Archive for October, 2020

In 2035, scientists, supported by an underworld of women mob bosses, genetically engineered men’s bodies to make the act of ejaculation horrifically painful. It happened without warning, or explanation.Instantly, screams filled the hallways of apartment buildings, dorms and hospitals. Dogs howled. Women consoled their miserable partners. The military, fearing chemical warfare, were deployed. Only half of them showed for duty. Celibate priests were protected by their vows.The most promiscuous men dared not enjoy the flesh they craved. Childless couples lay like siblings in the marriage bed. For the 33 weeks, men were terrified, celibate, and perplexed. Those men who defied this new state of affairs experienced pain so hot it purified them, causing their eyes to see double and their knees to buckle. Meanwhile, women walked proudly on the street fearing no shadows. And for 33 weeks, the press, the CDC, the military, and even me–we all speculated about what or who caused this agony. And on the 34th week, without warning we were set free. .The Nobel Prize that year went to Dr. Carmen De Santos for finding a cure. Many hated her wanting the pain to last an entire generation. Few babies were born during this time, and the ones that were had an exceptional tolerance for pain. – ZJB

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              when you send the rain
              think about it, please,
              a little?
              not get carried away
              by the sound of falling water,
              the marvelous light
              on the falling water.
              am beneath that water.
              It falls with great force
              and the light
              me to the light.

James Baldwin, “Untitled” from Jimmy’s Blues.  The James Baldwin Estate.

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10 lines

10 lines of verse. You can read them quickly in under a minute. And yet they expand containing legends and the very depth of the human condition. So much is possible in 10 lines of verse. See here as the greatest actor of our time performs them (below) and his equally talented peer analyzes them

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

The performance:

The analysis:

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