If the truth can be known I was brought up on a sea of mendacity my first house was a 55 room mansion at the end of the island of Montreal in a tiny village Senneville. I had a hard birth delivered by a frightened intern. My mum was a panicked woman without maternal instincts. She weighed 107 pounds. I weighed 10. I was clinically dead for 4 minutes revived by the kiss of life given to me by a nurse. While abandoned by the intern who asked my father “do you want to save the child or the mother”. My father, the late great Dr Raymond Boyer replied “I cannot have another wife but I can have other children”. After the safety of my mum was secured they brought me back from death by then my collar bone was broken, my umbilical cord was severed in 110 places so I have no fear - I live on the edge of dying every day of my life. My dad was 33 years old my mum was 24 years of age. Not a lovely start for me Michel Boyer. So how do you bring yourself out of that? There has always been a firefight in my heart between poverty and wealth. I am like a cat with nine lives. However I became a survivor a loner with a brain drenched in serotonin endorphins and all that good stuff. Here I lie in pieces in the freedom of my chains today. I feel free as a bird. Ain't it absurd that Jacques Derrida’s Grammaticus rubs me and you out of existence (erasure), yet can be the height of glam romance in certain French intellectual circles? How can it be that I see through the authority of Anthony Sampson’s Anatomy of Britain? Open the curtain by Roger Vadim on Jane Fonda, Henry Fonda’s daughter who came on a freedom ride and did a documentary called F.T.A. in Vietnam in 1972. In Vietnam and in the south with James Peck and me throughout the freedom summer and the education project of 1963. I worked my white ass off. Sweating it out in offices in New York city with Ben Brown, Paul Goodman and Dave McDonald, connected all the while with Stokely's glorious smile, his black beautiful head on an erect neck. I would go to any length to help create and brag about modern music of black blues and jazz in Hoboken and Phoenix, through mighty leaps and bounds of the sounds of the Student Non-violent Co-ordinating Committee, pushing Martin Luther King to his death as he grew to know that poverty in the south is connected to Dien Bien Phu. Me, Stokely and Peggy Duff knew this to be true as we had French heroes in the kitchens of Paris and London where I worked again raising cash for the international federation of disarmament and peace. Peggy Duff, Calum Collins and me, that horrible nasty arrogant homunculus of a dwarf, worked together in a tiny office of a friend’s house on the Eastern Road. Me was still Michael Boyer at that time. As did Eric Blair see in the kitchens of London and Paris he came up with 1984 and Animal Farm. While we made 1955 a war cry in Hanoi down in the Ho Chi Minh trail from different kitchens on the Boul Mich where J. P. Sartre and de Beauvoir sat pondering the future. Sartre (sad dick) and Nelson Algren’s sick attempt to woo a kindly academic victorious and glorious female (she called her book The Second Sex). When you and I knew from the start that women have over centuries before international women’s day (106 years old last week March 8). And my hero and friend Tich Nhat Han burnt himself alive in the centre of Saigon to stop JFK’s troops bombing his people, your people and my people to smithereens. Then LBJ after November 1963 in Dallas only countermanded JFK’s Dad’s deal, an international Nazi war criminal. During the Irish mafia’s addiction to back pain and his Bay of Pigs disaster in 1961 me and Simone and JP watched another hero, now dead, president Fidel nationalise United Fruit in over 6 hours of a triumphant and yes I mean triumphant speech. This caused the yankee dollar to pull out and to try and convince young kids to talk the dirt on their fathers and mothers. While the Beauty Queens of Hyannis port, a dollars dripping hellhole of Nazism brought the world to the brink of nuclear death during the days of October 1962 where everyone’s heart were in their mouths because of a spineless kid who lied about his World War II non experience and seeking his Nazi dad’s approval he won Chicago in 1960 showing the yankee dollar over the spikes of the nasty electoral college against a poor working class lawyer from California, Richard Nixon. His one o’clock shadow lost him an election on television while fighting against a raving transvestite male white bastard that was Edgar J. Hoover, who had a lover for over 50 years behind the closed doors of the FBI. Richard Nixon was a principle man who imbibed Abe Lincoln’s career GOP with Pat Nixon’s Quaker oats. Nixon was an honest person overcome by the so called power of the Oval office and by preppy John Holderman and John frigging Mitchell.
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