Lachrymal glands --- This is heaven --- (teaser 6)

Another teaser from This Is Heaven, the second part of the best-selling GREEN EYES series. Context: John, Alex, Dr. Alice Sandeman and Godehart have spent a boozy time on the terrace of Nick's restaurant, cooking up an absurd scheme that involves counterfeiting the internet site of the upcoming Georgia Beach Festival. John (the blogger) is tasked to do it. Then Dr. Sandeman is off to work, and the three men repair to Godehart's place, where John can use the office and the computer for his work. Godehart has the brilliant, yet unsurprising idea of an intermezzo in the bedroom, but John, who's still hurting from a similar intermezzo earlier during the morning in the dunes (the gay cruising area), turns them down, so Alex and Godehart are left to their own devices. The bedroom is upstairs, the office is downstairs. And, one more thing, the computer is password protected. And, one more thing, the name of Godehart's self-steering SUV is Isolde.


Wile E. Coyote goes off the cliff now. He goes to Google’s Blogger, the platform for his site. His site is a blog, but an official event site mustn’t look like a blog. He knows little about the festival, and begins to realize the enormity of his task. He feels the need for coffee, goes to the kitchen, gets the Delonghi espresso machine going, feels the effect of the alcohol wearing off (good in some respects, bad in others), returns to the office with a cup in his hand, sits down, realizes that the laptop has gone asleep and requires the password anew, gets up again, climbs the stairs, opens the door to Godehart’s bedroom, and is hit by gravity.

The threesome that wasn't --- Miguel Angel Reyes (2004)

The fall begins, in slow motion, him descending back down the stairs, back into the office where he---at least---can’t hear the noise. He sits down again, clasps his face with both hands, and begins to cry, tears rolling down his face, more tears coming, dripping onto the desk, the keyboard, flooding the floor, flooding everything, until he drowns.

France still exists

We went on an excursion, urgently, today, because Chang can no longer handle Michael's rambling talk about the new novel he's writing, working-titled "The Senator and I," a YA novel with a sixteen year old girl and a member of the Planetary Senate (the senator), and no sex. So we went on this excursion, and here's the result (this is in Moustier St. Marie, Alpes Haute-Provence, France):

And here's a fragment from "The Senator and I" (just a fragment). Alice, the narrator, meets her (new) foster mother (the senator's wife) for the first time. We're in polite society, and Xato is Alice's new PA:

I was led into the pool house, fawned over by an unknown assistant, left alone when I asked for it, and when I returned to the pool, the majordomo had disappeared. Instead, two woman were sitting at a table on the terrace under a huge patio umbrella that had not been there before. Xato touched me briefly at the small of my back (nice), whispered “The Lady Abercrombie,” and guided me towards the female couple. The Lady had indeed taken note, was perhaps even expecting me, since she raised her regard and made contact with lazy, tired eyes. In front of her, on the table, lunch had been laid: a large bottle of Cointreau and one long-drink-glass, filled almost to the rim with the honey-colored liqueur. She didn’t speak however, and there was nothing of a body language on her part, Xato introduced me to a silent and motionless person dressed conspicuously in an iridescent bathrobe like me, one elbow on the table, the other on an armrest, a cigarette---a real, smoking cigarette, not an electric one---between two forefingers (signet ring on the pinkie). Xato explained about my morning adventure in a burlesque language I had not heard him using before, while the smoke from her fag curled, billowed, and headed for my nose. I sneezed and turned away for a sec, and when I turned back the Cointreau glass was half-empty. The Lady managed a gesture that seemed like an invitation to have a seat, at least that’s what Xato took it for since he hastened to shove a chair into place and made me sit down. I stole a glimpse at my imitation-ring that had survived the freak wave, then began to wonder how a person like her would harness the energy to “panic,” or do other things that might require body language. My new mother. One is never too old to learn.

Succès de scandale

John Lee, narrator of the GREEN EYES

That's why the GREEN EYES are selling so well, they are scandalous. From an actual review (on Goodreads): "All in all so far this guy [John, the narrator] has been with four different guys in the span of only two days and I don’t think I can read any further." Yes.

As the likelihood of a Trump presidency increases by the minute...

...we asked our friends over at StarWars to share their insights. Here they are:

And while you are at it...okay, first this...

...and soon we'll have a link to an article in the New Atlantic with the best characterization of today's GOP ever (stay tuned).

We interrupt our broadcast...

...Jeff Bozos (Amazon) has tweeted this picture under the heading... 

...The Perfect Plan to Deal with Donald Trump

Michael and friends --- by Joe Phillips

Yes, this is little Michael, right in the middle (the serious looking guy), and it's not even photoshopped. Done by Joe Phillips for his 2016 calendar, which is on pre-order now, using an only mildly outdated picture of the bestselling author.

More stars for the Green Eyes

Another five star review for the Green Eyes:

What a delightful and tongue-in-cheek romp through the drama, the pitfalls and the high camp of gay love obsession!

In general, I'm not a fan of "erotic" books, but a friend recommended this to me, and I must say that in spite of my reluctance, I was hooked on the story from the first pages in, because the writing and plotting is so outrageously witty, literate and engaging. John, the narrator, is a hunk of attractive, dysfunctional gay man, who is still partner-less and feeling washed out at approaching that deadly age of 29. He meets Alex in the sand dunes of the "gay beach" in his Georgia town, and the rest is a wild, and wonderfully sardonic, ride through wild parties, back rooms, emergency rooms, attempted murder, Georgia sodomy laws, and yes love, in a whole host of hilarious and totally dysfunctional mini plots. With chapter headings like "Richard Wagner and Ludwig the Second; Bavarian Leather Shorts; Playing with my Caravaggio; In Flagrante Masterclass; Six Minutes to Eighth Heaven; and Look Muffy, He Brought His Instruments" - well you get the idea. There's plenty of sex, but even that's written in the same, most entertaining, tongue-in-cheek manner. The writing style is really original and the plotting, well, it's just totally crazy - but it works great! I was well entertained - Green Eyes is delightfully offbeat, and highly original.

AuthorsInterviews

Cool, folks, we've had a sit-down with Fiona Mcvie of AuthorsInterviews about the Green Eyes, and we held forth like there's no tomorrow.

They seem to have some really cool offices over there

(Q: "Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?" A: "Yes and no. There are lots of messages. I don’t know whether you had this in High School, writing essays that would “interpret” a particular piece of literature. We had this a lot. The (implicit) question always was: “What does the author mean, what does he/she want to say?” Even then I thought the question beside the point. If you have a clear message, you write an opinion piece for the New York Times, you don’t write a novel, or a play, or a poem. Art---if that’s what we are doing---art is about ambiguity. There is no clear message, there shouldn’t be, in fact. The more ambiguity, the better"). Along those lines.

Black Friday

(Chang got a tripod today, and this his is his first long-exposure picture)

Google mis-search --- This is heaven --- (teaser)

(We're already in Chapter 5. Godehart has been tricked into underwriting the Festival Award of $$$ 100k, which explains the whiskeys. Alice, Godehart, Alex and John sit on the terrace of Nick's restaurant, and talk, yes, what, they talk neologisms:)

“If you control the website, you control the festival, more or less,” Alex says.
“This isn’t the festival site,” I say, “It’s my site.”
“Who would know?” Alex asks.
“Anybody who needs to know about the festival. It takes a split second to discover a mis-search. People have experience,” I say.
“Mis-search.” Alex’s tongue likes the word. “A bit heavy on the ear perhaps, but useful. The most frequently committed act of our era, mis-search, an act in dire need of a term. You invented this? ... Can you google ‘mis-search’?” he adds in Alice’s direction.

Alice---who should slap Alex’s wrist now and steer the conversation back to Godehart’s predicament---Alice says:“We have him back, we have him back.” She means Alex.
“I was like this before?” Alex asks.
“Yes, on a good day.”
“Well, this isn’t a good day,” Alex answers, “google ‘mis-search’.”

Alice googles “mis-search.”

Nada. Not one mis-search on Google. “A real neologism, John,” Alex says, and slaps my shoulder. “Dude. You are worth it.”

Thanks God (Tristan Verran)

...So, Thanksgiving in the good ol' 'US of A' is that special time of year when it's actually OK to openly celebrate the mass migration of a group of religious fundamentalists who invade the country and then murder all the locals...

The invention of the penis ring

"Hold-on, I have an idea!"

We mourn the victims

A victim outside the Bataclan concert hall in Paris on Friday night

“A body fell on me—it emptied blood on my legs. . . . My neighbor, a man of about fifty, was shot right in the face, in the head. Bits of brain and flesh fell on my glasses,” one blessed escapee from the theatre recollected. “I tried to keep my eyes on the floor, it was an immense flood of blood.” Another concertgoer, named Célia, recounted, “I saw the assailants clearly. I think there were four. Their faces weren’t hidden. All very young, in their twenties. Not especially handsome, but not at all devilish looking. They wore big tunics, one beige, and two all in black. The one in the beige tunic had a short beard. They were all Middle Eastern types but spoke French without any accent.” And another survivor remembered one of the attackers saying, “You have killed our brothers in Syria, now it’s your turn,” while they fired at the crowd. It was a non-stop fusillade, and a gunman shouted, “The first person who moves his ass, I’ll kill him.” Célia added, “My cell phone was lit because I was going to film parts of the concert, but I didn’t have it out. Good thing, because those who took theirs out were killed immediately.”

(Eyewitnesses, quoted in an article in The New Yorker)

f@#k, f@#k, f@#k you

Writer's block

Yesterday

This is the Dom, at 4505 m. the third-highest mountain of the Alpes, the peak is in the clouds. You can see autumn descending down the slopes (the rainbow of colors).

A third Bush in a row, that would be....like this guy

"I don’t want to be elected president to sit around and see gridlock just become so dominant that people literally are in decline in their lives. That is not my motivation. I’ve got a lot of really cool things I cold do other than sit around, being miserable, listening to people demonize me and feeling compelled to demonize them. That is a joke. Elect Trump if you want that."

Jeb Bush, Oct. 25, 2015

PS: (msnbc):

Addressing his many troubles at a campaign event in New Hampshire over the weekend, Jeb Bush said, “Blah blah blah blah, that’s my answer, blah blah blah.”

PSS: And if you want to know FF's views: Emerging dynasties are bad, especially in a republic. A third Bush in a row, that would be, qua analogy, like this guy:

Not invented here (Glenn)

This morning

Back in France

Yes, this is actually the sun rising this morning

The first snow

We're still in Bürchen, Switzerland; our chalet is located at 1,600 m above sea level

"I'm still a virgin" --- This is heaven --- teaser (4)

(The Happy Ending Is over now, was the title of the first chapter. But John is still with Alex---and the plot thickens already (go here for the previous teaser)---because Ben has called, the other guy John met last week. Here's the beginning of the next chapter. The boys are about to meet Juliette and Taylor, both pivotal characters to the plot of Part II:) 
  

We are about to turn the corner of Nick’s Restaurant but are held back by a bunch of kids coming from Georgia Avenue. Teens, mostly, tribal in appearance, piercings, pipe jeans, one or two Cherokee heads, overnighted mascara and a discordant air of nerdy-ness that I haven’t seen since I visited MIT once; some of them even wear oversized glasses. They look at us, we look at them, Alex’s arm is still on my shoulder. There’s something exploratory about their body talk, and one or two are homophobic (if I read them well (I’ll have to relativize this later)). “You know where the beach is?” a pale-faced girl without piercings asks Alex (we are standing on the boardwalk). Alex explains about the beach (“This is the beach”).

"This is the beach." (This is the beach of Rehoboth Beach,
DE, seen from the vantage point of Peggy Noonan's statue)

“You locals?” Yes we are. They’ve just arrived per overnight ride in second-hand passenger vans still misparked on the main street, they explain. “Where’s the festival?” The festival is on the grounds of Surfside Field, between Lake Gerard Park and the beach, half a mile to the north, at least that’s where it was in the past.

“That’s where the gay beach is?” one of the homophobes asks. He’s dressed for the occasion, black cape and artificial fangs that shine in the sun when he opens his mouth (if they are artificial, that is). The horn-rimmed, oversized glasses don’t fit; perhaps he need them.

"Taylor, come on, you can do your sodomy thing later."

“Taylor, come on,” his pal says, “you can do your sodomy thing later, when your penis is grown.” Alex is patient, he explains about the gay beach.

“You guys are gay?” the girl asks.
“You guys are vampires?” Alex asks back.
“Yup,” the second homophobe says.
“Real ones?” Alex asks.

There’s some tribal confusion, they haven’t decided yet.

“Yup,” Taylor insists.
“You should be lying in your coffin,” Alex says and points at the sun.
“That’s so yesterday,” the girl replies, “you should read Twilight.”“Twilight?”
“Yes, the saga.”
“Where are your fangs?”

“I’m still a virgin, “she says. “What’s your name?”
“Alex,” he replies, “What’s yours.”

“Juliette.” And, having said this, the virgin touches Alex’s pecs (he’s still top-naked, the T-shirt dangling from his right hand), makes a seductive step forward—she’s quite a bit over the top, perhaps the strain from the night ride or peer pressure from the tribe, this doesn’t look like her normal routine—and asks, the voice a bit slower: “Alex, will you buy me an ice cream.”

“Ice cream is not good for virgins,” Alex replies.
“I’ll do anything for ice cream.”
“Yeah, I guess,” he says. He turns to me: “Let’s see where this goes, let’s buy her an ice cream.”

“We have no money,” I say. “We didn’t bring any money.” The tribe erupts in laughter.

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Back in Switzerland

Guns don't kill people, I kill people --- with guns (Cathy U.)

Recently, my father and I discussed the shootings in Oregon, and I wondered how many more mass shootings it would take before we finally decide we need stricter gun control.

 My father: He got those guns legally, you know.
 Me: And if we had stricter gun control, maybe he wouldn't have been able to get them. 
 My father: Yeah, it's a tough deal. I don't know what we could do to make it better. 
 Me: Maybe stricter gun control? 
 My father: And I don't know why we have so much trouble with mass shootings compared to other civilized countries.
 Me: Uh, I think it's because of their stricter gun control laws.
 My father: Yup, it's just a problem that can't be solved.

"I'm going deaf, and also: I can't hear you! Neiner, neiner, neiner."

 And here's the clip that justifies the headline:

This post (minus the clip) appeared first on Cathy's U.'s site: Hollywood Hates Me

(Hat tip: Glenn)

Sunday school (Glenn)

Philippines (3) --- taxis are for the faint-hearted --- connubial bliss

We've arrived in Baguio yesterday, and this morning we decide on a stroll through the city. Let's go to Mine's View, which is a neighborhood in the northwestern part known for it residential vibes and views. "You know where it is?" Chang ask as we are leaving the hotel. Michael, flapping his internet maps, answers in the affirmative.

We stride past a terminal for Jeepeneys (a taxi-bus hybrid)...

and a construction site, where the construction crew reacts with
loud cheers to Chang's photographic efforts.

Otherwise, the first 15 minutes pass uneventfully, 
but then we get a repeat of yesterday.

Chang chokes on the traffic, the pollution, the noise (not shown). He covers his nose with the decollete of his T-shirt (as if this would help against the exhaust fumes). He then uncover's his nose and says: "Let's take a taxi."

("GOP" means grand old party, and refers to the American Republican Party. The elephant is their mascot)

Philippines (2)

"Lying with your beard" would be a more appropriate header, perhaps...

Philippines (1)

Note the dress code; background is the Thuner Lake (in Switzerland)
we haven't even arrived in Zurich.

Zurich Airport (reposted)

(This post was posted first in May 2012, when we were on our way to Thailand. Now we're heading for Baguio, in the Philippines, but again we're staying over for the night in Kloten, the town next to Zurich's airport. Little has changed in the meantime:)

Why Zurich, why zee airport? Well, we are en route to Thailand, and the plane will leave the next morning at 11:25am, and the counter will close 2 hours prior to departure, the website kindly informs us, and we would risk missing the plane if we take the early train from Visp, in the Valais, where we've started our summer sojourn in Switzerland, as we've vacated our house for the summer rentals. So we come a day early, and will spend the night in an airport hotel. And it's the Welcome Inn, located in Kloten, the suburb that gave the airport its name.

The receptionist looks stressed. She asks for our passport, then speaks Dutch (we have Dutch passports), asking whether we could speak Dutch. Sure, I reply in German. She looks stressed-er. We are handed the keys, and I like the room, especially the bed covers, and have a nap. I meet her (the receptionist) again in my dreams, and a theory develops. She's so stressed, I theorize, because "kloten" means "balls" in Dutch, and she was possibly raised by seven dominant sisters, who are all married now, and always ask her to explain to the nieces and nephews why she, the lonely spinster, works in Kloten, of all places. Dutch humor, I know it so well. 

Anyhow, when I return to the reception area after my nap, the camera ready, she eyes me suspiciously. Can I take a picture, I ask kindly in Dutch. It does not help. Yes, she replies, and flees the scene to hide behind a pillar that the architect must have put in place for that purpose. Here's the result:

Stay tuned.

Yesterday evening

A cheap motel for intercourse with a near stranger --- This is heaven --- fragment

Our friend Glenn sends this picture... 

Question: wouldn't "intercourse with a perfect stranger" be much funnier?

...while we are writing Chapter 28 about John and Taylor making out in a hotel room...so we simply had to post this post. There's a lot of sex in the chapter that we omit...some of the text overlaps with recent posts, apologies...what we are trying to do, give you an impression of the entire seduction sequence...seduction isn't possibly the right word, defloration might be a better word...although we're doing a bit more than just defloring Taylor who has just turned 18...

For more context go here, or here.


So we’ve been set free, and are now walking past the row of nervous aspen trees lining the Davis Canal, heading north in the direction of Georgia Avenue. We feel a bit experimental, both of us (I guess), so we make conversation that’s not centered on what happens between horny males in overheated bathrooms and decrepit trailers, or whether it’s accidental or providential (what happens there).

Still, as you might imagine, it’s on my mind whether there’s a follow-up to this, a Taylor-closure, as it were, some full sexual act with this youth played out in some convenient location, like, say, my bedroom---which would be the least convenient location in all of Georgia Beach with Maurice and Ben and everybody else around. Taylor doesn’t know about Maurice and Ben, of course, although he’s possibly assuming that Alex could be a roadblock, the only person who isn’t available as a roadblock at this juncture, sadly. Perhaps we could apply my overcharged credit cards to the reservation roster of the Lupo di Mare, the hotel-restaurant around the corner, or consider the Atlantic Sands Hotel, where we would bump into a wisened Juliette who’d figure us out immediately, the way providence (and female instinct) works.

A propos roadblocks

We’re about to reach the corner of Canal Street and Georgia Avenue. We would have to turn left here (and then left again) to get to my apartment with its bed chamber and other ingredients of supposed privacy, or turn right in the downtown direction and return to the Surfside Field, supposedly. Another round of green-room sex is out of the question, of course, not to mention trailers and police tape. We’ve painted us into a corner. Where do we go from here?
“Where do we go from here?” I ask (one of my better lines today).
“You go home now?” he asks.

The first (new) snow

Sept. 11, 2015

John Dunno of Wichita Falls --- This is heaven --- teaser (3)

Tee time for Teaser 3 of This Is Heaven, the sequel to the GREEN EYES. It's short and sweet, this teaser, true balm for our challenged attention spans.

(The Happy Ending Is over now, is the title of the second (ie. the first) chapter, and John will know it. He's picking himself up, dusting himself off after yet another morning triangle in the gay dunes, and the plot thickens already. John is with Alex of course---so much is still left of the happy ending (go here for the previous teaser)---but in the meantime Ben has called, the other guy John met last week, and Alex was all-ear. "What was Ben's last name?" Alex has just asked:) 
  

“Ben is his pet name,” I say.
“He has a real name?”
“John.”
“Ben is John. Cool. John and John. Could be a bit confusing, though. Glad his real name isn’t Alex. You sure?”
“How do you mean?”
“Alex. He’s not another Alex. You sure?”
“Yes.”
“And his last name?”
“Dunno,” I lie.
“John Dunno, funny.”
“It’s not Dunno. It’s ‘I-don’t-know’.”
“How do you know it’s not ‘Dunno’ if you don’t know?”
“I mean,” I say.
“John Dunno of Witchita Falls, Texas. Not likely I would know the guy.”
“Yes.”
“Not likely you would know the guy.”

John Dunno of Wichita Falls, Texas

Is he playing with me? Will he be always like this? It’s not too late to explain. I could have met Ben a few weeks ago, days, eons before I met Alex. Met him a few weeks ago, introduced him to Luke, Luke needs a hand for the festival. Ben has my number, of course he calls. Explain, John, explain.

You need to know this --- acyrologia (Glenn)

For the people in the know

On the cover of the Green Eyes (2)

(The entire jacket, now:)

Look at it this way---how to make it to fame inside less than a week?

Kim Davis, County Clerk, Rowan County, Kentucky

(PS:)

The view this morning