I’ve always made sure that I remain anonymous here. Not a clue does anybody have about me. But through that chink in the Venetian blinds, I’ve allowed somebody in who knows me. It’s embarrassing, but I suppose I intended it to happen. If they read this, I hope they realise that they were the right person, the kindest person, but now I fear that they won’t like me.
The guy with the erection brought me a raspberry brownie, and it was probably the only raspberry brownie I’d ever had. It was delicious, but his erection had no idea that it was seriously fucking with my blood sugars.
“Amidst the babble and the cackle,
A voice shouts loudest,
I am Romeo and you must come to me.
And I hear that voice,
I say, Verona, at last I am coming to thee.”
He was like a boy playing on the seashore. I asked him what could he see? He said he hoped they were happy, working the beach, just out of reach, but free.
To the boy who went to McDonald’s and ate a Double Big Mac with Bacon, a double cheeseburger, chilli cheese bites, large fries, a Galaxy Cookie Crumble McFlurry, and drank a Banana Milkshake. You ate the cucumber sticks because you said they were healthy. I wonder why you have the body of a skinny HB pencil
I can still attract any man in the world. It’s just that any man is never the right man.
There is a popular French blog that I follow and is a mixture of photos and occasional pieces about characters, books, and movies. My French is hopeless, and I appreciate that Google allows me to right click and translate it into dodgy English.
I like the blog, but today I have inadvertently discovered that what I took to be cleverly written pieces are really a collection of plagiarised snippets from other websites.
It came to light after researching a story it had featured about Jean-Claude Brialy, a French actor from the 1950s and 1960s, Yves Montand, the Italian-born French actor and singer, and Reda Caire, a popular singer in Paris from the 1930s to the 1950s. I found that the story existed word for word in several places.
A synopsis.
Brialy once claimed that Montand had a nine-month gay affair with Reda Caire while working as his private secretary.
Helene Hazara, a cultural critic, radio hostess and expert on French chanson, wrote that “everyone in show business knew that Montand had been Caire’s lover. In the ’50s, Montand used to make homophobic jokes about Reda, who called him up one day and said, ‘If you say nasty things about me, I can also tell stories about you!’”
But Caire, speaking about Montand, also came up with the best and bitchiest line. ”It is odd that a boy with such a beautiful membrum should have such smelly feet.”
I have reached the end of André Aciman’s Homo Irrealis Essays, and it has been a long journey. I finished it, and realised that for the most part, I have no idea what Aciman is writing about. As I’ve mentioned before, this is perhaps because I am not as clever as he is.
But I have persevered, and he talks about irrealis moods and uses examples from his interesting life, in books he has read, and in the movies he has watched. I have even taken the trouble of researching ‘irrealis moods’ but became more confused.
I have tried to explain it to my partner and got it hopelessly wrong.
“Something that happened, but might not have happened, but we expected it to happen, therefore it might have happened, but we did not realise that it had happened, and might not have even happened yet, but might still happen.”
I can take satisfaction that I have at least written like Aciman, even if it is entirely incorrect.
There are fantastic lines in the book that I wish I had written… if only I had been clever enough.
That moment was meant to be. A crackle of excitement that bubbled up and brought with it the unwatered lust of these desert years
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 