Aug 30, 2016

Albert Camus --- This is heaven --- teaser (10)

Context: John is called to the police station, where Ray is held as in connection with the mysterious death of Neill Palmer. Inspector LaStrada from the homicide unit wants to "chat." And, there's a new addition to the offices of the police department, a goldfish bowl.

The detective points at a transparent folio-sized zip bag on the counter, holds it up, and dangles it in front of my eyes. It contains a used sheet of paper, crumpled and refolded several times, letter size, written upon in what appears to be an approximately legible hand. LaStrada flips the bag, and the reverse side of the sheet appears to be written-upon as well, in Alex’s hand, to be precise. This was Alex’s suicide letter, the outdated letter I handed to Neill Palmer on Saturday night when the drunken rice queen had asked for a sheet of paper as I met him in the street, I staggering home, defeated, while Alex, the survivor, was busy falling in love with Amy-Lou.

Let me interrupt myself and talk about James Bond again. It doesn’t matter which movie, so let’s talk about the last one, Skyfall. Daniel Craig introduces himself to Dr. No or one of No’s co-workers, like Bérénice Marlohe, say, and says “The name is Bond, James Bond.” And while any other person on the planet would now go, like, ‘Great,’ or ‘Can you give me an autograph,’ Bérénice has apparently never heard of the super-hero of popular culture, grimaces distantly, and shakes the stranger’s hand.

Albert Camus (1913 - 1960)

Analogies break down somewhere, and this one breaks down im-mediately, except that LaStrada has apparently no idea he’s dealing with one of the most outlandish documents ever featured in erotic writing. He flips the zip bag and reads: “‘Some people expend enormous energy merely to be normal’… Sounds mysterious, doesn’t it, Mr. Lee.”

Aug 28, 2016

Italian for beginners --- an Italian review of the Green Eyes

Cool folks, cool, we have an Italian review of the GREEN EYES in:

The downside of international fame is of course that---(terrible sentence)---that you don't understand what people are saying until you invoke Google translate---and even then. But the Italian sounds so much better.

Questa è la trama del romanzo di Michael Ampersant, ma se pensate che sia sufficiente per capire il valore, e la complessità del testo vi sbagliate. C’è molto altro in Green Eyes: c’è il sesso – esplicito e sconcio, ma no per questo volgare-, ci sono i riferimenti culturali, le citazioni, c’è ingiustizia che ancora oggi chi è gay subisce e c’è una scrittura, che nel suo stile sintetico che a me piace tanto, è in grado di suscitare nel lettore un miscuglio di emozioni e sensazioni pazzesche. 
Sono tanti, o forse è meglio dire diversi, i personaggi che John incontro lungo la sua ricerca di una vita diversa da quella attuale, ma Maurice, un turista inglese, è quello che più di tutto acquista importanza ai fini della storia. Infatti viene violentato da un poliziotto, in una scena vivida che sconcerta e fa incazzare.

Doesn't it?

Aug 23, 2016

We sat down with Queer Voices

Cool, folks, we have an interview with Queer Voices, a fairly large outlet by our modest standards. Have a look.

Okay, here's one question and one partial answer from the interview:

Q: Do you have a favorite author? Your writing is unique.

A: Mark Twain would be the most important author. I really aim to poke fun at the world the way he does (I must have read Tom Sawyer 20 times). My writing style reflects in some sense my difficulties with the English language; it’s not wholly intended, and it’s not Twain’s style, of course. I can construct long sentences since I’m German, but often do I stumble, and the process of getting back on my feet, that’s also reflected in my style.

Mark Twain

Aug 15, 2016

The Hindu God --- This is heaven --- teaser (9)

Context:  (1) A new morning has arrived, heralding Day Two of the Vampire Festival week(2) Ben (whom we met first in Part I in a chapter titled "A hitchhiker's guide to gay sex") has returned from an "outcall" and is sleeping on John's bed.  (3) Since his failed suicide last week, Alex maintains he has arrived in heaven. He also labors under serious amnesia. (4) Maurice is staying with them, still reconvalescent from the bloody fuck last week that almost cost him his life. 

“Okay,” Alex says and hands me the coffee mug. He sits down on the bed and peers through the window. The Davis Canal runs right by the condo and there’s a water tower on the other side, a tripedal contraption expecting the sun to kiss it back to life each morning.

“Do they have water towers in heaven?” I ask.
“Apparently,” Alex says.
“We’re still in heaven?”
“We’re still in heaven … a bit less though, this tower barely qualifies.”
“You knew about Ben,” I say, “before you…lost your memory.”
“Tell me anything.”

Ben moves in his sleep. Don’t ask how, but his unconscious hand is now in Alex’s lap. “Maurice knows about Ben,” I say. “Every-body knows about Ben, ask Maurice.”
“Ben was … is …”

Why the rich need more tax brakes

Aug 6, 2016

A box of sleepy kittens --- This is heaven --- Teaser (8)

Context: The first festival day is already over, John and Alex have returned home, lying on the bed. For more context, refer to the earlier teasers (link below), or this post.

He’s trying so hard to be sweet---licking my face now, more lover than alpha dog up here, this after having licked my dick, more alpha-dog down there, drawing a semi-semi erection that soon folded because I’m exhausted after seven breathless days. Plus, him just being nice is so much nicer than him just fucking me, especially after the two pissing-outside-the-tent events we (he) had today, with the flashes of his adult part inside Albert and Godehart still fresh on my mind. “Enough atonement for today,” he says and arranges himself with the back against the pillow against the bed head, pulls the blanket over my limbs, and reaches for his iPad. He’s caressing my hair now, absent-mindedly, his palm resting on my crane, two fingers fidgeting with my hairline.

This is the first time we’re chillin,’ just being there, just being a box of sleepy kittens. Maybe I should fill him in about his past a bit, some basic stuff he needs to know, things I know, but then I know very little and want to avoid talking about his mother, especially about her death at the age of ten (his) (age), the only thing I know about her, the catastrophe that triggered his depression.