The Dawn in Erewhon

Well, what you might describe as a rather long journey to get to the end of what is at most a novella, probably more accurately a long short story, ended this morning. I first came across the story, and, indeed, its author, Guy Davenport, through quotations - numerous quotations, the vocabulary used in the story is expansive, to say the least - in the 'unusual words dictionary' I bought in the late 1980's. In that pre-interwebs era, pretty much the only way to find rare or out-of-print books was to traipse around second-hand bookshops, and I never did find a copy of the anthology, Tatlin!, containing the story anywhere. Fast forward to around 2010, and after another reading of the alternative dictionary, I began searching the net for a copy. And found one, at a fairly cheap price - I only paid about £7 or £8 for it. Eventually, I even started to read it. But then, the 'breakdown' intervened, I wasn't in Cornwall anymore, and the book became one of the myriad things that were left behind. Another nearly four year hiatus, until I once more read the 'dictionary', and was impelled to head for eBay again, acquiring my current copy of Tatlin! (for around the price of its predecessor). And finally got to the end of The Dawn in Erewhon. I have a confession to make. I didn't 'get it', at all. I frankly have no idea what it was about. My immediate impression, closing the book, was that it was the literary equivalent of one of those 'arthouse' films, rather like my recent encounter with The Genesis Children, where everything looks beautiful, but nothing actually happens. Maybe Professor Davenport was simply operating on a level too elevated for my intellectual wherewithal to cope with, but, as he's sadly no longer with us, I can't ask him, so I'll just have to accept I'm not clever enough to keep up. In consequence, I've found myself focusing on rather trivial elements, most notably the fate of one character, a pretty young boy befriended by the protagonist and his (female) partner and taken by them on a picnic, who then completely disappeared from the narrative. What became of Peerke? Did they eat him? Bury him alive? Or simply take him home afterwards? Curious boylovers need to know! All in all, the story has turned out to be a rather odd experience. But at least my vocabulary is a little larger than it was before.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Unintended consequences?

I've made an offer today that might lead to something I've wanted for a very long time - or something I've been trying to avoid for an equally long time. Or it may lead to nothing at all. I was talking to my friend at work, while I was on a break this morning, about education, K's initially, then moving on to how his sons are doing. And it transpires that the younger boy, the little darling I met just before New Year, who has, hitherto, been seen as a 'plodder', not unintelligent, but not academically gifted, either, has suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly started doing very well in maths, and, even though he's not 10 until the summer, has already expressed an interest in becoming an accountant. After a little consideration, I made my proposal, namely that I would be more than willing to help the boy academically, if my friend and his wife - and the boy himself, of course - wanted me to. My friend seemed pleasantly surprised at the idea, which was a relief - I was worried that by making such an offer, I might be construed as impugning their intelligence, or parental skills, or both - thanking me rather profusely. And I can't deny that I would love to be involved, in however small a way, with someone like J (yes, another J, boys with that initial seem to find their way under my skin on a regular basis). But there is a flipside, too. My strategy for dealing with my attraction to boys has been, more or less exclusively, to simply stay away from them, so to potentially commit myself to breaching that 'wall of separation' is, at the very least, a risk. Not so much now, but J will be moving into my 'window of attraction' within the next couple of years. Without the aid of a crystal ball, I've no idea whether this could lead to my being happy in having a new friend whose life I can impact in a positive way, or to the edge of a disastrous abyss, or, as I said, to nothing at all if the proposal bears no fruit. Time, as ever, will tell.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Commendable restraint

I once saw Bill Bruford, the drummer in, for me, King Crimson's best lineup (of the myriad versions there have been!) credited on one particular track for the 'commendable restraint' cited in the title of this post. It was, of course, tongue in cheek, and so is the credit I'm prepared to award myself, in a rather different context. I've found something online that is, given my attractions, breathlessly erotic (before anyone gets exercised at my amorality, it's only an animation, just zeroes and ones), but all bar a 'preview' is behind a 'paywall'. I've been so, so tempted to throw caution to the winds to see the rest, but, at the end of the day, using my debit card, the only payment option I have, would be tantamount to putting a sign up on my front door inviting the plods to come and arrest me. Once, maybe, I've been diagnosed with something terminal, I'll go back to the site, if it hasn't been nuked by then. Watching the 'virtual boys' playing would be a good way to go.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Anniversarial, in a way

Anniversarial isn't actually an official word, in a lexical sense, from what I can gather from internet searches, but I've used it before (as have others) as an adjective pertaining to anniversaries, so, without apology, I'll continue on my neological way.
104 weeks ago today, I walked through the doors of a certain pub for the first time. The pub I'm sitting in now. My local. I wasn't in a cheerful frame of mind. I was house-hunting, and it didn't seem to be going well. But then something happened, a crossing of life trajectories, that made me feel so much better. 'Smiling boy', as I dubbed him in my head. I haven't seen him since, and that hasn't changed today. I've written numerous times about 'ghosts', the lovely boys who briefly flit into my life, and out again, but he is the archetype. If I could choose just one of the hundreds of cuties I've encountered on my meanderings over the piece to meet again, it would be him, even at the 13/14 he would be now. Not, of course, that there's a hope in hell of it ever coming to pass, but the dream persists.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How dare you!

In my local, and Cammy's family are here - but he isn't!! Bloody disgraceful! I am joking, of course, but I'm disappointed, too - seeing the boy is almost always the highlight of any day it happens. I hope he's thoroughly enjoying whatever else it is he's doing - it would be a thorough waste for both of us if he isn't.

Love ,& best wishes to all
Sammy B

The end of my life

It began with a line in a song. 'I still believed in my dreams'. Then another song, another tag - 'I can't stop loving you'. Then a sentence in the book I'm reading at the moment - 'the sacred fire has gone out'. The combination of the three, in less than an hour, timewise, has made concrete something I've known, really, for quite a while. The fact that, at some indeterminate time in the recent past, my life has ended. Not my existence, oh no, that continues implacably, for who knows how long - another day, a month, a year, a decade, I can't see it being much beyond a decade - until my health, or, equally probably, my psyche, determines otherwise. But my life, in the sense of that florid phrase 'liberty', the freedom to be myself, in this context, 'and the pursuit of happiness', is over. I wrote, a long time ago, that it would be over if I ever accepted the implications of that most terrifying of words - 'never'. And I was right. I have, somehow, allowed that word to defeat me, and my life is over. All that's left is going through the motions, with nothing in what remains for me. Even the dream I wrote about last night, of an 8/9 year old boy being my friend for a short while, is virtually certain to be as hollow and dripping with disillusionment as all of its predecessors. Would that, as again, I've said before, I'd known how it was going to be when I was a terrified boy, terrified by the realisation that I wasn't going to be like everyone else. I'd have taken the short cut to the end, there and then.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Happier New Year

"Hello"
"Hiya, Happy New Year."
"Happy New Year to you, too"
Just a little conversation, but the first, not only of 2016, but the first, ever, of any substance at all. With a little guy I'm starting to become very fond of, especially when he's as bouncy and animated as he was on this occasion. Cammy, of course, in my local this evening, the fact that he was comfortable enough with me to initiate the contact being really uplifting. I know the chances of him being my 'new best friend' are somewhere between infinitesimal and zero, but I can't help but hope, in the last eight or nine months, unless anything unforeseen happens, that I'll be living in this area, that we can at least be 'pals'. He's a complete little darling, and no mistake.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B