August 1
I finished watching this film last night: Jodie Foster’s latest Netflix movie, the French mystery thriller A Private Life.
In the last scene, she talks to a patient: He has arrived at her counseling space; he has taken a lying position on the velvet-padded chaise lounge, with a thin pillow at the top. It seems early morning. There is snow on the window balcony, and we see blue or black wrought iron and snow and a dimly lit sky. They talk about not putting on any light in the room and how that feels—different from the usual. He was in the story earlier; I have some bad vibes about him, but I forget what exactly his role was in some major wrongdoing. He had a revelatory bit a few scenes earlier.
I am feeling the graphics, the moment, the scene, the dim light, the snow on the balcony, the wrought iron of the balcony, the odd little adjustments the therapist has made to her life after investigating the death of a patient-client.
I remember my vacation to Paris in the winter of 2003. I met Yukio and some friends there. A friend of his was doing an internship at an art gallery in the heart of Paris—he was planning-preparing to open his own shop or shops in Kyoto or Tokyo or both—extremely Avant-garde shops. I always pretend to get it, but I don’t. I still like it, though; I kind of understand it, but a museum filled with flickering cathode ray tubes, CRTs, showing some kind of video scenes—I saw a show like that at the Guggenheim in about 2005, all set up along the spiral exhibit space—at some point is just a space filled with flickering cathode ray tubes, isn’t it? Our ten-day vacation covered Christmas. I felt a certain charm in going to the Jewish Quarter on Christmas Day and getting whatever we wanted at the cafés.
During this film I am talking about, I had to read a lot of closed-caption English. I kept up, but it was a lot. Here is my point, the film made me feel. I liked the way the therapist and her ex-husband were completely supportive; they were complete, utter friends, who took time for each other; they just did.
On that trip to Paris, Yukio and I visited the Pompidou Centre. A couple of floors in Pompidou show major works of art. There, we saw one of my favorite paintings. It was by Henri Matisse. I remembered it from art books my high school teacher brought in to class and talked about with us. I never quite understood the importance of Matisse’s naked circle dance. Never quite got it, but this piece I loved. In fact, I did a fan-copy of it. It is on the wall in my living room. I just went downstairs and took a photo of it.
My study—or fan-cop—of Herni Matisse’s Studio with Goldfish (L’Atelier aux poissons rouges). I do not do a lot of fan-copies, but there are exceptions.
I like it when the high-art people who write literature and make movies understand it, get it—we read the same books and went to the same galleries, and we like cinéma vérité in the same way: They make us feel all those connections, our thoughts, our experience of art, long, thoughtful days and nights as we make our presence felt in the world, as we become—existentially. They relish and draw us into that special mixing of memory and desire, as someone said in a poem once—T S Eliot actually.
That film, A Private Life, is some kind of masterpiece.
August 4
My rules: Read Carefully
I have had kidney or back pain for a couple of days. I am drinking lots of water; am feeling a bit better. I use Tinactin to treat ringworms on my ankles. I will use something stronger if it does not clear up in three weeks.
Let me make something very, very clear. No one is allowed to hurt or intimidate any member of my extended family. Never, ever take a superior attitude to me or any member of my extended family. I will come after with everything I’ve got, within the law if you infringe on this ABSOULTE demand. Stay the fuck out of our business. That is the only rule: STAY THE FUCK out of our business. Do not draw guns on us EVER, EVER, EVER—you fucking weasels. Do not report us to the authorities when we have some fly-by-night drill a water well for us, you fucking weasels. I am the boss—you are Fucking not the boss, you fucking weasels. Do not ever, ever, ever draw a weapon on us. Do not play games with us on the roads, you stupid, fucking weasels. DO NOT EVER FUCK WITH US. Do you FUCKING understand? Everything will be just lovely if you do exactly as I say. I mean it: it will be lovely. Never break my rules—and go on your merry way. I am John Charles Battle: Do not ever, ever, violate what I have stated here.
August 6
If you are bored with or offended by my lectures, stop reading here. You are not obliged to read this stuff. However, I am a very good writer. I know the trade. Read and enjoy—go for it.
My blogging history: I was on Facebook for a couple years. I quit it because it was junky. I discovered WordPress a couple of years later: I like it. It does not have to be junky. I write pages and blog posts—they are two different things on WordPress. Pages exist in a long, continuous list; they do not disappear from display. Blogs go off the visible list after I have written ten or twelve or so—I do not remember the number. You may still view them if you press page 2 or 3 or whatever, in the lower right of the display page. That is my best understanding of it. Figure it out for yourself by going there and pressing tabs: How hard can it be? I asked AI just now: This is basic info about my site.
John Battle’s personal blog hosted via WordPress infrastructure is johnbattle1.blog, which features his writings, poetry, family history, and photography.
Blog Content
- Personal essays and life stories
- Family history and photo slideshows
- Political analysis and creative writing
Would you like me to help you find a specific article, poem, or photo collection from John Battle’s site?
As it stands, I plan to start a new Writing Stream every month, to keep the content a manageable length.
I write a lot about psychopaths. Here is why.
Carefully note what I am saying in the next paragraphs and how very, very important it is. Then, maybe I can stop writing about the personality disorder named by the slightly challenging word Psychopathy.
Psychopaths DO NOT know the difference between right and wrong. We do. Draw the line and tell them not to cross it. Tell them, force them. When your cousin ties his young wife to the bumper of a car and drags her down a gravel road for half a mile, do you understand how PROFOUNDLY, PROFOUNDLY wrong that it? I hope so—otherwise, I have concerns about you.
Psychopaths are not mentally ill: They lack moral judgment. They are born that way. It is OUR fault if we do not show them the lines of demarcation, the difference between right and wrong, at least in terms that satisfy us, considering ethical norms—on matters of safety and health. We should not be cruel to them—that would be our fault—but we must make things very, very clear to them. They are deficient; we are not—let’s hope.
My bother Jim beat his wife EXACTLY once. She was letting dishes pile up in the kitchen sink and on the counter. I never liked Jim, and Jim never liked me, but he asked me to accompany him to a meeting with his wife’s father at a local bar, or Moose Lodge, or whatever the hell it was; I guess for moral support—if it can be called that—we have already visited that territory with psychopaths.
I stayed in some outer room while they talked within the bar. Her father was the Agricultural Extension Agent for the area. I remembered him from a talk he gave in Ag class. He was Eino A. Niemitalo. Jim’s wife Judy was a nurse at Reed City Hospital. She did her internship at St Mary’s Hospital in Grand Rapids. She appreciated the guidance that the nuns who ran the program there gave her and was considering becoming a Roman Catholic. That became a reality when she married Jim. Her family were Lutherans and ethnically Finnish.
Jim never beat his wife again; Eino—I would guess—sitting in that barroom that night with Jim, laid down the law IN NO UNCERTAIN TERMS, finito—put your head on straight, Motherfucker, or die—something like that! That is how you talk to a psychopath: YOU HAVE TO, YOU HAVE TO, YOU HAVE TO: Give them a large, profound emotional experience that they CANNOT forget, and it should begin to sink in—most likely you will have to remind them every now and then just what you mean and how very serious you are about YOUR rules.
It is no job for the faint of heart—read passive-aggressive personality. I know too many of these; it is perhaps a family trait, and it goes like this: oh, it’s okay; yeah, okay; meh; meh; all right; yeah, I guess—suddenly followed by explosive, nearly murderous rage. Suddenly it’s not okay anymore and you are mad as hell. This is no job for a passive-aggressive, or alcoholic, or drug addict, or somebody floundering through life, never figuring things out. If this describes you, FIGURE IT OUT; get off your ass, and go out there and figure it out; acquire the wisdom of life and do something that makes the world a better place.
August 7, Friday
Coffee Roaster for sale: Here is a good coffee roaster I will sell you for $250. I bought it a year ago, but I purchased another one with more controls recently to help me get a light roast. This one is fine for medium and espresso roast. I paid $500. I buy green beans at Grand Rapids Coffee Roasters on Godfrey Ave, not far from Hall Street, and occasionally at Higher Grounds Coffee at 806 Red Drive, Suite 150, in the Village at Grand Traverse Commons in Traverse City.
You can pick it up; however, I would not have too much trouble delivering it if you are within a 150 miles. I live in Paris, Michigan, not far from Big Rapids. Grand Rapids is no issue, only 60 miles from me.
You can use the smoke absorber that you see on the floor, or send the smoke outside. I suggest sending the smoke outdoors through a wall opening or a kitchen ventilation hood. This roaster can handle 450g at a time in a rotating drum, using an electric element. It does a very good job for most roasting needs. It has digital controls. It is rather large. I will not be shipping this roaster: Pickup or in-the-area delivery only.
I have roasted coffee for 30 years. I started with a slightly simpler version of one below, Fresh Roast, but it gave up on me a year ago. This photo shows my second version of the Fresh Roast, which uses hot air and a strong upward-blowing fan. If you are entry-level and want good starter, the newest version of Fresh Roast would be a good choice. However, after 30 years, I have gone pro, and I am not going back.
This is my pro model.
The trend in America today is what is called Artisan coffee: light, sweet, fruity tasting coffee, and I like it. That is the result I always try to get with this new machine. I am slowly learning how to do that with this roaster that plugs into my computer for fine tuning the roast.
August 08
I watched the movie The Kid Detective last night. It is streaming on Netflix. It is an exceptionally smart film. This story line is completely original: A really smart child prodigy grows up and gets a chance in the big leagues. If you are a jaded film fan, this can still reach you. His parents care about him, and they show it in ways you do not expect. When I say jaded film fan, okay, this film takes deadpan to a new place—you can enjoy that, right? Small, undramatized moments are underplayed—get it? Why do that? I don’t know, but it is kind of fun and smart and sweet.
August 11
I asked AI for the best rice pudding recipe. Here is something I learned. Flavor the raisins.
1/2 cup rasins
3 tablespoons Hennessy Cognac—or 1/4 cup orange juice
2 teaspoons cinnamon
zest of 1 orange
enough water to cover
Place them in a small saucepan.
Bring the mixture to a summer; turn off heat and let rest for 15 minutes.
Pour off the liquid and add to your favorite rice pudding.
Back to the subject of psychopaths in the Battle family.
My sister-in-law told me that someone saw my cousin’s son hitting my brother Joe across the face while they stood in my cousin’s driveway on 15 Mile Road: Okay, gossip alert, but Joe is ninety-something now. He was eighty-something then. It made me wonder: Is there some kind of systematic attack on my side of the family, that is, not Uncle John’s side, but my side, the Clem Battle side? Joe quit attending the local Catholic church because he grew afraid of our cousin’s son.
It is especially important that no one attack my generation of the family: Noreen, Joe, Dave, me. If anyone does, I will try to have that person removed from normal society because that person does not belong here. If people continue to do things like this, they are not bad—they are evil. On Uncle John’s side of the family, there is a psychopath and a man fifty-some-years-old who has recently slipped into schizophrenia. I don’t give a shit: Stay the fuck away from us. My generation will live out our final years here in peace and quiet, with pure civility around us, following meaningless, trivial pursuits at our own chosen pace, just because we got here; we lived long enough; we got here—in no way threaten our peace and civil atmosphere. We will enjoy good food and friendly card games and lovely conversations. May you rot in hell—the sooner the better—if you do not allow us to live out our remaining time in peace and quiet. Respect our journey. Stop bothering us with your rivalrous, bullshit takes on violence, and family faction in-fighting, which seem based in an evil place within your own fucked up minds and personality disorders, which have clearly have resulted in a lack of proper judgment.
August 12
This is a link to my collected fiction in paperback.
I write in a high literary style. I think this is pleasant reading to sit and relax with. The last story in this book is a screenplay. I loved the Columbo detective show. I have written here a movie script based on the series; I used a different name for the main character because I do not well understand copyright issues. The Japanese loved Columbo too. I watched the series on TV when I lived there—I lived in Japan for ten years, in case you didn’t know.
If you read my stories, feel the place, the season, the environment. I do a lot with those elements. If the lovers are same gender, translate; that’s what gay people do all the time. It’s not that big of a deal. Thay are stories about life and love and getting through it all—life skills—life skills, for whoever you are.
Julia Child said in an interview I saw once that it takes three printings to get all the errors out of a book. I agree: This is the second edition of my fiction collection titled Overone. I still find typos. Below is the opening page of the first story, and it still had a typo. I think you will not find too many of those, but there will be some.
Below is the link to my family history book in hardcover. It is rather expensive, but is heirloom quality, with high quality images and big text.
Disturb The Universe is a book you may come across when looking around my Amazon site. It is a love story, a touching one, but with graphic sex, way beyond your imagination. Do not go there unless you know what you are doing. I barely qualify myself in this territory—you have been warned. I thought I was writing something like Fifty Shades Of Grey, but I am something of a gifted writer, and maybe have written something too powerful. Be in your best, most open, frame of mind if you read it. It is a fantasy: At some point in your life, you might have wished someone loved you like that. If I had the nineteen-seventies to live over again, I would not do most of the things I did, though I was always seeking genuine love, not just sex, which is not very special alone. We were too free, to open then. Things are better today I think: dating, sweetness, falling in love, the charm of connecting with mentally and physically healthy others in the regular course of life. Thank God for liberation; anything else is stupid.
August 16
A day in the life: I will go to Grand Rapids and get some green coffee beans. I will stop at several thrift shops and look for a new keyboard for my iMac desktop computer. One Option key is stuck, and the h types a dot instead of an h. Weird: AI and I worked on it for quite a while yesterday. AI’s diagnosis was spot on, but there was no cure. I learned about this screen for the first time:
When you press Option or Alt, with this screen showing, you will see different characters from the normal qwerty keyboard. I found that interesting all by itself.
So, I am off to the city.
I am back from long day in the city. I got a decent keyboard at Goodwill 29th Street SE for $6.
There is much construction in GR right now. I went downtown and walked about two miles among a lot of roadwork in order to take photos of Robert Indiana’s LOVE statue, which has been installed across Monroe Ave. from Rosa Parks Circle. I wanted to park free, curbside, west of the river. I needed the exercise anyway. I believe the original LOVE statue—as it is called—is in Philadelphia. You must have learned in school what Philadelphia means. So, then, the LOVE statue. I have always liked it since it was first created in 1970.
August 16
A note about yesterday: I have been a photographer for a long time. I made the extra trip to downtown Grand Rapids yesterday for one reason. The best condition for getting a good photograph is not sunny, not cloudy: It is bright-hazy, that is, the sky is bright and hazy and will make your subject glow all around. Yesterday was bright-hazy. A package of film used to come with a how-to sheet telling you that.
I wrote a blog today; here it is:
August 31
These are my two favorite modern poems.
johnbattle1.blog 