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Nov 30, 2016

You may have to read this twice


(Our friend Glenn sends this:)




Anything the GREEN EYES have to say about this? Usually we do. Here, from Part II, This Is Heaven, Nick (Nick's Restaurant) talking to John and Alex:

Nick’s hands have moved to our shoulders: “People have a right to forget,” he says, his head between our ears. “Think of slavery. That wasn’t ‘slavery’ all—-that was ‘our peculiar institution.’ ‘Suffragette’—-that was our term of derision for a bunch of uppity bitches. ‘Miscegenation’—that was miss, you understand, and illegal to boot. ‘Separate but equal’—-my God, we swore by it until fucking Truman put them all in the same bunkbeds. And Brown versus Schoolboard—-have you seen the clips, Brown emanating from a court hearing, and the entire American press stalking him with sneers and laughter ‘cuz he’s black and wannabe white? And now you guys, with your rainbow marriage. There’s only one solution for real Americans, who have never, ever been racist, or misogynists, or segregationist, or anti-Semitic, or homophobic, or whatever was wrong with us the past—-or will be wrong with us in the future—-and that’s forgetfulness.”



Are you still there? Then you may like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Nov 29, 2016

Yesterday, and today, and Perry Brass, and Donald Trump



Yesterday


Today (Chang is still working on the picture)



And in the meantime, our friend Perry Brass published an informative review of the latest Trump biography, Donald Trump, the man who would be kinghere.


Nov 24, 2016

Just a thought (Trump)


We're on Facebook, and if you've followed the news about the great divide on the social networks, you know that liberal Facebook users share a common bubble per algorithm. So we only see what other liberals think and say (same for conservatives). And even if you're not on Facebook but on the mailing lists of The New York Times, The New Yorker, The London Book Review, etc., you know by now that the commentary---the commentary that you see---is adamant that we shouldn't be fooled by Trump's recent, concessionary posture. He'll be his true self again in the White House, he'll live up to his election promises, and bring the world down.

He floats in the worldly Manhattan society.

What if he doesn't? He's run some sort of business empire for 40 years---not as successful as he pretends to, but he didn't go under, he recovered from four or six bankruptcies, he owns a Boeing 757, he enjoyed fabulous tax deductions and a good sex life (at least on his own terms). He must have some sense of the Art of the Deal (the title of his ghostwritten book). Plus, he's lazy, we're informed, although I don't believe that's true (I'm lazy myself, I know how it is). Why-o-why should Trump bring the world down? At his age? He doesn't hold deep convictions, except for some protectionist instincts and a pliable xenophobia tempered by two foreign spouses. During all that time he floated buoyantly in the worldly Manhattan society, unlike, say, Adolf Hitler. Why should he bring the world down? Much easier to sit in the Oval office, do a Ronald Reagan, sow discord among his advisers, practice the Art of the Deal, and enjoy himself.

Just a thought.

Nov 23, 2016

"Not so difficult to play Sherlock Holmes when you are Dr. Watson" --- This is heaven --- Teaser (16)


(We're still not yet done with this "Heaven," two more chapters to write---two difficult ones, including the climactic scene---and then there's the happy ending, a drawn-out affair because we're completely over the top with five or six separate blissful closures all happening at the same time. As to the teasers, we're back to schedule briefly, so this post follows up on Teaser 14, which ended with a Censured Section---Taylor is one day shy of his 18th birthday as he and John enter the restroom facilities of the festival's Green Room. The censured part ends with the habitual flagrante, this time enacted by Professor Barbette Bienpensant. For more context, have a look at Teaser 14.




There’s a knock on the door.

She has issues, but she’s not an fool, especially when it comes to two males with vacant expressions on their faces, oiled in sweat, one of them still buckling his belt, them apparently having spent quality time in 120 degrees Fahrenheit and the stench from an underserviced john. The Bienpensant looks us up and down. Bulge check. Are we drunken again?

(This is so subtle.)

Taylor is utterly embarrassed. This will heal him of all homoerotic tendencies. I’m even more embarrassed. But I have my moments. So I say to the professor: “You need to use the bathroom?”

She has to think about this. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she says.

Some real macho-man would now say something like “See you later, Professor,” or “See ya later, Barbette.” But us, we just hurtle away, heads half-dropped, we could be holding hands on the way to the gallows. 

Whatever happens down there, up here, in our heads---most women would possibly deny much is going on there---up here us males get back to normal immediately, it’s an important reason for starting a hand job, and for finishing it, and it’s an important reason for divorces as well. We can’t just trot back together to the stand, ten minutes late. “I need to see a man about a horse,” I utter somewhat incoherently and point into the direction of the trailers along the canal. “See you later.”

Nov 19, 2016

The Canadian wall

(Our friend Susan sends this note:)



News Update from Canada

The flood of Trump-fearing American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week. The Republican presidential campaign is prompting an exodus among left-leaning Americans who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, pay taxes, and live according to the Constitution.

Canadian border residents say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, liberal arts majors, global-warming activists, and "green" energy proponents crossing their fields at night.



"I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said southern Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield, whose acreage borders North Dakota. "He was cold, exhausted and hungry, and begged me for a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn't have any, he left before I even got a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?"

Nov 18, 2016

Yesterday



Westerly view across the foret domanial de l'Esterel,
the park that surrounds our village, picture by Jason Yoon 

Nov 14, 2016

Supermoon rising


Today is the day of the supermoon---a full moon as close to planet Earth as possible---and so it appears larger (7%), and is brighter (15%). And this it it, the moon, seen from our house, rising over the Mediterranean, this evening: 



Now you see it, now you don't (updated)

(Scroll down for the update)

We have a page on Facebook, and we're offered a $10 voucher to "boost a post," meaning that you pay FB money so they show your post to more people---it's a transparent form of advertising, of course. Ten dollars for free, what the heck, so we boost Teaser #14 of This Is Heaven...but...wait...the boost is rejected. It wouldn't be a "pleasant experience" for FB users, especially the pecs of Robert Pattinson won't. Next we try Teaser #15 (the balloon dog shorts). That's rejected as well, on the same grounds. Well, let's see, what could be more unpleasant than an ungeheures Ungeziefer, a monstrous vermin à la Franz Kafka. We try, and succeed. The boost is accepted --- a pleasant experience indeed.





Along those lines...here we have the cover of Perry Brass' book Carnal Sacraments...




...adorned by the work of the German painter Sascha Schneider, a highly recognized Symbolist artist. Amazon---Amazon, this time, not FB---doesn't let Perry place advertisements for his book because of the 'nudity' on the cover.

Nov 12, 2016

Comparativer (Glenn)





Fragment, fragment. Here, fresh from the presses, Ch. 42 of This Is Heaven ("John is a great guy"). Note the emphasis:


Now the branching: (1) If this is their first time, there will be uninhibited petting and groping until they reach Alex’s single bed about which Ben will briefly comment (“exactly like mine”), and then they make love. (2) If this is their second time---more likely, alas---there wouldn’t be anything immediate, the kiss would be deeper, the lips would be wetter, but that would be it. They disengage and look at each other. It’s real this time, Ben lost in admiration of Alex’s beauty---beauty here in the widest sense of the word, full Plato---and so it’s about Alex's inner assets, his intelligence, wit, charisma, soul. Alex reciprocates---not quite as innocent as we’d like (Ben’s body, skin, lips, cheerful profile, resplendent teeth, hip-hop kinetics pass the alpha mind)---but soon we revert to the truer issues, Ben’s own charisma for example, or his effortless formality (not that we’ve seen much of it during this episode, but I assure you), or Ben’s bearing, accentuated and tender (somehow letting others know how important they are---his secret weapon during A-level assignments, I guess, and a key ingredient of the alchemy between the two). And the nostrils. OMG, I failed to mention Ben’s breathing nostrils.


Are you still there? Then you may like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Nov 9, 2016

Nothing makes sense, we know.



So, why should this picture (make sense)?

What we have to say about Donald Trump


Well, we're too stunned to say anything about Donald Trump at this point, so let's revert to Franz Kafka, the obvious choice under the circumstances. Here, the opening paragraph of Kafka's best-known novella, The Metamorphosis (scroll down): 







One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.


(And the rainbow colors? That's sheer coincidence, of course, but we do have a fragment---written last week---before the elections---written a few days ago, from Chapter 43 of our hopeless novel This is Heaven:) 


There’s a short story by Franz Kafka about Gregor, a traveling salesman waking up one fine morning mysteriously transformed into a “humongous bug,” “monstrous vermin,” or “giant insect” (depending on the translation from the German ungeheures Ungeziefer). This gets him into a lot of trouble, but the dude had at least the good fortune never to visit Georgia Beach, GA, and wake up there in the hospital’s emergency room under the merciless eyes of Dr. Alice Sandeman, a person who absolutely despises bugs, vermin, and insects, especially large ones.


Are you still there? Still clinging to your sense of extremely dark humor in these trumpled times? Then you may like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


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Nov 5, 2016

Balloon-dog shorts --- This is heaven --- Teaser (15)



"Balloon dog" -- Jeff Koons. Picture by Jason Yoon


(This teaser is completely out of sequence, but we found these pictures  that we need to share. This is Chapter 33 in its entirety. Them boys---John, Alex, Maurice---had a very rough day, and they finally repaired to Godehart's quarters, assistant DA Trevor Howard in tow. Enjoy:)




John, why couldn’t you, at the end of a page-turning, adverb-filled day of unparalleled heat levels---why couldn’t you just down the third ‘fortification’ Godehart (“call me Gohard”) was handing you and chuck your dirty shorts one more time and let the sex slave fix the Magic-Mike collar around your neck (I’ll explain later)---in view of the advanced hour we’ll keep the strip-tease to a minimum---shed your drawers to the dutiful applause of the sex-starved men on Gohard’s lustlager---and now the typical complication of a hinterland orgy, the sex slave refitting us with lime-green boxers of glossy balloon-dog material, more foil than cloth---balloon-dog bulges reverberating in the starry ceiling lights---Alex downing yet another flute offered by the lady of the house (half the bubbly spilled)---Alex putting in a belly dance to a tango from Gohard’s Bose box (tango?)---the tune shifting to slithering, quartertone harem-rock (Paint it Black)---Alex taking the hint and taking me from behind (clean good fun)---Alex dry-humping with the tipsy elegance of a pubescent raptor (or cobra, or alpha-pup)---whispering to my ear (“are you ready to ditch me?”)---adding (Alex) that he couldn’t do this after four cum-episodes unless people were watching---(four?)---the sound shifting gear again---Alex testing the waistband of my balloon dogs (“snap”)---Alex briefly on his knees, testing my balloon-dog-bulge with his lips (I hate this)---Trevor stroking Gohard, Gohard stroking Trevor---more of this---Gohard going down on Trevor, cool---we’ll be left to our own devices here on the dance floor---and now Maurice’s getting into the act---clapping me off and taking Alex’s arm---tango again for a misleading moment---Maurice’s glandular needs bursting forward (I skip the details)---balloon dogs shed---inches inching forward---harem rock resuming (quarter tones composed by Muslim Obama)---I’m standing there, transfixed in inner space, wondering needlessly how Alex will pull it off---Maurice grunting---Alex grunting needlessly---Trevor grunting, Gohard grunting, the sex slave grunting serving condoms, needlessly---the infallible stir of a climax in the making (“Yeah, fuck”)---and I retrieve my dirty shorts and grab my dick and put it back into my shorts and run away.


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