29 April 2016

239. Dating on a website

Decidedly it is not for me. I'm not the type to fit into the scheme. Not that I don't like the fact that you court through a computer screen. It isn't the media that bothers me. No. It's just the scheme that you have to fit into I can't cope with.

Recently I have tried one American dating site new to me, called OK-something or other. Very friendly. The first approach is very positive, no hassle, no harrassing. A little at a time, if you care for it, you can reply to their hundreds of questions. Your "profile" gets shaped as you fill the questions in. For example: do you consider astrology to be a legitimate science? How important is art in your daily life? Are geeks sexy? Is it possible to love someone you don't even like? Do you believe in an after-life? If you got married would you change your name? Is it generally acceptable to you for a sex partner to initiate foreplay while you are sleeping?

Well, my profile came up as follows: 
indie, sloppy, old-fashioned, conservative, into exercise, optimistic, playful, scientific, wholesome, good natured.
trusting, kinky, rational, giving, love-driven.

Would you date somebody like that? I certainly would not!

But never mind, my photo attracted some potential partners. With one of them it went like this (in French):

- Pardonnez moi pour cette intrusion sur votre pétillant profil que je viens de survoler. Je sais que nous ne nous connaissons pas et que nous n'avons même pas d'amis en commun mais moi je voudrais vous dire que j'aimerais faire votre connaissance et c'est sans vouloir vous importuner que je viens y déposer une petite trace de mon passage.
Peut-être que ces quelques mots ne resterons pas sans réponse, à bientôt! Moi c'est Fred :-)

- ah bon alors vous aimez l'aïoli dans l'Iowa, j'avoue que je n'ai pas encore essayé. Bonjour, moi c'est Bertha, type mafalda qui n'aime pas se faire marcher sur les pieds mais qui n'a pas d'autorité naturelle. J'ai bien bourlingué et j'adore les enfants. Je suis grand-mère de 2 loustics métis. Voilà pour moi! un homme d'affaires, quelles z'affaires? PS je suis bien plus vieille que vous, ça ne marchera pas!

- Pourquoi pensez-vous que ça ne marchera pas, on peut se donner juste une chance et voir où cela nous mènera.

- Vous voulez vraiment avoir l'air de sortir avec votre grand-mère??? je suis sur FaceBook à Bertha Duchenoque.

- Ma devise à moi l'âge la distance la couleur etc n'ont pas d'importance, pour moi l'important c'est la sérénité du coeur et la fidélité ainsi que la confiance dans un premier début de contact avec toi. J'espère qu'on peut se tutoyer!
Mon Facebook c'est Fred Nurke tu  peux peut-être m'envoyer une invitation. Je ne me connectes pas comme ça mais pour toi je vais me connecter si tu veux bien faire ample connaissance avec moi. Je vous ai envoyer l'invitation sur Facebook.

- pour faire plus ample connaissance et si tu ne te connectes pas souvent, on peut correspondre par email: bertha@blabla.com

- Ah OK c'est encore plus pratique. Je t'enverrai un mail à cette adresse de suite, mais j'ai déjà envoyé l'invitation sur Facebook tu pourrais ajouter aussi ça ferait un plus. Alors discutons par mail je vous écrit de suite.

- l'ennui pour FB juste là maintenant, c'est que je crois l'avoir bazardé par erreur car le FB de ma petite fille avait un problème de hacking etc bla bla bla. On va voir!

- OK mais je viens de t'envoyer un mail à ton adresse Bertha. Vous tardez à me répondre par courrier ou vous êtes occupée?
- Non ça y est je l'ai fait
- mais je ne vois toujours rien dans ma boite de réception.

La suite sur email dans le désordre:

- en fait je suis très déçu car je me dis que tu te fies plus aux apparences et ce que les gens disent, apprends plutôt à t'écouter toi même, moi je veux bien te connaitre et entretenir une relation avec toi mais je ne comprends vraiment plus.

- je n'ai pas trop envie de continuer, pour tout dire. J'ai un blog en anglais si ça vous intéresse: blablabla. blogspot. Je ne veux vraiment pas sortir avec quelqu'un de bien plus jeune que moi.

- Vous êtes mariée? des enfants?

- OK je suis rassuré Bertha. Comment s'est déroulée votre journée aujourd'hui?

- oui oui, c'est moi

- Coucou Bertha, c'est Fred du site OKdrag, je vous écrit ici pour me rassuré que c'est bien à vous que je viens de parler sur le site.

- voilà, ça y est, le pot de colle. Merci de me lâcher les baskets. Je veux bien discuter de choses et d'autres, mais PAS DEVENIR TA DULCINEE.

- Alors c'est comme ça que tu voie les choses? Tu trouves que je suis un pot de colle? Moi? Passe une bonne soirée et bonne chance dans ta recherche, sache t'adresser aux gens au moins c'est le minimum des choses, car je vois que le respect que j'ai eu pour toi n'a pas été réciproque.


No Comment.

4 April 2016

238. SCIENCE FICTION chapter 1


copyrights Frankie Pérussault 2013-2016


Some say that a book is bad when the very first page is not terribly exciting.  I don't agree. A book is to be discovered, it does not give itself stark naked at first contact. 

I invite you here to discover, un-cover this book kindly, slowly, to find out about the various characters and maybe love them.

This story is a fiction although I do use my own experience of life to tell stories. If you find that it is not coherent or in line with astrophysics data and quantic biometry…!..., please put it on account of my mad imagination.

This text is without sugar added and is guaranteed neither morbid nor sordid. I rave about our near future without fear as I believe it will not be as stressing or anguishing as we tend to think. The idea of the future brings no trauma to me, no need for me to introduce rather comical crude violence in it. We step into the future each day by adapting to new things, keeping at the same time habits and ways of the near and far past. This is what gives body to the present.

I would love to live what I am writing here. Would you?


The text for this Science Fiction story is in "pages" under the Header of this blog.

The original French text can be read under WeLoveWords here:

Space Flute Duet from spacevideo on Vimeo.

22 November 2015

237. Wisdom

A whole year now since I posted anything on this blog!

Photo taken from Eilat in Israel in 1963. Aqaba in Jordan can be seen in the distance.

I am currently reading The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T.E. Lawrence in an attempt to view the background of the current hatred between East and West following the attacks on Paris lately. I borrowed the French version of the book written by Lawrence at the end of the First World War. It may sound odd but I am indeed finding the roots of the problem there.

In any case I greatly enjoy reading this French translation by Eric Chedaille, éditions Phébus 2009. It is fluid and elegant. I am sure that Lawrence would have liked it too!  The English original edition for the translation was as follows:

 T. E. Lawrence. 
Seven Pillars of Wisdom
The complete 1922 "Oxford" text
First published for general circulation by J. and N. Wilson
Fordingbridge, Hampshire, 2004
Project-managed by Book Production Consultants PLC, Cambridge

I find Lawrence full of philosophy and humor.  It also brings me back to my own time in the Middle East when I was 19 and 20. Talking about his ability to speak Arabic, Lawrence writes:

Book IV chapter XLIII

"Au cours de cette longue expédition, lui (Mohammed) et le chérif Nasir ne ménageraient pas leurs efforts pour améliorer mon arabe, me donnant tour à tour des leçons, l'un m'enseignant le parler coloré du désert, l'autre la langue classique de Médine. Parti d'une pratique hésitante des dialectes tribaux du moyen Euphrate (forme non impure), mon arabe était devenu difficilement localisable, un salmigondis, parlé sans peine, qui associait patois du Hedjaz et lyrisme des tribus du Nord, le tout émaillé de tournures littéraires syriennes et truffé d'expressions et vocables familiers empruntés au parler limpide du Nedjed. Cette aisance dans l'expression cachait une absence totale de grammaire qui faisait de mon propos une perpétuelle aventure pour ceux qui l'écoutaient. Les nouveaux venus me supposaient originaire de quelque région inconnue, dépotoir indifférencié des catégories grammaticales, des modes, temps, genres, nombres et cas de l'arabe."

°   °   °   °   °   °   °

I don't know if what I am going to write here proceeds from any wisdom, we'll see. I will tell of my own experience in the Middle East in the years 1963-66 when I was 19 and 20, memories that forbid me to hate Arabs. Or Jews.

I recall being welcome once under their tent in the hills of Galilee by a family of bedouins as if I had been sent by God himself. Sitting there with the smell of green coffee beans being roasted in a rusty frying pan over an open fire I enjoyed their hospitality with sheer wonder. In tiny cups I was offered this strong beverage with a taste of cardamon. Everyone laughed when having put my empty cup down the Arab hostess poured some more in it. I was explained in half arabic half hebrew that by putting your cup down you meant you wanted some more! To this day the smell or taste of cardamon recalls this happy moment in a bedouin's tent.

My first experience of the desert was a trip on board a big and heavy lorry traveling from Beer-Sheva to Eilat across the Neguev through the night, a warm night full of bright stars in an atmosphere of invisible people. The desert is full of invisible people, friends or foes, you don't know!

I lived and worked in a kibbutz, i.e. a collective farm, for a whole year. During the winter we worked under a shed sorting and packing flower bulbs. We were three at the job, an English guy, me and an Arab from the village across the road. The 'boss' was one of the kibbutz founders who had fled Austria in his teens during the second world war. We were all very good friends and worked well together.

Six months later I became the girlfriend of my Arab colleague. When I left the kibbutz to go and work in Eilat, the then pioneer little town facing Aqaba on the Red Sea, my Arab friend took the risk to travel across the desert to come and see me. As an Arab he needed a pass to travel as far as Beer-Sheba. After that he traveled by bus at his own risk. He could speak both Hebrew and Arabic and did not look any different. He made it there and back. Although later, not being jewish or arabic, I chose to leave the country and marry an Australian citizen, I still keep a warm memory of the way his family had welcome me in his village.

Now in 2015, half a century later, wisdom tells me at the back of my brain that these were beautiful people. We have walked a slow path of horrendous hatred, us in the West and them in the Middle East. Why? The reasons may be political or economical. But plain misunderstanding is more likely to be the cause.

As Thomas Edward Lawrence puts it, in the French translation I am reading:

book II chapter XXVI page 194

"Les Wahhabites, hérétiques musulmans fanatiques, avaient imposé leurs règles strictes à la paisible et civilisée al-Qasim. Dans cette ville, on ne pratiquait guère l'hospitalité du café, on priait et on jeûnait beaucoup; pas de tabac, pas de badinage avec les femmes, pas de vêtements de soie, d'ornements, de cordon d'or ou d'argent à son keffieh. Tout n'y était que piété ou puritanisme. Les hommes d'al-Qasim, des marchands qui alliaient goût de la vie et expérience du monde, trouvaient cela ennuyeux; leurs fils, moins patients, s'en allaient courir la fortune et les plaisirs."

26 December 2014


This is the injury I received last June when a German sheperd (not German and not a sheperd) bit me hard on my left ankle and a second time higher behind the knee. 

I was cycling to get back home at about 7.30pm in full daylight in June through the town of Argenton-sur-Creuse, France, to get to St Civran some 20km away. To avoid a heavy traffic road at that time of the day, I took a shortcut I knew through a residential area with little traffic. Wrong choice! To avoid cars I went through DOGS, each bungalow of that area inhabited by 3 dogs each, or just about.

At one stage after cycling some 50 meters past a long hedge, I suddenly saw the head of that dog biting hard into my flesh. I screamed, kicked him in the face, kept on going full speed as I felt in danger if I fell. The dog bit me a second time higher on my left leg and then disappeared. I was wearing long pants so that the first bite was direct into my flesh at ankle level but into the fabric of my pants for the second bite. I screamed at the top of my voice twice but I did not see anybody around. At this time of day people must have been in their houses having dinner. I did not see a soul about and kept cycling like mad, scared as I was that the dog was folowing me.

Checking my left leg now and then I saw that it was red with blood but that the blood was quickly coagulating, so I kept going.

13 January 2014

235. Transparency, honesty, privacy

Shrugging my shoulders at what I disapprove may not be the right attitude. Maybe I should keep writing here what I have in mind. For what purpose? I don't know. For the odd reader like me silently disagreeing.

Those three words in the title - transparency, honesty and privacy - are three different entities as three separate concepts. Yet in the air nowadays they tend to be used one for the other.

Privacy is now seen as a need for hiding, i.e. not hiding away from perving eyes and pathological curiosity, but hiding because you have something bad or evil to steal away from normal curiosity. The wrong doer has changed sides. The bad guy now is the one who wants to hide his private life, his private parts, his private family, his private time and space. Peevish perving curiosity is regarded as normal and healthy...

...because you have to be transparent to be honest. If you have something to hide you must be doing something wrong. It reminds me of something right now. As a young woman in Australia I remember being astonished at the explanation given to me as to why there was no lock on the inside of the toilet in the house. It was to prevent guys in there to masturbate as the door could be opened on them without warning. How clever! how wicked! No privacy thus ensures your honesty.

Transparent. This word started being used to mean the quality of an honest government. If the dealings between our various politicians were not transparent it meant they must be corrupt. Transparency is the opposite of corruption. Every dealing has to be shown in full light as if you could see through it. Again with the same idea that the good guy is the one who wants to see. But... sorry for being naive, but how do you conduct any kind of diplomacy or any war or any serious business for that matter without some amount of privacy?

The word honesty now appears to be meaning the see-through attitude of someone who has 'nothing to hide' and therefore does not need privacy. In the dictionary, however, it still means lack of deceit, a straightforward conduct, integrity, truthfulness and above all: freedom from deceit or fraud. It is linked to a code of religious conduct and thrives within a community showing trust all around.

Now TRUST is another story. But I won't go on!