Enter the Saint

stickman
My SVG stickman, made to “walk like an Egyptian”

And for my next trick, I’ve decided to up the ante a little bit with my SVG Pyramid animation series (see my other blog for more on this).

Here is the storyboard:

  1. A stick figure (who clearly resembles Eugene Hastain’s stick figure logo for Leslie Charteris’ Enter the Saint) is gliding down a dune on a sandboard.
Leslie Charteris first real Saint book

2. Stickman then glides up, on a curve, an upward sloping dune.

3. He reaches the top of the dune, and flies off into space.

SVG does not support 3-D geometry.

So this will probably take some time to figure out.

As a confirmed eremite, I would rather be playing around with 3-D planes than waste brain cycles thinking about how much I dislike this or that or the other thing, or worry about things that are not in my control.

The only thing that is under my “control” is arranging to leave Gestapo Florida, when the time is right — and never, ever, returning to this vile racist cesspool of a state.

Unfortunately, many are trapped in the quicksand of fascism that is represented by the so-called “red” states — where slavery once held sway, and Jim Crow lives on to this day.

If you are trapped due to personal economics, especially for a prolonged amount of time that begins to feel like a prison sentence, it’s too easy feeling sorry for oneself at how Life can suddenly take a really bad turn — just when you thought you had reached the pinnacle —  and you gradually become a misanthropic hermit, cooking a hairy caterpillar for dinner in the low lands under the gnarled roots of an old tree.

Anomie is deadly at scale.

chavin
Justice served

Feeling left out of the great adventure of life that others seem to be having; feeling that you have been kicked in the teeth by the inherent unfairness of your situation; feeling that you have been marginalized beyond redemption; that maybe you should seek revenge; that strangers maybe should pay for what happened to you; because they, for some absurd reason, owe you; feeling that your story was not supposed to turn out this; that there was supposed to be some other, much better outcome (as Eckhart Tolle is fond of lampooning); that you were not meant to end up alone with nothing to show for all the back breaking work you put in — while others (undeserving, without question) won the lottery and moved to splendid palaces filled with wine and song and the sorts of women who marry for money.

Still, some grim satisfaction is to be had in the knowledge that once in a while justice is served to individual psycho racists formerly in power.

I said:  some.

Won’t make that caterpillar any tastier, alas. Especially after reading this horrifying news story.

Chastain’s The Hermit

 

I now have a COVID card

 

fc flags
FC flags at a well known sports bar in El Gouna

Dog’s been pretty rambunctious of late, so I walked her by the boat slips early in the morn’, then off I went with her, my wife, in the beater up to get me a Moderna shot.

I was early, by an hour, but there were few people there — so they let me get the shot sooner than my allotted time.

Didn’t feel the shot go in, nor anything afterwards. (UPDATE:  I did get a sore arm the next day.) All paid for by Medicare.  Next shot in a month.

So by the end of April, I should be in good shape to travel up to NYC and see my Mom, who may be having a serious procedure done on her heart around then.

Finally, I want to mention some flack I got from Egypt as feedback over my previous post.

Here is the deal.

This blog is not my “legacy” to the world.  Please.  It’s is just a free association journal, of my various travels and travails.

Yes I do feel free to criticize any place or country that I think is full of phonies.  It is called free speech, unknown in places like Egypt.

And no, I do not care what nouveau riche baladi Egyptians might think — or not — about my writing, when I opine about Egypt.

Egyptians don’t read much anyway (if they do: the country’s literacy rate is fairly dismal) — let alone read novels — let alone read the kind of novels I read.  And as was so aptly pointed out, they could care less if they got the gist of what I write about or not, or even what the word prosody means.

I do love Egypt, still.

But the Egypt I love no longer exists.

The Egypt I love still reads Serie Noire detective stories while drinking a Stella at the Lido in the GSC.

And it doesn’t matter one bit whether it does anymore nor not.

What matters, is that it still does, albeit only in my head, that and the looming materialization of my official COVID passe-partout.

In 30 days, give or take, I shall be free to nomadically roam again — should I choose to — as in…

Now if only Europe would get its Covid act together!

 

leaving america

Falso Gouna Strikes Again

If you want to know why I could not stand El Gouna and its ridiculous film festival, when I lived there for 7 months, it was the Sadat-spawn “upper classes” with their “pseudo American accents” ” and “married to old rich guy vibe” and their “pretend I know US and European cultural trends” endless bullshit — here is more of Indjy’s (one of the presenters in the previous vid) interstitially-bilingual word salad….(to quote: “I cant believe I made it, anna, begad, fil Gouna… .”)

and if you understand Arabic, there is nothing more pathetic to a true Egyptian than listening to her mouth emote Arabish garbola, accentuated by those monumental eyebrows

FALSO, ya bit

free yourself!

Why are these people so ashamed of being who they are?

Why must they pretend, always, to be someone else?  Pretend to be someone who actually knows, say, America, when they actually have no idea what the US is about, both the good and bad of it?

And all they do, to try to impress themselves, their friends, their parents, and the ones who pay them money, is how phony-baloney  American they can sound when they attempt to speak English, which is little more than some bastard linguistic mix, same as when their grandparents, camel drivers by the Pyramids no doubt, carried on by aping the sounds of 7 different languages when they saw a tourist, any tourist, they weren’t picky, but understanding not a word in any real sense other than mongrel speak– just words in the wind of endless, centuries-old Egyptian dragoman servility.

That certainly is one view.

There are others! Many! Sunny and positive, not bitter and cynical! Check this out!

gof shirt
My golf shirt drying off in the sun at a rented villa in Gouna 3 or so years ago

But who — I ask, for this is the burning question of the moment — is going to protect its fly-and-mosquito desert golf course, its schlock restaurants that serve barely edible similar looking and tasting food (most of it some limp version of spaghetti bolognese, no matter the venue), its bars that serve undrinkable, pseudo alcoholic cocktails… when there’s no more Nile water and political Islam in Egypt makes its anticipated comeback in a nation dying of thirst, as the rich continue to mindlessly frolic in pretend America?

Stay tuned for the adventures of Sisi in Ethiopia!

leaving america