The Bullhorn of SILVER BROWN

SILVER BROWN: The Final Chapters

Chapters Seventeen and Eighteen will soon be presented to the good people of Planet Earth on Twitter. A new page every day, as usual. I usually start doing this sort of thing on the seventh day of a given month (i.e. today), but this time I’m reluctant to start doing that while the Stanley Cup playoffs are still on.

Ovi knows that feeling. Maybe not so much this year, but he knows that feeling.

The aforementioned sporting tournament is typically over long before the solstice, but this is hardly a typical year. So I tweaked the scheduling accordingly. The tweetment of these pages shall commence the morning after Lord Stanley’s Mug is hoisted. Which could be as soon as tonight*, for all I know.

* My apologies to any diehard Habs fans reading this, but your guys are as good as toast. They’ve clearly met their match with the Bolts’ powerful blue line. Tampa could replace Vasilevskiy with a three-toed sloth and there wouldn’t be any noticeable improvement to your shots on goal.

Once I run out of pages to tweet, SILVER BROWN shall be officially retired as a literary project. This site will then go through a molting phase of its life cycle. I know not what will eventually hatch out of the cocoon, but not knowing is half the fun.


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

Just Beyond a Gross of Cedars: A Visual Novella

Happy Canada Day weekend to all my country(wo)men reading this. If you’re into that sort of thing. Some folks have chosen to forgo celebrating the aforementioned holiday this year, in light of this, this and that, and the who knows how many more like those which haven’t (yet) made headlines. Others never celebrate it any year, because they’ve always seen Canada as an imaginary fantasy land that doesn’t exist outside the collective imagination of the white man. And you know what? It’s all good. Part of what I love about this country is that the practice of fetishizing the state has always been looked upon as weird. Unless hockey is involved in some way, jingoism is just not a part of our culture. Pay no attention to what our opposition leader said recently. A federal election could likely be around the corner, so he’s just peddling outrage and demagoguery in order to score cheap brownie points with the base. Because that’s what conservatives are into these days. Coming up with an actual platform is too hard.

The freedom to create a parodic re-interpretation of the national flag like this one without being labelled a traitor or being threatened with bodily injury by complete strangers is an actual thing in Canada.

Nestled somewhere in that imaginary fantasy land called Canada is a little hideyhole out in the wilderness where I went to get inspired for whatever it is I’m going to write next. It’s a short drive down a side road like this one. With only one lane. So if somebody else is leaving the hideyhole at the same time you arrive, you have to get a bit creative behind the wheel. But it’s well worth the risk.  


The chillest dog I’ve ever seen was there to greet me to the hideyhole. As chill as Canada herself. Wasn’t getting busy sniffing every crotch he could get his nose on. Like a lot of dogs would in a crowd of unfamiliar people. Just lying there, being all chill. Even after getting pet by multiple passersby. I wasn’t sure if he was naturally that chill or if his owner gave him Scooby Snacks an hour before coming to the beach. Didn’t bother to ask.  

Chill as fuck.
Somebody’s off to get more Scooby Snacks.

On the second level is an executive parking lot…

This ain’t my car.

…and when the moon is in the seventh house, the sand is pink…

I’m getting a hankerin’ for Baskin-Robbins for some strange reason.

Maybe it’s the same tidal forces that create that gnarly sand dune effect at the bottom of the lake…

The sun totally photobombed this pic.

…or maybe it was from whatever witchly magnetic energies are emanating from this thing…

…but somewhere along the way there, I ran over some huge industrial projectile that must’ve fallen of somebody’s truck, and ended up with this…

Fortunately some merrie elfin creature came out of the woods to lend me his tire compressor, so I could inflate the tire just enough to go back to wherever it is I’m hanging my hat at the moment. Which is somewhere down this road…


Flat tire aside, the only downside to this place is that if you suddenly have to drop the kids off at the pool, you have to do it like the bears do it, and I don’t mean the Charmin bears either…

…but the positives far outweigh the negatives, for sure. There’s a few literary ideas to come out of a stately-looking outhouse that nobody can actually use.

While floating in that exquisite emerald green water (which I would have taken a picture of if I wasn’t paranoid about dropping my phone in the lake) I saw a cloud formation that looked like a colossal larval entity with a face that vaguely resembled that of one of the minor characters from The Empire Strikes Back

This guy, specifically.

The Journey of SILVER BROWN

Meditate on This, I Will

More of the summer will be spent on conceptualizing than on writing, methinks. The upcoming season will be ideal for that. I do my best thinking when I’m somewhere near a beach…