Maxed Out

(Prague, VPI) I’m lost in Kafka’s Prague. Franz, one of the city’s most famous sons, has always been termed a writer of ‘fiction.’ I’m not so sure.

By G.D. Maxwell Not today and not tomorrow and neither the day after that nor the day after that but the very next day is... Canada Day. It’s a holiday.

By G.D. Maxwell When my Perfect Partner and I arrived in Whistler a little over a decade ago, pretty much everything we owned of a corporeal nature fit neatly into Mello Yello, the recently acquired but already well-travelled Westfailya.

By G.D.

By G.D. Maxwell History is rarely anybody’s favourite subject in school. I’m not sure why but if pressed, I’d have to lay the blame at the feet of most of the people who teach the subject.

By G.D. Maxwell "I’ve got blisters on my fingers!" — John Lennon Me too. And thumbs, and palms and a few other places I’d rather not mention.

By G.D. Maxwell Less is more. Small is beautiful. Money for nothing. Chicks for free. Nice thoughts. All nice thoughts. Orwellian, but nice. And let’s be honest, totally out of step with who we are and what we’ve become.

By G.D. Maxwell It’ll be like trying to sell bibles to atheists. Big Macs to vegetarians. Abstinence to swingers.

By G.D. Maxwell "Enough is enough!" My sister and I were playing on the livingroom floor. We were engaged in an escalating moment of our favourite game.

We become who we are slowly. We evolve.