Myopic and Astigmatic Observations: political & social commentary

My updated “rap” song for the Village of Fraser Lake. I wrote the original version more than 30 years ago. I’d hoped to find someone to put the lyrics to music but that didn’t happen. I finally had the nerve to perform it at Mouse Mountain Days in 2014.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE MOUNTAIN
In nineteen hundred and sixty-five
The town of Fraser Lake was like a bee-hive
People moving in from far away
In the shadow of the mountain
They had come to stay

Brand new houses and a shopping mall
Streets, a water system, recreation hall
One year later Fraser Lake would be
The newest village in the province of BC

Chorus: Fifty good years since incorporation
Now is the time for a big celebration
Let the bells ring out, let our voices soar
The mouse in the mountain will surely roar

The sleepy little hamlet beside the lake
Became a busy village that was wide awake
The population grew in a very short time
When it became the townsite for Endako Mine

Fraser Lake families were mostly young
Newlyweds with children whose lives had just begun
Many of those children are here today
In the shadow of the mountain
They are here to stay

chorus: Fifty good years since incorporation
Now is the time for a big celebration
Let the bells ring out, let our voices soar
The mouse in the mountain will surely roar!

THE SECRET

 

THE SECRET

In the picture I am smiling,
My hair freshly permed.
A big white bow bobby-pinned
To a huge mass of curls.
A  beauty parlor perm that
Momma couldn’t get her comb
Through for a whole year.

I am smiling in front
Of the playhouse
That my dadda made for me,
Behind the apple tree.
That’s my swing dangling down
From its branches.

In the picture I am smiling
Must be after telling Momma
The Secret…
The secret of why I was such a
Nervous child. Why I worried about
things. Why I’d forget to tidy
my playhouse and then worry
when the babysitter came.
She said she’d spank me
If it wasn’t clean.

The babysitter was fourteen
My brother was two and I was four
When she pulled down
her pants on the
kitchen floor.

My brother’s outside, I cried
You must let him in.
I will open the door
After you do
What I tell you to
She cooed.

I recall the tiny window
At the top part of the door
And I can hear
My brother screaming
As I crouched there on the floor.

And I  still feel a sense of shame
Seventy-three years later!

UPON HEARING THAT MARGARET & PIERRE HAD SEPARATED (and also that Princess Margaret & her husband had split up)

Wifehood doesn’t always set

With gals who’re christened Margaret,

If a Margaret shares your Chargex,

Your marriage may become letharg-ex.

 

Elizabeths have sometimes tarried,

With the men they later married,

Their marriages are doomed to failure,

Especially if their last name’s “Taylor”

 

In ancient Egypt, Cleopatra,

Loved Caesar, Anthony,  etc-a-tra,

Her lovers died and so did she,

In unrequited misery.

 

It seems to me that gals whose names,

Are longest fail the mating games.

Anns and Marys have less strife,

While Eve was Adam’s only wife.

 

All the Margarets at large,

Should insist on simply “Marge”

And gals who’re called Elizabeth,

Should use the shortened form of “Beth”

 

Perhaps the “Cleos” out in Egypt,

Abbreviated, would not be gypped,

Out of lifelong wedded bliss….

(Unless of course, they’d rather miss!)

 

BC PROVINCIAL ELECTION – 1970s

A lady who lived  in Barriere

Had “Barrett” tattooed on her derriere,

Her boyfriend named “Fred”

Was a Socred who said,

“If it weren’t for her derriere, I’d marry ‘er”

 

FEDERAL  ELECTION  – 1979

In May of nineteen seventy-nine Canadians will vote,

If the Tories win, Pierre will be the sacrificial goat,

And Joe may find his predecessor’s short bi-lingual note,

“Good-bye, Au revoir,” on a copy of the book that Margaret wrote!

 

If Trudeau lost, would he concede to those he chanced to meet,

“I was wrong, our issue was an issue of conceit,

Our country is united – in poverty complete,

Jobless folks from everywhere are with me on the street!”

 

If Joe wakes up in time before the voting has occurred,

Our country may be in the hands of a different kind of bird,

His “French” is poor, but that’s okay, It is the English word,

That has convinced the public that he really is a nerd!

 

WE LOVED YOU WELL

We loved you well when you stepped down,

And you were misty-eyed,

Canadians from coast to coast

Were really unified!

 

His farewell speech he made before

The Tories were brought down,

Then he came back and led the pack,

To make Joe Clark the clown!

 

The budget to reduce the debt

Was his offensive score,

The cost of the election made it ,

Many millions more!

 

He campaigned in a furtive way,

And kept his profile low,

His only promise – that he’d quit,

Won him the Gallup Poll!

 

Election Day arrived again,

The polls all closed at eight,

And that was when the West found out,

That they were rather late!

 

The television tuned us in,

To Trudeau’s victory,

With not a Grit to grace the house,

From Moose Jaw to BC.!

 

We loved  you well when you stepped down,

And left the federal scene,

We loved you for awhile until,

Your resurrection scheme!

 

 

 

 

 

 

SATIRE FROM THE SEVENTIES

THE QUEBEC ELECTION – 1976

In a land beyond the mountains,

‘Cross a thousand miles of plain,

Past the province of Ontario,

Where Pierre and Margaret reign,

There’s a land where French is spoken,

By the people large and small,

And the reason for that language-

The can’t speak in ours at all.

In this land within our land,

The people look just like we do,

But they might as well be Martians,

For all the convers-ing we do,

They just voted in that province,

For a man who’s named Levesque,

He would like to make a country,

Out of what is now Quebec.

He would like to make the middle,

Separate from the west and east,

He’s the leader of the party,

That they call the “Separtiste,”

Nova Scotia and New Brunswick,

Newfoundland and P.E.I.

Would be isolated segments,

From the sliced Canadian pie…

Architecturally our country,

Would look funny as could be.

Other countries might complain about,

Our lack of symmetry.

If Quebec should one day bargain,

With the federal government,

Before they go they should repay,

Some money they have spent.

If they leave our proud Dominion,

Then I hope that they will please,

Pay back help with the Olympics,

Welfare payments, subsidies,

Better yet, lets call it even,

If Prime Minister Levesque,

Is satisfied to be the ruler ,

Of a slightly small Quebec.

Give him all the northern portion,

Of that province for his share,

In the south lets have a hallway,

To connect us everywhere,

Then the eastern folk can travel.

Through their country to the west,

And we can leave the TC Highway,

As a Maritimer’s guest.

And Quebecers in our country,

Seeking fun – to have a ball,

A small charge for a foreigner,

To holiday in Montreal!

 

THE NATIONAL – 1977

The first snows of winter are filtering down,

Dark is the colour of country and town,

The green leaves of summer, the glorious fall.

Are merely a memory, a nostalgic recall,

The laughter is over, the jokes all been told,

You yawn in the darkness, outside it is cold.

November is dull, a good month for sleeping

The seasons are over for sowing and reaping,

Too tired to move, you doze in your chair,

You make plans for Christmas but don’t really care.

When from out of the Tube comes the News of the Land,

Like an ostrich you raise up your head from the sand.

“Today on the news, Joe Clark’s phone was bugged!”

“He did it himself,” the Liberals shrug…

“The cops in cahoots with the party in power,

Are devils for bugging,” says Joe, looking dour

“And poor Marc Lalonde,” the announcer asserts,

“Luckily managed to pass up dessert!”

A cream pie was flung by a party unknown.

In Victoria City, at Marc, it was thrown.

A note was attached to this newsworthy pie,

The gourmet confection was loaded with flies!

The flies were symbolic, the gooey note read,

Of “bugging” by Mounties and ’twas on Marc’s head,

And rumours afloat of “mail tamperings for years”

By Mounties, were causing some “Liberal” tears.

In Paris, the news was of Rene Leveque,

They welcomed him as the new kind of Quebec!

Ottawa sent out a note of protest,

“When in France treat Rene like one of the rest,

He doesn’t deserve any higher tribute,

Than Bennett got wearing his jogging suit!”

The weather forecast is for snow in the hills,

Fog in the valleys and temperature chills,

You don’t really mind as you rise from your chair,

The news has removed all the chill from the air,

The National News is often distressing,

But somehow tonight, it seems less depressing,

No matter how boring your life has become,

There are folks out in Ottawa having less fun!

 

 

 

 

THE EATON’S CATALOGUE

The other day a bunch of us “old-timers” were reminiscing

about the many uses of the long-extinct Eaton’s catalogue.

Today is mail-day. Wow I’m happy!

We go to town with mom and pappy.

We’ll drag our feet behind the sled

While mom and pop sit up ahead.

 

The horses move at such a pace

They’d never win a single race.

What’s in the mail? Oh, golly gee!

The Eaton’s catalogue I see.

 

Sis and I will finally get

The other copy, mom will let

Us cut out models and their clothes,

We’ll dress them all from head to toe.

 

We’ll cut out fridges, stoves that cook,

And paste them in our dream house book,

Sofas, chairs, a kitchen table,

Beds and dressers, if we’re able.

 

“Oh no! a page or two is gone,

Are they already in the john…?”

“Mom cut a pattern from those pages,

They’ve been missing now for ages”

 

Big brother wants to fold a hat

And fling some airplanes at the cat.

“Okay, as long as you don’t tear

The pages for our dream house there”

 

Pop says the insoles in his shoes

Are wet, some paper ones he’ll use.

Hand him some pages from the back,

The index now the book will lack.
Already torn….? I wonder maybe,

Did mom already give the baby

Our catalogue to rip and tear,

To keep him out of mother’s hair?

 

Mom needs the cover to pick up dust,

Her dustpan’s gone – it is a must!

And little sister, sick in bed,

Wants to color now instead.

 

She’s read the brand new catalogue

And now she is allowed to hog

Our catalogue, but with her crayons

She’d best not touch the part we play on!

 

Darn! It’s time to wash the dishes.

Why is our family so ambitious?

Sometimes I envy Mr. Brown

Who lives the other side of town.

 

That old bachelor doesn’t own

A single dish, he lives alone.

The Eaton’s catalogue’s his dish,

Whether he has stew or fish.

 

The top page of this handy book

Is where he eats, now please don’t look

At me like that- it is the truth!

We saw him do it, go ask Ruth.

 

He tore the page off when he’d ‘et

His plate for his next meal was set.

Oh no! Pop says the outdoor toilet

Is low on paper – he would spoil it!

 

 

 

 

THE SAGA OF THE .303 (by

THE EATON’S CATALOGUE (1940s)

 

Today is mail-day. Wow I’m happy!

We go to town with mom and pappy.

We’ll drag our feet behind the sled

While mom and pop sit up ahead.

 

The horses move at such a pace

They’d never win a single race.

What’s in the mail? Oh, golly gee!

The Eaton’s catalogue I see.

 

Sis and I will finally get

The other copy, mom will let

Us cut out models and their clothes,

We’ll dress them all from head to toe.

 

We’ll cut out fridges, stoves that cook,

And paste them in our dream house book,

Sofas, chairs, a kitchen table,

Beds and dressers, if we’re able.

 

“Oh no! a page or two is gone,

Are they already in the john…?”

“Mom cut a pattern from those pages,

They’ve been missing now for ages”

 

Big brother wants to fold a hat

And fling some airplanes at the cat.

“Okay, as long as you don’t tear

The pages for our dream house there”

 

Pop says the insoles in his shoes

Are wet, some paper ones he’ll use.

Hand him some pages from the back,

The index now the book will lack.

Already torn….? I wonder maybe,

Did mom already give the baby

Our catalogue to rip and tear,

To keep him out of mother’s hair?

 

Mom needs the cover to pick up dust,

Her dustpan’s gone – it is a must!

And little sister, sick in bed,

Wants to color now instead.

 

She’s read the brand new catalogue

And now she is allowed to hog

Our catalogue, but with her crayons

She’d best not touch the part we play on!

 

Darn! It’s time to wash the dishes.

Why is our family so ambitious?

Sometimes I envy Mr. Brown

Who lives the other side of town.

 

That old bachelor doesn’t own

A single dish, he lives alone.

The Eaton’s catalogue’s his dish,

Whether he has stew or fish.

 

The top page of this handy book

Is where he eats, now please don’t look

At me like that- it is the truth!

We saw him do it, go ask Ruth.

 

He tore the page off when he’d ‘et

His plate for his next meal was set.

Oh no! Pop says the outdoor toilet

Is low on paper – he would spoil it!

 

 

 

 

THE SAGA OF THE .303 (by

THE EATON’S CATALOGUE (1940s)

 

Today is mail-day. Wow I’m happy!

We go to town with mom and pappy.

We’ll drag our feet behind the sled

While mom and pop sit up ahead.

 

The horses move at such a pace

They’d never win a single race.

What’s in the mail? Oh, golly gee!

The Eaton’s catalogue I see.

 

Sis and I will finally get

The other copy, mom will let

Us cut out models and their clothes,

We’ll dress them all from head to toe.

 

We’ll cut out fridges, stoves that cook,

And paste them in our dream house book,

Sofas, chairs, a kitchen table,

Beds and dressers, if we’re able.

 

“Oh no! a page or two is gone,

Are they already in the john…?”

“Mom cut a pattern from those pages,

They’ve been missing now for ages”

 

Big brother wants to fold a hat

And fling some airplanes at the cat.

“Okay, as long as you don’t tear

The pages for our dream house there”

 

Pop says the insoles in his shoes

Are wet, some paper ones he’ll use.

Hand him some pages from the back,

The index now the book will lack.

Already torn….? I wonder maybe,

Did mom already give the baby

Our catalogue to rip and tear,

To keep him out of mother’s hair?

 

Mom needs the cover to pick up dust,

Her dustpan’s gone – it is a must!

And little sister, sick in bed,

Wants to color now instead.

 

She’s read the brand new catalogue

And now she is allowed to hog

Our catalogue, but with her crayons

She’d best not touch the part we play on!

 

Darn! It’s time to wash the dishes.

Why is our family so ambitious?

Sometimes I envy Mr. Brown

Who lives the other side of town.

 

That old bachelor doesn’t own

A single dish, he lives alone.

The Eaton’s catalogue’s his dish,

Whether he has stew or fish.

 

The top page of this handy book

Is where he eats, now please don’t look

At me like that- it is the truth!

We saw him do it, go ask Ruth.

 

He tore the page off when he’d ‘et

His plate for his next meal was set.

Oh no! Pop says the outdoor toilet

Is low on paper – he would spoil it!

 

 

 

 

THE SAGA OF THE .303 (by

THE EATON’S CATALOGUE (1940s)

 

Today is mail-day. Wow I’m happy!

We go to town with mom and pappy.

We’ll drag our feet behind the sled

While mom and pop sit up ahead.

 

The horses move at such a pace

They’d never win a single race.

What’s in the mail? Oh, golly gee!

The Eaton’s catalogue I see.

 

Sis and I will finally get

The other copy, mom will let

Us cut out models and their clothes,

We’ll dress them all from head to toe.

 

We’ll cut out fridges, stoves that cook,

And paste them in our dream house book,

Sofas, chairs, a kitchen table,

Beds and dressers, if we’re able.

 

“Oh no! a page or two is gone,

Are they already in the john…?”

“Mom cut a pattern from those pages,

They’ve been missing now for ages”

 

Big brother wants to fold a hat

And fling some airplanes at the cat.

“Okay, as long as you don’t tear

The pages for our dream house there”

 

Pop says the insoles in his shoes

Are wet, some paper ones he’ll use.

Hand him some pages from the back,

The index now the book will lack.

Already torn….? I wonder maybe,

Did mom already give the baby

Our catalogue to rip and tear,

To keep him out of mother’s hair?

 

Mom needs the cover to pick up dust,

Her dustpan’s gone – it is a must!

And little sister, sick in bed,

Wants to color now instead.

 

She’s read the brand new catalogue

And now she is allowed to hog

Our catalogue, but with her crayons

She’d best not touch the part we play on!

 

Darn! It’s time to wash the dishes.

Why is our family so ambitious?

Sometimes I envy Mr. Brown

Who lives the other side of town.

 

That old bachelor doesn’t own

A single dish, he lives alone.

The Eaton’s catalogue’s his dish,

Whether he has stew or fish.

 

The top page of this handy book

Is where he eats, now please don’t look

At me like that- it is the truth!

We saw him do it, go ask Ruth.

 

He tore the page off when he’d ‘et

His plate for his next meal was set.

Oh no! Pop says the outdoor toilet

Is low on paper – he would spoil it!

 

 

 

 

THE SAGA OF THE .303 (by V

WE LOVED YOU WELL (Pierre Elliot Trudeau)

We loved you well when you stepped down,
And you were misty-eyed,
Canadians from coast to coast
Were really unified.

His farewell speech he made before
The Tories were brought down
Then he came back to lead the pack
To make Joe Clark the clown.

The budget to reduce the debt,
Was his offensive score,
The cost of the election made it,
Many millions more.

He campaigned in a furtive way,
And kept his profile low,
His only promise – that he’d quit,
Won him the Gallup Poll.

Election Day arrived again,
The polls all closed at eight,
And that was when the West found out,
That we were rather late.

The television tuned us in,
To Trudeau’s victory,
With not a Grit to grace the house,
From Moose Jaw to BC!

We loved you well when you stepped down,
And left the federal scene,
We loved you well for awhile until,
Your resurrection scheme!

NEW KIDS IN THE BALL PARK

There’s new kids in the ball park now,
Joe Clark’s the Captain’s name,
He’s “first up” on the batter’s list,
And it’s a brand new game.

Joe swings his bat – “The Embassy,
I’ll move it is I can!”
When he strikes out – it’s clean up time,
And Flora’s spic and span!

One and one’s the count right now,
Ron Atkey’s up to bat,
The Arab pitch is wild – inside,
And Ron is laid out flat!

Pinch hitting is an older kid,
A quiet cautious face,
Bob checks the wind, spits on the ground,
And bunts – he’s first on base!

Flora smiles on second,
And Stanfield’s smiling back,
But there’s no joy in Crosbie’s heart,
His “budget” ball is cracked!

John hails from the East Coast,
And wishes he were there,
No matter how he throws that ball,
The crowd will shout “Unfair!”

His “mortgage interest” ball is nice,
It’s curving to the plate.
But it’s knocked high and wide and foul,
By “bank loan interest rate!”

Lougheed’s on the pitcher’s mound,
But Bill is heard to cry,
“I’ll not play ball with that rich kid,
His oil is much too high!”

“Play nice,” says Joe, “Together now,
You know that was my plan,
We’ll share the ball and play the game,
And I’ll sell Petrocan!”

Ron Atkey’s back and he swings hard
At unemployment cheques,
A foul one there; then he aims for
The “baby bonus” next.

The game goes on, the crowd is bored,
We almost miss Trudeau,
Ten years was too much of him,
Six months enough of Joe….

WE NEED RESOURCES!

A. Why I do not want to be taken care of:

It’s true that there is a need for a mental health network.  We need to support and to take care of those who need this care.  Even so there is an over-dependance on the system.  Those who are supported by this ponderous and heavy handed mentality are encouraged to do nothing and be nothing. In the medical model we are told that mental illness is all biology. It’s a matter of treating it with medication and chemical healing.  Even so the medical model needs to be balanced with the environmental model.  We need to have more than just forced submission and dependancy.  We need more then drop-in centres and clinics. We need more than doctors and counselers who ask questions once a month.  I do not want to be taken care of!
I need to have self esteem and pride.  I need to feel like I’m contributing to society.  I need to know that I am accepted by others.  I do not need to be given gifts.  If the hand that feeds you is all you have -what is the other hand doing?  I want to rise up from my knees and take what’s mine.  I want work and labour.  I do not want to be taken care of.  I want to be self-sufficient and strong.  I want to be known and not forgotten.  The Gallery Gachet is the alternative to the orthodox way of things.  It is a way of giving power to the disenfranchised.  It is a vital and working process whereby we release artists from the slavery of pity and fear.  We do not give water we dig wells.

B. What I need in my life:

1.    Reunion with the community:  In the past I have fallen into trauma and madness. I was a solitary soul, without any sense of social ties.  In my pure and terrible alone-ness I had been set apart from others and pushed aside.  It’s not that it was done on purpose -it was a natural inclination.  Those who are involved in crazy behavior are viewed with suspicion and distrust.  Even so I hope to return to the crowd and be a part of it’s encouragement and mutual self-regard.  I want to be accepted not as Outsider Artist but a member of society.  I want to be joined with others and do the work needed.  I see work as a human right and an imperative.  I seek reunion as a necessity and an inevitable concern.  I want to be active and not passive or submissive.
2.    Empowerment:– I want strength and spiritual growth.  I do not want to be offered freedom without fighting for it.  I feel that in the world of argument I am a vital partner. I have a talent and a skill that is needed by others.  I would put forth my point of view and stand up to be counted.  In my pride I hone my craft and art.  I seek to fly on my own wings and live under my own efforts.  Empowerment is a thing whereby I am rewarded for good work as I value what I do and how I am presented.  I pay attention to the details and I learn the business of art.
3.    Collectivity: I speak of collectivity as a social network.  In this gallery we make decisions about our policy as well as our reasons for existence.  In collectivity we balance the individual with the larger framework.  To live in a social network like this we must sacrifice our point of views for the will of others.  In the Gallery Gachet we do not behave as a bureaucracy or a hierarchy.  All is a smoothly running machine made of the sum of its parts.  Collectivity is needed as a way of feeling like you’re involved in a larger scheme.  This is also a part of pride and of generosity.  We give and are given in return.  There is always a relationship and this is a thing of pleasure and gratification.  Responsability means to respond.
4.    Political Will: The dissident voice is a muscle of society. The radical point of view is the shadow of the orthodox rule.  I do not mean to say that we are all radicals. Good art is a subversive thing and always involves a certain provokative bent.  In this way we question and ponder the mysteries of expression.  The artist throws sand in your eyes in order to make you see.  Political will is a thing of creation.  As Pablo Neruda said; “I’ve never been one to seperate politics from art.”   In this way we are always striving to make our voice known to others and to struggle for dignity and self-respect.  Political will is always on the side of the marginalized.  All poetry and art is in some sense a compliant or a protest against injustice and oppression.
5.    Freedom to Create Art: If we are to make art and sell it we are indeed full of self-esteem.  If we make art but do not sell it, we find that the payback is in the work itself. To have the resources and be able to have the time to express is a vital part of our lives. If we are not able to fulfill our function we are depressed and unhappy.  We must have a place for social inspiration and mutual connections.  It is all more than just having the tools:  canvas, paint and brushes.  We give to the pool of imagination and are given in turn.  Freedom to Create Art -is indeed a human right in itself.  We who are artists know that art is an obsession.  It rules our hearts and leads us to meaning. We need Art!  Not only artists but the those who take the excesses of our creativity. Society needs art and always has.  If we do not have art we have sorrows and degradations

C. My Story;

How has my life been improved by Gallery Gachet?  I have been a part of this community for twenty five years.  When I began my relationship with this place it was a mere drop-in centre for artists who had a mental illness. Over the years it grew into a complex entity. Now its a smoothly running engine powered by the members.  It is no longer just a place for people to meet each other.  It is a vitalized and deeply motivated society.  I know that if I drop the ball someone else can take it further.  I feel the support and motivations of others.  I feel proud that I am a part of a larger meaningful scheme. I have had a history of isolated trauma and troubles.  When I come to the Gallery Gachet I feel a vibration of such a moving cultural thing.  This feeling is a thing of protection, a circle of energy that vitalizes me and challenges me.  I feel this as a state of learning.  In this way we educate ourselves and also educate the public about stigma and stereotypes.

We are also inspired by the artwork that has hung on the walls, how it feeds us and becomes a part of our own strivings.  I have been so proud of the various forms of vision that I have known in the gallery space.  These visions are worthy of the society at large.  These visions are deeply evocative and bring forth echoes in my own mind.  I am galvanized by the work of others.  I am infused with a spiritual growth -as I face these revelations.  So the work itself helps me to create with principle and dedication.  I have functioned in the Gallery, enlarged and expanded by this ever-evolving wheel of concourse.  My life has been improved by the Gallery, as I’ve known times when I was unaware and involved in my madness.  I was alone but now I feel that my activities in this mileau have brought me out of the suffering of isolation.  I have grown in the arms of society and been taken into the inside once again.   The Gallery Gachet is needed for me to take part in this forum of give and take.

D. The Consequences of Over-dependance.

We need work because it gives us strength and togetherness. Over-dependence is a problematic flight into passivity and complacency.  I believe that every problem is a solution in disguise.  When I heard the news that our funding was cut off by the powers that be -I was scared.  I felt that the hammer had come down on me and my associates.  I was expecting it of course -but when it came it was not easy to take.  Even so this might be the best thing to happen to the Gallery Gachet.  We must awaken from our empty shells and deal with this inequity. I think that this business will galvanize the radical network and help us to realize that nothing’s to be taken for granted.  We must join together and deal with this very dangerous thing.  If the government spends its money on suffocation as well as repression -things will only get worse.  The danger is that we give in and allow them to take away all our freedoms.  We will be enervated and drawn out of ourselves.

We will be forced to deal with hard questions.  We will realize that freedom that is not fought for is not really freedom at all. We will know that we are now on our own.  The ones who decide who gets what and who is denied -will not be there for us.  I am calling out to the community to think seriously about the ramifications of this dirty business.  I am not pro-psychiatry or otherwise -but I believe we must have choices.  If there are no choices what do we have but the sleep of detachment and pity?  We must understand that the Gallery Gachet is another way of doing things.  It is a progressive and revolutionary process and it fills a niche and position.  We must know that there is a need for this kind of thing.  We must look both ways and see the balance of it all.  If the orthodox point of view is  the only rule, there is no place for the unpredictable.  Art in itself is always an anomaly -a thing of strangeness and abberation.  Against the efficient system there is a need for the alternative.  Beyond the tunnel-vision of those who govern, we need a different side of things.  The Gallery Gachet is the other view and is a new kind of possibility.  We are the alternative and we are needed.

E. We Need Resources:

We need resources in order to survive.  We don’t need help or charity.  If we are working artists we give back to the community.  We are involved in our craft and our dedication.  We need resources in order to continue to express our dreams and aspirations. In this way we return the favour -we are not just recievers of bounty. We do not just take but give as well.  If we share in the benefits of the community we support its well-being.  We need resources to help us to stand on our own.  We need resources to give us the ability to make things and sell them.  We need resources to make us function
and to fulfil our mandate and vision.  We need resources to continue to take our place in the larger cultural values of the local and marginalized people.  We have a reason for existance and an imperative to play a part in the down-town East Side.  We have credibility and power and we use it to reach out to the others who are our allies.  We need resources and considerations;  we live and we prosper only if we are seen as an investment for the future.  Our secret dreams are the fuel for the engines.  Our potentiality should be valued in this way.  We will remake reality with our voices and if you hear us you will know that we must not be ignored.  We need resources to explore the things in darkness that are brought into the light.  With resources we will heal and better ourselves.

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