At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, June 01, 2016


Few normal people give their taxi driver an address which turns out to be a grave yard. When the vehicle came to a halt, he said "miss, we are here". There was no response. In the mirror he could see her head fading out, and when he turned around there were only fireflies there, which drifted out of the open window toward the cemetery gate.
He was glad he had not taken money beforehand.
It would have established a link.

The other night the bookseller and myself were perched in our usual window seat, observing the eccentric behaviour on the intersection of Broadway and Columbus, where the crazies roam. At one point we saw a couple hail a taxi, and the bookseller remarked that it was charmingly old-fashioned, without elaborating.

Which it is. Very nineteen eighties. Nowadays people avoid spontaneous one-night stands, in lieu of texting each other pictures of their private parts preparatory to meeting up again for long dialogues about their therapist and Bernie Sanders, followed by sharing some vegan crap served by hip programmer-wannabees.

Only after social niceties are out of the way will conjugation occur.

You have to be on guard for psychopaths, that's why.

The Eighties was a more trusting era.

No more shared taxis. It's all skype, twitter, and Lyft.


In South-East Asia they tell of pananggalan ("manananggal" in Tagalog), which are witches or warlocks with the ability to detach their heads from their bodies at night and fly about with their entrails dangling, looking for blood. During the daytime, they look and act like normal humans.

They are related to the gugulen (gulig-gulig), a skull daemon that rolls along jungle paths and the walkways between the rice paddies during rainstorms when the day becomes impossibly darkened, and also the puntianak, which is a woman who died in childbirth and is missing the centre part of her body in consequence, that keenly desires to rip out your guts, or often just everything twixt navel and knee.

But the pananggalan became so voluntarily, for the power it gives. Sometimes they become important politicians.

In almost all cases, the daemonic presence is described as having lovely long hair. And hair, of course, is potent, and symbolically sexual.
I'm just mentioning this, not reading anything into it.

The female in the taxi had long hair.
Long golden hair.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


  • At 3:24 PM, Anonymous Anon said…

    Have you ever tried Trump Cigars? Do you have any opinion of them? Are they worth smoking? Should I try them?

  • At 3:56 PM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Are those even made anymore? At one point, they were "Canada's Finest Cigar Value" -- two for a nickel -- but that was half a century ago.


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

Newer›  ‹Older