Robert Graves, Writer

I want to respond to the journal entry made by bgilmore725 (the amazing teacher from down South) but my temperamental computer has trouble with Links, "trouble" made worse when AOL made dead my signature space, so that not only can I not place my journal Link there, I cannot place anything there! It has been made radioactive. As punishment for having protested I am fined US $9.95 for one month, in spite of having my own, paid for, Cable Access high speed. And, my password is what AOL told me it would be, not what I selected!!?  Whatever happened to the old AOL slogan, "AOL will never ask you for your Password."  No, no, it will be what AOL tells you it will be, and if you protest you will be fined by an employee in India (or South Africa, or Israel, or Argentina, or The Philippines) to whom, in my case, I must give my bank account numbers. 

An aol message board troll has quoted, he claims, words now festooning that AOL Member's Screen Name Signature space, the space I cannot use for my posts, not for anything, words claimed as words of my daughter posted, entered, on an AOL "Lesbian Chat Room." They exist, those boards, I just found how to get to them. They come in all flavors. I'm not going in there. They shouldn't even be there. I wonder what they advertize on  "Lesbian Chat Rooms"?

Back to the real world and bgilmore725 blog pages. She teaches "Exceptional Chidren." Yesterday she posted a video, previously shown on Oprah, a Comment informs, unknown to me since I never watch Oprah. I'm a news junkie. This is a video worth watching. A powerfully built father runs in a swim suit after swimming while pulling his severely handicapped now adult son in a rubber boat, then carries his son in his arms to the the finish line of what is some kind of obstacle race/marathon or other form of multi-stage race a la Triathalons.  

For some of us, in some moods, watching such displays of selfless sacrifice for the good of someone much less fortunate, is curiously troublesome. Even if our concience is clear, we can have relatives of conspicuous religious and community loyalty and service, fail ignominiously at some stage of their lives when they grasped what was more convenient for them, and to hell with anyone else.

For that reason I chafe at being solicited to applaud the spiritual virtues of an unknown. After a lifetime of close scrutiny I'll have an opinion of someone's spiritual health, not on the basis of a newsreal or a TV video.

Illegally, IMO, I was shoved out of the house with 20 pounds Australian when I was a child. A bit earlier my mother had died, at age 41, and my father vanished. My two even younger brothers were farmed out to an orphange from where they were adopted. The family, relatives, I was soon discharged from was conspicuously Catholic. Saying the Rosary was a long standing custom. I knelt and even took my turn with spoken prayer. That family produced eleven (11) children.

Some years later I learned, with shock, that the oldest child, a son, my early life major playmate had been killed in traffic. And, a daughter had been incinerated in their kitchen attempting to ignite the coke in an Aga Cooker, a job that had been mine. I've wondered what the mother of that family would have given to not have seen the remains of her flaming daughter on the kitchen floor, or, had the poor creature run to her mother's solo bedroom (she always slept alone) screaming for help? That mother might have run out into the early morning dark garden. Perhaps she was a creature of habit to such a degree that she did the usual at that hour, put fresh water in the place provided for the birds, which she loved.

Because of the above troubling subject I've decided to bury myself in the self-styled "Novel" by academic, poet, novelist, linguist, Robert Graves' King Jesus written/published? in 1946. I suspect he called the book a "novel" because his extroadinary research, both in volume and detail is staggering to read, and hard to assimilate coming from such paucity of religious knowledge as mine. But he takes such care to be thorough and respectful I stay with him.

Please emailme if leaving a Comment is a drag for whatever reason. Here's my journal link. Please email me if this link does not work:

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

 

  

 

 

Take Two: Children

Okay, sweet people, that's too 'rough' for you? Let's switch to children and the disciplining of same.

I have an extraordinarily spirited four year old. Oh my Lord his non-stop energy is astounding. He can't wait, each day, to get to school (Pre-K). So, you can easily imagine the mischief he gets into. For safety's sake I must rein him in but in doing so I worry that it might be better to allow more leeway short of safety considerations.

Too much discipline, I fear, will over-train the tiger. A four year old learns from copying adults. But, damn it, I'm NOT gonna let him drive. Let him throw a tantrum, I'm immoveable.

Barry

 

Writing

Hey, people: how about writing a mini-essay, un-illustrated, about your last infidelity?  Oh come on: You've been faithful for 54 years?! Frankly, my dear, I don't believe you.

When you were unfaithful, and got caught, how did you patch it up? Hmmmmm? Come on, give us a tip or two.

I want to speak for all, not just for myself. After all, in due course total rectitude begins to pale.

Barry

Also, please include what you'd like to read about in the blogs of others?

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

Religion

On my automobile's radio FM-1 99.5 on certain days I listen to religion palaver. It soothes me. As a retired actor I'm fascinated by the voices of sundry preachers wrestlng with 'selling' the Christian Bible. They aren't anywhere near as virulent as the Sunniis vs the 'whatever' sect they share horrendous murders with in Iraq, but nevertheless they do assiduously defend their territory.

One gruff-golden voiced older preacher, Hank Hannagraaff pilots a telephone call-in program in which he separates the wheat from the chaff. He was asked by a trembling-voiced indignant woman what he thought of "Landmark Education." Oh dear, that just happens to be an organization about which I know a thing or two. Hank quickly established that Landmark is not true to Scripture, and that the woman's soul was in imminent danger. Landmark has only good things to say about religions and always, without exception, avoids entanglements Scriptural: Religion is not their territory: keeping your word, doing what you said you were going to do, not making people wrong, learning that serving is not servitude, making a difference, those are just a few of Landmark's interests. It sprang from an organization which was invited to Soviet Russia, a State that abjured religions, with the hope that it might help make a difference with that State's extreme troubles with alcoholism.

So, I've gotta write a letter to ol' Hank. This journal entry is my warmup for that task. I have his address, or one of them, a radio station in Glendale a 'suburb' of Los Angeles largely Armenian by accidents of history; so help me its citizens look and act Soviet-style. Men and woman, for example, seem indistinguishable. Yet, groups of men sitting around a table in a small mall look as it they were conducting a rehearsal for an episode of The Sopranos. But that's just superficial apprearance: all actually law abiding, solid USA citizens. Reminds me, that tiny glimpse into the exterior of former Soviet Armenia, of the Russian rush to Church when the Soviet State collapsed. Banning religion was the single most stupid act of the Soviets. Putting their capitalist chandeliers in the subway was okay, but banning Picasso from their museums was deplorably stupid.

Fighting over religion: heavens,  that's a heavy sin.

As a Catholic (fearfully errant) I deeply admire Pope John's accepting an invitation to visit the Wailing Wall  in Jerusalem. John did what the others did and left a small written note with the stones. Same God! Same God reads all! Fighting over religion has gotta stop. Or else.......

Barry

 

 

Written communications

Communication by words alone is not as simple as one might suppose. That's why photographs and other graphics are so effective on blogs. Effective, that is, in stirring up responses: try, just try, blogging solely with words and one feels as if rattling along, alone in the Universe. That can be softened a little by laboriously endorsing every single word 'Entered' by another. I can do that, but after a while I feel insincere, or, simply get tired of the labor. In earlier times, in the days of Sam Johnson for example, correspondence was replete with humble jargon, such as "Your ever so humble servant," and so on. We don't buy that stuff any more.

Written communication via snail mail - you know, stamps, envelopes and a street address - has always been my favorite. I still have a copy of a letter written when I was ten (it was in 1943, WW2 ablaze) the motive of which was to inveigle my cousins into having me come to their place for the holidays: you know, rabbits, horses, shooting, cricket, and building underground "Headquarters." My letter is a riot of very bad writing, which of course is its charm. I might post a copy here, odd scrawl and all, but you see that would revert to graphics. It's words I want to employ, the good ol' English sentence. In spite of my verbal aggression, showing off, in the letter, my dear, strict Catholic aunt Helen saved the letter and half a century later my couson Michael sent me a copy, of really, really bad writing, which can be intriguing, even eclipsing splendid, perfect English, which sometimes can be a bloody great bore to read.

Here's the little known secret: writing all by itself, unsoftened by various decorative aids, can be infuriating, hurtful, inflamatory, defamatory, destructive, rude, frightening, gidding-making and also boring as hell ablaze. I know, because I've ruined many decades-old friendships simply by letting 'er rip in a letter. For example, a friend  from school days has allowed his mid-section to balloon. He's grown exceedingly didactic and superior in old age, so I'm tempted to write to him about the permanent 'lectern' conveniently placed in front of him, positioned so that no matter which direction he faces he can immediately launch into a speech on the subject of his sublime superiority intellectual. In college he was just about the only Freshman to flunk the famous "Step-test" which measured one's heart strength and recovery. Today, that test would kill him, I'm certain of that. Yet, I'm certain also that he is incapable of linking his perpetual ill-humor with the weakness of his heart. Heartlessness is a physical malady.

Sail on, Oh ship of Blog, maybe we can get something done after all.

Barry

Shoot, I just couldn't resist: I sent him an email copy.

 

 

 

My Link

My Link

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

It would appear that a longtime AOL message board troll found a way to void my Journal link posted on the Signature line of my message board posts. He did it by adding a space to my name. He would have me believe that AOL, and Himself, are one and the same. If that should turn out to be true then AOL is going to Hell in a basket even quicker than I thought.

Barry

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

Disgusting Trolls

Whatever, whoever, AOL employees secretly,

and not so secretly shelter TOS violator friends

should be fired by AOL immediately.  I now have the

names and expect AOL to act, and act NOW.

 

BBartle3

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/

He bent to kiss her.

"Don't do it again. If I miscarry again I'll die.

There are easier, quicker ways to kill me.
You can't have a child by me, don't you

understand? What makes you think you can

have a child by anyone?"

"Ah, but you won't miscarry this time," he

said. He lay beside her. He placed his hand

on her belly. He smiled. He uttered a string
of rapid syllables in a hum, his mouth grotesque
for one moment as he did it - it was a language!

"Yes my darling, my love, the child's alive

and the child can hear me. The child is female.

The child is there."

She screamed.

She turned her fury on the unborn thing, kill it

kill it, kill it, and then - as she lay back,

drenched in sweat, stinking again, the taste of

vomit in her mouth - she heard a sound that was

like someone crying.

He made that strange humming song. 

From: LASHER by Ann O'Brien Rice (page 141)

A Borzoi Book, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

So, this board (AOL Message Board 'Fav. Fiction')lives to celebrate this fiction?

Ths is the popular writing you celebrate day

after day writing of this calibre? My, my, my.

It reads a bit like the screenplay for NAKED GUN

but not funny at all. Pathetic, sick, pathological

goes some of the way to characterize such immature

demented drivel. Shame on you!

Barry

My wife is presently 41/2 months pregnant; reading the

above actually made me feel ill with disgust that any

writer could sink so low and make so much money

doing it. Is that's what's going on in America, that having

a baby is to be possessed by the devil?!  I see.  Then it's

time to open up all our borders to whatever eager-to-be-mothers

wish to enter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

bb

http://journals.aol.com/bbartle3/Vengeance/