The Brides of Mopti

The Niger River runs 4000 kilometers through Western Africa. Its existence was known to the Romans, although few people were aware of its source. Mungo Park explored the Mali interior finding death beyond the relative safety of Timbucktoo. It was acommn end for most European seeking the shrink the expanse of 'terra incognita' on the Dark Continent.

The French came, saw, and went to Mali. They left the land of the strong brown god in 1960 and the nation of Mali returned to obscurity. The BBC News resurrected the world's attention to this distant land with a reportage of brothel towns along the Niger River.

Thousands of Nigerian women have been enslaved in whorehouses to serve Muslim men unable to afford multiple wives. Foreign travelers were first to see the rampant sex trade in cities such as Mopti.

"I fired our first travel guide in a dark and dirty brothel in Mopti. The brothel was the cheaper of the two 'hotels' and served cold beer when the electricity was working, but was primitive, squalid, and full of noisy drunks."

Obviously a no star hotel.

And neither was The Hotel Bar Mali.

"A marvelous place to luxuriate in squalor. For the squeamish, it was indubitably a mirror on hell, a place where six of the seven deadly sins were practiced continually, or more accurately, continuously, since there was no significant interval in the on and off of coitus uninterreptus and other frenzied debauch."

I'm a bad man, but I'm sure that this town has worst.

Any town that far from sanity will attract the scum of the Earth.

Mopti, for far from heaven, so close to hell.

This is not National Geographic photo shoot.

Raptor Fest / Central Park

Saturday, October 2, 2010

12:00 p.m.–3:00 p.m.

Learn all about birds of prey at our annual flight of fancy. Hawks, falcons, owls and other birds of prey will be on hand for flight demonstrations and more!

The Great Hill (in Central Park), Manhattan

Location Details: Enter on West 106th Street and Central Park West.

Cost - Free

Urban Park Rangers
Contact Number

(212) 628-2345

The Perfect Martini By Luis Bunuel

To provoke, or sustain, a reverie in a bar, you have to drink English gin, especially in the form of the dry martini. To be frank, given the primordial role in my life played by the dry martini, I think I really ought to give it at least a page. Like all cocktails, the martini, composed essentially of gin and a few drops of Noilly Prat, seems to have been an American invention. Connoisseurs who like their martinis very dry suggest simply allowing a ray of sunlight to shine through a bottle of Noilly Prat before it hits the bottle of gin. At a certain period in America it was said that the making of a dry martini should resemble the Immaculate Conception, for, as Saint Thomas Aquinas once noted, the generative power of the Holy Ghost pierced the Virgin's hymen "like a ray of sunlight through a window-leaving it unbroken."

Another crucial recommendation is that the ice be so cold and hard that it won't melt, since nothing's worse than a watery martini. For those who are still with me, let me give you my personal recipe, the fruit of long experimentation and guaranteed to produce perfect results. The day before your guests arrive, put all the ingredients-glasses, gin, and shaker-in the refrigerator. Use a thermometer to make sure the ice is about twenty degrees below zero (centigrade). Don't take anything out until your friends arrive; then pour a few drops of Noilly Prat and half a demitasse spoon of Angostura bitters over the ice. Stir it, then pour it out, keeping only the ice, which retains a faint taste of both. Then pour straight gin over the ice, stir it again, and serve.

(During the 1940s, the director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York taught me a curious variation. Instead of Angostura, he used a dash of Pernod. Frankly, it seemed heretical to me, but apparently it was only a fad.)

The True Object of Desire

None more desirable than Catherine Deneuve in Luis Bunuel's BELLE DU JOUR.

The essence of 1967.

The End of SIMON OF THE DESERT

“Salvador Dali seduced many ladies, particularly American ladies, but these seductions usually consisted of stripping them naked in his apartment, frying a couple of eggs, putting them on the woman's shoulders and, without a word, showing them the door.”

This quote was uttered by the famed surrealistic film maker Luis Bunuel. He was a renown and sophisticated drinker. TIME magazine had reviewed his 1967 offering about a French housewife drawn into prostitution by her lust. The movie was rated R. The cashier at the Pilgrim Theater in Boston's Combat Zone was a film buff. She let me in twice. I was a good-looking 15 year old.

When my professor in CINEMA 101 extolled the LE CHIEN ANDALOU as the triumph of the mind over materialism, I countered that the sophomoric cartoon of Freudism couldn't compare to the raw sensuality of Catherine Deneuve. The professor disapproved of my argument and my final grade was a D+.

Luis Bunuel won accolades at Cannes, Venice, and even scored to Oscars with THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE in 1972 and THE OBSCURE OBJECT OF DESIRE in 1974. My film professor would have approved of both films, however my second favorite Bunuel film was SIMON OF THE DESERT about an ancient priest living atop a Roman pillar seeking enlightenment only to fail by succumbing to the Devil's succubus.

The movie lasted 45 minutes and the last scene is the fallen saint in a New York beatnik bar. His reward from Satan. Bored and blase.

I love it and to view this scene please go to the following URL

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=8742143483092286611#

Red Army Love

Fuck Lady Gaga

The voices of feminism were silenced throughout the Bush regime and the current economic climate frowns on women seeking better pay for equal work. The US news stations only cater to the voices of Sarah Palin and the anti-masturbation candidate from Delaware. This afternoon I ran into an ex-TV news person. She had retired from the networks.

"I was tired of saying the same thing over and over again. None of it meaning anything." She was young, smart, and beautiful. Not Katy Couric. Old and plastic. "There are only two news channels in America and they aren't saying anything."

I agreed, because I stopped watching TV.

Everything said on the national news is sadly crap. There are no reporters. Newscaster stand before images of events in which they have no interest. True talking heads spouting flumes of sound-bytes and unless only these 15-second spats matter to those watching these programs.

Lady Gaga tried to be a spokeswoman for gay rights in the military.

"What the fuck does she know about sucking cock in the Navy?" a gay friend of mine asked me. He had served on a carrier. 20 years and out. A pension and he wasn't telling any stories about those years in the tearooms of the US Navy for fear of losing his pension. "Lady Gaga is no cocksucker."

The right-wing media refrained from commenting on the pop star's speech in Maine where she lambasted the Pentagon for their 'don't ask, don't tell' policy on gays in the military, however Camille Paglia, self-proclaimed dissident feminism, declared that Lady Gaga was destroying sexuality with her pop music.

At first I thought the virgin queen of demagoguery was bitter about the songstress' success. Her article proved my opinion wrong. Her attack on Lady Gaga was based on the pseudo-diva's piracy of pop iconography.

A little bit Madonna. A tad Gwen. A pinch Mariah.

I didn't care a tick, until I spotted a photo of Lady Gaga with a black mike wire around her neck. This image was stolen from the late Stiv Bators. The lead singer of the Dead Boys used to hang himself on stage. Once at CBGB"s theater he miscalculated the distance to the floor and dangled with feet kicking like a hung man until his guitarist, Cheetah Chrome, noticed the tongue protruding from his friend's mouth.

Classic punk and Lady Gaga ain't shit.

Only another thief on the backs of the originals.

It's not only rock and roll.

Here's the url for Camille Paglia's article in the London Times

http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/public/magazine/article389697.ece

She ain't fat off the mark.

Finally Talent

I knew that Madonna was good for something.

We Are All Aliens

Our solar system belongs to the Milky Way, a barred spiral galaxy comprised of billions of stars. Our nearest neighbor is the Andromeda Galaxy. Our sun twirls on the very edge of the swirling mass of stars ie the boondocks. No ETs are coming to this speck in the cosmic dust, yet as a young boy living in the southern suburbs of Boston I fell prey to the belief that 'we are not alone'.

Flying saucers, UFOs, and little green Martians were real. My ranch house existence with a two-car garage was a fake. Carnivals and circus were banned from my hometown, so the only escape offered to a 10 year-old boy was via the stars and every summer night once my parents were asleep I would leave out house to lie on the grass, praying for the ETs to take me away to Andromeda.

I didn't even care if I was anally probed, after all I was an altar boy.

Sadly I remained on Earth.

The government declared UFOs a myth. Anyone believing in flying saucers were mad. Little green Martians were a joke.

1960s.

Fifty years later the world governing body, the UN, announced that they had appointed an ambassador to celestial new-comers asking the time-honored question, "Take me to your leader."

Their choice was a woman.

I hope that she had a good sense of humor, for laughter is the galactic equalizer.

She might tell jokes such as this one offered by Mark King

Two aliens enter a bar. One orders a single tequila shot with double worms. The other asks: why did you order double worms?

Because I've gone onto the Maria Callas diet... there's so much to learn from these earthlings.

Or

What's E.T. short for?

Because he has little legs!

And

What's the difference between a man and E.T.?

E.T. phoned home.

What's the difference between a legal alien and an illegal alien?
Since 2002 - nothing. Both have lost their civil rights.

Of course after they were waterboarded.

Nothing says America better other than a big billboard EAT AT EARTH.

The fat people are so tasty.

Why are Raincoats Yellow?

And westerners ask my Arab women wear chadors.

Common decency of course.

No More Screams for Ice Cream

One of President Obama's first act was to sign documents to close the Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp within the year. Almost two years later GITMO holds 147 detainees in what the US military claim are humane conditions. The treatment of prisoners has certainly improved over the previous administration's blind eye to torture of inmates. When three inmates committed suicide in 2006, the prison commander protested accusation of abuse by saying that the suicides were "an act of asymmetric warfare committed against us."

One prisoner had a different opinion.

"I was trying to kill myself. I tried four times, because I was disgusted with my life."

Those desperate days are over, however Gitmo exists in a legal limbo as politicians argue against transporting this detainees to US soil. Prisoners have no real rights and this week the military authorities cut the ice cream ration.

One serving a day.

This story is a diversion to show that the prisoners are treated with humanity.

The truth to hide a lie.

No one is screaming for ice cream.

Not in Gitmo.

Moses on the March

Moses freed his people from the Egyptian Pharaoh by unleashing 10 Plagues. The last plague killed the first-born son of every family without lamb's blood on their doorway. A murderous god Yahweh and spiteful. The Jews wandered in the desert for 40 years until they reached the Promised Land. Their path to Canaan was sodden with the blood of anyone in the path of the lord. It all seemed much more holy in the movie THE TEN COMMANDMENTS. Moses was denied entrance, because he had not circumcised his son.

This afternoon I rode my bike through Williamsburg. The Hassidim had built temporary shelters outside on the streets and patios as a remainder of those 40 years in the desert. One humorist joked about this lengthy meandering.

Why was Moses wandering through the desert for 40 years?
Because men refuse to ask for directions!

The Jews were exiled from Israel twice. The first time by the Babylonians and secondly after the Romans defeated the Bar Kokhba revolt in 135 AD. The Chosen People covered the globe seeking solace from persecution. The Nazis massacres convinced the Jews to regain their biblical homeland citing the Old Testament as their claim to Palestine. The Western allies backed their struggle and the UN mandate created Israel in 1948.

The Palestinians were forced into the desert of Moses.

Wars and uprising and negotiations have failed to secure a stable state for the Palestinians, the ancestors of Abraham's second wife. Hagar and her son Ishmael were forced into the desert by Abraham's spiteful first wife. Life imitating the Bible.

But even the desert is not safe.

The moratorium against Israeli settlements in the west Bank has lapsed after a ten-month building freeze. Zionist radicals intent on colonizing the West Bank have vowed to build on the ancient lands without any regard to Palestinian property rights.

Trouble in the making.

But the settlers have Yahweh on their side and he is a vengeful god.

There are no jokes in the Bible.

Only in real life.

A Palestinian suspect was being grilled by Israeli police. "Honest, I'm not a suicide bomber," he said. "I didn't say I wanted to blow myself up so I could sleep with 72 virgins. All I said was I'm dying to get laid!"

Silencing the Truth

Operation Dark Heart by Operation Dark Heart detailed the process how an special operation of the US Military tracked down the 9/11 hijackers prior to the attack. The operation passed on this intelligence to the FBI, which ignored the warning. This damning allegation as well as several other accusations had the Pentagon on a book buying spree.

9500 copies of Operation Dark Heart.

These books were burned in an old-fashioned Nazi bonfire for supposed security reasons. His publisher St. Martins Press showed their fortitude by coming out with a 2nd printing, albeit with words, sentences, and paragraphs blacked out by the Pentagon's censors.

9500 copies at $25.99 each came to nearly $300,000 instantly catapulting the book to the best-sellers list. Sellers on Ebay.com has offered the several first-edition copies at $2000 a piece. The Pentagon has balked at this price and the public are cautious to pay so much for a book in the age of electronic information.

There is no intellectual property rights for such an expensive book.

I've tried to find it online without success.

Once more the truth is hard to find in the land of the freaked.

Especially since it points the finger of blame in the direction desired by the Pentagon.

Mohammad Atta.

Bad Boy # 1.

Burn Baby Burn

The Blessing on the Lizard King

Monitor lizards are native to SE Asia. These carnivorous predators are related to the famous Komodo Dragon. Varanid lizards are cooperative hunters like raptors in JURASSIC PARK. Many urban Thais regard the sighting of a hia or monitor lizard as the harbinger of bad luck, despite of the legend about their warning humans of crocodiles. Down south on the Isthmus of Ka country folks keep the miniature monsters as domestic pets. Crocodiles still wander the remaining mangrove swamps.

According to the Bangkok Post monitor lizards cluster in the city’s secluded water pipes. Up to 200 of the 2-meter long beasts reside in each city district.

”They keep increasing in numbers because these reptiles have few natural enemies, and their food is always plentiful,” a Thai reptile expert said, “Water monitors eat almost anything; fish, eggs, and even rotten meat.”

The ants in my house never eat potato chips.

Monitor lizards will eat junk food, but they really like eggs.

In 1991 I stopped at Malaysia’s Tioman Island. Lonely Planet referred to the South China Sea island as a tropical gem. Jungles blanketed the hills. The sea was an invisible sheet of clear gin. The beach sand gleamed white in the midday sun. The beer was cold and the bungalows cheap. Backpackers overstayed their visits on this paradise. One was a Swedish girl. The 23 year-old was blonde. We slept together four nights in a row.

“This means nothing.” Velda was telling the truth. It was only sex. She was a backpacker. Nothing meant anything to devotees of the sun other than the next highlight on their world tour. Our affair lasted four days and nights.

“I want to sleep alone.” The slim Swede announced after an afternoon. She was exhausted. I didn’t argue. My thirst for beer was greater than one bottle. Velda didn’t even kiss me good-bye. I expected she would leave on the morning ferry. I doubted we would see each other again. She was heading south to Singapore. My next destination was Koh Phi Phi in Thailand. I entered the bar for the bungalows.

“Beer for all my friends.”

I love the movie BARFLY for that line alone.

Before the beers arrive for the three German backpackers, a scream screeched through the trees. The Swedish girl ran into the bar. Her long blonde hair a Medusa snarl. Her voice hit a soprano high on every word.

“There’s a lizard in the bathroom.”

The Malays laughed about a lizard. The island was crawling with lizards and snakes. Insects too. My mother was scared of insects. If one got into the house, she would cry, “There’s a monster in the bathroom.”

I figured that Velda was just as hysterical as my mother and grabbed a broom.

“I’ll get rid of the lizard.”

“He more bigger than Gecko.” The terror had stripped away her high school English.

“I’ll take care of it. Show me.” I was familiar with the path to her bungalow. The A-frame stood in a palm grove perched next to a tidal inlet. Mangrove trees sank their roots into the brackish swamp water. A good breeding place for lizards. The sun was setting to the buzz of mosquitoes and the 40-watt light bulb over her open door fluttered like a firefly on its last legs. The Swedish stood on the porch.

“Be careful.”

“My middle name.”

The next was fool-hardy.

I peered inside the room. The bathroom door was shut. No noise. The gecko had probably escaped through the ceiling. I tiptoed to the bathroom, broom in one hand. I yanked on the bathroom door expecting to find only a toilet. I was wrong. A monitor lizard bared slimy teeth with a hiss. It was almost my size. The broom dropped to the floor, as I slammed the door shut.

“That is a big lizard. You want to sleep at my place?”

“You have lizards?”

“Small ones.”

“I sleep with you.”

Velda stayed another week. I thanked the Lizard God for those extra days and nights. Sex was good. I had seen Jim Morrison with the Doors at the Boston Tea Party in 1968. I didn’t tell the Swedish girl. Velda didn’t realize that I was in my late-30s. She was only 20. Skin smooth as river-polished stone. After her departure south, I spotted the monitor lizard lazing in the sun. I bought a dozen eggs and fed them one by one.

It was the least I could do for a cousin of Jim Morrison.

Anything else would have been bad luck.

Overstay Thai Visa

Thailand's beaches and nightlife combine with a rich cultural heritage and world-class cuisine to create SE Asia's # 1 tourist destination. Millions of foreigners flock to the tropical country and hundreds of thousands of farangs fall in love with the torpid life under the palms. I myself have upped houses in the USA to live in the Land of Smiles. The Boston consulate was gracious enough to grant me a year-visa. After it expired I was committed to a bi-monthly visa run to nearest foreign country ie Cambodia to get a new stamp in my passport.

The border towns of Poipet, Krum, and Had Lek were close to Pattaya. My fellow farangs and I spent approximately 30 minutes to complete the process of exiting Thailand, entering Cambodia, exiting Cambodia, and re-entering Thailand. The cost of this service complete with lunch and transportation was $100, however many longtime foreign residents decided to risk overstaying without a visa.

The penalty at the airport was 20,000 baht or $600.

My South African friend Richard hadn't left the country for three years. His savings had been 40,000 baht. Exiting at the airport in 2008 for a teaching job in Saudi Arabia Richard paid the over-stay fine and proceeded on his way without any further complications.

"I figured it out after realizing that I never saw any Africans or Indians on the visa runs. They come here and stay without ever worrying about a visa. It's not like they are going anywhere and neither was I. I loved my OS visa. It was cheap."

This liberal policy has come to an end with the announcement from the Thai Immigration Bureau that all foreigners overstaying more than 6 weeks will be arrested on the spot and remanded to the immigration jail attached to the airport for several days while the proper paperwork is processed by officialdom.

Thai Visa readers chirped happily about how this new edict will deter the criminal element from overstaying in Thailand. I hate those do-gooders, especially since the prosecution of the penalty depends heavily on the immigration officials at the airport.

Expect a new Mercedes Benz dealership to open in Cobra Swamp.

It's all for a good cause.

Never Say Not Never

My younger brother died on AIDS in 1995. Our family buried him next to my mother. I couldn't speak at the funeral. I said little after the burial. My sisters knew that I had a packet of airline tickets in my pocket. Each destination offered a holy site. Time spent in their proximity expiated all sins.

Wat Phra Kaew, Bangkok, Thailand
Wat Phra That Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai, Thailand
Jokhang Temple, Lhasa, Tibet
Varanasi
The Bodhi Tree
Pashupatinath Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal

A few go-go bars too, so I understand how the Israelis consider the Western Wall or Wailing Wall one of the holiest sites in the world for Jewish worship. It was built by Herod, the original bacon Jew, 19 years before the birth of the Great Troublemaker. The stones weigh between 2 and 8 tons.

Heavy.

I tried to lift a water-soaked log at the beach today.

Impossible.

Not for the builders of the Second Temple.

The Glory of Yahweh suffered greatly at the hands of the Romans. The Latin rulers banned Jews from Jerusalem for centuries after their revolt in 135AD. After the Arab conquest the Jews were left the Wailing Wall as a reminder of what they had lost. The Western Wall still exerts incredible power over both Jews and Muslims.

The O;d Testament means little to Christian.

Only whatever will make a good movie.

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS

The best of the Old Testament movie helped establish the concept of Israel in the American consciousness along with EXODUS. The Arabs were interlopers on the Holy Land and the current Prime Minister of the Middle Eastern Apartheid state has vowed to never give up the Western Wall along with the rejection of right to return for the refugees over the occupation of Palestine.

"Maybe 20,000."

The refugees number in the millions.

Jordan 1,983,733
Lebanon 425,640
Syria 472,109
West Bank 778,993
Gaza Strip 1,106,195

My grocer in Fort Greene is Palestinian.

Neither of us have an answer to the questions posed by the powers in this problem.

I entered the store on South Portland for ice. Ralph is a good man. He asked me to speak to a Latino man my age bothering his young worker. I had been bullied as a child. The Puerto Rican man was a construction worker. His clothes were covered in dust. This was the end of his day. The 6th day of work. OT. He held a long Bud in his hand.

"You picking on the boy?"

"I say some shit."

"That's not right. You're my age. 50s. We're supposed to be helping the young. This boy has a job. Not many kids can say that, because these are hard times. So lay off the young brother." I outweighed the seated man by 40 pounds. My most serious exertion for the day was bicycling from Fort Greene to Rockaway Beach. I was ready for nothing. "This time is about feeling better. We have to be stronger. We can't let the world beat us down. Not us among us."

"Yeah." He was non-committal. It had been a long week.

"Yo, young boy, he give you any trouble, let me know and give me $10. I punch him once. Not to hurt him, but to let him know you have back-up."

Ralph was happy with my discourse. He couldn't talk to customers this way. Every penny counted in the grand scheme of things.

"Plus a bacon and egg sandwich, if you can me and I'm in bed."

I clapped the Puerto Rican brother on the shoulder. I worked hard too. I drank beer too. Just never Bud. We shook hands and I bid Ralph good-night. The young boy said thanks. "Remember a bacon and egg sandwich."

"With cheese." He was grateful.

I could almost taste it now.

Bacon!!!!!!!!!!

Splashing Gas on a Fire

World leaders have flocked to New York for the General Assembly. President Obama addressed the dignitaries to ask for a final solution to the Palestinian problem. Other diplomats have voiced their concerns over poverty and global warming, however the Iranian president scored big with his claim that the 9/11 attacks were organized by Israeli intelligence services with the green light from the CIA.

"It was said that some three thousands people were killed on the II September for which we are all very saddened. Yet, up until now, in Afghanistan and Iraq hundreds of thousands of people have been killed, millions wounded and displaced and the conflict is still going on and expanding.

In identifying those responsible for the attack, there were three viewpoints.

1.) That a very powerful and complex terrorist group, able to successfully crossed all layers of the American intelligence and security, to carry out the attack.

This is the main viewpoint advocated by American statesmen.

2.) That some segments within the U.S. government orchestrated the attack to reverse the declining American economy and its grips on the Middle East in order also to save the Zionist regime. The majority of the American people as well as other nations and politicians agree with this view.

3.) It was carried out by a terrorist group but the American government supported and took advantage of the situation. Apparently, this viewpoint has fewer proponents. The main evidence linking the incident was a few passports found in the huge volume of rubble and a video of an individual whose place of domicile was unknown but it was announced that he had been involved in oil deals with some American officials. It was also covered up and said that due to the explosion and fire no trace of the suicide attackers was found.

The US delegation walked out on the speech along with a host of other nations. Obama condemned the speech as inflammatory. Americans were angered by the suggestion that Israel had anything to do with 9/11 or that the CIA somehow allowed the airplanes to strike at US targets.

These theories are considered crackpot by the mainstream media, however in December 2001 Fox News featured a story about the possible link between 9/11 and a giant Israeli spy network operating within the the USA. The footage was deleted by FoxNews.



I saw the second airplane strike the southern tower. It was not a fake.

Israelis or Saudis.

All I know is someone attacked America and America attacked Afghanistan.

The usual suspects are always first on the list.

Except not a single Iraqi or Afghani were on the plane. 15 Saudis, although none of them the pilot.

Hinky.

The Renewal of the New World

The other night I sat through a speech of Evo Morales, the Bolivian president. He spoke in Spanish. His native language is that of the indigenous people of his landlocked nation. Quechua or Aymara. As a child Evo worked communal field where property belong to the village. He supports Socialism as the only social system dedicated to the betterment of mankind. The diplomatic mission for his country espouses the same thought and champion the liberation of coca as a medicine rather than a drug. His ambassador and consul general are 100% behind the policies of their president. I've chewed coca leaves with both. It is quite agreeable, as it was when I walked the Inca trail with Mrs. Carolina.

We had traveled to Peru in 1995 from LA. Our relationship was in the final stages of love. I wanted it to end and thought that there was no better way to say 'I don't love you anymore' than going on a cocaine binge in Lima.

One problem.

No one would sell me blow.

Not even in the slums. The dealers thought I was DEA. In truth I do look like a cop. I explained to the dealers that I was doing this to break up with my mistress. They thought that I was crazy. Maybe I was, because Mrs. Carolina was a good person. Still is, but I grew more and more frustrated by the dealers' rejection in every city of Peru.

Finally we arrived in Cuzco. The Navel of the Incan Empire. Quechua women sold coca leaves in the main square. I bought several pounds. Mrs. Carolina chewed them as a remedy for high-altitude sickness. We booked two train tickets to Maachu Pichu. The lost city of the Incas. Hikers detrained at kilometer 88 to hike the Incan Trail. A three-day journey to the ruins hovering above Urabama River. Mrs. Carolina and I had treked in the Rockies, Cascades, and Guatemala. We stayed on the train with the colonel of the DEA and his two sons. His haircut was military. His spine straight as a Kansas highway.

I had a ball of coca leaves in my cheek.

The lack of oxygen under control.

The colonel complained about a shortness of breath. His sons were sucking every oxygen molecule in the compartment. I offered them the coca leaves. All the Peruvians were chewing them. The colonel refused my offer.

"It's a plague."

"I don't know. I have a bad knee from playing basketball and I don't feel a thing." His sons were 14 and 16. A little young to introduce to a serious herb, however I had lived in Tibet for 3 months. The teenagers were in the first stage of AMS or acute mountain sickness.

"I spent every minute of my day trying to stop cocaine from reaching America."

His boys were listless. The train had hit the highest point of the journey. They would revive with the descent to Agua Calientes.

"And you failed. You can get cocaine anywhere in America. New York, Chicago, Iowa, Utah. Sorry, but the war is lost. Cocaine is everywhere." 90% of the dollar bills at a GOP convention were tainted with the drug.

"I will not accept defeat."

"Okay." I was happy sucking on the juice from the leaves. So was Mrs. Carolina. Our relationship was solid for the moment. It was based on coca leaves and a place to stay in Agua Calientes.

That night we sat by the rushing river. Trout and more coca leaves. We bathed in the hot springs. Afterward we made love in our cheap hotel room. No phones. No TV. No room service. Only coca leaves.

In the morning we rode a bus to Macchu Pichu. The DEA colonel was seated in the back. He didn't say 'good morning'. We were the enemy. The greater enemy was the altitude. 7,970 feet above sea level. Mrs. Carolina and I ventured far from the ruins. The colonel suffered from oxygen deprivation. Mrs. Carolina and I held hands at the Inca Gate. Trekkers filed through the narrow passage.

Short of breath.

Mrs. Carolina and I looked at each other and shrugged like a Quechua.

"Coca." She pointed to the snow-tipped Andes distant to the east.

It was a morning that said forever and we were slow to leave that spot.

Mrs. Carolina, me, and a bag of leaves.

"Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow."

Omar of Khayyam.

Different worlds. Same thoughts.

Chuck Berry's SWEET LITTLE SIXTEEN

Back in December 1959 Chuck Berry invited a Apache girl from Yuma, Arizona to work at his club in St. Louis. Police arrested the rocker on charges of violating the Mann Act ie the transport of minors over state lines. The girl charged with prostitution and testified that she and Berry had had sex numerous times on the journey from Yuma to St. Louis.

"What was your purpose in bringing Janice from Texas to Missouri?" The Judge asked Berry during trial.

"She needed a job and I had a job for her in the club."

Chuck Berry served three years in prison.

His song SWEET LITTLE SIXTEEN remains a classic warning to men.

Caveat puella.

To view SWEET LITTLE 16 go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3EOBlTQpKE&feature=related

Jail Bait

The Death of Sin

Sin is considered an act defying the accepted social morale.

Christianity listed the Seven Deadly Sins as Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. Sinners can commit this sins anywhere in the world, but for the past thirty years few places were better to offend the morality of squares than Pattaya, Thailand and I know this all too well having lived in the Last Babylon for most of the 21st Century.

Go-Go girls, rent boys, transvestites, thieves, scammers, steroid muscle-builders, fugitives from justice ad nasuseum sought solace in the bars and brothels scattered liberally throughout the notorious beach resort. City officials attempted to squash the sex trade only to be corrupted by the easy money. The police were equally human. Impoverished families of the Isaan Plateau achieved middle-class status on the sexual labors of their daughters and sons.

Where social initiatives failed to clean up the tired old whore of a city, the economic downturn has wrought considerable damage to the sex trade, as the legions of punters are decimated by the worldwide economic crisis.

The New York Times featured an article about the collapse of sleaze.

Thai families, Chinese tourists, and Russian vacationers have replaced British football louts, ladyboys, and drunk sailors.

Of course the New York Times reporter has never sat at the northern Pattaya bus station to witness the mass exodus back and forth to Pattaya.

Easy come. Easy go.

Like blood for a newspaper, sex sells and to the north 100 million Chinese males have no female companions.

Thai girls love the Chinese.

30 seconds and happy ending.

"Some finish before get in."

Super happy ending.

Yesterday, today, and forever.

ps I committed all the Seven Deadly Sins in one day in Pattaya.

It was real easy, because unlike Las Vegas Pattaya is not all mirrors and bright lights.

Tell No Evil

Soldiers are notoriously unreliable. The Afghan troops are disorganized under US supervision, while their Taliban counterparts fight the occupying forces to a stalemate. Same tribesmen. Different motivation. This quandary befuddles military strategists, although modernists within the Pentagon tout the value of a soldier designed along the second stanza of Alfred Tennyson's famed poem THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Now the six hundred has been reduced to one.

A drone missile.

No sex.

No need for 'don't ask, don't tell'.

A eunuch warrior capable of violating Assimov's three laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Next stage; the Terminator.

Nothing is evil for Mr. "I'll be back'.

The Way of Greatness

Great leaders led soldiers to the land of legends through buckets of blood. Alexander the Great invaded Persia, the world's most powerful empire, with a host of 42,000 troops. Victory was assured at the Battle of Issus. Power was insured by the murder of Darius, the Persian emperor.

The year was 334 BC.

Alexander sought greater glory to the East, only stopping before the Ganges after his weary troops rebelled at the prospect of conquering the kingdoms of the Orient.

For most of his epic Alexander was accompanied by his male lover, Hephaestion. The conqueror mourned the passing of his 'friend' as he would a wife. No one ever said that neither warrior was not a man, unlike the US Congress, for the man-man preference in sexuality was unimportant to the ancients as long as a warrior showed a taste for murderous art on the battlefield, however the US Senate voted against the repeal of the military's 'don't ask, don't tell' policy, despite the US Court determining the ruling to be unconstitutional.

The GOP was quick to crow about a victory over Obama especially since the Head Democrat Henry Reid joined the other side of the aisle along with two other democratic senators forcing any swing vote on the GOP side to vote along with the rest of the GOP.

56-43

And the one ex-senator who couldn't be happier?

ex-Senator Craig of Minnesota.

He had been busted for cruising in the airport bathroom. A tea room in gay venacular.

For tea-bagging.

He never was asked and he never told when he was a private first-class with the Idaho National Guard 1970-1972.

A man who know when to hold his piece or someone else's piece too.

No Pizza Ovens for the Poor

Any traveler over the mountains in Asia or South America will be greeted by the hacking cough of impoverished villagers. The chorus of hacks could easily be mistaken for a plague of tuberculosis, except the underlying cause is smoke inhalation from crude household stoves. Secretary of State Clinton has proposed funding $50 million to combat the 1.9 million deaths from this scourge as well as cut back on the carbon excess in the atmosphere.

Drudgereport.com was quick to report on this suggested donation as a waste of taxpayers' money, even though our contribution was less than any other western nation.

Cold cold hearts.

But no one says a word about $3 billion a year to the welfare state of Israel or the trillion dollars for Iraq and Afghanistan.

Nothing warms the hearts of a hawk more than the killing of infidels.

Man, woman, or child.

The Genghis Khan solution.

Whence Comes the Storm

In 1978 I lived on East 10th Street with my girlfriend. A hillbilly from West Virginia. 3rd floor rear apartment. My bedroom was situated on the airshaft. An actor friend lived on the 5th floor.

Every night the building shivered with the screams of a woman in orgasm. This cascade of 'oh god yes' continued for a week. The source of this frenzy could only be the actor and his svelte girlfriend. My girlfriend went frigid hearing her hysteria and I couldn't maintain an erection. Finally I confronted my friend, "Could you tell your girlfriend to keep it down?"

"My girlfriend? I thought it was you."

We were both wrong. The sexual maelstrum was coming from the 4th floor apartment.

Two lesbians.

Twice the men we were at half the weight.

The 10 Unanswerables

According to the Old Testament Moses descended from Mount Sinai with two stone tablets inscribed with 17 Commandments. the ex-son of the pharoah was the only man in the crowd that could read, except Yahweh didn't write in Egyptian. At least according to the Charlton Heston version of THE TEN COMMANDMENT. There could have been a thousand for all Moses knew.

The re-interpretation in the ensuing millenia have whittled the 17 to 10, although the late comedian George Carlin combined them into the One Commandment 'THOU SHALT KEEP THY RELIGION TO THYSELF!!!' I religiously obeyed his non-divine edict, as do an increasing number of non-believers.

American education has ignored Judeo-Christian thought during the last half-century along with geography, history, math, art, PE, and any science with an -ology at the end of the word. People know less and less. Certainly not all the Ten Commandment, however the 2nd Brain of Mankind or the Internet knows all and anyone can resurrect knowledge by going to ask.jeeves.com

Being established in a Christian nation, the interactive website had come up with its own list of Ten.

The Ten Unanswerables

1. What is the meaning of life?

2. Is there a God?

3. Do blondes have more fun?

4. What is the best diet?

5. Is there anybody out there?

6. Who is the most famous person in the world?

7. What is love?

8. What is the secret to happiness?

9. Did Tony Soprano die?

10. How long will I live?

Of course I've been drinking, so I will try for the 10 Answers

1. The meaning of life is simple. Live today for tomorrow you die.

2. There certainly isn't a bearded God wearing a muumuu in the clouds.

3. Blondes have more fun, if you like blondes.

4. The best diet is excess in moderation.

5. Is there anybody out there?

6. The famous person in the world is Andre the Giant. To me.

7. Love is like pornography, I know it when I feel it.

8. The secret to happiness is loving yourself and the world around you. Even in North Philidelphia. The baddest of the bad.

9. Death on TV is cancellation. Even Tony Soprano can escape swimming with the fish on TV.

10. Everyone lives until they die. See answer one.

Not trying to be smart, for anyone who thinks that he has heard all the answers has not heard all the questions.

You Bet I Would

Yesterday afternoon I was watching the Texas-Tennessee football game at Frank's Bar on Fulton. I was the only customer. Sam, the blonde bartender, had just returned from a six-week vacation in Slovakia.

"Nice weather." I had noticed the deep tan. Weather in Eastern Europe had been almost tropical this summer.

"Too hot." She smiled with the memory of a lazy summer in the homeland. "What about you?"

"I went to Thailand to visit my family." I told the 30 year-old about Fenway, Fluke, Noy, and Angie.

"What about your wife? She must miss you."

"And I miss Mam, but I couldn't afford to have everyone here, besides Thais love living in Thailand. There's nothing for them here." Most Thais are not travelers. They like being Thai and nowhere in the world is better for being Thai than Thailand.

"You have a girlfriend here?"

"None."

"What about your needs?"

"I had enough girlfriends for a lifetime, plus I'm too lazy to deal with women in New York." They were a spoiled tribe of Amazons mostly interested in dressing like West Palm Beach divorcees. "Too much trouble."
Better to keep my libertine ways in check.

Mam allows me to porno-surf while away from her and that's good enough for me. She doesn't consider it adultery, then again mostly I search the sites for someone looking like her.

It isn't easy.

The Rules of Modern Manhood

During my last sojourn to Pattaya I was sitting with Fenway’s mom and several Thai women. They extolled my eating spicy food.

"Farang mai kin chilli."

"I eat spicy." I mentioned that most Thai men don’t eat food dosed with chili. The two nearby Thai men argued, “Kin pet dai.”

“So you eat sum tam?” I asked about the fiery mango salad.

They shrugged lifting beer to their lips. One of Mam’s friends said, “Only gay men can’t eat aharn pet.”

I decided to follow this sweeping generalization with another.

“That means I'm gay, because they can eat spicy food.”

“Not you. Khun kin dai.” Mam knew that I was all man. We had sex often, but she had never caught me watching ladyboy porno. I suffered no pangs of homophobia or glua gai, then again because of the massive changes in society no one knows what who might be gay, however there are some new rules sent to me by a good male friend

1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

2: Any Man who brings a camera to a bachelor party may be legally killed and eaten by his buddies.

3: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

4: If you’ve known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever unless you actually marry her.

5: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a buddy’s fridge is forbidden. However complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

6: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy’s birthday is strictly optional. At that point, you must celebrate at a strip bar of the birthday boy’s choice.

7: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines
pit stops, not the weakest.

8: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another guy in the nuts.

9: Unless you’re in prison, never fight naked.

10: Friends don’t let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

11: If a man’s fly is down, that’s his problem, you didn’t see anything.

12: Women who claim they “love to watch sports” must be treated cunts until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to drink as much as the other
sports watchers.

13: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both, that’s just greedy.

14: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a friend of yours, except if she’s withholding sex pending your response.

15: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e., both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need.

16: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary.

17: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly “just a friend” have carnal, drunken monkey sex, the fact that you’re feeling weird and guilty is no reason for you not to nail each other again before the discussion about what a big mistake it was occurs.

18: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours.

19: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Men’s Gymnastics. Ever.

Of course none of these rules matter to Mem.

She's Thai.

The Importance of Size

Judging from the number of spam emails about adding length and girth to a penis, I'd have to assume that the typical porno-surfing male suffers a sense of inadequacy greater than his anxiety of hair loss, obsession with obesity, and fear of impotency. Most online films feature male performers with truly biblical Staffs of Moses. These seemingly impossible proportions are the goal of any men purchasing pills, pumps, and medical herbals from internet sites to enhance their girth and length.

“I just want to hear one woman say, “Not with that you don’t.” offered one testimony from a size improvement website.

“Not with that you don’t.”

I don’t know why anyone would want to hear that, but is size really important to a woman?

The girls at the Welkom Inn on Soi 3 in Pattaya see a lot of action. When asked if they liked big the most popular girl said, “I like small and fast too. Not hurt. And not take too much time.”

Another admitted, “Sometime when really horny. I like big. Good. But can’t work later. Small better.”

This doesn’t prevent them from massaging the male ego.

The fellatio expert says, “Man always love to hear he have big penis. If not big, he believe big you tell him big. Stupid kwai.”

My good friend Sherri, who did over 2000 XXX films, professes, “Size isn’t important. Well, if it’s a cashew then it’s a problem, but otherwise most girls in the industry like a normal penis. Nothing too awe inspiring. And quick too. Guys with bog ones, not many of them know how to use it, plus when a guy with a giant cock gets an erection most of the blood leaves his skull so he grunts like a caveman. Gimme a nice Irish or Jewish guy any day. Cut too.”

So there you have it.

Here is a list of the average male Erect Penis Lengths for 10 species

1. Humpback whale 10 ft

2. Elephant 5-6 ft

3. Bull 3 ft

4. Stallion 2 ft 6 in.

5. Rhinoceros 2 ft

6. Pig 18-20 in.

7. Man 6 in.

8. Gorilla 2 in.

9. Cat 3/4 in.

10. Mosquito 1/100 in.

Just remember, it’s never premature as long as you get it in.

GOP Anti-Masturbation Front

Record summer temperatures in Russia, epic floods in Pakistan, and tornadoes in Brooklyn. Meaningless to the State of Texas, which has sued the EPA to protect the Lone Star State from any regulations based on the 'flawed' findings of Global Warming.
The Texas Attorney General condemned any federal legislation aimed at containing greenhouse emissions, claiming that the EPA had based its regulation on lies. Oklahoma senator James Inhofe has yet to comment on this initiative by his GOP brethren, as the voters of his state recovered from a long summer of sweltering heat, but rest assured the prime denier of Global Warming will be heard from during the upcoming election season.

Meanwhile snow fell in the lower altitudes of Montana, as the state's GOP announced that they will seek to recriminalize homosexuality. The weather in Delaware was pleasant, despite the Tea Party's candidate for the Senate having declared in previous years that masturbation was adultery and she seeks to outlaw the onanistic sexual deviation. The previous White House administration considered masturbation as more serious threat to America than atheism and funded several groups to combat the perversity without success. Further money was distributed to scientific research into devices to prevent abuse such as penis cooling devices and clitoral dams, however most funds were diverted to continue the practice of circumcision to deny masturbators the extra pleasure from flogging the excess foreskin.

My sinful flesh was cut off without my consent.

The scarring was permanent.

I dream some nights about my amputated foreskin.

Thai hospitals offer an operation to replace the foreskin.

The cost ranges from $10,000 to $50,000 in the States.

I'll keep mine the way it is, unless the GOP decides to control masturbation by castration.

It's only a matter of time.

And that's a fighting word.

A Tree Falls in Brooklyn

Several severe micro-bursts of tornado strength winds ripped across the borough of Brooklyn knocking down thousands of trees. Big and small. Only one was toppled in Manhattan. High winds. Not a storm. The rain was finished by the time that I left work. Richie Boy and I subwayed to 23rd Street. He had to pick up a check for a Cartier watch. My destination was an art gallery on 25th Street displaying the work of James Britton, an American landscape painter of the mid-20th Century. Very well-unknown. My friend Kenyon was at the gallery.

"In books his paintings have more appeal."

"They look as if he painted them fast."

"Not a lot of brush strokes."

I later found out from the gallery owner that James Britton was constantly short of funds. Prolific output. Not enough paint or canvas. I liked two of the paintings. One of Sag Harbor. Another of a country road. Both were affordable, but out of my range.

Richie Boy had to dine with his wife. He was a good husband this week. In fact he loved his wife dearly, so he was a good husband 99.99% of the time. It was the .01% that got him in trouble, however his wife loved Richie Boy too. Just not that .01%.

Kenyon and I spoke about the paintings, New York, the 3rd tower of light commemorating the 3rd fallen building of 9/11. Our conversation was hushed. People are still not ready to discuss that event, mostly since they have heard too many lies to listen to the truth. I bid good night to Kenyon and trained over to Brooklyn. Almost missed my stop. The last glass of art wine was to blame.

South Oxford was quiet and I entered my building from the basement door. My landlord has yet to give me a key for the real front door. AP likes to think of me as a servant. I live on the top floor and babysit his kids.

"Did you see the tree outside?" His wife asked from the kitchen. "It was blown down by the storm."

"No." Art wine had broken at least one of my senses. I could now hear a buzzsaw. It sounded close.

"The storm was something else."

"My boss had called us to take shelter." Manny had seen the black clouds from his high rise. I had made fun of his urgency. As always Manny is right. "It was that bad?"

"Go take a look."

I walked outside. A large ginkgo tree was on its side. A work crew was cutting through the limbs. None of the parked cars had been damaged by the fall.

Lucky.

Someone had been killed in Park Slope.

The next morning a crowd was on the street. A bee keeper was gathering bees from the broken nest inside the ginkgo. Thousands of them had been scattered by the trunk's shattering. Neighbors were taking photos with their I-phones.

I wandered toward the Lafayette subway station.

Late for work.

A tree had fallen in Brooklyn and I didn't heard a thing.

Not even one hand clapping.

No Fool like an Old Fool

Outside the Pattaya Tai Big C Shopping Center there’s a skateboard club. Some Thai kids trying out tricks. Some were good. I tried a few moves and was surprised that I could do a wheelie. Hadn’t really intended to be so acrobatic. A question of putting too much weight on the back foot. The kids applauded my move and I handed back the skateboard, happy not to have taken a fall.

At 53 making contact with hard objects can be quite painful.

But I started thinking. “I’m not that old. I can still grind.”

Royal Garden had a few boards. 600 baht and 4000 baht.

I bought the cheap version and started skateboarding on my street. My daughter liked being pushed on the skateboard. It was harmless fun, until one day I was watching the Winter Olympics. It’s been years since I skied. I thought skateboarding down a hill might satisfy my downhill needs.

I mentioned to my wife that I wanted to skateboard down Jomtien Hill.

She asked, “How old are you? I know the answer. Do you?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll wear a helmet and go in the new park. You’ll ride behind me so no one will run me over.” Thais have a finely honed disregard for pedestrians and it’s always open season on fallen farangs.

“Bah.” She thought I was crazy, but realized it was my own life. “Som nam nah.”

We drove over to the new park and I got out of the car. The roads were smooth. The high speed descent might rival the thrill of skiing. I wore a helmet for protection and flip-flops.

Sneakers would have been a better idea, but I didn’t think I would be going that fast.

“Sure you want do this?” My wife wouldn’t think me any worse for backing out.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I signaled I was ready. My daughter was in the car too.

I got on the board and pushed off.

I picked up speed.

A little faster than expected and I was soon rolling at 20 kph. then 30.

No brakes. I was out of control. I deboarded in a panic and my flip-flops failed the test of hitting the ground running.

Two steps and face plant.

My helmet thunked the pavement and my shoulder crumbled under the weight of a 53 year old body. I got up slowly. Nothing broken, but my cellphone which I hadn’t taken out of my pocket. 3500 baht. Squashed

Plenty of cuts and bruises. Blood seeping from open wounds.

My daughter was crying thinking that I had really hurt myself.

In fact I had and for the next two weeks, I felt like John Gotti’s Mafia collection agency had beaten me with a baseball bat.

Pain is a way of letting your body is not yet dead.

Then remind you how of your age but not letting you heal quickly.

Snow is definitely softer than the street. Lucky I didn’t break any bones.

Everyone upon hearing this story says the same thing. “How old are you?”

I think I’m 25 but act 15 sometimes.

My friend Jocko Weyland is a well-known skateboarder. He wrote a history of the sport THE ANSWER IS NEVER. Jocko thought my effort was commendable.

“Dude.”

So I was a dude to one person in the world.

Better than none, although three months after the crash I’m still sleeping on my right side only, three months after the crash. And the skateboard is gathering a fine veneer of dust.

“How old?”

VERY OLD, but still young at heart. In other words stupid too.

Maya Lin's "Waves" at Storm King

My landlord/friend designed the biggest cottage in the Hamptons this year. Construction was finished in late August. AP invited several of his male friends for a tour of the beachfront mansion. Massive with a spectacular ocean vista over pristine dunes. The female client hated how the dune grass blocked a sliver of the Atlantic horizon. She tugged on gloves to rip out the offense of Nature. Her husband stood watching from the expansive living room.

"Women."

None of AP's friends said a word.

We understood every nuance of that single word.

We were all men.

The power of Mother Nature was beyond our skills, although mankind has achieved the alteration of the planet for good, bad, and in-between. Most recently the artist Maya Lin created a flow of dunes in the Storm King Art Center. Waves of earth rippling across a meadow.

One look at the artist's earthwork and I couldn't help but reflect how this work was the complete opposite of the director Elaine May plowing the African desert flat for a single scene of the film ISTHAR. Ten days to level a square kilometer of Moroccan sand.

Maya Lin's WAVEFIELD is 15 acres.

Elaine May's antithesis encompassed 300 acres.

Isthar was a flop.

WAVEFIELD is a success.

Sometimes art is better at imitating art than life.

The above photo is by Syrie Moskowitz 2010

The Word Fuck

This tone poem is attributed to the great linguist George Carlin.

Perhaps one of the most interesting words
in the English language today, is the word FUCK.
Out of all of the English words which begin with the letter F, FUCK is the only word referred to as the "F" word, it's the one magical word.
FUCK as most words in the English language,
is derived from German,
the word "fricken[?]", which means to strike.
In English, FUCK falls into many grammatical categories.

As a transitive verb, for instance.
John FUCK-ed Shirley.
As an intransitive verb, Shirley FUCKS.
It's meaning's not always sexual;
it can be used as an adjective, such as
John's doing all the FUCK-ing work.
As part of an adverb,
Shirley talks too FUCK-ing much.
As an adverb enhancing an adjective,
Shirley is FUCK-ing beautiful.
As a noun, I don't give a FUCK.
As part of a word abso-FUCKING-lutely,
or in-FUCKING-credible.
And, as almost every word in the sentence,
FUCK the FUCK-ing FUCK-ers.

As you must realize,
there aren't too many words
with the versatility of FUCK.
As in these examples describing situations
such as fraud,
I got FUCK-ed at the used car lot.
Dismay, Aw FUCK it.
Trouble, I guess I'm really FUCK-ed now.
Aggression, Don't FUCK with me buddy.
Difficulty, I don't understand this FUCK-ing question.
Inquiry, Who the FUCK was that?
Dissatisfaction, I don't like what the FUCK is going on here.
Incompetence, He's a FUCK-off.
Dismissal, Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-FUCK yourself?

I'm sure you can think of many more examples.
With all these multi purpose applications,
how can anyone be offended when you use the word?
We say, use this unique, flexible word more often in your daily speech.
It will identify the quality of your character immediately.
Say it loudly, and proudly!

To hear this poem please go to the following URL
FUCK you! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26UA578yQ5g&feature=related

Malpracticed English

Most writers pride themselves in the mastery of their written language. Words strung together to create a world accessible to the reader. The nuns of Our Lady of the Foothills taught their students the proper spelling, hyphenation, capitalization, word breaks, emphasis, and punctuation with the aid of a yardstick. Mistakes in orthography were punished as ruthlessly as the Inquisition seeking out heretics, however the sisters didn't recognize the shift in the language for the children of the 60s.

Isn't became ain't. What was replaced by huh. Fuck could be used as a noun, adjective, verb, and adverb. No one has ever replaced 'and or but' with fuck, although George Carlin came close.

Marsha, the woman across the aisle from our store in the diamond exchange, constantly bemoans the lack of couth in the spoken language of New Yorkers.

"Animals."

She is right and I avoid the lexicon of bad words in my writing. It's one thing to be vulgar and another to know when to be vulgar, however a greater problem has arose in my writing style, for a French painter, Tristam Dequatremare, commented on my story about choosing the young Jacques Negrit for the door of the Bains-Douches in 1982.

"SOUVENIRS /SOUVENIRS! PETE, send me your texts when there's some french in it before editing , your orthography is awful."

I agree with Tristam. My writing is an abyss of malpracticed English, but I love moidering da Queen's language.

Apres tout je suis americain.

By the way.

Tristam's paintings.

Adorable.

Holiday In Hell

A holy Iman dies in peace. He is astounded to be welcomed by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

“Sorry about the no 77 virgins. In this heaven we spend our days in the glory of God, who is non-denominational. You’ll meet the truly blessed evolving into the truly blissed.”

The Iman accepts this heaven in all its goodness, but after a few weeks he goes up to St. Peter and says, “Heaven is great, but all those years on Earth when I was preaching about the horrors of Hell, I was often curious what Hell was actually like.”

“Pretty much as you envisioned it."

“IS there anyway I can see it?” The Iman was more than slightly bored with the communal utopia of Heaven.

“Of course there is.” St Peter opens the Pearly Gates and points to a set of endless stairs. “You can visit Hell on a one-time visa. Two weeks. Do anything you want. You earned this holiday by all the goodness you create on earth. Get it out of your system and then return to the bosom of the Creator.”

“And I can go now?”

“Anytime you want?” St. Peter walks the Iman to the stairs. He is greeted by doe-eyed houris and escorted to a bar where Jimi Hendrix is playing LITTLE WING. Hitler painting the walls and Marilyn Monroe working upstairs in the Satan a Go Go. It’s great fun and time passes in the blink of an eye. The Iman says goodbye to everyone and climbs the steps to the Pearly Gates.

“So how was it?” St. Peter asks peering down the stairs.

“Not like I expected it.”

“Well, at least you got it out of your system. Back to the eternity of bliss.”

Unfortunately his holiday infected the Iman. He can’t stop thinking about hell. Heaven is all communing with the great oneness. He goes back to St. Peter and asks if there’s a way he could go back to Hell.

“Sure, but if you go you can’t come back.”

The Iman looks over his shoulder at the fleecy clouds and angles and prayers.

“No problem.”

“See you on Judgment Day.” St. Peter is all smiles like a dealer selling a hot shot and so is the Iman as he walks down the stairs, although this time the houris greet him with pitchforks. Fire laps his legs. His flesh is torn open by the demons.

“St. Peter, this isn’t the Hell I knew. Why’s it so different now.”

St. Peter shouts from the Pearly Gates, “That’s the difference between going someplace on vacation and living there.”

Aurora Borealis Maine July 4, 1971

In the summer of 1971 my friends John Gilmore, Mark McLaughlin, and Tommie Jordan drove from the South Shore of Boston for a 4th of July holiday in Maine. We stopped at my grandmother’s cabin on Watchic Pond for a swim and Italian sandwiches. We watched the fireworks over the Presumpscot River and then headed north for Bar Harbor in my 1968 VW Beetle. By the Turnpike it was 3 hours, but we chose the coastal road. It was the scenic route.

Someplace outside of Bath, the sky shimmered with an unearthly light. John thought that we were hallucinating from smoking too much hashish.

“It’s not the hash. It’s the Aurora Borealis.” Mark declared with debatable authority.

“How would you know?” John demanded before sucking on the bong.

“Because I have a Boy Scout merit badge in astronomy.”

We bowed to his greater wisdom and I parked the VW by the side on Route 1. The celestial phenomena sashayed across the sky as iridescent curtains blowing in the wind. The light show lasted about 20 minutes and disappeared like a mirage.

“The Aurora Borealis.” John remarked in awe.

“Wow.” The rest of us said in admiration of nature and we weren’t easily impressed having seen Jimi Hendrix at Boston Garden. We had gone to the concert separately, but the audience existed as one. Jimi could achieve that union of the minds.

“Better than Jimi?”

“Better than Jimi,” Tommie and Mark replied with nodding heads.

“Except for ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER.” John loved that song.

"WIND CRIED MARY." The band's 3rd single was my favorite.

John and I argued for supremacy the rest of the way to Camden.

Life was good for stoners in the early-70s.

Still is today.

Gone Are the Gods

This afternoon at the diamond exchange my co-worker Ava was reading scripture. This good woman is worried about my soul. I told her about my loss of faith, but also that I was content in my non-belief.

"I am happy where I am."

"But I don't want you to burn in hell." This single mom had a heart of gold.

"Believe me. I will not burn in hell." I've never done anything so bad to deserve the torment of eternity. "I'm a good man. Most of the time."

"But you don't believe in God."

"When I was young, hippies believed that a guitar player was God." ERIC IS GOD was spray painted across walls in the UK and America. Clapton's searing performance with Cream had earned that accolade.

"No man is God."

"Jesus was a man." Earlier Christianity argued the duality of his natures. Half-God. Half-man. Every variation on that theme.

"He was a God." Ava sucked in her breath. She was standing with Satan. Her lips moved with prayer. "You are going to Hell."

Along with all the other non-believers and heretics, but so are those devotees to Eric Clapton, for the British rock star was knocked off the pedestal by the arrival of the one and true guitar god.

Jimi Hendrix.

The Jesse James of rock burst onto the screen with his staggering performance at the 1967 Monterrey Pop Festival. A long way from his first gig at Seattle's Temple De Hirsch. At the end of covering the Troggs hit WILD THING he set his Fender Stratocaster on fire. From that moment to his final appearance in Germany Hendrix was the mountain.

I saw him at Boston Garden in 1970 with my good friend Wayne Shepard. The opening bands were Illusion and Cactus. Their sets were short. No one had come to see either band. We were waiting for the Jimi Hendrix Experience Part 2. Jimi took the stage with Mitch Mitchell on drums and Billy Cox on bass.

The set consisted of Fire, Lover Man, Hear My Train A Comin', Foxy Lady, Room Full of Mirrors, Red House, Freedom, Ezy Ryder, Machine Gun, The Star-Spangled Banner, Purple Haze, and Voodoo Child (Slight Return).

I kept shouting out THE WIND CRIED MARY. Wayne worshiped Jim. He elbowed me to shut up. I stopped after the LSD hit my brain. I don't remember much after that other than singing "Cuse me while I touch the sky."

Jimi didn't burn his guitar with lighter fluid that night.

Only with his fingers.

40 years ago.

When I was young.

And listening to him tonight bring me back to those days.

18.

Jimi lives on.

Forever.

One day maybe Ava, my co-worker will understand my worship of the Left-Handed Guitar. He was human. Like the rest of us.

To see PURPLE HAZE please go to his URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnFSaqFzSO8