John Watt
Member
Good evening! This is no longer John Watt, for me, a long time member. I am now known to be a Prince of Scotland, as Master John Alexander Hay Watt, maternal Watt, the first kings of Scotland, and maternal Buchanan through marriage to Hay. I also tell you that kings were elected in Scotland, usually for their ability to sing and dance.
I'm now 63, still a non-tobacco and alcohol user, but it was a physical accident that changed me. I've complained about my life in Welland, being a protest mayoral candidate to complain publicly about the sadistic drugging and raping criminals of one huge crime family, and the biker gangs and mobs that dominate Welland. This made my life suffer. No more.
I bought a pair of new Speedo sports shoes that I thought were like bike-riding slippers, feeling like a sock with a rubber bottom. A nice end of season offer from a sign customer, $7. I thought they would let me exercise my feet more around the pedals, always walking barefoot along the Lake Erie shore and Niagara Parkway trails. I was right about that, and it was nice to get something that made me feel fancy, but that led to a mistake. I felt so stylish I decided to wear them right away, not bring them with me, and I wore short pants and a t-shirt to go with them, one of the last nice autumn days, overcast, perfect for a long distance bike-hike.
Walking along the shore on the way back, it was dark, and I broke one of my first bike-hiking rules, walking away from a clear path into growth, in the dark. It was such a nice night, wandering in the moonlight, going around rocks and trees, not just following the shore. There are some fifty foot dunes out there, very rugged.
I felt tingling around my ankles where leaves were clinging to me, and half an hour later when I got into a streetlight, you could see a red line of blood at the back of my leg where a vine or root pulled and snapped against me. I felt that at the time too. By the time I got home four hours later, I was feeling very tired and weak. The next day I went to the emergency because my doctor was in surgery, and I got three kinds of salve to put on. This doctor also taunted me about being a mayoral candidate in Welland, saying I shouldn't come to the Welland hospital. All these expensive salves did was coat the disease, spread it around, and keep it from drying up.
The next day I had a hot bath, wanting to feel warm, and this spread it up to my face and into my throat and lungs. I had trouble breathing, but it just hurt a little all over, no rash to itch or anything like that. But, it affected my mind. I laid in bed, looking at the clock, two in the afternoon, and laying there I thought I'd get up to grab something to eat, and it was 4:30. That's the first time in my life I was awake but not thinking or able to recall anything. It relaxed me overall, taking away what fear and paranoia I thought was gone. Mohawk friends look me in the eye and say be careful, it will change you. Others don't know what to call it, not poison oak or ivy or sumac, what I've had before.
When I was nineteen one of my oil paintings was expected to win the Rose Festival Art Contest, dropping out of high school to be an artist, encouraged by my art and English teacher. I also saw Jimi Hendrix and bought the same guitar, amp and some effects he used, wanting to be a musician too. But the Rose Festival organizer turned out to be the mother of this criminal gang, fourteen children, and she was brought up in front of me, another woman asking if I knew who she was. I said I know who the Ward Gang is. I didn't even get a notice that I entered. Two weeks later I was asked to join a band in another city, and a bassist picked me up. I was drug overdosed on LSD, hallucinating and unconscious for over a day, and they were out in the country leaving me behind an old gas station when I came to. I guess they thought I would live and brought me back, keeping me drugged and in a one-door closet for over three months.
When they let me go I came home right away, telling my parents what happened. I lost forty pounds, down to 110, looked gray and felt cold, with sand crawling under my skin. I also lost the desire to make artwork for myself. I had a sign shop in my thirties, doing what people paid me to do, but I didn't even doodle in spare time.
Now that I've recovered from this poison plant, I feel the desire to make artwork for myself. I did a big Haida bird first, selling that to the first person who saw it, and used a projector to trace out a Van Gogh drawing, selling that and my next two pieces. Now I've got a few more I'm keeping in my apartment, wanting to get ready for summer events in the park across the street.
But more than that, I feel like finishing songs for myself. Now I'm playing guitar like an emotional demon, and it's not easy. I just looked at my semi-solid-body thread here, and it's sad, seeing what I had happening back then with my inventive guitar, seeing it as left behind. The offshore Stratocaster I got used for $75 is now converted to being a lefty, and I'm getting out with it, but I have to finish my true instrument.
Magle dk. has always been an inspiration for me, and I'd like to keep it that way. So, as much as I want to be onstage getting it on and putting it over, as before, or rendering myself as the symphonic-electric guitarist I know I can be, having a thread here for my guitar is a musical goal for me, and Magle dk. will be the first place I put up a link to see a video of me singing one of my songs. I'm working on an owl song, who are you hiding behind that screen, who, who, who are you meeting in that facebook scene, with a vocal solo imitating owls, that I've heard a lot of late at night on bike-hikes. I also think any Canadian band should do a wolf and raven song, the dominant spiritual creatures of North America. That's right, the raven. That black bird that Noah let out that never came back, with no mention of a mate, had to go somewhere.
I'd like to thank Frederik Magle for keeping it together here, and my friends. I know, with my new consciousness, I'll be able to make more friends than I did before. I have to say this. I recall the tingling, the sand and leaves and moonlight, where I was, but when I try to visualize where this happened I can't. I can hear a low chanting, and see the shapes of hands from the elbows down, reaching out towards my legs, all around me. A Metis friend said this was amazing. He knew already. He said, for the first time, one of the beautiful Mohawk warriors came to his apartment, saying his chief heard about me and felt I should be talking about it, visiting him. A beautiful Mohawk is a native who has the ancestry of not being corrupted by white man's booze and drugs, and food. They don't come out in public, not outside Fort Erie, and I've only met one. When a beautiful Mohawk shows a tear, it looks like a shining jewel one his face.
Europeans might think of natives here like in Hollywood movies. But Scottish people sent natives to universities in Scotland so they could learn to defend themelves in English and French courts in Canada. Joseph Brant, whose property became Brantford, displays my mother's tartan in his portrait. Doug Maracle, a chief who won the aboriginal tv award for best lead guitar for a CD he recorded in his own studio, is thought to still own half of Fort Erie.
I have changed. It's wonderful. Now I'm excited about something new in my life, me, and I'm wondering how far I can take it. Life in Welland is also changing, for the better, and I feel ready to leave and get into my own life, but we'll see. A social responsibility is tough to leave behind.
"Dreams are in my heart,
and dreams are where it starts, with you girl.
The dreams that are in my soul,
are the dreams that are in control, about you girl".
I must have changed, if I'm thinking marriage as a born-again virgin.
I'm now 63, still a non-tobacco and alcohol user, but it was a physical accident that changed me. I've complained about my life in Welland, being a protest mayoral candidate to complain publicly about the sadistic drugging and raping criminals of one huge crime family, and the biker gangs and mobs that dominate Welland. This made my life suffer. No more.
I bought a pair of new Speedo sports shoes that I thought were like bike-riding slippers, feeling like a sock with a rubber bottom. A nice end of season offer from a sign customer, $7. I thought they would let me exercise my feet more around the pedals, always walking barefoot along the Lake Erie shore and Niagara Parkway trails. I was right about that, and it was nice to get something that made me feel fancy, but that led to a mistake. I felt so stylish I decided to wear them right away, not bring them with me, and I wore short pants and a t-shirt to go with them, one of the last nice autumn days, overcast, perfect for a long distance bike-hike.
Walking along the shore on the way back, it was dark, and I broke one of my first bike-hiking rules, walking away from a clear path into growth, in the dark. It was such a nice night, wandering in the moonlight, going around rocks and trees, not just following the shore. There are some fifty foot dunes out there, very rugged.
I felt tingling around my ankles where leaves were clinging to me, and half an hour later when I got into a streetlight, you could see a red line of blood at the back of my leg where a vine or root pulled and snapped against me. I felt that at the time too. By the time I got home four hours later, I was feeling very tired and weak. The next day I went to the emergency because my doctor was in surgery, and I got three kinds of salve to put on. This doctor also taunted me about being a mayoral candidate in Welland, saying I shouldn't come to the Welland hospital. All these expensive salves did was coat the disease, spread it around, and keep it from drying up.
The next day I had a hot bath, wanting to feel warm, and this spread it up to my face and into my throat and lungs. I had trouble breathing, but it just hurt a little all over, no rash to itch or anything like that. But, it affected my mind. I laid in bed, looking at the clock, two in the afternoon, and laying there I thought I'd get up to grab something to eat, and it was 4:30. That's the first time in my life I was awake but not thinking or able to recall anything. It relaxed me overall, taking away what fear and paranoia I thought was gone. Mohawk friends look me in the eye and say be careful, it will change you. Others don't know what to call it, not poison oak or ivy or sumac, what I've had before.
When I was nineteen one of my oil paintings was expected to win the Rose Festival Art Contest, dropping out of high school to be an artist, encouraged by my art and English teacher. I also saw Jimi Hendrix and bought the same guitar, amp and some effects he used, wanting to be a musician too. But the Rose Festival organizer turned out to be the mother of this criminal gang, fourteen children, and she was brought up in front of me, another woman asking if I knew who she was. I said I know who the Ward Gang is. I didn't even get a notice that I entered. Two weeks later I was asked to join a band in another city, and a bassist picked me up. I was drug overdosed on LSD, hallucinating and unconscious for over a day, and they were out in the country leaving me behind an old gas station when I came to. I guess they thought I would live and brought me back, keeping me drugged and in a one-door closet for over three months.
When they let me go I came home right away, telling my parents what happened. I lost forty pounds, down to 110, looked gray and felt cold, with sand crawling under my skin. I also lost the desire to make artwork for myself. I had a sign shop in my thirties, doing what people paid me to do, but I didn't even doodle in spare time.
Now that I've recovered from this poison plant, I feel the desire to make artwork for myself. I did a big Haida bird first, selling that to the first person who saw it, and used a projector to trace out a Van Gogh drawing, selling that and my next two pieces. Now I've got a few more I'm keeping in my apartment, wanting to get ready for summer events in the park across the street.
But more than that, I feel like finishing songs for myself. Now I'm playing guitar like an emotional demon, and it's not easy. I just looked at my semi-solid-body thread here, and it's sad, seeing what I had happening back then with my inventive guitar, seeing it as left behind. The offshore Stratocaster I got used for $75 is now converted to being a lefty, and I'm getting out with it, but I have to finish my true instrument.
Magle dk. has always been an inspiration for me, and I'd like to keep it that way. So, as much as I want to be onstage getting it on and putting it over, as before, or rendering myself as the symphonic-electric guitarist I know I can be, having a thread here for my guitar is a musical goal for me, and Magle dk. will be the first place I put up a link to see a video of me singing one of my songs. I'm working on an owl song, who are you hiding behind that screen, who, who, who are you meeting in that facebook scene, with a vocal solo imitating owls, that I've heard a lot of late at night on bike-hikes. I also think any Canadian band should do a wolf and raven song, the dominant spiritual creatures of North America. That's right, the raven. That black bird that Noah let out that never came back, with no mention of a mate, had to go somewhere.
I'd like to thank Frederik Magle for keeping it together here, and my friends. I know, with my new consciousness, I'll be able to make more friends than I did before. I have to say this. I recall the tingling, the sand and leaves and moonlight, where I was, but when I try to visualize where this happened I can't. I can hear a low chanting, and see the shapes of hands from the elbows down, reaching out towards my legs, all around me. A Metis friend said this was amazing. He knew already. He said, for the first time, one of the beautiful Mohawk warriors came to his apartment, saying his chief heard about me and felt I should be talking about it, visiting him. A beautiful Mohawk is a native who has the ancestry of not being corrupted by white man's booze and drugs, and food. They don't come out in public, not outside Fort Erie, and I've only met one. When a beautiful Mohawk shows a tear, it looks like a shining jewel one his face.
Europeans might think of natives here like in Hollywood movies. But Scottish people sent natives to universities in Scotland so they could learn to defend themelves in English and French courts in Canada. Joseph Brant, whose property became Brantford, displays my mother's tartan in his portrait. Doug Maracle, a chief who won the aboriginal tv award for best lead guitar for a CD he recorded in his own studio, is thought to still own half of Fort Erie.
I have changed. It's wonderful. Now I'm excited about something new in my life, me, and I'm wondering how far I can take it. Life in Welland is also changing, for the better, and I feel ready to leave and get into my own life, but we'll see. A social responsibility is tough to leave behind.
"Dreams are in my heart,
and dreams are where it starts, with you girl.
The dreams that are in my soul,
are the dreams that are in control, about you girl".
I must have changed, if I'm thinking marriage as a born-again virgin.