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

The Donald, Paul Krugman, and the GREEN EYES

I.

"Scroll down"

II.

You've possibly had a chance already to notice that the GREEN EYES are about more than gay sex or romance. Worse, they are mostly about everything else. And so they are also about the Republican Base (e.g., John's father (John---the narrator of the GREEN EYES)), or about Paul Krugman, the Nobel laureate and New York Times columnist. But since we are the GREEN EYES, our most pressing concerns are frivolous. So we wonder "What is Paul Krugman's penis size?" (that's actually the title of Chapter 38).

You need to know?

So, here's a fragment from Chapter 38 (John has an appointment with Trevor Howard, the assistant DA whom he is trying to convince that something needs to be done about Dick Benson, the resident murder-psychopath of the piece; John is also thinking about starting an escort service, and so on):

III.

I see two tables being cleared next to the central window on the street side, very good tables indeed, when I notice two people to my left, who have replaced the beefy guy. I’ve seen the face of the man before, on my blog, actually. We’re famous in Georgia Beach, seriously, folks. Will I tell Trevor? You think Trevor would be interested in politics, or the New York Times, or economics, or Nobel prizes? Possibly not—you have other problems when you’re a confirmed bachelor without a future. Trevor, who must be looking right into the eyes of Paul Krugman behind me, shows no signs of recognition what-so-ever. It’s crystal-clear, he’s not attracted to the fifty-nine year old Nobel laureate.

"Hi Sunshine" --- This is heaven --- teaser (2)

Part I of the GREEN EYES is out, and so we've started a rerun of what we got of Part II so far. We have ca 60% of the text, but there are some problems with the plotting, how the various story lines of this soap opera will come together...

...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 now Ben is calling, the other guy John met last week:
  

My cell rings.

“Hi, Sunshine,” a male black voice speaks into my right ear. It’s the ear next to Alex’s left ear. I’d almost forgotten about Ben. Well, no, I didn’t forget, I've been too busy. ‘Sunshine?’ I think.
“This is me. Can you hear me?” Ben says. I can hear him loud and clear. Perhaps I should lower the sound. Where’s the button? I hate my cell-phone.
 “This is me. Can you hear me?” Ben repeats. Alex softens his grip.
“Yes,” I answer, the phone now on my left ear.
“John?” Ben asks, or retreats.
“Yes,” I say.

I should say ‘Ben’ now, or ‘Hi Ben,’ or ‘Is that you, Ben,’ mention his name at least (his name is “John,” by the way, like mine, Ben is his pet name).
“Is that you,” I say.
“John,” Ben answers, the voice more relaxed.
“Yes,” I say.
“Where are you?”
“On the beach, more or less.”
“All by yourself?”
“With a friend,” I say.
“Cool,” Ben says, “you know what?”
“No.”

The Bietschhorn this morning

It's almost 4,000 meter high, the Bietschhorn, but not quite. A full 4k would attract too much tourism, and our quiet little place would degenerate into a second Zermatt.

The happy ending is over now --- This is heaven --- teaser (1)

Part I of the GREEN EYES is out, and so we are starting with a rerun of what we got of Part II so far. We have ca 60% of the text, but there are some problems with the plotting, how the various story lines of this soap opera will come together...

Anyhow, PART II ("This is heaven") resumes the thread where Part I dropped it, in the dunes of the gay beach of Georgia Beach. "I'm ticklish," Albert the beach bear had said in the last line of Part I, and the consequence is an unprintable chapter of yet another triangle in the dunes. So we repeat the trick of Part I, replace the first chapter by a short prologue, and find ourselves in our habitual, post-coital position: we are trying to go home. "We," that's Alex and John, of course, and one thing you need to know about Alex: he labored under a clinical depression in his former life. There was a suicide attempt (on Thursday last week). Alex recovered, but with serious amnesia. He lost the memory of his depression, but also the memory of his sexual orientation (the left column provides an introduction to the main characters of the GREEN EYES)...

Let me think. ‘The happy ending is over now,’ I think. I look askance at Alex’s rippled abs (he’s still holding the T-shirt in his hand, it’s sizzling hot already, we’re oiled in sweat), let my eyes travel to his pelvis region, then back up along the lithe, sleekly muscled torso, the strong neck, the clear, boyish profile. He has grown an inch or two since his failed suicide. He feels my eyes on his Latino skin, I know.

The gay beach of Rehoboth Beach, DE, the model for Georgia Beach

“The happy ending is over now,” I say after a while.

“Don’t say that,” he replies, “Happy endings can’t end.”

“I wish it were true.”

“It is true. It’s true for the best of all possibly reasons.”

“I’d settle for any reason at this moment.”

“The power of subsumption.”

“Huh?”

“Happy endings can’t end since endings ended already. They are part and parcel of endings in general.”

“Sheer semantics,” I say.

“Exactly,” he says, “sheer semantics. Rooted in meaning of the word ‘end’.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“Okay,” he says and puts his arm around my shoulder. He’s conceding the point. For once. 

Well, no. “The power of subsumption,” he regroups, rolls his head, and gives me this new look with his emerald eyes, the bad-boy-post-felo-de-se-look that signals the defeat of his depression.

A brief note on homosexuality

We haven't studied this, of course, not in a serious way, but when you are standing with one leg in the classical-antique period, as we did for a while, working on Plato's Symposium or studying Hadrian's life, you can't help but observe that the classical attitude vis à vis homosexuality was very different, very different from the attitudes my generation grew up with during the latter part of the last century. Not only attitudes, in fact, but facts, or perceived facts. The perceived facts were that there's a fairly sharp divide between gay and straight behavior, separating anything between 90-95% of the population from the rest---the overwhelming majority being straight, a small minority being gay or lesbian, with a few bisexuals in between.

Antiquity wasn't like this at all. There wasn't a single male deity in the Greek Pantheon that's wasn't bisexual, for example. Out of the first fifteen Roman emperors 14 "made" (to put it in Gibbon's words) "incorrect sexual choices," (at least according to the author of Decline and Fall...). Etc.

"What I believe," (1947) Paul Cadmus

We are not the first to observe this, and helpful theories in re have been proffered for quite some time, the dominant ones putting the onus on Christianity. How these theories will fare in the future remains to be seen, there's some historical research now showing that gay marriage was tolerated during Roman times and accommodated by the Christian Church (one of the funny things in the debate about gay marriage is that practically everybody making historical claims (i.e., the conservatives) is ignoring the fact that the institution didn't require sacral input then. Marriage was a matter of private contracts, and it took the Roman law quite some time to adapt to the Judaeo-Christian claims as to its sanctity (marriage still is, in Islam, a private affair). Anyhow, with the advent of Christianity, the screws on sexuality started to tighten, which wasn't particularly helpful for the gay cause.)

(Hat tip: Glenn)

Quantitative metaphysics --- scribble, scribble, scribble, Mr. Ampersant (4) (reposted)

The GREEN EYES (Part I) have finally been published, and we are starting to re-post earlier material regarding the book. Find underneath the Amazon link...

Barbette Bienpensant, professor of quantitative metaphysics

knowings We knew beforehand that This Is Heaven (the sequel to the Green Eyes) wouldn't be a picnic, because marketing has replaced logic at all levels.the earth world Yes, that's what This Is Heaven is all about.relivings  It's about bullshit, or, more precisely, about the substitution of bullshit for other residues of meaning left on this planet.subchannel John with his addiction to Alex, Alex with his humongous dick, Godehart with his crotch shorts?guardians  It's all very well, we're not lying on anything, but it's just a ploy to keep your attention span spun while we are milking Professor Barbette Bienpensant and her Armageddon-nonsense, or taking cheap digs at vampire crazes, or the Wall Street Journal, or FOX news, or...

Click & buy --- it's up, it's out on Amazon: the ebook

Artwork by Joe Phillips 

Design by Phil Haxo

"Dinner is ready, Sir!" (Glenn)

There you sit and munch on your pen --- The Donald, reality, and so on

Yere you sit and munch on your pen and try to think up something funny, something hilarious---it doesn't matter, reality will always beat you. Here's a fragment from The New Yorker about last night's Republican primary debate:


Trump did make it clear that, if Trump were the nominee of the Republican Party, he would support Trump. The debate opened with a call for candidates to raise their hands if they couldn’t commit to supporting whomever the Republican nominee might be and who might consider running as an independent. It yielded what was, no doubt, the intended result: Trump, stage center, standing alone, hand raised, wondering why he should “respect” anyone given his position in the race. (“I’m, you know, talking about a lot of leverage.”)

Maybe that’s when he decided that the moderators didn’t like him. Megyn Kelly asked about his tendency toward misogynistic insults: “You’ve called women you don’t like ‘fat pigs,’ ‘dogs,’ ‘slobs,’ and ‘disgusting animals.’ ” Trump interrupted to say that it was “only Rosie O’Donnell”—an unparalleled moment in drive-by ad-hominem debate attacks. But O’Donnell (who tweeted, “try explaining that 2 ur kids”) wasn’t the woman in front of him, and so, after barking something about political correctness, he said, “And honestly, Megyn, if you don’t like it, I’m sorry. I’ve been very nice to you, although I could probably maybe not be, based on the way you have treated me.”

I work in PR --- Tristan Verran

ANGRY WOMAN AT HOLLAND PARK TUBE: - 'I work in PR and, like, sometimes I have to work weekends, like, I mean, I wouldn't go on strike. I think it's just, like, sOOOOOOooo selfish!"

ME: "That's because if you went on strike nobody would care..."

ANGRY WOMAN AT HOLLAND PARK TUBE: - "Actually, I play, like, a pivotal role in cosmetic marketing, so, like, yeah..."

ME: "HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!"

Take it easy

Phaedrus in the Symposium

This is the Phaedrus part of our version of the Symposium, which we put up here temporarily (we'll explain later):

(Phaedrus)

Panel 2:

PH, in upper corner (half-stylized?), blending into the next panel

PH: Eros is a great and wonderful god…

Panel 3:

Chaos as background, Gaia rising, Eros hovering overhead

Pictures

PH (cut into the panel, speechifying (arms raised)): Eros is a great and wonderful god, for he is one of the oldest gods. Hesiod says that Chaos came first---followed by Gaia, and Eros…

CAPTION (bottom): Hesiod goes on: “…who is the most beautiful among the immortal gods. He is the dissolver of care, he who overpowers the mind and the thoughtful council of gods and humans alike.”

Panel 4:

Dark background, PH stylized (black and white), holding on to a canted erastes-eromenos scene that borders into the next panel.

PH: Eros is also the source of the greatest benefits. I know of no greater blessing for a young man than to have a good lover, and for a lover, to have a beloved.

The Green Eyes (Part I) will be published by Lust Spiel Books in late September

Making last changes to the manuscript

PS: It's now available as Kindle Book under this link:

The analysis of the psycho

This is just for the record. There's a new neologism, finally, sort-of, and we need to justify it by a fragment, yes, a fragment of some text where it appears, the neologism.

And here it is. Michael answered a anthology call for Jules Verne fan fiction with an erotic twist----nothing to do with the Green Eyes, so far, but he'll somehow manage that the

Analysis of the Psycho

will somehow appear on the pages of a forthcoming installment of the Green Eyes. 

For the time being, however, you have to do with a few paragraphs from our short story The Darker Side of Lunar Engineering.

Here goes:

(Hold on, let's explain...The call was for Jules Verne fan fiction with an erotic twist. So we're in Jules Verne's From the Earth to the Moon, and one of the main characters of that story, Michel Ardan, sets the record straight:) 

(Hold on, Michel Ardan managed to happen upon Dr. Sigmund Freud in the meantime, whom he has invited to Haussner's, a historic Baltimore restaurant (now closed), in the vicinity of the Baltimore Gun Club, the originator of the plan of a lunar voyage:)

We walked the twenty minutes to the restaurant, Freud still holding on to the pointer, and when we arrived thither he knew everything about my mother, father, penis, gardener Hérault, Hérault’s penis, and (my) refractory period (the minimal lapse time between two male ejaculations—Freud made appreciative noises).

“What is your problem, then,” he asked while we were being seated (he had deposited the pointer in the corner) at yesterday’s table below Franklin’s portrait. “You have no need for sexual amnesty.” So I explained about my crush on Barbicane—the flood-gates were open anyhow—interrupting myself only when the waiter approached or the lady at the next table adjusted her ear trumpet (which was often). During those intervals I learned that Freud had traveled hither in the footsteps of Oscar Wilde, the Irish poet who had built his career on the notoriety afforded him by a lecture tour across the New World. “I want to make a name for myself,” Freud said, “I have designs for a revolutionary theory of the human psyche based on sexuality. They are on the drawing board, my plans, but one day they shall bloom, and the analysis of the psycho shall rule the world.” As he said this his stare rose to the Franklin above us, and—you guessed right—the founding father returned the attention, impatient lips softening, eyes smiling, head cocking a bit. He even managed to effect a minor toss with his bad-hair-day hair, Franklin, I swear.

Freud, unimpressed, lowered his gaze back to me and resumed the conversation. “I am still in the exploratory phase of my work, but I can advise you that sexuality is not only fundamental, it is also malleable. The sex drive, libido I call it, is best compared to hunger, a faceless urge that will consume anything and everything when starved, like a ravenous beast. A ravenous beast.”

“We have supped well,” Freud continued after an introspective pause—his stare now directed at the empty plates of the afters course—“but we have not”—the stare wandering to the pointer in the corner which, under his attention, appeared to grow in girth and size—“we have not fucked for hours. Would you not say?”

I motioned the waiter and settled the bill.

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