Dying Dann’s Adventures With Death #11

Is Death overrated?

Why do we all fear ascension?

Am I wrong to look forward to my final day?

I’m not suicidal.
BUT, I’m looking forward to my final death.

Nine times I’ve passed and had to return.

That’s not fair.

I have outlived so many souls that deserved to have outlived me.

I feel guilt.

I feel like I have cheated my friends somehow.

Why have I lived to be sixty-two?

Why did the Creators take my handsome son, Jordan, via a Christmas Day suicide, my beautiful Sheena Eve, my beloved Steve and Danny Delaney, my almost son, Jason Jilks, Jonathan, Dougie, three of my namesake sons, Daniel Juniors, my father and my Mother?

My only answer is, as I’ve stated in blogs and my books, we live seven lives.

We walk seven paths. 7 plains of space/time continuums.

Google seven existences or read the holy books.

(All mention seven )

We are not meant to be aware of this though.

Some, such as I, are cursed by knowing they have walked these walks.

My lighthouse premonitions are a curse.

Eighth walk is a bitch, Boo.

For there is no nineth crack at the bat.

This final stride I must walk is my penance, my own personal Hell laid before me by my own personal Jesus.

Should have listened to my Mother,

“Never trust a gangster.”

But, I was a gangster most my life. I had to trust them.

If I let you into my home I trusted you.

I should have listened to my father-in-law who once told me,

“The only trouble in your home is the trouble YOU let through your door.”

I didn’t take that advice.

I don’t fear life because I don’t fear death and as my autobiography.

“Walk With Dann Collection”

shows, I earned a horrible death.

Here is a prime example of what and how deep I played “The Game.”

Bomb Grade Vests

The Stash

The bags are Heroin, Crystal Meth, Crack Cocaine and Pure Cocaine.

Nice citizens we? NOT!!!

I made my money by storing hundreds of thousands of dollars in drugs. Often storing guns and explosives.

My location was a safe house. The “Vault.”

Perhaps, this will show you how I have changed from being, “Shake Dann Verner” – the extremely dangerous gangster of my youth into The LightHouse Dann”.

I have worked very hard to become a better person. A citizen, but, not a citizen Kane.

We even had the gangster Mercedes complete with a stash box in the back of the passengers seat.

Bullet proof side panels and glass.

We looked great cashing our welfare cheques.

Like I said,

“Nice citizens.”

Don’t fear Death – fear life.

Death is easy, living is difficult.

The universe plays tricks on us.

I live with my sadness and guilt daily.

I will certainly continue to do so.

Yet, I shed tears daily for the souls the Cosmic Muffin stole from me and from their loved ones.

I fear not dying.

I fear living.

Dying is painful, believe me, but it is also easy.

Living is difficult in every way.

Thusly so.

By being so it teaches the necessary life lessons.

I fear the pain of missing those who I’ve outlived.

I have passed through life while more deserving were robbed of such.

My first murder was dismissed by a very expensive lawyer and a short stay in a mental asylum.

Events over the years would make my lawyers wealthy men.

The gods have had their fun with me.

The devils have played their sick tricks.

I’ll not come back the next time.

Follow me if you wish, but don’t walk my path.

I will pass this final time with a foolish grin and a happy heart.

Until that day, I stand as you will for life is a bitter pill.

I wait for my last day. Smiling.

I have had so many, too many lowlife people take pieces from my soul.

This would break the spirit of most people.

I still will give whatever piece of me there is left.

A mere act of kindness and humbleness is priceless in the game we call, “life.”

I am a realist.

My life is too precious to be brought into a depression via actions I can not control.

I find humour in every situation and aspects of my life.

There may be a hurricane on the ground, but, you can rise above the storm clouds..

It is always sunny above the clouds.

I will still trust people.

Not everyone is the same.

The gangsters will have their laughs.

Little do they know what awaits them.

Valhalla is for heroes and warriors.

Helhiem is not.

In closing, may I state, that although I write regarding my past criminal experiences and actions, I am not proud of any of them.

I Pray that my posts, blogs. Vlogs and books will touch one soul and change their life.

“Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Namaste’ my friend.




Dying Dann’s Adventures With Death #10

Often I find myself quite amused by what I observe around me.

I have always been able to “read” people.

A survival instinct brought forth by my leaving home at 12 years old.

To begin my accelerated rush through puberty.

A manchild at 12. Living in a Hippie Drug Commune.

Within two years I would become an opiate junkie.

The Original Urban Viking LightHouse Dann

Long story short……….

My life has always been a numerous collective of poetic tragedies, good times, sad times, love won and love lost.

I am a firm believer in being a true realist.

I am a “REALIST.”

There are no sad/happy times.

There is no “time”.

Time” is but a manmade instrument of measurement. A necessity for society to be able to record history.

It does not exist as we define, “existence“.

Every single moments of your life are just that. Moments. An ink mark on manmade paper with a manmade pen.

From my waking up in the morning and until I lay my head down to sleep, I gleefully gobbled up all and any bites of knowledge I could find.

I developed an insatiable appetite for knowledge.

Like a sneaky toddler who finally gets the cookie jar open.

This need for mindful stimulation replaced my opiate addiction.

Saving my life as far as I am concerned.

You cannot overdose on the daily life lessons that our soon to be “dystopian” society has laid out before you.

At a very young age I had to learn how to read if a person was friend or foe. This was done immediately. As soon as we were introduced.

Had I not, then my life could have been and often was placed in certain danger.

Truth be known, I wouldn’t be here today had I not learned so soon.

I would have succumbed to the dark and dangerous side of streetlife.

Either a murder victim or an overdose.

The latter I have experienced many times.

Narrowly cheating Death too often to count.

Those times where the “Dragon” chased and caught me.

Not vice versa.

We did not have “Naxalone” kits back then.

You overdosed, you spun the wheels of fate.

Technically I have been a “Murder Victim” twice.

Once when a lovely group of motorcycle enthusiasts and I had a slight business debate over the black market price of Valium.

We must have had a very religious talk.

I recall asking for a moment with my God.

I don’t think “He” showed up.

I remember asking for the Catholic Son of God to come to the party.

If he arrived I cannot seem to remember.

It was as if I was swooped up into a surreal tornado of pain and confusion.

I think that when the one eyed nice man accidentally broke his chair on my head I may have blacked out.

(I truly believed and wished he had tried some of the Valium before he got upset.)

Somehow, I ended up laying like a crucified martyr on the yellow line of the McKay Highway in New Brunswick, Canada.

The RCMP, (Royal Canadian Mounted Police), discovered me and I literally breathed my last breathe in the Constable’s arms.

50 miles from the nearest hospital.

Broken leg, arm and fractured skull.

The Constable managed to revive me and applied CPR till the ambulance arrived.

Bless her soul for not walking away from my unconscious form and for her quick response to administer CPR.

The second time was in that cesspool Quebec calls, “Montreal“.

Where systematic racism against all who are not Québécois has and will always be a reality.

Again, I had a mere business argument over the price of a little garbage bag full of a white substance.

Say about 5 kilos worth.

I figured it being in a garbage bag meant it was perhaps unwanted and cheap.

Wouldn’t you believe the same if someone passed you a garbage bag full of a white substance?

Well, apparently I was wrong to assume such.

I also thought I should not have to pay.

I even offered to take the garbage out for them.

Hell, I carried a gun back then.

Hell, I carried two guns back then.

I even showed them my guns.

The guy with the gun and the white hat always wins in the movies.

Right? Always wins.

(Unfortunately, that day, I forgot to wear the white hat.)

A short time after showing them my guns , I was discovered deceased in a laneway next to my hotel.

Funny how, immediately after they heard the sound of the window’s glass shattering, passerbys witnessed me and my chair bouncing down the service laneway.

Thankfully, a good Samaritan was gracious enough to dial the 3 magic digits, 911.

It may have been the extreme beating and/or forced overdose that stopped my heart.


I am inclined to believe that the chair ride held most of the blame.

I believe that when the nice gentlemen picked up the chair they had joyfully tied me to and then accidentally through it with me out the second floor window, well, and this is just my personal belief, mind you, it may have contributed to my temporary demise.

The only time in my life that I was happy to be in Montreal was in the back of that ambulance.

Waking to the cramp from the defibrillator and vomit spewing out of my nose and mouth taught me a lot.


The activated charcoal solution they pumped into my stomach tasted like I had licked the inside of a charcoal barbeque.


I do not like Montreal.

I go into the plane’s toilet and make a healthy bowel movement each and every time I have flown over that itchy city.

My own personal “Mile High Club”.

‘Nuff said. I sound racist. I am not. I “race” for no man.

I never race. I am lazy like that.

So I leave you with this polyl of knowledge…..

Your life and well being is a matter of choosing the right choices.

Choose wisely.

So sayeth The LightHouse Verner


Some may find the visual aids within to be too emotional for many people. The written media also targets at the minimum 14 years plus.)

Here are some pictures from various stages of my Cancer treatment.

“I have always been highly spiritual. Rarely religious.

My Queen Heals Me Spiritually


But, I had slowly been feeling flu like syptoms for a few weeks at this point.

I spent most mornings reflecting about life. Subliminal messages telling me to beware.

I should have not procrastinated.

Nightsweats became daysweats


I have a strong survivalists side. I do not lay down in a battle. It is an Irish Genetic Inheritance.

There’s humour in all instances of life. I soon had to find reasons to smile.

Hospital stay 7. Combined weeks since January 4th, 2019, equal 19, so far.

The smiles are half truths. I hide many emotions. Or rather, I ‘used’ to hide them. Now, I let the truth be told.


This pain is relentless. None stop for two weeks now. 24/7, has not stopped once.

It is by far the worse pain I have ever experienced. And pain and I are lifelong buddies.

This pain is a b*dstard!!!!

Many battles won. No losses. Round Two! Finish HIM!!!!

So, this is just a tidbit of the Faces I have and must endure. There are smiling ones with genuine joy. There are sad ones with devastating sorrow. There are bland boring pictures and there are silly ‘selfies‘ taken inthe middle of a night when sleep evaded.

Here are 3 pictures that tell exactly how 18 hours of my day presently go.

Picture 1 – Pain rushes in like an out-of-control freight train. All I can do is squeeze my skull as tightly as possible and strap in for the ride.

Picture 2 – Accept that it is what it is. Unstoppable, untreatable pain. Let the tears flow – they earned their journey.

Picture 3 – Recover. No time for this to be stealing moments that are best held for love and joy. Cry it out. Hold my head high and dance in my Light.

I am an Urban Viking. The last of the Canadian Cosmonauts.

Cancer is soon to be dumbfounded when I kick it’s demonic ass into the dust of Hell whence it came.

I had a double session of radical radiation therapy every morning and another double set every afternoon for 20 days. 80 treatments, 20 days.


Amazing technology


I kept my mask. A gentle, but stark reminder of this “Walk With Dann.”

March 2, 2019 4a.m.- My spleen literally exploded. I bled out. I was brought back.

The surgeon and various doctors could only say one word to describe the recovery and my being alive.


“Valhalla does not wish for my company and Helheim has a Peace Bond on me.”

I will post a few more similar blogs such like this one.

To add a face to my “Diary of An Old Man With The C”.

Until then I shall be wruting in the two works I have in ‘progress’.

I want to leave behind my story for my future generations to understand who and why I was placed upon this beautiful blue marble.

Till then,


The Fear of Cancer

Not often I have ‘fear‘.

I have it now. I fear that I may not beat this cancer.

I was diagnosed on October 22nd, 2018, with Pharyngeal and Squamous Cell Carcinoma. Stage four.

I was past the ability to be treated via chemotherapy and conventional radiation. My only three options were let nature take her course or surgery to remove my complete tongue and lymph nodes (leaving me with zero quality of life) or receive radical aggressive radiation.

I chose the latter. Receiving a double session twice per day for twenty days. The actual treatment was easy. Just lay down, strapped in a cage and a mere fifteen minutes listening to Pink Floyd as the machine’s robotic arms did their task.

I was pleased when on March the first I completed the therapy and was told it had succeeded in killing all the tumors.

What I didn’t understand at that time was the worse part comes after the therapy. As the tumors diminished the damage from the radiation and cancer surfaces. This, apparently, can go on for up to two years.

My throat swelled and on the exterior turned purple. A side affect of the radiation burn and dying tissues within.

I had a few complications during the course of treatment. I developed a huge abscess in my lower abdominal cavity, possibly from the feeding g-tube implant. It required minor surgery to remove and drain. This was followed by a major battle with septicemia. A battle I thankfully won.

I was released from the Princess Margaret Cancer Center on January 31, 2019. After being hospitalized for twenty seven days. I was glad to be home.

At four in the morning of February the 2nd my spleen exploded. I bled out and have only survived because I live blocks from the Michael Garron Hospital. I was revived. Received four pints of blood, rapid infusion of Ringers lactate, a litre of iron sucrose and twenty nine staples on my abdomen. Complete removal of my spleen.

I spent all of February and half of March in Princess Margaret. My weight dropped down to ninety seven pounds. A far cry from my average one hundred and seventy.

I look like a survivor from a Nazi Death Camp.

I was sent home mid March to complete my treatment as an out-patient.

Things were well at first. I could not swallow most food so I was dependant on six cans of condensed Isosource nutrients to feed my body. I managed to get my weight up to one hundred and twenty-two pounds.

But, a big but, the damage from the tumors and radiation was surfacing more and more. The pain of swallowing increasingly getting worse. To the point I feared swallowing even my saliva.

This I am still plagued with as I write.

My weight loss increased and depression tried to take over my logic. I feared that I would definitely die. I have that fear still, as do my caregivers.

No longer able to function properly I resigned myself to the reality of coming back into the hospital.

Presently, I am hospitalized in the magnificent Toronto General Hospital. A Blessing of living in Toronto with the world class treatment of Toronto General and the adjoined Princess Margaret Cancer Center. Two of the best hospitals worldwide.

If I lived anywhere else I am positive I would not be authoring this blog on this foggy Sunday morning.

I am not sure what is to happen to me next. Neither are my team of doctors.

I have been here a mere few days, having been admitted on the twenty four of May. So, I am awaiting the results of my MRI, CT Scan and numerous other tests.

Tomorrow I have to have minor surgery to re-implant a gastric feeding tube and biopsy of my tongue and throat.

So far my diagnosis is as follows:

1) as my body absorbed the dead tumors it left behind holes, like potholes in a road. These ‘holes‘ have developed ulcers.

2) The ulcers can be one of three types. (A) non-cancerous, (B) Cancerous but treatable and (C) Cancerous non-treatable

3) I am severely malnourished and dehydrated.

Hopefully, by tomorrow evening I will know for sure what battle lays before me.

I am a ‘realist’. Hence, I take things in stride. It is what it is and I will deal with whatever falls my way with logic over emotions.

I also trained myself to always expect the worse possible scenarios. Reason being if I am expecting the worse no matter what my diagnosis is to be it shall be better than what I expected. A small comfort in such a serious situation.

I am not being unrealistic in my expectations. I am in a serious situation.

After many discussions with all my treatment team and my beloved family, I made the difficult decision to put in place a DNR, (Do Not Resuscitate), on my medical record.

This is justified and many tears were shed coming to the decision. It is the best avenue to take considering the condition of my physical form. My bone density is very low which means that if I were to receive CPR my ribs would shatter. Greater risk is that my heart and poor physical condition makes it ninety nine percent positive I will slip into a coma – a coma I will not recover from.

I pray no one ever has to have this discussion with their family. It was/is the most heartbreaking talk I have ever imagined having to have.

Saddest part being the reaction of my family and friends. I, being the patient, fully have accepted that I am knocking on the gates of Valhalla. I did not wish to accept it, but it is what it is.

I also have refused any major surgery that will disfigure and disable me. I refuse wholeheartedly to have my love ones suffer the anguish of watching me whither away, perhaps for weeks or months. That would scar their very souls for life. It would be selfish of me to put them through such.

They understand. They don’t like accepting it, but, once again, it is what it is.

I am not, by far, a ‘religious’ man. I am a man of faith. I believe in a higher, supreme power. Over the past 15 years I have been brought back to life 9 times so far. I wrote about these times previously. It’s suffice to say my life has been full of numerous ups and downs. Often down. It strengthened my personality and outlook on life. To most they would say my life was tragic. I see it as just ‘my life’. Sixty-one and a half years of learning and growth.

So, as it stands today, I have a battle to win. And I shall win because I am surrounded by true caring and love. I have a large group of beautiful souls who have formed a ‘Prayer Army’ on my behalf. Believe or not, but there is a power in prayers. They don’t have to be church indoctrinated chants, but rather sincere and positive praise to whoever you perceive as your Creator.

I am anxious to get the results of the tests tomorrow. The waiting and the fear of what may be is far more disheartening than the cancers themselves. The fear of the unknown instills an anxiety that clouds judgement.

I prefer sunny days over cloudy ones.

So, I will leave you now and I will blog whatever happens next in my wonderful life as soon as I know.

Until then, I remain ‘Dann, just as I am – – – The Original Urban Viking’.


And remember to ……



The Binds That Tie

I have not been writing much as late.

I have to get back to doing so.

I am overloading my mind with chaos and confused emotions.

The cancer eats at me even when it is laying dormant. “Am I going to die?” or “Will I soon be a husk of my former self?” – these two questions echo to and fro within the confines of my mind.

The tears I have yet to understand. They flow without rhyme or reason. Occasionally I have a warning. Many times I have not. On a crowded bus they leak out my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. I have learned not to be embarrassed. We all cry occasionally.

Why am I crying???

I know not why. Perhaps it is fear of the cancer, or sadness from the condition of my emaciated body, or my feelings of unworthiness.

I know I have worth. I know I have been allowed to live for a greater reason than I have knowledge of.

In a few mere weeks I transitioned from one tough mofo of a streetwise gangster to a 102 pound HUMBLED man. A man who at 61 realizes that honesty, caring and devotion are the key ingredients to being a productive cog in the machine of life.

The cancer, stroke,abscess, septicemia and exploded spleen were just mere bumps in the road. Nudges from the Creator.

Unveiled clues to the meaning of my life. A “reset” of my inner core thought process.

Will I be happy sitting on a chair aging into an old man held hostage by thought in a ghetto apartment? Or, will I rejuvenate my soul’s energy and start the final ‘Walk With Dann’ with a new found love of living?

I chose the latter. I chose a life.

I have now been declared legally dead on 9 occasions. How many people can say this?

I used to wonder why I have been Blessed with returning from Death. I do not wonder now, for I know that I have a purpose yet to be revealed. A calling I will soon discover and understand.

I will not allow my physical ailments nor my psychological turmoil to steer my Walk.

I will leave those steps in the hands of the Creator.

When my calling and purpose births itself, I shall be ready.

It may well be as simple as writing yet another book about life lessons learned, or, it may be a complicated array of lecturing the youth or teaching the elders.

Only the Creator knows for sure what my destiny holds. I look forward to the day I obtain self realization and take the first step onto the path I must “Walk”.

I am but a grain of sand on the beach of life …….

Yet, I hold the power to change the world