SEPTEMBER 2014

 

Thoughts for the Month

 

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

W. H. Auden, Another Time (Excerpt)

 

 

28

Good-bye Paris -- but just for a little while

 

“When good Americans die, they go to Paris.” 

Oscar Wilde

 

“There is but one Paris.”

Vincent Van Gogh

 

“The American in Paris is the best American.” 

F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

“As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris.” 

Friedrich Nietzsche

 

“I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles.”

Cole Porter

 

27

 

 

Trysts and Travails

 

Tonight was the Paris Lit Up magazine launch in conjunction with 100 Thousands poets for Change. I was supposed to read two poems accompanied by a jazz quartet. Unfortunately, the quartet was so loud that I was screaming into the microphone in order to hear myself talk. It took me so long to read the first poem that I used up my five minutes. No more musical accompaniment unless it's just one quiet instrument. It's never easy to be in the second show. (The first set of readers had been published in the magazine.) Nonetheless, I am posting the two poems which are edited versions of two poems I wrote a little while back.

 

Psalm DCLXVI

 

5000 years of god-ism

devising inexplicable beliefs

embracing the familial credos

without question or concern

 

three billion in poverty

900 million lacking food

one billion without clean water

500 million homeless

your god is cruel

 

unreasonable christians

advocating death for alleged sins

ignoring basic human needs

in honor of jesus 

chosen by god

 

unreasonable muslims

seeking world dominion

by any means necessary

for a violent mohammed

chosen by god

 

unreasonable jews

with pretenses of exclusivity

revering circumcision 

as commanded by abraham

chosen by god

 

unreasonable hindus

with castes of social order

swarms of gods and yogis

incarnate time and again

chosen by vishnu

 

string and relativity theorized

higgs boson discovered

satellites hover

light years proliferate

to ancient galaxies

 

while the masses 

murder, rape, torture

in contrived righteousness

in adoration of absurdity

for a loving god who

kills his people

wastes away his children

poisons his earth

 

so continue with 

your beliefs

ignore reason

end the world for

your heaven

your savior

your tribe

your deities

 

do not complain

if you abhor the results

of your decisions

starvation is what you choose

thirst is what you want

pollution is your gift

war guarantees heaven

suffering is homage to your god

 

take responsibility

for your convictions

silence equals death

blame only yourselves for

embracing imprudence.

Poetic Complacency

 

Do not speak of

his or her glow as that of

a new dawn

If you will not speak of

the dark dawn

rising above the child with

half his head blown off

in Gaza.

 

Do not speak about tragic loss

of your alleged true love

if you will not speak of the 

bloated bellies of

African children.

 

Do not speak of 

cuddly animals,

vibrant flowers or the

magic of childbirth

if you will not speak of

inaccessible drinking water

bulldozing the rainforest

denial of reproductive rights.

 

Do not speak of

ethereal bliss

if you will not speak of

corrupt religions and

rotting corpses from

weapons of mass destruction 

made from the ribs of

insatiable men.

 

Do not waste time on

ordinary emotions

if you will not speak of

impoverished humanity and

unfathomable diseases.

 

Poetry is passion

artists have a duty

a moral imperative

confrontation with

excessive wrongs.

 

Wordplay has its role 

literary arts

scrabble

the euphoria of

mental masturbation.

 

Do not dwell in sentiment

incitement is required

Keep silent 

obscure or idle observations

until collective injustice

ceases by the pen

rather than the pistol.

 

 

26

 

Sabbath Sermonette

 

It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

 

Stephen Hawking makes it clear: There is no God

The physicist explains that science now offers more convincing explanations for existence. He is therefore an atheist.

 

https://www.cnet.com/news/stephen-hawking-makes-it-clear-there-is-no-god/#ftag=YHF65cbda0

 

That's good enough for me!!!

 

25

 

BOOK PROJECT

 

I will soon be starting a crowd-funding campaign to raise money to finance a book I am working on about Paris. The underlying theme will be about "going for the dream - even in middle-age."  I will use my blog, The Bob World, as a basis for the project. As I have started work on a separate edit of the blog, I found that I have close to 300 pages of writing, photographs and miscellaneous items. I will probably  only be using about 20% of that in the book. Passages that I use will be elaborated on to include both additional details on Paris as well as issues that currently affect both Paris and all of France. I intend to begin the six-week crowd-funding campaign on October 13 or possibly sooner and more specific information will be provided at that time. I am very excited about the project.

 

Jeudi rapidE

 

Well, tonight was my last night at Paris Lit Up open mic at Culture Rapide for a month until I return to Paris on October 17 for a visa-less 90-day sojourn to make it or break it in the city of lights. It really is nice to know that I will be returning to such a great bunch of people. Tonight, I read my new story, "Plastic Joe, or Optimism" which I posted yesterday. 

 

Paris Lit Up is holding a big party on Saturday the 27th to celebrate the launch of their second magazine. (The first edition was published last November.) Coinciding with the launch will be 100 Thousand Poets for Change which is a worldwide event of poetry concerning issues such as sustainability, poverty, inaccessible drinking water, famine, disease, etc. I will be reading two poems, "Psalm DCLXVI" and "Poetic Complacency  both of which were written and posted a few weeks ago. However, for the event I will be reading newly edited versions which I shall post on Saturday.

 

24

 

Here's a new story for your enjoyment.

 

Plastic Joe, or Optimism

 

Joe Candide was a very successful businessman.  His company, Plastic Joe, Inc., manufactured and sold special plastic ball bearings that significantly reduced friction would last for fifty years.  He frequently said to people “My life is the best of all worlds” and “My balls run the world.” Joe had owned the company for over 20 years and was a millionaire many times over. He loved to spend money. Joe owned elegant and spacious homes in New York, Beverly Hills, London and Paris. Joe was proud to say to say that nothing in his homes was energy efficient. He had a stable of twelve gas-guzzling cars including two Rolls Royces, a Maserati, a Bentley, and several sports cars. His art collection consisted of masterpieces from da Vinci and Rembrandt to Picasso and Dali. His wife, Panglossa, had an impressive array of jewelry from Harry Winston’s and Tiffany’s. They had two children, Joe, Jr., and Pakette, who were attending the best private schools in Switzerland. Joe spoiled the children with all that money could buy. The Candide family lived in the best of all worlds.

 

Plastic Joe, Inc. was located in West Falia, New Jersey. Each morning Joe would drive one of is cars to Penn Station, and take the train from Manhattan to West Falia. He wanted to give the impression that he was just a regular guy. During the ten-minute walk from the West Falia train station to his office, Joe would pass by Martin, a drug-addled homeless man who regularly begged for money a block away from Joe’s office. Once in a while Joe would give Martin a quarter and say to him, “Three more and you can buy a cup of coffee or you can just get a job!” Martin would give him a half-smile as Joe walked away.

 

Joe’s office was on the top floor of a ten-story building which had formerly housed a homeless shelter, a soup kitchen, and a clinic for drug addicts and alcoholics. When Joe bought the building, he immediately terminated the leases of the three non-profit organizations. His office had 3000 square feet, a wet bar, an espresso maker, a 60-inch flat screen TV, and a full bathroom with a hot tub. Joe’s secretary, Cunella, had worked for him for twelve years at a salary of $25,000 with a Christmas bonus of $25. Cunella had gone to secretary school right after high school. She could type 130 words per minute and could take shorthand at almost the same speed. Sadly, she was afraid to look for a better-paying job. While he loved her work, Joe knew little about her personal life as their conversations were limited to business or small talk. 

 

Plastic Joe had twenty employees who worked in the plant. Some of the employees were illegal immigrants for whom Joe forged work papers. He paid them all the minimum wage with no benefits and they were forbidden to unionize. The manufacture of the ball bearings were all done by machine.The twenty employees were split between two eight-hour shifts from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. with an unpaid half-hour for lunch or dinner. Ten employees operated and maintained the machines and the other ten ran the shipping department. Orders were made online on the company website or taken over the phone by Cunella. Joe was living in the best of all worlds.

 

Joe had a patent on the plastic ball bearings for 20 years which expired several months ago. He gave little thought to this since business had been booming for many years. One day Joe read in the Wall Street Journal that six companies had sprung up using Joe’s formerly patented techniques to make similar plastic ball bearings. This did not faze Joe because Plastic Joe, Inc., was the leader in ball bearings. He said to himself, “My balls run the world.” Then the next day, Joe read about one of the companies called Baron’s Bearings, Inc. The President and CEO of Baron’s Bearings, inc. was commonly referred to as “the Baron” because he was descended from an aristocratic French family. The Baron used Joe’s ball bearings technology but with a patented, new and improved plastic. The new ball bearings further reduced friction, would last for a hundred years, and were cheaper to manufacture. But once, again, Joe thought to himself, “My balls still run the world and I live in the best of all worlds.”

 

Then tragedy struck. Baron’s Bearings, Inc. overtook Plastic Joe, Inc. as the leader in ball bearings within six months. Joe started to panic as his stock dropped from $200 per share to $2 per share because most of his wealth was tied to the company’s stock. Two days later, his board of directors fired him. Upon this news, Joe’s wife, Panglossa had a massive heart attack and died immediately. His children, Joe, Jr., and Pakette were under house arrest in Switzerland for failure to pay tuition as a result of Joe’s bounced checks.

 

Joe used his meager savings to pay a few bills but was soon unable to make payments on his four mortgages. Joe was sure that he could sell three of his mansions and perhaps ten of his cars or at least Panglossa’s jewelry and some paintings.  After all, he lived in the best of all worlds. But there was a major recession in the country due to the pandemonium of the ball bearings industry and Joe was unable to complete any sales. The upkeep of the homes and the cars quickly scared off potential buyers. The bank immediately foreclosed on the homes due the large amount of loans. The twelve cars were repossessed, and both Panglossa’s jewelry and the art pieces were considered to be risky investment at this time. Only a few weeks later, Joe found himself homeless. He had offended so many people over the years with his pretenses that he had no friends to take him in. Cunella and the other 20 employees of now-closed Plastic Joe, Inc. had quickly been able to secure jobs with the Baron at a higher pay, benefits, and union membership.

 

As Joe left his New York home he took as many of his clothes and bed linens as he could carry.

Just a few blocks from his former penthouse, he created the chicest makeshift tent and bed with his clothes and linens. Joe settled in for his first night on the street. The next morning, as Joe sat on a designer pillow outside his tent pondering his situation, he saw Martin in a smart suit with a brief case. Joe thought he was imagining things. When Martin saw Joe, he just shook his head. Martin explained to Joe that, out of the blue, he had inherited $50,000 from a distant relative. He was able to clean up his drug habit, rent a small studio apartment and was hired by Baron’s Bearings to work in the accounting office. The Baron had a policy of hiring former addicts and prior to his addiction, Martin had been a CPA. He then took twenty dollars out of his wallet, and gave it to Joe saying, “This should buy you some food and a couple bottles of cheap wine or you can just get a job.” He then left and continued on to his office. Shortly thereafter, a Tesla electric car stopped in front of Joe. The window was rolled down and Joe could see that it was the Baron. The Baron looked at Joe, shook his head, and said, “Now my balls run the world and save energy,” and drove off. As he went inside the tent to take a nap on DKNY sheets, Joe just muttered himself, “My life is the worst of all worlds.” But ever the optimist, he thought, "At least I still have my balls.” Sadly for Joe, weak balls can’t run the world.

 

23

 

RealLife Satire

(When Life Becomes a Parody of Itself)

 

Cannibalism in Uganda

 

And I thought it was bad enough that they were killing gay people!

 

https://www.businessinsider.com/heres-what-its-like-to-be-a-cannibal-in-uganda-2014-9

 

19

 

Sabbath Sermonette

 

“Anyone who thinks sitting in church can make you a Christian must also think that sitting in a garage can make you a car.” 

Garrison Keillor

Jeudi rapideE

 

Last night at Paris Lit Up open mic, I was the guest host! It was a lot of fun. We had three rounds (versus the usual two) with over 20 readers, musicians and dancers. The lights above the stage are extremely hot and I was sweating like a pig, so to speak. So between performers I said some humorous things about sweating which soon morphed into saunas and keeping one's face and body young with steam! It was a great night with very talented performers including our special guest, Steve Dalachinsky, who is a well-known and extensively published poet from New York. (If I play my card right, I might be able to make this a regular gig. There's nothing like being on stage - and a few free beers to boot!)

 

17

 

As my current time in Paris winds down with just ten more days to go, here are a couple of great views of the city. 

 Top photo:  Montmartre and Sacre Coeur; Bottom photo: a view from the Seine.

 

15

 

downtown SLAM

 

Finally, the Monday open mic/poetry slam is back at the Downtown Cafe after a long August vacation. It was very busy with the usual excellent talent. Next week is my last Monday here for a little while and I hope to do some slam poetry - perhaps a mix of French and English. My friend Donald Tournier, a very talented bi-lingual poet whom I know from Culture Rapide came for the first time tonight He graciously corrected my French grammar in my poems. The good news is that I am understanding about 50% of the French performances. Unfortunately  I can still only pick up words and phrases. I not quite getting full sentences yet. However that will change when I return to Paris in November. Tonight I read two translations of poems that I had written in English - The Ride of Your Life and Poetic Complacency. Donald was kind enough to correct the French. The French versions are posted below.

 

La course de votre vie

 

Le temps s'arrête

Au-dessus de la cité des anges

Stimulé par des cadres métalliques

et accessoires en plastique

Escaladant terrain montagneux

Et la flambée des profondeurs de la vallée

Perdu dans ce moment précieux

En cet instant où l'angoisse et l'extase sont unis

Abandonné par chaque dieu 

Prophètes de la magie et de la sagesse 

Pourriture dans les carcasses pas encore décédé

Nourri de la peur de l'humanité

Incarnée seulement dans l'esprit

Acquérant les carences de l'amour non partagé

Les anges dans une situation désespérée

Au service de fluctuations de cellules T opportunistes

Mort, où est ton pouvoir maintenant

Titubant de l'avant sans aucune victoire claire

La résilience a été formée à partir de

la tragédie de l'ignorance

Inhérente à notre survie

Le désespoir sans vergogne s'est 

transformé en détermination

Enhardi par le moindre des frères

Prenez les routes et passez le mot

Nous avons gagné cette bataille

Avec le vent et la pluie et le caoutchouc.

 

 

La complaisance de la poésie 

 

Ne parlez pas de

son éclat correspondant à celle

d’une aube nouvelle

Si vous ne parlerez pas de

l'aube sombre

s'élevant au-dessus de l'enfant avec

la moitié de sa tête arrachée

dans la bande de Gaza .

Ne parlez pas de la perte profonde

de votre seul véritable amour

si vous ne parlerez pas des

ventres gonflés

d’enfants africains

Ne parlez pas

d’animaux en peluche,

de fleurs éclatantes ou

la magie de naissance

si vous ne parlerez pas

d’eau potable inaccessible

destruction des forêts tropicales et

déni des droits reproductifs .

Ne parlez pas de

bonheur éthéré

si vous ne parlerez pas de

religions corruptrices

de décomposition des cadavres

d’armes de destruction

réalisés à partir de nervures

d’hommes avides .

Ne perdez pas notre temps sur

émotions communes

si vous ne parlerez pas

de l'humanité pauvre ou

de maladie insondable .

Le jeu de mots a son rôle dans

les arts écrits et dans

l'extase de

masturbation mentale

mais ne vous attardez pas dans

l’insipide quand

l'incitation est nécessaire .

Taisez observations

obscures et stupides

jusqu'à ce que l'injustice sociale

fléchis sous la plume

plutôt que l’épée.

 

12

 

Sabbath Sermonette

 

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.” 
J. M. Barrie

 

Trysts and Travails

 

There is a page in the Bob-World entitled 'Guestbook' which is for any comments that a reader wishes to make. There have been very few comments posted since the blog began in September 2013. I check the page every few weeks to see if there is anything new. Today, when I checked the page, there were seven new comments -- all negative! At first I was a little hurt but then I realized that at least people are reading the blog or portions of it. I also concluded that, usually, people are more apt to comment on something when they do not like it and I hope that's the case here. The comments are in six different languages - French, Romanian, German, Italian, Dutch and English - which means I am getting an international audience. Here are the comments. I made an attempt to translate them using google translate and I thing they are pretty accurate although there were a few words that I was unable to find. The translations are directly under each comment in brackets.

 

Date: 11/09/2014

By: gugu

Subject: Arte (??)

 

Son triste qu'il pense c'est "arte."

[It's sad that he thinks it's " art “]

 

Date: 09/09/2014

By: Nadya Fortescu

Subject: Femeile

 

 

Aceasta este o persoana foarte misogin!! Femeile scrie despre toate sunt marunte, gelos, prost, sau criminal…

(According to google translate, this comment was written in Romanian but a Romanian friend said otherwise.)

 

[This is a very misogynist person !! Writing about women who are petty, jealous , stupid, or criminal …]

 

Date: 08/09/2014

By: PieterVanHorn

Subject: ??!!

 

Totale verliezer...

[Total loser …]

 

 

Date: 08/09/2014

By: Juergen Herrmann

Subject: Bob World

 

 

Extrem fade underbarmlich; Das ist genau die Art von Migranten, die die EU nicht brauchen!!

 

[Extremely bland underbarmlich; This is exactly the type of immigrant art the EU does not need!!

 

Date: 08/09/2014

By: Giancarlo Arrighi

Subject: Re: Bob-World

 

 

Qualcun altro trova Nightmare su Facebook per essere stupido, e un popsicotico ??!!!??

 

[Someone else finds ‘Nightmare on Facebook’ to be stupid, and pop psychology]

 

Date: 08/09/2014

By: Serge Perrault

Subject: Cette blog

 

 

J'espère que vous ne souhaitez pas devenir un citoyen français; Notre système de soins de santé-mentale est déjà surcharge.....

santé-mentale

[I hope you don’t wish to become a French citizen; Our mental health care system is already overloaded …]

 

 

Date: 07/09/2014

By: Nonplussed

Subject: Bob Blog

 

 

This man has WAYYYYY too much time in his hands. Uninspired, unfunny, tedious drivel.

 

I can only guess that these international fans found the blog through Facebook but I don't think they are related at all to any of my Facebook 'friends.' I sometimes, inadvertently, post things under the category 'public' and hence, I get a wider audience. But, all in all, I got a cheap laugh out of them and I hope you do, too!

 

 

11

 

Jeudi rapidE

 

Thursday nights at Culture Rapide are definitely my favorite. I get to perform a new (or old) piece of writing while seeing a lot of my Parisian friends among whom there is much talent. Next week I will be the "guest host" as two of the three regular hosts are away. I know that will be a lot of fun. I have a file of writings that I did in the mid-90s that I have been editing and tonight I presented three of them, one story and two poems. Coincidentally, my friend Troy Yorke, a very funny gay man originally from Canada, who has the unique talent of turning raw sexuality into melodic poetry, came in while I was reading "If They Hate Cows"  and followed me with a complementary piece of his own. It was a perfect end to the evening -- and far too difficult to plan such synchronicity!

 

[Nota miserablile (N.M.):  In a rare moment of self-censorship, and due to its gay "adult" nature, I have decided not to post my poem, "If They Hate Cows." I don't want to lose my 'R' rating! If anyone would like to see a copy, please don't hesitate to contact me.]

 

BREAKING NEWS:  I am the in the process of creating a book project about Paris using my blog/Paris experience as a starting point. I intend to have the project crowd-funded. More details coming very soon.

 

A Roamin’ Holiday

 

So what if I hit her. She deserved it. She was making fun of me. The bitch is lucky I only slapped her. Let me out of here! Don't leave me here alone. You want me to scream, I'll scream. I know you expect me to scream. You don't know who I am, you fools, but you will. I see you spying on me through that little plastic window. I am a prophet for the second coming. You don't believe me, but you'll change your tune. They call this isolation. Well, I know it’s just a test. This is my tomb and at the end of three days I will leave victorious. Do you hear me? You goddamn sons of bitches!

 

You put me in here because I slapped her. It was during group therapy. I hate group therapy. That's all they have here. I don't like listening to everyone else's problems. And she was annoying me. She didn't understand who I was. So I slapped her. Right across the face. She deserved it. Then they gave me their drugs. I took them. Some people don't. They put them under their tongue and then spit them out later. I just take them. I don't care. Their drugs can’t do anything to me. They have no power over me. My body just repels them. I even got a rash from Thorazine. I've had Thorazine, Haldol, and Phenobarbital. I'm not afraid of your drugs. Yeah, I slapped her. But I'm really not a violent person. I just get so frustrated when people don't understand me. Hello! I can see you assholes!

 

Maybe I should rest. It's been a very hectic week. I turned 21 last Tuesday. I had dinner at F. Scott's in Georgetown. My waiter was very nice -- he gave me a free desert. I think he was gay. I would have eaten with somebody but everyone I knew had plans.

I've only been in D. C. for 2 weeks. I think today is Wednesday, but it doesn't matter. I will be here for three days. This is my tomb. By then they will all understand who I am. I will probably go to Rome to replace John Paul II. He will ordain me a priest, then a bishop and then a cardinal or he will just name me as his successor. I am not sure about the details. I'll need my rest. That's why they put me in isolation. So I'll get my rest. The priests at Georgetown have probably notified my parents. I imagine they will fly here first and then accompany me to Rome. I don't have to worry about the details; they will all be taken care of.

 

You know I was robbed on Monday, the day before my birthday, by two guys I met on a park bench early that morning -- a black guy named Jimmy and a white guy named Marty. They didn't have any place to stay so I invited them to stay in my apartment. I had to leave on Monday morning around 9 a.m. When I returned later, everything was gone -- stereo, jewelry, typewriter, records. I need to get out of here! Don't leave me in here.

 

Marty, the white guy, has a penis the size of a beer can. I bumped into him after I found out I had been robbed. He told me that everything was sold. Marty came back to my apartment with me. I told him I was bisexual. He pulled down his pants but he quickly got scared or nervous and pulled them back up. Nothing else happened. He locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out. I tried to find a gay bar in DC but I don't know where they are so I just went to The Tombs in Georgetown. That's where I saw Dwight Eisenhower. He was just sitting at the bar. There were other dead people there as well. But he was the only famous one. They are all around us you know, the dead people. It's a very fine line between the living and the dead. Some people might be upset if they saw dead people. But I knew it was OK, that it was just part of my calling. By last Saturday night it all started making sense. After dinner I was swinging on a swing set in a small park near my apartment. I was singing show tunes for the longest time. "Could be, who knows, it's only just out of reach, down the block, on a beach, under a tree." West Side Story is my favorite musical. When it was dark, I went back to my apartment. Marty came in. He picked up a candle, lit it and started coming towards me with it. He had become the devil. I ran out of the apartment and jumped from the landing. All I had on was a pair of beige pants. I ran to the middle of the field next to the apartment building.

 

I lay down on the ground and all of a sudden I felt nails being driven into my left hand and both my feet and the pain was overwhelming. And I saw the black kid, Jimmy, and I screamed to him “Hold my right hand, hold my right hand.” And he did and all the pain went away and it started to lightly rain. Jimmy ran off. I got up. On the other side of the field is the National Orthopedic Hospital. I went over there to get some help but they wouldn't let me in. All the doors were locked and they wouldn't let me in so I took a cab to Georgetown. The cab driver expected me to pay but I didn't have any money so he called the cops. Sitting in the doorway of a liquor store on M Street I was interrogated by two cops for about twenty minutes. They thought I was on drugs, but I wasn't. They kept asking me if I had any drugs and I didn't. I just kept telling them that I had been mugged. I didn't think they would believe me if I told them that I just had nails driven through one hand and both feet. Since I only had a pair of pants on I must have looked suspicious.

 

They finally let me go and in my bare feet I walked up Prospect Street to Georgetown University. It was around 2 a.m. Somehow I was able to get into the administration building; I walked up to the second floor and fell asleep in the hallway. Sunday morning the security guards woke me up around 7 o'clock. I told them I had been mugged. They brought me over to the rectory. One of the priests, Father Jason, gave me a shirt to wear -- a tan and white striped shirt. I still didn't have any shoes and my feet were swollen and sore. Father had to say mass at 10. I went with him and waited in the sacristy. He had a deacon sit with me. I explained the nature of love and god to the deacon. I think he was appreciative. After Mass, Father took me over to Georgetown Hospital. You see a prophet has to go to a psychiatric hospital for security reasons. The general public would not understand and we can't let any of this out to the press.

 

The hospital called my parents. It was Father's Day. They needed to get the medical insurance information. When you get admitted to a psych hospital, they ask you who the president of the United States is. I wonder what they do if you don't know? Finally, a car came for me. It was a black sedan. A middle-aged man and woman were in the front seat. They brought me here. I'm really tired. Can I please get out of here now?

 

They put me in here because I slapped her. Slapped her right across the face. I broke their rules. I don't understand them at all. But what if they are right. What if I'm just crazy? What if being gay makes you crazy? If I'm wrong I don't know what I'll do. If I'm not a prophet, then I don't know what is happening to me. I'm not a violent person. I'm just so tired. I think I need to rest. I really didn't mean to hit her.

 

9

 

Ghastly Godliness

 

It may be time to call this feature "True Religion." Despite a long history of nefarious acts committed by christians, jews, and muslims around the world, religious beliefs are still respected as intelligent, rational thought. Such beliefs are the inherent joke and the eternal farce of humanity.

 

Tennessee Pastor Robert Gallaty Suggests Gays 'Must Be Put to Death' or Remain Celibate

 

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/09/robert-gallaty-anti-gay-pastor_n_5792996.html

 

 

8

 

My Paris Home in the 20th Arrondissement

                                  

 

Top photo:  my building -- with the dark green door

Bottom photos:   Northern view towards Pere Lachaise 

(The trees in the background are at the edge of the cemetery)

and the southern view heading south towards the Seine

 

5

 

Sabbath Sermonette

 

“I wore black because I liked it. I still do, and wearing it still means something to me. It's still my symbol of rebellion -- against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of God, against people whose minds are closed to others' ideas.” 

 

 

Nefarious News

 

Homelessness among gay teens is often not for lack of a home but due to extremely religious parents.  Check out the following article from Rolling Stone magazine.

 

The Forsaken: A Rising Number of Homeless Gay Teens Are Being Cast Out by Religious Families

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/features/the-forsaken-a-rising-number-of-homeless-gay-teens-are-being-cast-out-by-religious-families-20140903#ixzz3CTDWXS

 

 

Jeudi rapideE

 

Last night at Culture Rapide, Paris Lit Up open mic saw a full house. It's clear that the French vacation month of August is finally over. The talent was good and the audience was boisterous.  During round one, I performed the "Nightmare on Facebook" (posted here on August 31) with the more-than-able assistance of Gus and Remi. In round two, I presented a poem written in 1996 in tribute to the California AIDS Ride. I participated in the week-long bicycle ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles in 1995 and 1996.

 

The Ride of Your Life

Time stands still
High above the city of angels
Energized by metal frames and plastic accessories
Climbing mountainous terrain
And soaring to valley depths
Lost in that precious moment
In that instant when anguish and ecstasy are united
Forsaken by each and every god
O prophets of magic and wisdom
Rotting in carcasses not yet deceased
Nurtured on the fear of humankind
Incarnate only in spirit
Acquiring the deficiencies of unrequited love
Angels in dire straits
In service to fluctuations of opportunistic t-cells
Death, where is your power now
Staggering ahead with no clear victory
Resilience was formed from the tragedy of ignorance
Inherent in our survival
Despair unabashedly morphed into determination
Emboldened by the least of brothers
Take to the roads and spread the word
We have won this battle
Over wind and rain and rubber.

2

 

Sui generis haikus

 

Pray for the devout

speaking only to a god

killing through silence

 

Unproven beliefs

of illiterate masses

justify hate

 

Dollars, deceit, death

the enduring world order

neither just nor new

 

1

 

John Oliver:  "Brillent" Comedian

 

If you still don't know who John Oliver is, do not wait another minute before finding out. He is a brilliant comedian, formerly of "The Daily Show," who hosts his own HBO show (also found on YouTube) called "Last Week Tonight." He tends to deal with serious subjects in a manner that can be called both newsworthy and hilarious. I would have to say that he is a higher caliber of comedian than Bill Maher, Jon Stewart or any other of the current funny people on television. Click on the link below to watch his latest offering. I would be extremely befuddled if you did not find him to be incredibly talented. Yes, I am a big fan!

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knbw0gJHHBk