With "05:59 Paris Théo & Hugo (dans le même Bateau)," Netflix--unless it's Hulu--has delivered:

To quote Armond White, film critic for Out, "The sex club orgy that starts the film should be a landmark in movie history.  It's not new for [male!] gay culture which has depended on pornography for verification of its desires...[Directing team] Ducastel-Martineau transcend pornography through their unabashed acceptance of gay male sexual activity...But it's the circumstances of public sex--communal sex, shown without disapproval or inhibition, that gives honesty and amazement [?!] to the film's understanding of gay male behavior. The libidinal aggression that defines male instinct and is an undeniable part of [male!] gay socializing on the streets, in bars, discos and even sex clubs get[s] acknowledged in Hugo and Théo's meat-cute" [?]. Indeed it does, though I'm not sure what is meant by 'meat-cute.'  Nor am I altogether sure that I get in what sense 'amazement' contributes to the film's understanding of gay male behavior--though I very distinctly recall, as a militant Gay Male Liberationist back in the early 70's, the utter

consternation of an embassy of Lesbians (I think from the Daughters of Bilitis) to one of the first [male, of course] Gay Liberation meetings in Seattle, to whom I  and my Gay [male, of course] colleagues attempted to propound (and, perhaps, to understand ourselves) the moral, ethical and philosophical value that gay men place on communal, public and promiscuous sex. Cutting edge stuff in 1970, and then, and still, fundamentally and ideologically divisive of Lesbians from gay men. And there we would still be--isolate from one another--had not our Sapphic Sisters come up with the absurd (but important to them), genially inclusive issue of "gay marriage," which, by overwhelmingly persuading straight women, won the acceptance of society generally for "gay rights," id est, the basic right of homosexuals, particularly and generally, to exist, and not to be persecuted. Silly. Preposterous. But that's how it happened.

Now the meaning of "meet-cute." Nota bene that this is, basically, a nauseating heterosexism, referring to the peculiarly revolting genre of chick-flicks known as romantic comedies; specifically to the scenario of these in which two individuals (male and female--unless it's two males who meet in an orgy; in which case, it's called a meat-cute) are brought together in some unlikely, zany way. The way the characters meet in Serendipity or When Harry Met Sally. I, of course, have never seen either of these movies, although I have seen scenes from the latter, which I found, in very deed, excruciatingly cute.  Women, apparently, have really bad taste and are captivated by negligible trifles.

US Sanctions Shut Down The Empire Files with Abby Martin

Abby Martin's Empire Files Shut Down Because of Trump Sanctions

If there were any doubt that Trump is simply a creature of the Generals, or that we are in the clutches of flesh-eating lizards from outer space.

Amid Calls to End US Role in Yemen, Ex-Obama Official Rob Malley on How ...

Mr. Malley's out of power, and it's safe for him (he apparently thinks) now to acknowledge his rôle, in the Obama State Department, in helping to arrange U.S. funding for, and participation in, the ongoing Saudi horror of devastation and genocide in the Yemen.  Still (Vous m'écoutez, Mlle. Charlotte?), before he gets too comfortable, perhaps, a small-calibre slug between his troubled, earnest eyes? I regret to say, Mr. Malley, that it was indeed your fault. And that you deserve to fry in hell for it.

With the House of Cards of "Clerical Celibacy" collapsing in upon him simultaneously in Ireland, and Pennsylvania, and Chile,

Pope Francis mutters:  "Haven't these people ever heard of a Statute of Limitations?" Well, something appears to be over. I don't think there's a Roman Catholic left in the world who doesn't know that the majority of Catholic priests are sexual predators, and that that's why they claim to be "celibate."

Not that I, of course, much care.  What horrifies and revolts me is not the sexual predation, but the cruelty and the sadism.  Sex, even bad sex with ugly old priests and prelates (as long as it doesn't hurt), is pretty much okay by me; what rile and disgust me are the beatings (by clerics, of children).

Even as we blog, the most popular Pope in the world is on a mission in Ireland to try to save anything that he can of the total loss and disaffection of what was once, by definition, Roman Catholic Ireland.  But the sins of the Irish Roman Catholic church against their own are so many, so fiendishly horrific and (in a bad sense) black, that there is little chance that even the most sweetly glozing and jesuitical P.F. can pull his chestnuts out of this fire.  Personally, I'm actually kind of sorry about it--like many another American (Protestant, Transcendental) Atheist, I have a nostalgic, sentimental fondness for 6th and 7th and 8th century Anglo/Irish Christianity; for their show-offy classicism, and exquisite art and goldsmithing.  Like many another Anglo Latinist, I am soul-mates with Alcuin and King Alfred, and I cultivate a certain snobbish indulgence of, not to say condescension towards, Vikings, Franks, Normans and other such  johhnies-come-lately to the civilized table: I spend a lot of my leisure hours sipping metaphoric elemental tea with Anna Comnena.  But the loss of Ireland is now, apparently irrevocable, and finally destructive to the few tatters of the tawdry old Whore of Rome that had survived the loss and disaffection of Catholic Spain.  Makes me want to stand up and recite Ozymondias.

Pam Ayres -- I forget, in touting Charm, how nugatory a Virtue or Value it really is: We aren't even a little bit amused.

At least she's not Amy Schumer, but she is little enough.  My impatience, not to say ill-humour, comes with buzzing along today on the many interesting historical documentaries on YouTube, delving deep today into 17th century China and Japan--and finding this insipid nonentity obtruding in so egregious a manner that I thought she might have, perhaps, some interesting insights into the cultural efflorescence of the Tokugawa Shogunate.  But instead, we have, yes, a mildly naughty, apparently rather stupid Englishwoman, not noticeably interested in efflorescences of any sort, who is brought to our attention why?--

because, being a woman, she also deserves to be noticed.  Thank you, YouTube, I get that.

Avenge, O Lord thy slaughtered Saints!

The Nazi-like, U.S. funded and armed Saudi genocide of Yemeni children has reached intolerable levels of outrage and horror with The Saudi airstrike last week on a bus full of children aged five to twelve years in a marketplace in a suburb of Sanaa--which slew outright at least 51 Yemeni civilians,  forty of whom were children.  With true fascist obduracy, worthy of Hitler himself, when invited to explain this wanton butchery of innocents, the Saudis have said only that they knew what they were shooting at, and are not sorry to have hit their targets.  Very well.

For such crimes it is unthinkable that there should be no retribution.  I propose, for an immediate and condign punishment of those responsible, that ten members of the Saudi Royal Family, including their king and principal heir, be hanged, naked and upside-down, from ropes stretched over the Qaaba, and stoned to death; after which, ten members of the U.S. State Department who approved the transfer of arms to the Saudi armed forces, and eleven U.S. generals connected to that transfer, should be led together into the great square of Mecca in front of the Qaaba, and shot by firing-squads.

But truthfully, nothing can avenge the murder of two score innocent children.

Stress and Unstress, in Words and Sentences in spoken English,

Is normative and contrastive.  That is, there are, by most estimates, five or six regular regular degrees of stress of words in normally construed spoken English sentences, and three or four degrees of regular unstress--and the determination of which words these are, and how exactly, the manner in which, a speaker of English allots each of them their particular degree of stress or unstress is a usual, indeed a grammatical, function of the English language.  First to be noted is that there is regular feature of English stress pattern which may be applied to any word, and which is to be understood as "normative extra-stress," which denotes (not X, but), as in the sentence,

Sheep may safely graze, 

where the the primary stress (indicated by the italicization of the word sheep), which would ordinarily fall on the last word in the sentence "graze," is displaced to the word "sheep," implying that (not X, but) goats might not safely graze, (or might, instead, browse).  In fact, every primary stress in spoken English is felt to a degree to be contrastive with every subsequent primary stress; thus it would be natural to say in English,

Sheep may safely graze.

Goats may safely browse.

The stress order of the words in both sentences is, of course: 2, 3, 4, 1.

What an interesting day is this, the 15th of August:

Quintessentially, of all things leonine, Napoleon's birthday, and suddenly, really, when everyone's just fed up with it being summer, Ferragosto, and time for Mary to ascend into the Heaven of which she is Queen--or, wonderfully, in German, Maria Himmel fart.  It is also (curious reading just revealed to me yesterday) the final, disastrous day of Kublai Khan's second major attempt, in 1281, to invade Japan, when, just as the first attempt (a half dozen years earlier) had been dispersed by a typhoon, so this second, and last, attempt was utterly destroyed by a mighty "Kamikaze" wind--which the Japanese themselves credited to the Heiian  Court for having summoned with the extraordinary efficacy of their nationalist Shinto prayers.  Believe it or not.

There are Treats that we give ourselves in Life; and there are Occasions, which are, when you think about it, Reasons for Living--

Among the latter I count the train trip I took at the end of June, 1980, from Spokane to San Francisco, for the express purpose of hearing Cesare Siepi sing the title role in Don Giovanni--with a presence magisterial, and a voice (the most beautiful voice I have ever heard) like melted chocolate, or molten gold--your preference. I have, I can now say, seen the greatest performance of the greatest opera in the world.  And I was ready for it: after twenty years or so of half conscious (or half deliberate) preparation, of reading the score, and incidentally learning the libretto by heart. Still, I gotta say, hearing Don Giovanni live, amongst an audience of fellow Präher, such as you find in New York or San Francisco, who understand the Italian of the recitativi, and laugh gently but heartily at the jokes, is a delicious, heavenly comradely experience, and one that I had not expected.

And now, from the "Blue Mountains" of Mother India's Western Ghat, in my cup (my 3-cup morning-mug):

Adderley Exotic Winter Frost Black Tea

"'Dainty elegance' is how you would describe the teas from (Nilgiri, single estate) Adderley. And offering  firm testimony to this claim is this fine winter flush pick from the estate. This tea is highly aromatic and there is an over-arching (!) sweetness to it, slightly floral and, to some extent, fruity. It's neither blunt nor coy, just reassuringly simple and thoroughly wholesome.

Aroma

"Dense and sweet with dominating fruity notes, wintergreen oil (well, sort of), wildflowers and dried apricots.

Appearance

"Deep Orange

Taste

"The liquor is full bodied, feels ample in the mouth, dense and brisk.  Sweet fruity notes can be perceived and tend to grow more pronounced which is beautifully balanced by fragrant flavors of wintergreen oil which resonates till the finish and lend more density to the cup. Soft floral aroma combined with mellow notes of dried apricots and palm sugar can  be  discerned in the aftertaste."

How could I resist?

What You’re Not Being Told About Venezuela Crisis. w/Abby Martin

Does Abby Martin realize the mortal danger she is in, telling the whole, complicated truth as she does, and contradicting at every turn the monstrous official lies of the CIA and the American Deep State and our corporate presstitutes.?  I tremble for her, just as I trembled for Mike Ruppert and Hugo Chavez--and look what happened to them.

Mad Honey: A Short History

Hallucinogen Honey Hunters - Hunting mad honey - documentary

Thank Netflix for 'The Roman Empire,'

which is basically the very interesting story of Julius Caesar, as told in his own interesting writings and those of his fascinating contemporaries.  Starting with the Commentaries on the Gallic Wars, which should be dry as dust, and are, contrarily, riveting, lively and full of soldierly insights.  As we approach the Ides of March in the historical drama, and the assassination conspiracy pustulates, we do bethink us of another top-down, conspired-at assassination, two thousand and six years later, and note that the grief we feel, and the sense of loss and indignation at our betrayal, is the same both for Caesar and for Kennedy: As Jacqueline, with her husband's brains fresh-spattered on her, exclaimed (speaking for all real, patriotic, Constitutionalist Americans), "How dare they do this to us!"

What she meant of course, was "How dare these troglodytic, business-as-usual, corporate worshippers of the violent status quo raise their hand to us who are in every way their moral, ethical, esthetic and intellectual superiors!"  She wasn't asking a question. And she was absolutely right.

The KFPS Royal Friesian Horse

I just learned today of the existence of this extraordinarily beautiful, big, graceful, intelligent and docile kind of horse, called Friesian; much favored in the film industry ('tis said) on account of their great presence and beauty, and also because they are so calm and resilient that the chaotic business of filming them does not faze or freak them out.  Anyway, just look at them go!  The smoothest, most elegant gait I've ever seen in a horse.  Friesians are now styled "light draft," but historically they were valued as war horses, able, because of their size and strength, to bear knights in full armor. Still, I'd like one just to ride.

And/but nearly I forgot, today is  the  73rd anniversary of the atomic bombing of the blameless citizens of Hiroshima, a day which certainly does live in infamy.

And lo, as if he read my blog, which he does not (and I have forbidden him to do), Phil called,

And we discussed, first of all, global warming and the the dreadful wild fires in Greece and Northern California...And I put it to him, and he promised, as soon as I email him my address to send me a gift of blank music paper.  We'll see now about changing the world.

So now what I would do if I could--

Music paper is surprisingly hard to come by, but I think I need to lay in a store of it and make fair copies of all the music I've written so far, and  get started on those valedictory concerti a sei o sette in the manner of Locatelli (Geminiani, Avison, Boyce and Dauvergne).  The world needs more of those.  Then I need (we all need) to figure how to start freeing the great numbers of people cag'd in gaols and prisons in the so-called Free World--and, some of them, come to think of it, in the Unfree World.  Then, somehow, we've got to supply weapons to the people of the countries occupied by the armed forces of the United States, so that they can kill our mercenary troops and drive us out.  And while we're accomplishing that, we need to extend Net security and participation into a workable world-wide democratic governance.  I'll start, I think, by having Phil send me some music paper.