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Lenny Bruce

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76 Novie Scribe 2nd Class

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About Lenny Bruce

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  • Age in Years
    65
  • Gender
    Male
  • Sexuality
    Gay
  • Favorite Genres
    Everything
  • Location
    Italy
  • Interests
    Opera

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  • Public Email
    lennybruce55@gmail.com

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  1. Epilogue So far, this story has been sad. I wrote it to remember him and how happy I was. I didn't destroy the bougainvillea, the jasmine, or the honeysuckle, but with each flowering I collected the scented branches and placed them on the keyboard of his piano. Nature, the seasons, were there to remind me that in spite of everything life went on. I never found the courage to break my last oath. I realized to kill myself would take more courage than I had. I already had some experience on the subject, so I didn't even try. Even letting oneself die of boredom or starvation
  2. As a boy, the Law of Universal Gravitation had fascinated me and most of all, what inspired my imagination was the certainty there could be no exceptions, imperfections, or grains of sand that could challenge it and ruin the mechanism. In my own universe, imperfection had been created, the device was frozen, as if time had stopped. My life, reduced to ordinary sensory perception, now recording the succession of day and night, forcing me to be occupied with only the indispensable actions necessary for survival. The mind, my poor head, was feverish. It constructed scenarios which it ignored
  3. The next morning I talked on the phone with Paoletto. He had already spoken to his grandmother. He told me Grandma Luigia was unhappy and worried. "She came into my room to wake me up, but instead of opening the window and giving me a kiss, then leaving as she always has done for as long as I can remember. Today she came in and sat on the bed looking at me and bursting into tears. What do you think about that? Grandma Luigia crying? I hugged her. I wanted to console her. I tried to apologize for not telling her before about how I am." He seemed to consider that reality, before decid
  4. After the camp I tried disappearing again, but my escape lasted exactly thirty minutes. The day after our return, at half past seven, Paoletto was in front of the gate and sounded the bell. That evening we were supposed to meet at seven o'clock in the Section to unpack. Open the backpacks and boxes. Lay the tents out to dry them. Store the tools. The boys were anxious to get together to talk about the camp, but I didn't have to be there. My involvement had definitely ended when the camp finished, but Paoletto expected me to be there. I wanted to go, but I lacked the courage to face him and
  5. Thank you too for such a flattering comparison. The setting of the prostitution scenes is definitely the same, though obviously the context is completely different. Thank you!
  6. Thank you so much for the comparison to the Bard. I swear I never thought of that, partly because my knowledge of Shakespeare is limited and doesn't allow me to make bold comparisons! Thank you!
  7. At the camp, my role was somewhat similar to that of a Quartermaster. A task and word that makes you think of the army and soldiers, but which is equally applicable to a Scout camp. As Marco had explained, I needed to organize the support for about thirty people, supplying them with what they needed. It was not complicated, although it was very tiring, but it was exactly what I was looking for. I could handle everything using a small part of my brain which left plenty of scope for more or less pleasant thoughts, the tasks only involved me in completing practical things. Camp life was h
  8. Thank you! Go ahead and read, I think you'll enjoy it!
  9. We got off at the Amsterdam train station at seven o'clock on a July morning. It was very cold, but I was happy to be where I was. No, never happy, but at least content. Because this was my first trip without anyone deciding for me. I had often been abroad, but this time it was different. I was not happy. That was never how I was. There must have been six or seven of us, and then there were only three. With me there were Valerio and a boy in his twenties we met during the trip. We didn't even know his name since he introduced himself to everyone only by his nickname, Cochise, like the
  10. My father discovered he was ill with cancer one morning while shaving. He felt a swelling on his throat under his fingers. He didn't have to wait for his colleagues to confirm it before he knew what it was. Even before he heard a friend report that they had to do tests to make sure it was a tumor, he was convinced of his own illness. Needless to say, he was right. It all happened on a spring day. On my way home from school, I discovered that my mother was not there. I was convinced I would find her, but the house was unusually quiet and empty. They were at the hospital and I d
  11. Paoletto entered my life at the moment Marco left. Marco had reached the age when you leave the Scouts’ Troop to become a Rover, Paoletto was of the age that allowed him to enter the Troop, leaving the Cubs. The two events coincided, something which left me little time to evolve from being the disciple to taking on the role of mentor. It just happened and was both fascinating and also appalling. Each year, in early autumn, when the activities of the Scout Group resumed, a special ceremony was celebrated. It literally was a rite of passage. There were always seven or eight eleven ye
  12. The choice of nom de plum was a coincidence. I had known Lenny Bruce through Bob Fosse's film with Dustin Hoffman. Wanting a nickname that contained the word Lenny, for my own reasons, I chose Lenny Bruce. I didn't think at the time that it could be associated with a vulgar language that didn't belong to me at all. Meanwhile the nickname had stuck and I kept it. So the answer to your question is 'no' there will never be excessive blasphemy or gratuitous vulgar language in what I write. Ciao!
  13. Long before, before everything happened, Marco had been my Patrol Leader in the Scouts. And I was almost in love with him. He called me one lunchtime. That time during the day for the unhappy reunion of my family, or what was left of it. Three months had passed, only three months, and an eternity of silence. At that time of the day, my mother and I, punctual without any reason, spent a long moment together. The time necessary to swallow the food with acceptable calm. We simply acknowledged the other’s presence, but rarely looked into each other's eyes. It was far easier to concentrate
  14. This story is one of a journey through life. A boy discovers his homosexuality. He condemns himself for an attempted seduction of a more youthful friend. He seriously risks dying when he decides to take drugs. The social environments described are those of Italy in the 70s. This boy’s life is pervaded with love, lessons, hardships, deaths, and special moments. The road is not pleasant. It is a perilous journey that deals with drug use, repentance, prostitution, pain, forgiveness, and hopefully redemption.
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