October 2024
Welcome Message + Big Days + Art/Photo + Travel + More Art/Photos + Clickbait + What's on Page 2 + Music Bullpen
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Sing
Find more music at the bottom of the page ↓↓↓
The songs only appear in web mode
The songs only appear in web mode
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
- Lindsay Wincherauk
- Lindsay Wincherauk
October 1, 2024
Chocolate Bars + Free Range Potato Chips and Hot Dogs
Excerpt from "Life Without Mirrors."
Excerpt from "Life Without Mirrors."
Olivia, seeing you again is a relief, like watching a fog lift to reveal a familiar landscape, one becoming more apparent with every word we share. I think you’re becoming whole.
Last night was an anomaly—I stayed out far later than my usual 5:30 PM home time, wandering until the witching hour cracked midnight. I entered my building, disoriented, on level UM. As I pressed the button and the elevator doors slid open, the sight shocked me into silence: six police officers clad in heavy armour, bristling with weapons. “Is this going up? Can I join you?” I queried.
“Yes.”
Calm has become a foreign feeling, Olivia. Two days ago, at the 7-Eleven, when I wanted to buy a chocolate bar, I found them inexplicably under lock and key in a glass display—two-for-one signage imprisoned alongside them.
I felt uneasy, pitying the employee forced to guard everything but chips and self-serve hot dogs. The locked-up chocolate was a sad reminder of a deeper issue: Why is there so much suffering and struggle?
I bought chips instead and ate them as I paced in front of the Fitness Asylum windows, watching exercisers contort inside.
Back in the elevator, panic set in. “I had a weed gummy and a couple of beers. Jay made me do it,” I confessed.
The officers exchanged bewildered glances.
When I first saw them, I fought my initial impulse—the urge to run. I imagined the officers shouting, “We have a rabbit!” and just as Hondo from S.W.A.T. tackled me mid-sprint, demanding, “Why run if you're innocent?” And I’d gasp, “I just want to go home.”
The day they lock up the chips and hot dogs will mark a seminal moment—the beginning of the end.
What about you, Olivia, my my-ever-lessening-spectral friend.
Last night was an anomaly—I stayed out far later than my usual 5:30 PM home time, wandering until the witching hour cracked midnight. I entered my building, disoriented, on level UM. As I pressed the button and the elevator doors slid open, the sight shocked me into silence: six police officers clad in heavy armour, bristling with weapons. “Is this going up? Can I join you?” I queried.
“Yes.”
Calm has become a foreign feeling, Olivia. Two days ago, at the 7-Eleven, when I wanted to buy a chocolate bar, I found them inexplicably under lock and key in a glass display—two-for-one signage imprisoned alongside them.
I felt uneasy, pitying the employee forced to guard everything but chips and self-serve hot dogs. The locked-up chocolate was a sad reminder of a deeper issue: Why is there so much suffering and struggle?
I bought chips instead and ate them as I paced in front of the Fitness Asylum windows, watching exercisers contort inside.
Back in the elevator, panic set in. “I had a weed gummy and a couple of beers. Jay made me do it,” I confessed.
The officers exchanged bewildered glances.
When I first saw them, I fought my initial impulse—the urge to run. I imagined the officers shouting, “We have a rabbit!” and just as Hondo from S.W.A.T. tackled me mid-sprint, demanding, “Why run if you're innocent?” And I’d gasp, “I just want to go home.”
The day they lock up the chips and hot dogs will mark a seminal moment—the beginning of the end.
What about you, Olivia, my my-ever-lessening-spectral friend.
I feel bad for Potato Chips.
Lowered esteem.
Why am I not worthy?
I feel bad for the Hot Dogs.
Lowered esteem.
Why are we not worthy?
I feel sad for Humanity.
We need to look out for each other.
Lowered esteem.
Why am I not worthy?
I feel bad for the Hot Dogs.
Lowered esteem.
Why are we not worthy?
I feel sad for Humanity.
We need to look out for each other.
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↓The Big Days↓
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There comes a point in life (maybe an age) where if we are not spending most of our time cultivating our passions and chasing our dreams—eventually, you'll become nothing more than small talk.
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October 1
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Open Mic Nights @treescoffee
450 Granville Streets
(Every Second Thursday Night)
450 Granville Streets
(Every Second Thursday Night)
Click on Images to watch Sets
Open-Mic 1: Uplifting Low Points
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Open-Mic 2: Poetry (Empathy + Compassion)
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Open-Mic 3: Life is a Short Story (Mums)
The last time Wincherauk applied for work, he said the internet didn’t exist.
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
I suspect our collective digital obsession has dulled our ability to listen and empathize truly.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
Longest Pass
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
1978 National Champion Saskatoon Hilltops
"Boy in the Blue Hammock is worthy of classic status ... Groth's writing is extraordinary, heart-eviscerating and gripping..."
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
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Wincherauk’s Signature Blend: A Roaring River of Thought
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Lindsay-The Memoir + Glue + Real Life + The Stairs + Prose + Humans' Bistro + Plus 15 + Abe +
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books ~ photos ~ food ~ comedy ~ tennis
easily the hottest site on the web
What's on Page 2
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Music Bullpen
178 Songs in Waiting
(59 x 3) +1
(59 x 3) +1
Write. Read. Sing. Dance. Be Kind.
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unconditional
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