There are books and there are words But to enter this labyrinth of the short stories of this madman and perusing through these tales, you may find yourself walking along a sunny country road one day and then suddenly you are taken hostage, whisked up to a star ship and taken to a holding cell deep inside the depths of America's brain trust and then spewed out through Syria and the Guantanamo bays of humanity, only to find that you have landed on a beach somewhere in South Australia, with a pink gin and find that you are pondering the meaning of words like quiddity. Hopefully by reading these stories you may experience all this without the inherent danger involved in having such unfortunate sanity. Sure there are better writers on the planet, but after reading this, you may realise that he actually does not come from this planet. He is just on an extended holiday and he only stays here because he is considered a lousy writer back where he comes from. Intro This is volume two in the trilogy of the life and death yarns of this silly man, maybe he should get out the crotchet hook, because they may have to lock him up before he finishes to attempt to tell the truth; and an old woman's hobby may be helpful whilst he wastes his life inside. Inside there may be life, but then most of us do not want to go there, so we just have to lie back, try not to tell too many lies in our life and peer at our existence through the stained glass eyes of one who has seen too many good times and insists on letting you into his globe of surrealist possibilities. Fasten your seatbelts because then you may enjoy the ride better. But then a glass of alcohol or three might help you appreciate the sentiments as well.