Kyle Michel Sullivan's Blog: https://www.myirishnovel.com/

Not a day for thinking...

Well...I ate some cheese that I probably shouldn't have. What was left of a brick of cheddar. I cut off the bad parts, but that must not have been enough because my body is not happy. Fortunately, I carry Imodium AD with me, at all times. Learned to have something when I developed a similar situation on my one visit to Paris and all I could find for it was something you dissolve into sparkling water. Which I did. And it finally worked.

It's come in handy. I seem to have issues with local water, so have long avoided anything that might have been washed with it, like salads or lettuce and tomato on burgers. I buy distilled water to use for brushing my teeth and making tea, and even washing fruit if I feel like having an apple. It's helped.

Water properties can change significantly from one city to another, primarily due to differences in the water's source and the treatment processes used., especially in mineral content, pH, and taste. So I don't deal with it. I can handle Buffalo's water because I'm used to cooking with it, but I don't drink that from the tap, either. Same for bottled Spring Water. I go for Smart Water.

If I do Hong Kong, they have a brand called Watson Water that's distilled, so I can get that. And I've found Smart Water is available throughout much of Europe and the UK.

Anyway, I'm a lot better, now...and I'm vaguely thinking of Simon's book. Its title shifted, again, into The Murder of a Quiet Man. Or maybe...The Killing of a Silent Man. Still unsure about which or even either. There's too much brewing in the back of my head over this book, and I'm trying to avoid any repetition of something I've already done.

Since I'm off to Rhode Island, tomorrow, ain't doing much writing till that's done and I'm back, in a couple days. But I'm going to take my time with this one. It almost feels like it will be a delicate piece to write...

Me? Delicate? What a laugh.

Home, again, and need time to think...

 I had a bit of a...I won't say it's a religious experience, but something came down from the ether to touch my direction and guide me...and I need to sit in quiet for a lot longer before I really understand enough to share the feeling it brought me.

It started when I went to what used to be the Transco Tower, by the Galleria, and saw the trees...which had been saplings when I moved to Houston...were now, of course, fully grown and giving lovely shade. And were mitigating the spray from the fountain, in the breeze.

And how the Transco Tower looked as new as ever, even though it was designed 45 years ago. Philip Johnson did an amazing job creating a building for the ages.

I then went to a used bookstore and found a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer that convinced me to buy it...

...After which, I spent some time at Rothko Chapel. Just sitting in the quiet of it. And came to see what Simon's story could be.

As mentioned, I'm still contemplating what's come over me...but wanted to put a place-holder for it in my mind and intentions.

Almost back to where I belong...

Finished packing that library. 41 boxes holding 2073 very small books. Mostly pamphlet-sized. I was expecting much larger volumes...but this is good. Tomorrow is the pickup and I return to Buffalo. Then another light job on Monday and I can settle back into my nothing routine.

I had an interesting thought come up, today. Putting BA-4 aside and working up another coloring book. Call it Demented Dreams of DILFs...more mature men who are Dads I'd Like to Fuck. No full nudity. Maybe even fully dressed, for some of them. Giving them names and doing 26 of them...meaning one for every letter of the alphabet.

Or align it with my books. Curt and Shayes in HTRASG. Alec and Freddy in PM. Antony in RIHC6. That might be just as interesting...and better promotional work. Maybe. Not all that sure...

If I'm going to, I have to get hard onto it so it'll be ready for Christmas. Work out the setup in each image. Cover, front and rear, like Demented Dreams, of guys in trouble. That sold fairly well, and I'd like to see if I can get back some of the money I've poured into publishing, this year. Sales have pretty much collapsed.

It might also get my mind off the insanity surrounding the death of Charlie Kirk. The right wing's hysteria is boiling over into death threats agains all liberals and promises of retribution, when they don't even know who the shooter is, yet. So far, it looks more and more like a right wing nut or even something set up by Felon47 to deflect from the Epstein files.

You may think suggesting that is on the crazy side...but I would not put it past him. He's connected to too many of the sudden deaths of people who threatened him. The son-of-a-bitch.

I'm bad...

Charlie Kirk was shot and killed at a rally in Utah, and I am not sorry for him. He was a hateful little beast who hurt so many people--by supporting ICE raids, anti-trans disinformation, lies about the LGBTQ+ community, support for Russia's terrorism in Ukraine, mocking the near murder of Paul Pelosi, disparaging successful women--and the world is better off without him.

I feel the same way about Felon47, in the White House...except I do not want him assassinated. I want him to die of natural causes, because if he's shot he'll become a martyr to the MAGAt Class and that is not acceptable. But if he's taken out by a heart attack or stroke, JD Vance becomes president and he does not have the ability to keep the bastard's cult going.

Hmph...35 years ago I had the idea of updating Aristophanes' The Birds into a cyber-punk screenplay. Set in a dystopian future where the Anglo class lived in towers reaching to the sun and the punks were at ground level working in packs to live off the dregs. Two men from the Anglo class come down to rile them up into fighting back in ways that would disrupt everything, online...forcing better conditions for them all.

I never pursued it. I mean, I did a first draft that wasn't very good but still...it would have been way ahead of its time. And I felt it was too late to do when 2001 came around.

I'm getting a similar feeling from Simon Halloran's story. That it would have been best to write it a couple years ago. Make its quiet points in a way that's accessible to people. Now the political chaos is out of control and no way can I keep up with that in my writing. Not when ICE is running around kidnapping, killing and deporting people with impunity.

This is not the America I want to live in.

Working my way through...

I'm old and tired and cranky, and having to accept I cannot do this kind of work for much longer...if at all. I'm maybe just over halfway through the library, at 25 boxes, and should be done for the pickup time...and I am exhausted.

I'm also having an odd emotional reaction to these books. They're all about WW1, with lots of poetry and reminiscences that seem to have been self-published. It's been well over a hundred years since the end of that war, one that was seen as being stupid and begun thanks to a few men's egos...once called The War to End All Wars...and had history has shown, it didn't.

I'm feeling an odd sadness deep within at how casually mankind will kill and destroy while how hard it is to get them to care for others and to build. Russia in Ukraine. Israel in Gaza. India and Pakistan. The dozen conflicts going on in Africa. And peace is almost never the true intention of them. It's just power and domination.

We're basically in a non-shooting civil war in the US, between the MAGAt Class of racists and those of us who despise everything they stand for. Felon47 is sending troops into cities that do not support him, as if he can force his will on them. Like he forced himself on God knows how many women and children.

Maybe this feeling I'm having is more like melancholy at how people refuse to learn from history. Refuse to grow. They almost seem to...then forget it all and start pretending the lies they're being fed by the billionaire-owned media is truth, even when it directly contradicts reality.

This has me thinking about Simon Holleran, again. He winds up killed because he wouldn't roll over in the face of a system of justice meant to protect those in power, not him. Not sure how I could work all of this into his story...but it is beginning to weigh on me.

Not even sure if I want to bother...

Old-man-itis...

Today went well. Not as fast as I'd like, but there is less to do so I'm not pushing it. I'm finding my back is not happy with me standing for 8 hours. Still, the books are smaller than I thought so I'm fitting far more into each box. And are some lovely ones...

This is from a job I did more than 3 years ago, which was fairly well-organized and clean. Today's library is another that's an exception to the rule of packing; it's in order and easy to deal with. Not even any dust. Not a great workspace, overall, but not the worst I've ever had to deal with.

I do love interacting with books. Like the psycho I am, I talk to them and ask them to help each other when dealing with one that's more fragile...and even let them know they're going to good homes. I also pay compliments or give sympathy when they haven't been cared for, in the past.

Had no time to really think about BA-4. Even after dinner. I was too tired and had other things that had to be done. Now I'm going to draw a nice hot bath and sit in it till I'm shriveled up like a prune.

And try to figure out how best to utilize the fine work being turned out by the woman I've hired for promoting my writing. I've been pretty neglectful in that. And am too dumb to work it out for myself so may ask her for input.

Gearing up for Halloween and Christmas...so I got the goods for everyone to give as gifts...

Ah, Houston...

If I ever need reminding why I never want to live here again, little work trips like this will do the job. Confusing street names that Google Maps got wrong. Like calling Telegraph Road the 35...and telling me it will take me to the 45...when it doesn't. I have to branch off to Reveille to do that. Then dealing with sections of the 45 and the interchange to the 69 which use to be the 59...where you have to swing over three lanes of traffic within 1000 feet to get onto it. And that's with me still knowing the basic layout of the city.

Well, within the 610 Loop.

The flights were okay, though the one from Baltimore to Houston was late. But I arrange to get onto the plane first, with Southwest, so I can get a seat with lots of room. Then I can work easily on my laptop.

I started going through BA-4 and got to the point where Léonidès reconnects with Dmitry. Added in a new character, Christian, who used to be a member of Queen Christina's court and wound up exiled when she abdicated. He's one of Gabrielle's vampire men, knows he's gay and uses him to torment Dmitry for not telling her he could never become her mate.

Léon's pointed towards Korea, where Gabrielle is tracking down a young captain in the US Navy who's en route to force Korea to open up to Western trade. Léon senses she hasn't turned the man, yet, so off he goes...after a few days in Dmitry's bed.

So this part is closing in on 19K in wordage, but I think I'll trim it back some. I was setting up the paqrt of the story set in New Orleans...which has changed. How much, I don't know, yet. 

But it's coming along...

Trippin'...

Off to Houston, tomorrow AM. Gotta pack 2000 books +/- but have 4 days to do it in, now, so shouldn't be a problem. Except they have to be checked off against a list, which adds time. And of course it's hovering around 90 and 75% humidity, but it will mostly be in an air conditioned house. I'm still bringing my portable fans.

And getting some good Tex-Mex...and even some truly nasty. And there'll be decent BBQ. Being there till Friday will help space it out.

I've been thinking about BA-4 and needing to find a good subtitle for it. Journey to Betrayal? In search of Betrayal? Leon travels from France to England to grab a ship and transit towards Korea by passenger ship, by way of the Suez Canal to India and Indonesia and Hong Kong and Shanghai and finally Seoul.

Of course, he connects with vampires along the way, and feeds at each port, before connecting with a vampire ocean captain who uses duòlos to help run his ship. Leon has money enough to buy a clipped to bring him home...and learns the Oiym are keeping an eye on him, in case he treis to overthrow the Council.

All of this is pretty well established in what I have, so far. I want to get it done by the end of September...well, first weeks of October because I'm doing Seattle, again. This time heading over on the 17th of October and back on the 20th.

Too damn much is going on, and I don't like how it's cutting into my trolling for pretty male images...

Red Speedo

I wrote this, years ago. Still brings back a fond memory...

----

Used to be, when I was asked when I knew I was gay, I’d pop off with a glib, “The first time I saw Gene Kelly’s ass.” And it wasn’t far wrong. I happened onto a Saturday afternoon showing of On The Town on TV – just about the time he meets up with Miss Turnstiles and they do their little duet – and got locked onto him and his derriere in that white sailor suit...and never once looked back. 

 But reality is, that was merely the first time I understood what it was I wanted in life. The first time I knew that I wasn’t like the other guys was when I went on a camping trip with my Boy Scout troop.I was a Second Class about two or three badges short of being First Class, and I’d been part of this troop at my church for a year. 

Which was pretty good for just being twelve and having lived in five different cities in the previous four years. 

 I didn’t like it much. Wasn’t really one of the guys. And camping was pure boredom. Though I didn’t mind sitting around a late night campfire telling ghost stories – it being in Texas, everybody knew at least three, and since I’d lived in England I knew five. But sleeping under the stars was uncomfortable and I never got the hang of cooking in the wild. 

 Then one weekend we went on a hike to stay overnight along the Guadalupe Rive, near New Braunsfels. A damn had recently been completed and a lake would soon cover this large section of gullies and ravines with ice cold spring water, an area saturated with towering Cedar Trees and bubbling brooks and limestone cliffs, and my first thought at seeing it was, “What a shame to fill it in with water.”

 It was an June weekend, the time of year where the air surrounds you in a blanket of stillness. A rain the night before added to the humidity, so by the time we reached our chosen camp site, we were dripping with sweat and near heat exhaustion. So the leader of our troop said, “Let’s drop everything and hit the water.” 

 Took the other guys no time to become a dozen tweens in shorts and trunks splashing around in a pool shaded by ancient Pecan trees. Wrestling. Swimming. Making noise. 

 Thing is, I couldn’t swim, so couldn’t join them. Not that it mattered; I was transfixed by a simple series of rapids and tiny waterfalls gurgling past at breakneck speed. So I sat and watched twigs and leaves race by like little boats and pretended they were jumping over Niagara Falls. 

 Now, we also had assistant scout master, who was a young Airman with a wife and who was about to be a father. He was around 6 feet tall with dark hair, tight and trim, and with tanned skin. I'd thought he was very good-looking, and he was really nice to me. Very patient, like when he showed me for the tenth time how to do a simple square knot. As I said, I really didn't understand why I thought that, at the time. I was just focused on how wonderful his hands were, and I wanted to sketch them, sometime. So I thought I was just being artistic. 

 Well...he joined our party by standing on a rock at the top of the rapids cascade. Straight and proud. Broad shoulders. Trim hips. Legs to die for. His elegant form framed by deep green trees, slashes of white rock and clear blue sky. Water splashing around his ankles. His hands on his hips as he surveyed the majesty of the area. And all he was wearing was a bright red, square cut Speedo. 

 I looked up and saw him and my heart nearly stopped. He was like Adonis descended from Olympus, with that perfect body, a smile that outshone the sun and RayBans shielding his eyes. 

He was such a complete vision of Steve McQueen cool, I actually cried out, "Mr. Prescott, you're gorgeous." 

 My voice echoed off the rocks. And everyone heard it. And it got very quiet.But all Mr. Prescott did was look at me...and smile...and say, "Thank you." Nothing more. 

 At that moment, I would have killed to be held by him. 

 The rest of the camping trip was me being teased as a girl with a crush by the other boys, but never when he was in earshot. Then when we got back to the church, the scout master took me to one side and told me I should leave the troop because, "We know how uncomfortable you must feel, here, because we feel uncomfortable, too."

 I shrugged. I was never going to gain First Class status in Scouting because I couldn’t swim, and you had to have that badge to advance.Of course, my parents were informed. They shrugged it off as being something he'll grow out of.

But I’d caught my first real glimpse of how the world treats those not straight and simple. Still didn't understand what I was thinking or feeling, but now there was a stain on it and I didn't know how to end that.

 I didn't see Mr. Prescott, again, after that. He was transferred to California, and not long after his wife brought a new little boy into the world. All the ladies in the church were buzzing like crazy, about it. 

 I got depressed, when I heard. I knew I'd never see him, again.

 I do still conjure him up, sometimes, standing on that rock like the kingly gentleman he was. And still, sometimes...sometimes, when I dream of that day, I hold him...and he holds me…and nothing more.

 And for those few moments, I feel whole.

Procrastination central...

That's all I did, today--avoided doing anything I needed to. Kept myself in the abstract as everything around me grew more and more real.

Did I do cooking? Nah. Cleaning? Well, I did dust a couple of shelves. Darning socks? One pair; the other I'm just chucking and buying fresh socks, tomorrow. Lunch? Made a meatloaf sandwich. Had a beer...which was a mistake. It just made me grumpier.

Did I start in on BA-4? Nope. Did I sort out the papers on my desk? Nope. Did I watch anything or read anything? Nope. Did a bit of back-and-forth with some idiots online...but I've finally reached the point where they are completely unimportant, to me.

As regards that, I'm finally in accordance with Dieterich Bonhoeffer's notion about humanity. He was a German theologian who viewed stupidity as a more dangerous force than evil because it's impervious to reason, facts, and even force. We're nottalking just  a lack of intelligence, but a moral failing characterized by a resistance to critical thinking and a willingness to accept simplistic narratives, particularly within group settings.

It was a condition that people can fall into, especially within powerful social structures or during times of rising power. He saw that educated and cultured individuals could support harmful policies, not out of malice, but out of a kind of intellectual passivity and a susceptibility to groupthink.

Meaning stupid people are resistant to logic, facts, and arguments, often dismissing contradictory information as inconsequential or irrelevant. They prefer to rely on slogans and catchphrases rather than engaging in critical analysis.

The dangerous potential of stupid people, particularly those in positions of power, is they can easily be manipulated and become agents of destruction. He also noted their tendency towards self-satisfaction and defensiveness when confronted with their own limitations.

He disliked intellectual passivity and believed critical thinking as the best way to resist manipulation and harmful ideologies. But that requires individuals to be willing to question, to learn, and to take responsibility for their actions, even when it is difficult or unpopular.

Nice thoughts, but he never had to deal with the MAGAt Class...