The LUMPENPROLETARIAT

You and I are ex-Marxists, and neo-Marxists (whence the pluralis maiestatis). And if there's a clear message in Marx (Karl Marx, that is, we don't mean Lenin or Stalin or acolytes), it's about class. His notion of class is close to Noam Chomky's, especially when it comes to the present ruling class. Said class, he holds, is capable of assuming the identity of a coherent subject ("THE capitalist class DOES", "THE capitalist class WANTS"), and they are used to getting their way---until they are overthrown by a revolution, that is.

There is not much political theory in Marx (if you disagree, send me a letter with references), but the class thing really stands, and it extends top down to the bottom...

...so let's hope that Marx was right (he was wrong in many other respects)...because he had a bit more to say about them, the LUMPENPROLETARIAT (in his terminology). Them are not good for anything, them are just lazy, depraved, hopeless (Marx predates Sigmund Freud and political correctness). And, yes, one more thing, you can't rely on them. 

I'm just trying to find this quote where Marx explicates that Donald Trump will ultimately fail because he's relying on the Lumpenproletariat as his principal basis of political support...something must have gone wrong with my time-machine...sorry...apologies...

I'll be back. Tjüüs. 

Yesterday evening

Photo by Jason Yoon

Yesterday evening

Whew. This book. I am at such a loss with this book. It was good...

We got a new (four-star) review of the GREEN EYES (by Becca, on LoveBytesReviews). Here it is:

Whew. This book. I am at such a loss with this book. It was good. The main character is bipolar, and I’m like borderline with severe depression and ADD, so I could understand the running commentary. This book is from the perspective of the main character John. My biggest problem with this book, though, is that I felt incredibly stupid because some of the vocabulary. I had to stop and go look some words up. That kind of threw me off. Maybe I need to go read the dictionary next. Shew.

John. John. John. John is a French teacher that teaches in Georgia schools. He is out for the summer. He decides to go walking along the beach in the gay section and ends up in a sexual encounter in the dunes. With a man with the most incredible green eyes ever. Then a third comes along. After the encounter, John tries to help the third man find his shorts and ends up looking for a towel to steal to lend the third man. He gets busted and is late to the third man. The third man is gone. Later he ventures to a bar to chill be for a party next door when the third man, known as Maurice, comes in and tells a story that is shocking. Maurice ends up in the hospital and now everyone is trying to figure out how to stop a psycho killer before being killed themselves. All the while, having sexual encounters at almost every turn it seems. During this the man he loves, Alex, has come up with a plan of his own, and it causes him to have amnesia. All kinds of twists and turns in this story. And hopefully it will bring a happy ending.

Reading the GREEN EYES

I’m not going to lie here. I kinda had a hard time keeping up at times. Sometimes I felt like I was reading out of my own head lol. But sometimes it was really hard for me to keep up. It’s a good book, don’t misunderstand me. I just feel like I need to be smarter or something to appreciate it the right way. I liked John. He was a complex character. They all kinda were. Each had a depth to them you didn’t quite expect. But what I loved about John, is even with all the crap going on around him, he was worried for his friends and their safety. He would pile them all up in his tiny apartment, just to make sure everyone was safe and no one was getting hurt or come after. He was trying his best to take care of them all. I felt bad at times for him, because it seemed like a never-ending circle you couldn’t step out of, but he stuck with it. Even when it came to taking out a killer. That was stupid beyond belief, that they thought they could do or even try, but they felt if they didn’t fix it somehow, it would never stop or change.

Sometimes situations call for drastic measures. There seemed to be quite a few of those in this book. But the things you do for friends and loved ones…..

Here, here...

And...anything the GREEN EYES have to add to this? Sure---always---(we boast). Here, at the very apex of the second part's overdone happy ending, Alex, the Hamlet of sexual orientation, proposes to John (story is set in 2014):


“Hold on,” Alex says, “hold on. While we are at it, why don’t we have a double wedding?”
“What?”
“Yes. John here and I. We are the perfect complement to this ceremony.”
“WHAT?”
No, he means it, Alex says. He has to make it up to John, he really does, he’s done so many terrible things during the last couple of days, especially to John, and he has apologized once too often-—we need to bring out the big guns, and marriage would fit the bill.
“Are you crazy?” I say. “How do you know I want to marry you?”

Yesterday

View of the Valais from the Chalet. Picture by Chang

The yellow parrot --- Green Eyes III --- Bright, viridescent eyes shine into the room --- teaser

What happens with your new book, people are asking. Well, we're progressing slowly, slowly, but here's at least the second part of the first chapter.

Context: John has been asked by Alice Sandeman to replenish her shrinking stock of Eleanor Beasley paintings---Eleanor Wagner-Beasley, Godehart Wagner's spouse of convenience, now deceased. If your read the first part of the saga, you may remember that Eleanor specialized in canvasses of white dots painted on white backgrounds. So that's what John's has been doing in Alex's old pad, when he's caught red-handed (or paint-smuded) by the notorious art critic Souren Souleikan. Minds meet, and there's something transactional in the air:


Under more auspicious circumstances I would feel my dick now. But I don’t. We will need some lubrication. And we need some assurances as to the transactional character of this since said lubrication could get into the way: Souleikan gets drunk, then he gets laid; then he doesn’t remember the deal (and I’m fucked).
“I need a drink,” I say. And Souren needs a drink too, except that there won’t be any tipple left in this desolate attic, what with Alex’s tipsy attitudes.
((Hold on.))
This is where the old Alex lived with the constrained, self-denying personality of his previous life; he didn’t drink then. There may be some hold-over bottle of booze he kept for his friends, or the friends he didn’t have. I get up.
 “Mind, you,” Souren says. “No Chateau Margaux. Claret should flow at the table in the company of kindred food and kindred company, but nowhere else.”
“I’ll be back,” I say, touching his shoulder. He nods.

I am back from the kitchen where I found and untouched bottle of Bourbon in the left cabinet below the counter. I hold in my left hand now, the other hand, digits spread, clinging to two low-profile tumblers. I set this all down, uncork the bottle, pour stiff drinks. We’re past the point of return, we’ll be getting laid straight away. Souren downs his shot wholesale. Another shot, and another. Gulp. Terrible, the mechanics of substances. We swim, we float, we undress, we-—we don’t go into details.