Tale the First: A serialised, satirical novel of Americans on a European tour.

This is the opening for satirical novel, Overland to the World, a collection of interrelated tales about Americans on a European coach holiday, which has been published in serialised form on Medium. As a pretentious and affected Anglophile, I purposely used the “s” instead of the “z.”

Dump the boring classics with these engaging modern novels. Reading is Knowledge. Photo link: Young adult literature. Link

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"An hour passed. I remained inside the red Kia Sorento on the sandy drive of The Aunt’s ‘double wide deluxe’ trailer house.

In that hour, I reconstructed the collapse of my universe, including our arrival in the States at Philadelphia International. Why no Littleman kin there to greet us? Did they lack propriety?

A storm had been brewing, but no rain — only winds and ominous, threatening skies direct from King Lear — my mum’s favorite play.

On the drive, we passed The Town Tavern — the parking lot jammed with motorbikes. There were no “pubs” in America, The Father told me.

Was that racist? Not only offensive but archaic?"

Parting May Not Be Such Sweet Sorrow

We had separated in Pisa, Italy because we were driving each other crazy.

Laura had taken the train to London to stay with a “friend.” This was August of 1990. I was twenty-one. Three weeks traveling with me through Europe was more than enough.

The story of Europe and the further troubles in England is a miniseries mock-u-melodrama for another time when my tears and shame will become a much longer comedy than this anecdote of humor and humility.

In Pisa, I recall turning my back, and suddenly Laura, with her blonde hair and slender figure, with the hair in that high, one-can-of-hairspray-a-day-routine, as was the fashion in New Jersey then when a lighted match or a flick of a Bic was a real thing to fear, was surrounded by four Italian guys in the leather market.

The stereotype of Italian men is true. Let no one say otherwise. One of those Italian lads had more sex appeal in his pinky cuticle than I did in my whole body. I was slightly overweight then, despite the 20K steps we took each day. I was jealous. Why weren’t they coming on to me? I’m not gay, mind you, but those guys were gorgeous. And would they buy me a leather jacket?

They also didn’t look like they had been backpacking for three weeks either.

Laura wanted to shop. I wanted history. And to trangugiare more Italian food (gobble) and request pastries in a series of ridiculous hand gestures.

"I was the first to arrive at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. My ramblings were over. From London, BritRail rushed me north with my battered hunter-green backpack with as many books as clothes and dirty underwear.

That color had faded in the Mediterranean sun. Had I faded, too, from weeks of traveling? Was I ready to study?

I settled into Lovaine Flats (Flat 10. Room 3). My fine custodian, both caretaker and mother, was Lorraine. I made her my specialty: Chicken Hawaiian over rice.

A few things were hard to find in Northern England. Like pineapple. The plates and silverware came from an expensive store in Eldon Square, like Macy’s. What did I know? Thirty years later, I still have them."

Walter Bowne awakes from a dream on November 23rd, and hits record. https://cloud.speechvid.com/bgmusic. The image from the author’s dream on Wednesday night, November 23rd. Link. Waddesdon Manor Link. Photo by Elliot Brown. Image by the author/ Pixlr.com.

“The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

This map hangs proudly in our “map room” of our family room. The different colored pins chart the places we have been as a family and as single explorers

A satirical novel about a London lad in serialised form.

With the spare change in my trousers, I made a copy of Emily’s letter. One day I hope to publish “The Collected Correspondence of Thaddeus Littleman.”

Would such an audience exist for innocent and pretentious musings? Who would ever purchase such poppycock?

The Waterford Library was a bright oasis — inside — with new, earth-toned rugs, fresh paint, almost mauve, with comfy, cushioned chairs for reading by the windows — with four orange chairs around a circular table, laminated and clean. I’m writing now in the Study Room. For writing, sometimes I love sound — like the bustle of a London coffee house — and other times, like now, I want to be sealed away from the world and pain.

It’s sound proof, in here. I hear my thoughts reverberate on the narrow walls, like a being living confined to a coffin. Or a monk in a dorm, copying the Word for readers that will one day exist, long after death; a light in the darkness; a quill in hand, hands stained in ink, creating in long hand on dried, stretched lamb’s skin what will eventually be called Times New Roman. The candle burning — the light, ambient enough, the wax collecting like a queer stalagmite on the writing table.

A medieval link to the modern world. Art in Darkness. Oxygen in a sea of brainless sea anemones — minus the colors vibrant.

The outside of the Waterford Library was a different story — it was, perhaps, the only place alive in a strip mall dead or near-death stores — including a market that had once been called “Murphy’s.” It would have been brilliant to have a market for fresh produce so close!

“Stop Breakin’ Down” from Robert Johnson never runs out of gas. First published on The Riff: https://medium.com/the-riff/this-stuff-may-bust-your-brains-out-96afada20c5c?sk=3468d213ee77299137791cce2f262092

I first knew this song from The White Stripes. 1999. I mean, I’m a huge Blues fan. An Alt-Rock Dude. Classic Rock Dude. Of course, I knew the music of Robert Johnson — but I didn’t know he recorded the Original.

Stupid, me. I just ordered the Complete Collection of Robert Johnson on Amazon. When it comes to music, I don’t like being stupid. But I still buy CDs. What gives, man?

I started researching “Stop Breaking Down.” Many great covers. You will love this, man — or woman. I promise. Hang on to your Les Paul Gibson L1.

Using rain water helps Nature in so many ways, and it’s easy. First published in The Environment. https://medium.com/the-environment/rain-barrels-help-with-more-than-the-water-bill-3f7895901ccb?sk=526c54653c03d1fc50646a0cf3de872d