cheapest way of moving books around Canada is the Post Office priority Post envelopes which cost $10. I will subsidize any mail costs above those quotes. God! mail is expensive these days. But the books are excellent. You will be happy!

Summer has passed. Now the guests have gone, their black coaches swallowed down the lane’s green gullet. I am alone. I have forgotten how to write –supposing I ever did know how. If I told you that it had taken me three months to write those two sentences, would you believe me? This year I did not survive the shocking transition back to Canada after three months in Asia. The sheer speed of the Canadian culture picked me up, a straw in a tornado. Every day was different, vital, challenging, dangerous, controversial,charged with necessity.There was no time for introspection. If there were to be words wrapped around these events they had to be new ones, hyper-words that contained more meaning than traditional ones or, at the least, the old ones arranged in a totally different way. Titanic events flowed into my consciousness from the plugged-in world media: wars, massive oil spills, insurrections, states morphing into tyrannies, nations’ fragile hold on survival shattered by earthquakes, relationships forged in antiquity surrendering to triviality, novelty, and the addictions of sex and money. Everything was up for grabs. Everything was changing ,including the length of the days and the flowers that were their garlands and their clocks. The yellow-flower days of spring gave way to the white days of early summer followed by the blue period as temperatures rose sporadically. What on earth amongst this teeming procession could I describe that might be of interest and gravity. What could I itemize that would not surrender to the next distraction? There seemed to be only one constant, and it too was process– I too was changing, getting older, re-prioritizing my values. Where, Dear World, is the “freeze” button that will hold the existence frame for enough time for me to understand it ? But even a frozen ‘now’ requires an eternity to comprehend it. I have watched rural Indian movie shows where periodically the film breaks and the audience is left contemplating what will happen to Shiva when the blue surge of cobra poison ( patently produced by a hand held filter in front of the lens because the background also turns blue) moves down to his heart. That kind of stasis is acceptable to rural Indian sensibilities and seems to add to the tension. They are able to ‘think away’ the blue background and and emote with the parts that are on Shiva. But our film never breaks.Theirs is the gift of simplicity. So Dear World, I am back at the computer, I think, as the days shrink into winters inky sack. In the interim here is a kind of poem I guess culled from my journal. It is a schizophrenic dialogue of sorts….

You haven’ yet begun if love cannot walk in and out of your heart with equally light tread.

Teach me to love, and not to love.

Teach me to care

At the core of my indifference.

Teach me to note my bleeding

And not close the vein.

                   Life message-

Open your hand or I’ll break your knuckles.

                   Heart cry

But then Ill be empty

                  Life response-

You never had it anyway

                  Heart cry

But then I’ll be empty!

                  Life reply-

Like a flute.

                   Heart cry.

Blow through me!

                   Life response-

When I am ready and sure no one is listening

                   Heart cry

So solitary?

                   Life comment-

So solitary!

                   Heart pleading

Will death be warmer?

                   Life reply-

You will see.

                   Heart assesveration

I love you.

                   Life rejoinder


                   Heart thought

I don’t know. This paper, this pen. I shall love this moment

                   Life message

Let it go or I will break your knuckles



And so, Dear World, I will leave you today and I will try to be more regular in future.Namaste!






7 responses

16 11 2010

Happy to see that you are back !

21 12 2010

And good to see YOU Michael. Eat eat eat! Its Eatmus love and hugs

28 11 2010
Barry Novak

I was supposed to meet you a few years ago (through the late Jim Rooney, aka. ‘sleepin Jim”). Would still like to (I live in Vernon). Jack and Niel were my and my best friends heros in the early 60’s. (I consider myself a “young beatnick’ even to-day at 63) An old friend of mine (Paul Alexander, painter in “the city”, used to hang with them and I think was a lover of Allen G. for a time) that I’ve known since ’69 (on Bowen Island) is a treasure of info. from those days. He lives in Mendocino now (he’s 79) and I talked to him for the first time in about 25years earlier this week. The last time I saw him was at Joanne Kygers’ house in Bolinas. (never have met her yet though, I know she likes Canadian men though) A great love of my life (Barbara Cameron, Redding) assured me back in ’67 that her uncle was one of the “Dahrma Bums”, for real. ———Hey, I’m pretty sure back in early 1968 on I-5 me and my friend Russell had a freaky encounter with a number of Pranksters (including Ken). I’ll tell you about it if I ever meet you. Who knows, you might have been in the station-wagon too! Anyway I’ll leave it at that. You have my e-mail if you would like to meet an irrepressible racounter and live-wire with high blood preassure still from those times.
Sincerely, Barry

12 12 2010

Hi Barry, Glad to get your letter though I must confess that apart from Jim Rooney most of your acquaintances were strangers to me. But I was only around that Kesey scene during ’64 and 65 and I left for B.C. in 66. But they were smoking times.It would be pleasant to meet you though I am in Asia until April 7th and I’ll be home around the 15th. So why dont you gie me a call around them my number in Chase is 1 250 679 5364. Have a fine Xmas and see you later. Thank you for visiting my log.Laurie

15 01 2011

Barry , I’ll try to remember to contact you in Vernon when I am going down there, but Iam always so dammed rushed in Canada. I do go down there because I have a few book outlets there and anyway I like Vernon. I think it is a nice little town and much more arts minded than eg Kelowna. It is an hour from my place give and take a bit.Happy new year. Laurie

22 06 2011
kirk m

I am looking for an artist who did an etching in about 1967 or so in San Francisco. I have a print that I have had since the summer of 1968. My father owned an art supply store in San Jose, 50 miles south of SF. I worked in the frame shop and the print “love trip of the eighth room” by Laurie Payne came to me there. It is one of the first pieces I framed and have just rehung it in my entry way. From reading your blog it really looks like you are the artist.
Kirk M.

22 06 2011

Good sleuthing Kirk. It was indeed one of mine. That would have been about 1966.I am glad you kept it . I dont think I have any more copies of that one. One of my books is a poetry book .Apart from poetry it has eleven of those etchings including the three last ones. As I got deeper into that modality, Kirk the works became more and more complex. The last three took me six months, nine months and a year respectively they are so intense and when Isay six months I mean almost every entire night during that period the reason being that to introduce even one tiny new line could destroy some image already made and this medium doesnt permit erasing, so the work had to be turned round and round and round to ensure it was safe and sometimes I forgot what new line I was carrying. The process was designed to create a “trance’ during which I could do what I couldnt do ‘straight’ The poetry book has been reprinted but I still have a few of the original printing which were very good quality on recycled paper by offset. They are , of course half the size of he one you have but little integrity was lost in the printing which I supervised at every stage. I sell these for @$18 Kirk plus postage which in Canada is criminally expensive at $10 ( they’re on strike right now!) but if you would like one I will send you one of the few remaining originals which are better than the reprints after I have cashed your cheque or international money order for $28.All the best Laurie

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