Jul 30, 2016

Chamonix --- Mont Blanc


We're still in Switzerland, and so we go for another excursion, this time to Chamonix, the town that hosts the Mont Blanc, the Alps highest mountain at 4,870 meters. In our days, the Mont Blanc was Europe's highest mountain, but then this James Bond movie came out, where the spy identifies Mount Elbrus, in the Caucasus, as being photographed from the wrong (Russian) side, and Elbrus is 5,642 meters high, which is unfair, and then somebody else figured that the Caucasus is still Europe.





"Sorry, Blanc, way it is."

Jul 24, 2016

The white stud


We receive a letter from---hold on---his pseudonym is The White Stud---and he writes: 

"I am a sexologist with a Harley Street clinic in London, where I have developed a new, you-know-what therapy based on photography. I took the liberty to download one of your pictures for my highly medical purposes. I hope you agree with the result. Sincerely, your 'Stud'." 

There you have it folks, what can we say:







And here's the original, from a recent post:



Jul 23, 2016

What we like about Ted Cruz

Lets get this in briefly. We hated Ted Cruz, and still do. But now we've found something we like about him. His reasons for not endorsing Donald Trump. He's not going to endorse a person, he said, who's insulting his father, or his wife. I wouldn't do so either, by the way. And the Republican Party---the party of family values---is all aflutter. Of course.



Jul 19, 2016

Yesterday

We felt uninspired, and so Chang suggested we should make an excursion to Lake Geneva. We passed Montreux twice---coming and going---and so had a chance to contemplate on the life of Vladimir Nabokov, who lived his last sixteen years in Montreux Palace, the hotel.





Jul 15, 2016

"I love your soul, Alex!"


We're excited to be back to "This Is Heaven,"---which is, among other things, about terms like "excited," "awesome," "renowned," "inspired," "accomplished," "creative," "award-winning,"(not to forget "wonderful," basically the only word left in the language of contemporary literary criticism). Anyhow, we're re-posting teasers according to the plot line, but here's an in-between morsel written a few days ago. Context: the story is set in 2014. Alex and John have a quarrel, Alex has already decided to move back to his own place, and John fears being ditched for good by the love of his life, to whom he has just said: "You are beautiful."




Alex & John

We’re trudging through the evening crowd along Georgia Avenue, heading seaward. He grabs my arm, then lets go. “Okay, John, for the sake of argument…my physical appearance, or my perceived physical appearance---that’s the reason you want me back?”  
“Of course not.” 
“What is it then?”
“You soul, Alex, I love your soul.”

“Ha,” he snorts. “You nailed it.”

Jul 5, 2016

Good writing: About a dog --- James Joyce


We've started reading Ulysses, and we're not disappointed. Yes, sure, there's a problem with the tome in that there's a problem with literature anyhow, especially the literate sort: the writing coasts on the associative skills of the reader, and them skills tend to diminish with space-time. Hundred years later, us never having been to Ireland---or to Dublin, where the "plot" is set, mercilessly---not sharing much of Joyce's classical education, there's a lot of stuff we don't dig. Thousand years down the road, it'll be worse. But we are learning. We've begun to steal already ("in the shell of his hands" has made it into the penultimate chapter of This Is Heaven). And we feel assured; Joyce---hundred times better than us, of course---uses roughly the same observational distance to his characters that we keep when engaging them in a dialogue. 

Good writing. Here, from the first part, Episode III (Proteus), about a dog: 

A woman and a man. I see her skirties. Pinned up, I bet. 

Their dog ambled about a bank of dwindling sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Looking for something lost in a past life. Suddenly he made off like a bounding hare, ears flung back, chasing the shadow of a lowskimming gull. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. He turned, bounded back, came nearer, trotted on twinkling shanks. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. At the lacefringe of the tide he halted with stiff forehoofs, seawardpointed ears. His snout lifted barked at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. They serpented towards his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from far, from farther out, waves and waves.

Jul 4, 2016

She pulls on his shorts --- This is heaven --- Teaser (7)

Context, context: (1) The festival is about to begin. (2) Ben, the black guy whom we met first in the chapter "The hitchhiker's guide to gay sex" of the Green Eyes, will run the market stand of Luke's convenience store; Alex will sell Bavarian leather shorts for Godehart. (3) Barbette Bienpensant is an expert of rapture and related events, and also the sister of Juliette, whom we met earlier in the day when she (Juliette) told us she's still a virgin but would do anything for ice cream. (4) Alex, in his previous life, dropped out of computer science because he judged computational complexity theory "bad mathematics." (5) John and Barbette just met during the first meeting of the festival jury. 

The market stands (still being put together when we arrived) are ready, and it appears from a distance that two young men are busy at two neighboring stalls, Ben to the left, and Alex to the right, both unpacking merchandise. They are unaware of each other, ap-parently.

I just stand there and wonder: How is it possible that a person of recently professed sexual insouciance ignores another male person 20 feet away that sports the toned body of a basketball player, silky black skin, lips from Angelina Jolie, profile from Raphael, teeth from a dental catalog, and the kinetics of a Bolshoi dancer? Conversely, how is it possible that a person with a documented history of two homosexual encounters ((with me)) ignores another male person 20 feet away that sports the toned body of a hunk, silky brown skin, shiny black hair cut short on the sides, eyes as bright as a Caribbean lagoon, and the overall deportment of an alpha dog?




What happened to sexuality? People are not gay anymore, Alex is just playing nice until another angel needs his love, like Juliette Bienpensant, the morning vamp without piercings, who wears less mascara now as she ambles all the way across the Surfside Field to ask more questions about ice cream and virginity. Or Professor Barbette Bienpensant, the renowned metaphysicist and festival jury member, who accompanies her much younger sister, pushing forty already, but still hot enough to require Alex’s humongous dick be-tween her shapely thighs.