Some said Kane had become an ascetic monk. Others conjectured he was obsessed with Dolly Parton collectibles. Many said he was blocked and couldn’t turn over a story about a guy ruining a dinner party with a giant shit anymore. Or he no longer had the wherewithal to investigate the shocking amount of Monte Carlos in an Alden trailer park. And finally some said he lost perspective and didn’t have the insight to profile a renaissance man like Jesse Nolan and his never ending fashion statements. 

While the enigmatic author remained cryptic about the previous shutdown, this hiatus will find Kane engaged in an exciting new project—a travel blog called: Going Mobile With P.A.Kane.

The 1.5 millionth ranked Amazon author and his wife of nearly one-million years, three decades, Donna are heading out on the road to see and explore the U.S.A in their fully equipped Ram Promaster van. This first van life expedition will find them in such places as the South Dakota Badlands, the Grand Tetons in Wyoming and the Colorado Rockies, plus many others. This fall, instead of reporting on the failed congressional bid of Hitler enthusiast Carl Palidino—guess Western New York it isn’t Carl Country—Kane will posting daily updates from the road highlighting the beauty, grandeur and the indomitable spirit of the American people—hopefully without getting his liberal ass shot. 

“It’s a dream come true,” Kane said. “Ever since I read “On The Road” as a young man I’ve wanted to see America from a speeding vehicle. I hope this will be the first of many trips throughout the U.S., Canada and beyond. I should note, in “On The Road,” Kerouac never went to Canada even though he was of French-Canadian heritage. He went all over the U.S. and Mexico, but not Canada. Kerouac probably didn’t go to the great white north for the same reason I’m a little hesitant—bears. I know, Canadiens are gentle, peace loving people, but they have bears—like everywhere. There’s more fucking bears in Canada than jelly doughnuts and it’s a little unnerving for a slow footed white man such as myself.”

Please join bear repellent equipped author P.A. Kane as he goes mobile across America. You can link to his new travel blog here or on the side panel of this site. And look for the return of Buffalo Mud in the near future. Thank you for the continued support.

Also, don’t forget to make the toast and tea. 

The post Local Author Going On Sabbatical . . . Again appeared first on buffalomud.com.

West Seneca, NY—Donna Kane, the wife of local author P.A.Kane has been giddy for the last two weeks as skilled handyman and all-around good guy Rich Hannotte has been updating the couple’s kitchen in their West Seneca home. After enduring years of procrastination and excuses from her writer husband regarding this project, Mrs. Kane is now reevaluating her life choices.

Watching Hannotte work Mrs. Kane thought about how much more enjoyable life might have been had she spent it with someone who could measure and cut with accuracy; who could tape and caulk with fluency and who could problem solve in a matter of minutes rather than dilly-dalling around for years in front of a computer screen like her writer husband as endless house projects languished.  

It was Kane himself—Amazon’s 1.5 millionth ranked author who noted the positive change in his wife’s disposition. “Yes,” she said, “It feels so good to see our living space transformed. I’m so glad we hired Rich. He’s so amazing.”

Feeling a little overlooked Kane pointed out that he did much of the demolition work in preparation for this makeover. His wife gave him an encouraging smile and told him he made a killer pot of coffee, that he was good at carrying things like ceramic tile and buckets of joint compound and he was like the best monkey at tearing off god-awful paneling from the walls and ripping up old flooring, but as far as real handyman skills went—severely lacking.

Kane became indignant and proudly declared that he had an upside. He pointed out his recent deep dive into the life of Jack Kerouac.” (*author’s note* Last month Kane visited Lowell, Massachusetts the birthplace of trendsetting Beat Generation author Jack Kerouac on his 100th birthday).

“Kerouac,” she said, raising her voice. “You’ve spent months sitting on your ass reading his books, reading books about him, watching documentaries, writing dumb poems, how about instead of that you learn to hammer a fucking nail or maybe change out a leaky faucet? Huh, how about that? Jack Kerouac—give me a break.”

She then stormed off to their bedroom and stared out the window. Standing there as she reevaluated her life choices she quickly became uncomfortable as a cool breeze filtered through the edges of the window frame where the caulk had chipped away from years of neglect.

At Jack Kerouac’s Grave
Ti Jean,
You chased 
Those falling stars
Looking for meaning
Looking for purpose
In your restless search
In your poverty and homelessness
You found a voice
A voice of majesty and exhilaration 
A voice of desolation and disillusion
And here where your body lies
In your release from suffering
In your golden eternity
We honor the fierce and gentle radiance
You brought to this sad angry world

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Buffalo, NY—He was at Madison Square Garden for the “No Nukes” concert in ‘79. He was at the WTO protests in Seattle in 1999. And, this past spring he marched religiously in the Black Lives Matter protests. So it came as quite a shock to Swen Soweto, a lifelong liberal, to be fingering among his Chandler, Kerouac and Chuck Palahniuk novels in one of his bookshelves to come upon “The Virtue of Selfishness.” by Ayn Rand. Soweto immediately recoiled at this screed of conservative thought and went searching for his wife for an explanation. 

His wife of thirty plus years, Helena Rosetta-Soweto couldn’t be sure how the slim volume ended up on the shelf, but suspected it was purchased during the week or so in the early 90’s he listened to Rush Limbaugh. “Remember, you called me a feminazi and I jammed a bologna sandwich down the back of your shirt?” A lightbulb then went off in Soweto’s head. 

Wincing in pain he furrowed his brow and recalled how back in the early 90’s, not only did he listen to Limbaugh for about a week, but how he used to shop at a used book store on Elmwood Avenue called Circular Word. After going in there for a while, Gene the owner, who chained smoked non-filters and had teeth so yellow, you’d swear they had an acute case of jaundice, called him out for all the bullshit he was reading. “What?” Gene would say, “Are you through all the Susan Sontag and now you’re moving onto Betty Freidan? How about you read manly stuff like Nietzsche or William F. Buckley or if it’s the ladies you like so much try Ayn Rand.”  

Paging through the slim Ayn Rand book Soweto stopped in a few places and started reading and quickly found the crux of Rand’s argument—man is a heroic being and his own personal happiness should be the purpose of his life. That was the gateway drug for these lying small government assholes like Paul Ryan and Rand Paul, who tried to trick people into thinking programs like Social Security was some kind of handout. And, they told these people instead relying in this government handout they should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and take ownership of their pathetic lives. They said all this while giving big tax breaks to rich people.

A chill ran down Soweto’s spine as he placed the Ayn Rand book in his recycling bin. He then spent the night sipping Grey Goose on the rocks with a spritz of lime and listening to U2 expound on all the streets with no names, before falling asleep watching Rachel Maddow on MSNBC.

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