Thursday, 3 September 2026

Framed to Perfection LII (52)


CHELOVEK IDVOT ZA SOLNTSEM (1962)

Director: Mikhail Kalik

Cinematographer: Vadim Derbenyov


They say never work with kids or animals, but adult humans are usually arseholes themselves, so what do they know?!


“Following the Sun”, to give it its English title, is a staggering coffee table film of visual ideas. It’s apparently Russian, but I got a very Mediterranean vibe from it, reminding me the most of Zazie dans le Metro. Only nowhere near as annoying.


It appears to tell the story of a little boy racing home across town before nightfall. As someone who suffers from nyctalopia, I literally have nightmares like this on a regular basis, often combined with being lost on the rail network. Go figure.


While there are dialogue-heavy scenes, the whole thing feels more like a silent film, with mostly music accompanying our diminutive protagonist as he encounters pockets of humanity. There are precocious street urchins, bickering couples, flamboyant musical theatre enthusiasts, and an attractive woman sporting pretty balloons. What the latter is a metaphor for, I cannot say.


Hmm…


Surely nowadays the film’s story would serve as a tedious cautionary tale about encountering strangers, but this is a simple fairytale, where the normal rules of life do not apply. It’s really about a child’s view of the world opening up as he reaches the cusp of puberty.


At least I think it is.


I hadn’t heard about Following the Sun until today, but I’d be surprised if it isn’t on a greatest films list somewhere. If it isn’t, then that’s a great shame indeed. I guess English-speaking folk aren’t keen to experience and promote anything Russian these days, but that’s their loss.


A sweet, charming, compulsive gem, which I beg you to spread the word about as best you can.


You can find it here.


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles!






Wednesday, 2 September 2026

Intermission VI

Thanks to the crippling 3-month heatwave that has hit the UK this year, my ability to function in any capacity has been greatly reduced. I do not thrive in hot weather. I’m an autumn/winter person. I love existing under many layers of clothing and snuggling up to my duvet in bed. I also have very sedentary hobbies, which aren’t made very comfortable to do in temperatures that often make you feel like you’re suffocating. Also, I’ve been reluctant to have electrical appliances on for very long, which are, of course, often central to the life of a shy, awkward, lonely nerd.


Can you have an appliance that isn’t electrical?! Anyway…


The high temperatures have also meant that my diabetes-lowered immune system has made my body a hotel for bacteria. A hotel that doesn’t charge rent. This means I’ve been extra-prone to skin infections, so I’ve been in constant agony over the past few weeks. I’m not a masochist, so the pain has been shutting down my ability to indulge in my hobbies, even when things outside have cooled off a bit.


I’ve also been trying to deal with these painful infections by drinking heavily, which I’ve now decided to stop doing.


Oh and if all this wasn’t enough, the television in my lounge just died, which I suspect has something to do with the heat. It never was particularly reliable though, but the image was large and clear, which always helps when watching movies to review. The LG stand-in set I’ve taken from my bedroom, but it’s struggling to cope with modern HD players. Bless. It is trying though, so I’ll certainly be getting an LG replacement for the deceased lounge one, rather than another Panasonic.


The point of all this is that, whilst I have tried to post here and there, my overall output has been reduced. Whether or not you, patient reader, have noticed this, I cannot say. Perhaps a drop in the quality of what I have managed to publish may have been evident. I am updating my diary blog, The Salad of Convenience, on a regular basis, so do check that out if you’d like a peek behind the scenes of my sad little existence.


Well, I hope to be on the mend asap, especially since autumn is hurtling towards us. As an adult with no dependants, it’s always a joy when the kids go back to school after their long summer break, as it means the cold weather is finally on its way. Nothing personal against your kids, of course, as they’re actually pretty well-behaved in this neighbourhood. It’s the adults who’re a frigging nascence.


Feel free to join me in moaning about the weather, as it’s the one stereotypically-British trait that I don’t mind living up to.


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles!

Sunday, 23 August 2026

Net Futures

“Why are you doing it?

How much better can you eat?

What could you buy that you can't already afford?”


“The future, Mr. Gittes! The future!”


 - Chinatown, 1974


I was just wondering about the future of the internet in this country, the United Kingdom of England Wales Scotland & Northern Ireland, since we do appear to be going through a time of awkward, clumsy, embarrassing change.


My general feelings are, that in order for the government to create its sterile vision of the web, it’ll need to block all social media. That uncouth medium is the government’s real problem. It would really like to try and divide it all, down the middle, between adults and children, but I doubt that’ll be 100% effective (“Hey, dad, I wanna watch porn, can you scan your face for me?” “Sure, son!”). Social media, as worthless for socialising as it is nowadays, will just have to go. Leaving only companies and organisations that the government approves of adding/uploading content.


No regular citizen input whatsoever.


Whilst I am certainly no expert in business or sociology, I believe this may have a knock-on effect of general foreign websites blocking UK users in retaliation. This has already started to happen. It may also mean that UK citizens will have no more need for much of the internet-friendly technology they have become accustomed to. There will just be a basic laptop per household, on which to do the weekly grocery shop and book holidays on. Information technology corporations will not like this whatsoever. Given that corporations have a major influence on who’s in power, this will cause political problems and possibly lead to the UK devolving into an isolated state.


How this will affect our economy, I do not know.


Remember the panic over ID theft years ago? Our “responsible” government told us not to divulge personal details or official documentation to anyone. Now that same government is falling over themselves to instruct us to behave in the opposite way. Nothing has changed, of course, but people are making money from our identities being passed around like the last good spliff at a music festival.


Sell, sell, sell.


One solution could be, that the government turns its back and pretends that the last ten years or so haven’t happened, allowing the internet to return to its early “wild west” days, with little-to-no government moderation. Or it could make major changes to the laws governing social interaction in general. Or it could go down the IT-sterilisation route and annoy and alienate and bore 70 million UK citizens.


I dunno.


I’ve been thinking about all of this in my position as a shy, awkward, lonely nerd. The sort of person who now only finds deeper loneliness within an internet designed to help people like me meet friends, have a casual laugh, and maybe find love. Thanks to easily accessible wifi, smartphones, and monetisation, all the people that social media was invented to get away from have now piled onboard and taken over.


The emptiness is deafening, but here’s the real core of the problem…


…children are not responsible or mature enough to own smartphones. End of story. It’s like putting a loaded gun in their hands. Instead, the government should issue them with a “brick” with numbers on it, that merely sends and receives phone calls and text messages. The government should also have an amnesty for current child-owned smartphones, offering cash compensation. Parents should then face penalties should they sneak smartphones back into their offsprings’ possession, and the government should apologise for not dealing with this growing problem sooner.


Saying all of this, I grimly suspect the whole IT-sterilisation route will continue to be taken, much to our dissatisfaction and suffering.


So, yeah, something for UK citizens to look forward to!


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles! 

Wednesday, 19 August 2026

[story corner]

EROTIC SHORT FICTION 7


The below bisexual tale of organised love is rather moderate in nature. However, both the erotic and story elements may offend some or everyone, but hey-ho. I certainly do not start writing with the intention of shocking my readers, only to arouse them. And to satisfy my own creative impulse, of course. Considering the nature of today’s tale, this is ironically meant as a liberal domain, so please turn back now if you are of a conservative nature. Each to their own, and all that!


PASSIONATE EFFICIENCY 


In the near future, a passive young man experiences his first acts of love amidst a coldly-regimented society. 


DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN SEXUALLY-EXPLICIT ACTIVITY ARE 18+ AND ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED WITHIN THE ENTIRELY FICTIONAL SERIES OF EVENTS BELONG TO THE HYPOTHETICAL NARRATOR AND NOT THE AUTHOR.


Whether humanity was being run with military or scientific efficiency, I did not know. Nor was I required to know. I believe it was now structured to minimise suffering and to heighten a warm sense of contentment. It was now totally organised by an administration, as opposed to a gaggle of sociopathic leaders bent on personal glory. No-one reported to anyone else, except the organisational infrastructure. Citizens just worked for the simple pleasure of doing a good job. There was no paycheque at the end of the month, as there were no checkouts in the shops. You did not have to fill out a complex application form to find employment, nor did you have to grovel at a nerve-wracking job interview. You were assigned a work placement one day and turned up to start it the next. If you did not like the placement given, you had three opportunities of being reassigned each year.


There were no longer grim cases of a hundred applicants for one job. The work was distributed evenly.


Education was free. Healthcare was free. Habitation was free. Travel was free. The computers had figured out how to keep everyone intelligent and healthy and housed, without the need for an economy. The privileged few, who used to keep the many as poor and as overpopulated as possible, had been removed from their positions of power. There were no more foremen in the factories barking orders. There were no more property managers raising rents. There were no more religious leaders spreading fear and doubt.


The concept of creating a social disease, then selling people the cure, was no longer a weight upon the world.


The computers had figured it all out.


Destructive alpha males and females were weeded out as early as possible. There were no more bullies in every quarter to torment sensitive souls. For a set number of months after reaching maturity, the alpha males had their balls milked for semen, whilst the females had their eggs harvested for the breeding freezers. Both tender resources were intended for “distant colonisation”. Once these items had been gathered, the males were castrated and the females spayed. A week after surgery, during which time they were monitored for signs of improvement, they were either retained or given military uniforms and decommissioned weapons and sent off to fight.


Rumour had it there were no battles to be fought, and that the trains would pull up a few miles outside the limits of each city to dispose of the bodies.


I had been marked as an alpha male, although I did not know why. I had sedentary interests and did not harm or mock others. Perhaps I was an anomaly which confused the algorithm. I would look over my life thus far to determine what had gone wrong in the selection process, but I could not isolate anything. I was trained as a soldier, but my heart was not in it. Soon, the computers apparently noticed this disinterest and issued me with an honourable discharge. I was to be reassigned to the general populace, which relieved me greatly.


As the myth of physical shame and sexual sin was no longer taught freely, such pleasures were a regular feature in our lives. Both as a pastime and as a reward for compliance. Those willing were indulged. Those unwilling were provided with an alternative reward of their own choosing. There would be no request too great, as the notion of cost no longer applied.


For that season, there were twenty of us to be absorbed into the general populous. We were all physically fit, but no longer deemed a disturbance. As a fun activity on our last morning, we played a game to mock the military lifestyle. Seven of the eight males marched out onto the parade ground, wearing only our caps, a red neckerchief, a belt, a pair of sandals, and socks pulled up to our knees. Other than these items, we were completely naked. The eighth male acted as the comedic “drill sergeant”, inspecting us all lined up and saluting. The drill sergeant first inspected us from behind, running a riding crop across our bare buttocks.


There was.a roar of coquettish giggling.


We were all then commanded to face forward, with the drill sergeant then running his riding crop across our genitals. One boy, who was clearly aroused by this sort of thing, had achieved an almighty erection, with the touch of the riding crop making him ejaculate. He squirted a good three metres ahead of himself, with the rest of us applauding his impressive trajectory. There were no bullies there to mock him or beat him. We were al comfortable with our sexualities, as nobody had brainwashed us to believe that pleasure was morally abhorrent. Instead, we supported the prematurely ejaculating boy and filled him with feelings of pride and love.


The computers had figured it all out.


After the game, we waved goodbye to the grunting, hateful alphas, who’s train journey to their beloved war was surely imminent, and collected our meagre possessions from the dispatch hall. Apart from my civilian clothing, I had a couple of books and a collection of self-penned drawings. I was driven to my new abode across town and shown how the amenities worked. Everyone was fitted with a tracking device, which meant the populace could be distributed evenly. It also meant that any major gathering of citizens could be dispersed safely, should discontent be brewing. It was not a violent affair, simply a guiding of bodies. Nobody went missing, as you would often see your dispersed neighbours in other parts of town.


Of the facilities in the apartment building, I went straight for the library. Only selected books from before the new infrastructure were allowed, but new stories were passed around orally. These illicit readings were arranged randomly and in different locations each time, so as to avoid official dispersal. I recounted humorous tales, which pleased my new neighbours. We would usually sit far apart, in the hope that it would not appear like a formal gathering.


While my fellow dischargees were immediately assigned work, I still had some education to undertake. So, the day after my arrival within the general populace, I was taken to a learning centre, where I sat apprehensively amongst my fellow new students. Since we were not alphas, or deemed so anymore, none of us had been neutered. In fact, we were encouraged to engage in sexual activity as often as possible. It was wholesome and a good way for unfamiliar groups to break the ice. After all, there is not much you cannot say to another person after you have been writhing around naked with them.


That first day, those willing were offered to strip and queue up. One boy and one girl from the group were selected to stand with their hands clasping the backs of their chairs and their posteriors protruding slightly. All sexualities were catered for in the new infrastructure, so you were allowed to select either student to satisfy yourself with. I picked the girl, Emily, and pressed my body against hers, my hands fondling her breasts feverishly. 


“Is this your first time?” She said, angling her head slightly so I could kiss her cheek.


“Yes.” I said, nervously.


Emily helped me find her opening and I began sliding myself in and out.


“Am I doing it right?” I said, my voice a mere murmur.


“Yes.” Said Emily, rubbing herself intently.


The boy-toy standing next to Emily was having his dick sucked by one of the girls and his backside tongued by another boy. The boy-toy turned to me and nodded, knowingly. I could not wait until it was my turn to be one of the class toys. After I had finished, I watched the other boys using Emily, until a waterfall of semen began to cascade from her vagina. A ginger-haired girl got down on her hands and knees, cat-like, to lap at the pool of white fluid hungrily. Although contraception was offered to all, should anyone fear pregnancy, the girls would be supported if they were impregnated and decided to keep the child. Orr have it terminated. Even after birth, there were always options. No judgment. No destitution.


The computers had figured it all out.


Actual learning began in earnest after the ice-breaking session, with our minds now clear of mental fog. I had an aptitude for organisation, it seemed, so the infrastructure eventually offered me a work placement in the social dispersal centre. I accepted and was given the details of where to turn up and what to do for the following day. There was no pressure or threats made. I was keen to do a good job, so no such cruel motivation was required. We all wanted to contribute. Those who did not were offered the chance of being euthanised. Such a procedure was quick, painless, and dignified. But such incidents were rare, as the algorithm had routed out what brought citizens so low. Many of those muscle-bound “issues” were put on trains out to a fictitious war.


In my first ever placement, I was not intimidated by any managers, as such positions were no longer a drain on society. I was not allowed to be mentally tortured for another person’s pleasure due to their position of power. We all worked happily to improve life for everyone. If you had had enough one day and wanted to leave early, you could. Another body would simply arrive momentarily and take over your duties. We were all trained in “business continuity”, as training cost nothing and the benefits of it were well understood. Underperforming staff were reassigned elsewhere.


I chose to walk home that first evening, stopping briefly to watch a man masturbate on a street corner. He did not shoot as far as the boy at the military centre, but I praised him regardless and gave him a hug. Not far away, I crossed paths with girl-toy Emily and her girlfriend, Tina. We caught up on each other’s lives, even though we had not been apart for very long. Tina had a smoky look about her features, which was in contrast to Emily’s blonde perkiness. The three of us had lunch together, then I was taken back to their apartment building. Fortunately, it was not very far from my own, so I did not feel geographically lost.


“Would you like to have some fun with us?” Tina said, informing me that both girls were bisexual.


“Oh, okay!” I said, with a stunned gulp.


As the girls freshened up in the bathroom, I dutifully took off my clothes and placed them neatly in a pile on an armchair in the corner of the bedroom. The girls returned, having stripped off in the bathroom, and joined me on the bed. They started off by lying side-by-side and showed me how to pleasure women orally. I appeared to have an aptitude for that too. I was then allowed to penetrate Tina’s vagina, as Emily straddled her girlfriend’s face. As Tina hungrily licked at her partner’s groin, I fingered Emily’s anus until she could take no more pleasure, collapsing to one side in a satisfied clump.


I made Tina lick my dirty finger clean, with the sight of her doing so forcing me to reach orgasm. I ejaculated inside her, with what felt like a large offering. Afterwards, we all lay naked together in a tight embrace. I felt part of something very special indeed. Due to none of us using contraceptives, Tina became pregnant and chose to keep the baby. It would grow up to be an efficient member of the general populace.


One evening, long after our love-making, I met with the creative tenants of my apartment building. We sat in a random, unobtrusive pattern and took turns speaking. I told them of my life’s journey up until that point, then a humorous and prophetic short tale about what might happen if aliens visited Earth and shut down the infrastructure. The computer servers would be smashed. The murderous rail tracks uprooted. The tracking devices removed from our bodies. Both tales received positive feedback, along with the perfunctory applause of support that each reader received.


The next morning, I was reassigned to the breeding centre. I was strapped to a raised bed and my legs put in stirrups. As a television screen, playing videos of a sexual nature, was placed before me, I was intravenously fed medication to help me maintain a constant erection. A device was then placed around my penis to motivate my orgasms, which proceeded to milk me day after day after day. Other medication was administered to keep me calm, lest this procedure cause heart problems. I had heard tell of a man found in his bedroom after achieving orgasm around fifty times in a row. He had collapsed on the floor, amidst a sea of scrunch-up tissue paper, with his underwear around his ankles.


A pleasant way to go, one could argue.


After an exhausting month of being milked for my semen, I was painlessly castrated, given a military uniform and decommissioned weapon, then asked to board a train to face a war that I did not believe was raging. The train would indeed grind to a halt a few miles outside the city limits. I did not step off.


The computers had figured it all out.


THE END