A   L O N G   W A Y   F R O M   K I N D   A N D   P R E T T Y

T i m b e r   M a s t e r s o n

*

Timber Media Enterprises
Rockefeller Center 1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
New York       London        Toronto
Sydney        Singapore

*

Above are select cities across the globe that are happily in possession of this work,
though they've been instructed to part with it, once they, (these cities)
are properly compensated by the right sort of people.
If you have the book in your hands at this precise moment,
chances are you couldn't care less where else you can pick it up.

Copyright © 2005 by Timber Masterson

T h a t  B e i n g  S a i d . . .

The First English translation was helped along by A.J Milne,
under the title,
'Woe And It's Relation To My Unconscious Self: The Really, Really Lonesome Early Years,' though was later re-named due to constant picketing and public outcry to a simpler, yet more profound, 'Wooing Kittens'.
These titles as well as others that got tossed around, involved a kind of devilishly isolating 'Charlie Brown' theme, but all got nicked and scratched off as they ultimately were deemed 'too childish', real soggy-ass-tearjerker-clichés that would not sell well.
But for 2nd and 3rd printings of this work,
I've still got some better titles on the table for consideration: those know-it-all editors, dumb dramaturds and smarter supportive friends, I'll show 'em.
All this and more by special arrangement with The Paul Lynd Family Trust and
Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd. London - a nifty and buxom firm
that also hems dresses and takes in riding gear.

*     *     *

Except in the United States of America,
(and even some chilly villages and towns in Canada)
this book is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated
without the publisher or writer's prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.
At any rate, you can pretty much assume
that if the writer is dead by the time all this hulla-baloo
reaches your considerative stage,
then everyone's just going to do as they see fit anyway.
Because, well, that's just what humans do: behave badly.
~
But make notes along the way, my sympathetiquecountry
Personnes agreables, for what you deem necessary to extract from this work, go ahead and
mail to yourself, as I once did - these notes, my lexis - with your own address in
gargantuan bold black letters (so there's a record of it, copyright laws and such),
untouched and dated, and tuck underneath your bed somewhere.
Months, maybe years later, this will all be for naught as curiosity will inevitably
get the best of you, you, being unable to recall for the life of you just what
such an irksome and dusty 8x10 manila envelope (that you mailed to yourself!) is doing under there anyway.
The only reason this may even come close to making any sense might be your own mis-recollection
in a drunken siesta'd state, thus perhaps at the time, needing such an envelope with your own address and name in your lap
as those items get discarded early on in the haze of liquor and lust.
Sooooooo, in such cases where one is, regrettably, inebriated, lousy and soused and cannot speak clearly,
and is therefore unable to disclose to the driver just where to dump you off.
As I am alive right now, do not do anything pathologically-plagiaristically-absurd with this manuscript
or there will be an unpleasant curse on your head,
you sequentially-challenged sentimental small-fonted reader.
*     *     *
This significant work is set in Monotype-bimbo-lithographic-polywanna-graph-a-grammy-goiter-iambic-Patomic-petathalonic-unsutured-non-sequential-wackadoo-wing-dung-lack-lusterliciously-funny-face-line (designed specially for this text by a Mr. Mooey Muelinex Minstralata Sr. of Redding, Pennsylvania - a man serving time for chastising citizens carrying balloon animals in corduroy dungarees. "I now know; a no-no," said Mooey. His wife reports he welcomed the work.)
T'is quite the bitch to download and integrate into any machine properly. Please resist any attempt to use on your own processor-of-words as it will screw up your computer drastically, even thousand-fold if there's such a thing.
For some, I'm told, these words set forth are best experienced when read aloud by a loved one, candles lit, in bedtime gear, note pad prepped, heated beverage (strategically placed) while head nuzzled into Egyptian-cotton-encasing.
Many young adults (and those in early-to-mid-life crisis' especially),
have found this the only book needed before being tucked in.
Nigh... night.

*     *     *

Parts of an unabridged version of this manifesto were 'published' in the South Seas sometime during the new millennium,
though details are sketchy as it was produced entirely using only conk shells, jelly-fish and plankton paste.
Little of this priceless and rare reproduction has been recovered, for a couple of reasons.
One, had to do with just how to cart all of that business around through airport terminals -
it became unbearably expensive, magnificently weird and tough to even track down
or keep in any kind of order. And two, was something else which I can't for the life of me remember,
but was very, very important going into the thought at the time and may even come up later if you so choose to stick around. I bet it was funny.
I mean that I bet it will be funny.
If any of these so called 'pages' are ever recovered, would you be kind enough
to send them along to Matilda Martindale at 'The Linklater and Shultz Vaccuum Company and Carnival Cruise Line in Montreal'
as she looks after such things.
A reward, or at very least a re-imbursement of your postage,
is not as much promised as it is being looked into.
I, at very least, am an honest man. Pretty much.
*     *     *

I shall hope for the pleasure of including my critics and lovers alikein a companion kind of
Clifford-the-Big-Red-Dog Coles-Notes work-book. The words I have pursued and the clues I have followed -
often fruit-loop-lessly, nonetheless cathartically - far exceed in number the pages in this volume. Not easily now, shall I relinquish this fascinating pursuit
and can only trust that readers will find equivalent pleasure in these rewarding excursions along the unfrequented paths of literature and language.
~
You are remarkably close to actually getting down to the meat-of-the-matter, so stick with me and keep moving along forward...Patience, a virtue lost in
frolic and immediate gratificational rummaging gets easily cast aside, one of the first attributes to go I regret to remind.
And actually Patience is not your 'pal' at all,
not like the principal SHOULD have been - that conceited prick bastard.
I learnt this in Grade 3 spelling class, or was it...mmmmm?mmmm?mmm; no, it was definitely Grade 3, though 'The Grade of Three' ended up being little
more than a musty queer-shaped-room in the basement of the quazi-school I found myself assigned to, me repeatedly having to show up with no proper
human teacher in attendance. The writing implements were made out of ceiling fans, diced kale and dried poutine, with no suitable ink to speak of - unless you count that day
when the foreign kid with braces dragged in that squid for 'Show-and-Touch' and things got out of hand. It's down in the record books somewhere, me
having demanded a retrial and enlightening the jury with my,
"I'm sorry but I just don't see how that could count."
The 'faculty' or 'the board' (bored?) - whatever they called themselves - taught sad and unhelpful, threatening lessons in what I'm certain were made-up
languages by way of teleprompter. Also, they somehow managed to lure all us youngens off school property with promises of eating Wild-Flavored-Licorice
and Rainbow-Coloured-Chiclets whilst visiting dinosaurs at some museum (which I never did get to see),
"Freudian field trips," this, their retort in court years later.
{Mother-Fucking-Prodding-Proctor-Liars}
... This, saying nothing of how their evil temperaments and manic dispositions have hounded me through the years. Somewhere down the line, a couple of those dandruff-entrenched pseudo teachers, actually turned into Out-of-orbit-irritating-Perquacky-playing-asthmatic-Kerplunkety-Palestinian-neighbours-with-off-the-wall-furious-Crossword-Concerns, who now, nightly, peer in my backyard window, hands filthy from their pre-sunset gardening expeditions - VAMPIRE GARDENING - I've dubbed their all-too-loud-nocturnal 'meetings.' Their bothersome and unnerving sport, executed with pith-helmet-mag-light, electronic Ginsu-digger, methamphetamine-suppositories - handily inserted for full-on sustained trowling power - uniform complete with all-too-gay-looking-Tony Randalish-aprons and bizarrely-drawn-cartography-club-membership t-shirts.
Seems I'll never get rid of them. (The extra t-shirts or the neighbours).
♦      ♦      ♦

After showing some advance chapters & having a few choice heartfelt words with delicatessen heads and some of the populace who rent out office space in this building - that have little or nothing to do with anything - there is the consensus afoot that the original title for the book,
'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Wit and Mincing About,'
made grand sense in relation to how this story was beginning to take shape and seemed to encompass in grand scope and wide breadth the feelings and ideas set forth.
Here's what I mean. In the beginning, it seemed practical and was a favorable and applicable more-than- marketable title, but in the end, all thought it best to stay away from all that borderline- infringement-busied-business I'd just as soon avoid, not wanting to tread in such already proven ground, or step on the toes of it's loved ones: Phew.
I'm happy with my 'Junkie' title anyhow.
In addition, after working on it for more than, oh gosh, I don't know, we gotta be lookin' at  what must be now going into its third year here, the 'Tim Foolery Footnotes' thing, again and again, keep coming up, and since these are all -- mostly -- fragmented stories, heartfelt recollections, reports from the frontlines, 'diaries from a madman' if you will, the 'Tales' title also seems to add up to a hell of a lot of worthy reasoning too.
Besides, I sort of like clarifying and sprinkling my two (or three) cents gingerly throughout.
I believe that they (my notes, even the bulked-up epistles) also assist
in building a sincere and true, bonding relationship between the reader (you) and the author (me) so that's where all that stands.
Okay, okay, Lainie said no more apologies or justifiers; she wrote to me, saying that I'm fucking nailing it, so screw this stuff about "sprinkling this and that gingerly,"
and all this pussy footin' around.
I be throwing down, clean and true and no regrets and no apologizing.
I can do it and don't give a two-bit-rats-ass this time about the Bull Shit.

T h o u g h  S t i l l . . .
"Wingdings: What's Really Up With All That Nonsense?"
an already documented exploratory outing - further select appendages and tales from the author, can be purchased, though unbelievably difficult to find, as only 27 copies were printed 'somewhere in the Eastern United States' under the pseudonym ' Sammy Jesterly.'
That book is un-rated and un-praised, unlike the one you have in your hands which is nothing but rated, mis-pronounced, garbled and mis-praised (at times even marginally strung-out)
but more than worth your precious time to wrap your mind around and get into.
Nevertheless.

~

This work, the result of years of excruciating research, has enwreathed and entombed me and has been made possible only by the co-operation of
scores of top-notch, top-drawer universities, Girl Guide Leaders, Toll Booth Attendees, Crossing Guard Interlopers with secrets (translatable using Mothers 'Make-It-Poetry' fridge-magnets, strangely repeatedly re-configured as, disrespectful and Far Side fucked-Up Phillip Larkin poems),
Ouija boards from the attic no one dare set slipper in, as well as scores of absurdly helpful Lindsay librarians
and the places that house them ~ the libraries.

~

Also, one of the editors of this work, Monsieur Dogmar Rulensan (who's not slept by what must be now 107 days and whose teeth are being shipped back to him in special bubble-wrapped polyurethane saran-wrap) has truly succeeded -- it seems -- in collecting over 1000 portraits, photographs, facsimiles, archaeological illustrations and other pictorial material germane to this field, in which the author has played... an arena of sulk and sickness intriguing to some but best avoided by most.

This, the first time that such likenesses, traditional, artistic and otherwise, have been assembled in one such vague, but VIVID, purposeful volume.

You, the recipient of these edgy, existential and wildly Dionysian akimbo-atic-limericks, should feel monumentally grateful and tres fortunate that you've come across this, the streamlined and readable version, this heartfelt mumbo-jumbo, that I swear by the end will make some sort of sense to you.

~

Numerous reproductions of paintings, emails, statues, letters, websites, Polaroids, pastries and other works of true art (trans-SUBSTANCE-iated into The Written Word) illuminating great thinkers of our time, who the author has, perhaps, once heard of or stumbled upon at a cocktail party, and ideas from varied mystics, fundamentalist scientists, dog-tired Dairy Queen part-timers, butchers, Mr. Submarine-sandwich-makers-with-see-through-plastic gloves and rotten-luncheon-minded-order-taking-protocol, coffee-baristas in-tight-flowery-summery-smocks from all lands will all now be revealed and made accessible to YOU, the reader.
Oh mercy!

*

Before letting go completely of one's own moral standards at that below-bargain-basement-sell your-soul-off-in-pieces-Yard Sale, however,
the reader is cautioned to bear in mind the fact that the author has spent considerable time mentally unbalanced.
Don't let that stop you, though.

*

F u r t h e r   A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s
a n d   C h e e r f u l   T h a n k s :

The Monks of the Hospice of St. Bernard (and their gargoyles that I swear rotate nightly in front of the church); The Police Commissioner of Indiana's wife for long sanguine and entwining
low-on-ethics-big-on-ease mid-day sessions (for research purposes only, of course);
those Car-Wash-Station-Attendees that have keys to the weirdest of places, like offices in buildings that I can't imagine for the life of me how... well, good for them, I guess: maybe this'll help heal their self-esteem and aid in proprietous plans; the girl that looks like Nancy Drew who sells sea shells full of moisturizer at the nearby sea shore drug store; that-rotund-yet-pleasant Security Guard at The Paramount Lot who kept letting me in because I told him I had an office (my own bungalow, actually) and that he'd be in some terrible trouble if he didn't let me pass, me ultimately passing out in big-shot-cheese-ball-Hollywood-starlets'-trailers from come-across-medication (my jaundiced investigative journalism - participatory, of course) having crossed the line, yet again, (!) due to an untreated compulsion to Shower Close To Stars. This, part of a once ongoing therapeutic - though cinematic and wildly entertaining - study, lasting many months.
I'm better now.

O T H E R S   T O   F O L L O W
if I can find just where I wrote them down... more than likely in my pants pocket, now in the wash.
To heck with The Dailes, The Weekly Rags and Monthly Mags, those too-big-for-their-britches Editorial-Hags
and any other agent/publisher who wouldn't pick me in the first few rounds when choosing teams for that
Lesbian-Lacrosse-Get-Together at Mademoiselle Shelley's house.
They don't know how much I've been practicing.

C u r l   u p
E n j o y . W o n ' t  y o u ?
I will do my best, also, to enjoy

*  *

Every kitten starts off soft and Good

My old friend Marqus mentioned in passing that,

"No self-respecting male in their right mind is going to buy a book with the word 'Kitten' in the title".

So, THAT's not going to work.

T h e   R e g r e t t a b l e   C h a r m
o f   t h e
I  m  p  o  s  t  e  r  ?

mmm...

T H E   G R A N D   M A N I P U L A T I O N

m a y b e . . . H o w  a b o u t

*

' T o m  F o o l e r y : 

T r a i l s  &  T a i l s

T a k e n  o f f  a 

S e c o n d  R a t e  J u n k i e '

...Simpler

please,

More specific and to the point...

T I M   F O O L E R Y :

T a l e s  o f  a  T h i r d  R a t e

J U N K I E

That's it !

~

This Book,

this grand manipulation,

riddled with impostor scenarios, pull-at-the-ole-heartstrings nostalgia,

steeped in mind-boggling surreal cinematic imagery,

starts right about here...

yes,

that is

-

good

now

*

you

have the

i d e a

- -

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

  One bad year never comes alone. This, I fear, is truth. I can only tell this story and hope for the best.
"Insanity is, time and time again, repeating the same actions and
expecting different results..."

*  *  *  *

Your Needed Prescription, as follows...         

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Le Tableau
Of Streaming Unconscious

1.  Me & Charles B......12
2.  Filthy Cocoon of Damaged Charm......17
3.  Still Filthy... ...20
4.  Tropic Travel  / An August Scene... ...23
5.  A Crossed Country......26
6.  My Haunted Carriage......30
7.  The Arrival & The Missed Flight......34
8.  City of Sulk......38
9.  Anybody Home?......42

'STRONG COFFEE BREAK...(Espresso preferred, if you can hunt it down)

10.  Hot Air......48
11.  Father Fodder / Seize the Sins......51
12.  Pocketful of Mother's Broth......58
13.  Lonely is an Eyesore......62
14.  On Being 'A Raider'......67
15.  A Call......70
16.  Treat Me......73
17.  Haikus for Hooligans / A Gazillion Miles From Pretty......76
18.  Mahler's Eve......83
A Quick Nod to the Long and Confusing Youth  -  ' A Q N to the L & C Y '  Part 1
19.  An Unselfish Act......84

'TAKE A NAP' BREAK...Pace Yourself, I had to.

20.  Genuine Lurking......85
21.  Up And Out Before It All Gets Going Again......87
22.  Waking Up Jesus (Jesuit Biscuit Break Notwithstanding)......89
23.  *Waking Up Jenny*......92
24.  Classy Charts & Games......99
A Quick Nod to the Long & Confusing Youth - A Q N to the L & C Y  Part II
25.  "Did They Not Invite You Back?" Afternoon of the Depend Adult Undergarment......103
26.  Not a Promising Bunch / The Towelette Episodic - Another Q N to the L & C Y  Part III ......103
27.  Milk Money......107
28.  Out of the Margin - Another Q N to the L & C Y......108
29.  The Impostor Serum......110

'BISCUIT BREAK'...Arrowroots/Digestives/Peak Freans of Various Sizes and Dimensions

30.  Hunting for Home......114
31.  Just Who's Home Here?......117
32.  Human Society / Somebody Spoke To Me......121
33.  *Strike Two*......129
34.  Off the Charts In Tears......133
35.  No Safety In Coffins......142
36.  The Church Thing......141
37.  Oddition......143
38.  The Sammy Situation......139
39.  Chipper Chomsky: An Invitation......142

'FEED THE CAT' BREAK...He can't do it himself

40.  You Have a Visitor......144
41.  Mice Advice......148
42.  Lie Bury......150
43.  The Bully......154
44.  I Pawned Dad......166
45.  Stolen Father......170
46.  A Different Kind Of Desperate......175
47.  Going For Sleep......178
48.  The Poppy Man......180
49.  Tao Of Tea......184

'DRUG OF CHOICE' BREAK...

50.  Watership Upside Down......185
51.  Health Fool Store......190
52.  Rid-a-Lyn / Reading, Rioting, Arrhythmia......193
53.  Lessons of Bonding / All Tongues All the Time / To Drum or Not to Drum......186
54.  Hip-Notic......206
55.  You're on Begging for Dollars!......209
56.  Ticking for Timing......213
57.  Narcotic Romance......215
58.  Sickness in Motion......205
59.  Keep following the bouncing Clues : The Mobile Sickness / Some Concerns
a+b+c+d+e+f = equals The Big F at the prom. Also equals Le Grande Misery when wheeling around......208

'WONDER WHERE IT WENT WRONG' BREAK... Ponder Life and your role in a Bigger Picture.

60.  *Another Visitor*......217
61.  Another City......219
62.  Always the Critic......223
63.  The Terrifying Brown Sugar Incident......242
64.  Falsify......231
65.  Witch Flavoured Yogurt......233
66. Head Stoned......236
67.  Stuffed Characters and their Chakras......243
68.  The World is Out of Sync......246

SNACK BREAK... J&B on the rocks will BREAK you...
This can be coupled with a BATHROOM BREAK...Have a bath, do whatever you do in there.
Also, you are out of Q-tips, make a list, there are other things...

70.  Mom's Visitor......247
71.  The Drama......250
72.  More Misplaced Affection......252
73.  The House of The Tarnished Gentleman......254
74.  Belfry......258
75.  Yo Yo Mommy. Yo, Daddyo......259
76.  Cinema Vere Tea / One of the Last Scalding Episodics......261
77.  Grave Words......265
78.  Another Airport......266
79.  Pretty Named Streets that Weren't......267
80.  Fields of Dreams: Epilogue......271

'CALL SOMEON E YOU LOVE' BREAK... and tell them so.
{And also about this splendid book which you've read}

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