KlaraRoberts, talented writer, blogger, also writes and publishes a popular newsletter in New England, The Reluctant Entrepreneur, among other publishing and public relations activities. In a recent edition she wrote:

Need a good read?

Stressed out from your business? Are your relationships falling apart? Do you suffer from "too much work and not enough fun" syndrome? (We do).
You need to make time for some relaxation, and sometimes the relaxation is as close as your computer, actually. Try a good book, from an excellent author, and you can transport yourself immediately, without ever leaving home.

We had the absolute pleasure to meet personally, a fantastic new author, who has actually been writing for years, as both a journalist and a novelist. He provides some of the most exceptional, emotionally charged writing we have ever seen, and we do urge you to try one or all of his books and settle down for a much-needed "good read".

His name is Frank Bond Beaumier, and he hails from Detroit, Michigan where he completed his series of books that are part autobiography and part fiction, blending both mediums flawlessly in tales that enlighten, invigorate, stimulate and educate readers simultaneously. We read his work voraciously, and we're sure you will too. His work, overall, is passionate and addictive, the way good writing should always be. Please visit his site, and check out his books. You'll enjoy them as much as we did.

The Soul of a Man Laid Bare to the World!

Posted on Tuesday 29 of November, 2005 [12:04:00 UTC]

............................
De police arrest Hesus and he didn't do nothin; took him to the station where the Police Chief try to pin some bogus charge of pimpin or loitering on him. Fact Hesus was a little short of cash and dressed low like he jest came off de boat. Dis pimp Peter who police don't know if he be a friend of Hesus, took along fo questioning. Peter went along willingly cause he want to see if he could find out if Hesus goin talk about their scheme to bring in some girls to Miami Castro don't want no more cause they got several running and open discharge diseases. Peter sat around with those in the holding room and one of the working girls saw him sitting there cooling and look him straight in de eyes said, "Dis pimp in with Hesus."

Peter said, "Dat a lie; dat ho lyin thru her teeth. I don't even know Hesus. Sheet, yo going believe dis ho or an honest businessman like mes? Cunt lyin tryin to get out of paying a hoing fine."

One of the older coppers say, "hey pimp watch yo language, deys be ladies present in here."

Peter laugh say, "I don't see no ladies, mo like hos to me."

Den one of the fools brought in fo assault on de person chimed in, said, "You is one His friends too, lyin pimp."

Peter said, "Man, youse crazy, I ain't no friend of Hesus neither. Who in fuck believes yo, beat up rob a sixty-five year old German tourist jest fo five bucks and few marks. Yo dumb fuck."

"Sheet dat weren't me dat were Hernando."

They alls sat around checking out de meat waiting fo a lawyer and still another man said Peter was with Hesus, because he seed them on the beach talking about orange blossoms. And the man had credibility because many knew that orange blossoms were the state flower and thus a likely topic of conversation among the pimps.

Brome wait patiently at the police station, goin "fine out" ho friend, thought about the fable of Peter denying he be a friend of Hesus in Matthew Mark and John. Brome turn to a cute Latino ho friend waiting for arrangement say, "Check this he goin deny Hesus third time."

Ho look at Brome, say, "You sho know yo Latinos."

--from Sex Cults and Other Phenomena

Posted on Wednesday 11 of August, 2004 [06:18:48 UTC]

Tropic of Detroit--Writer's Notes, was written under working title On Detroit, Black Reflections in a White Mirror. On Fasting, MySearch for Perfect Health. Or The Animalistic Cure; The Cure of Sexual Pathology and Obsession; Letters to My Cousin Rachael, and Juberé, a Sufi Journal,(Published as New York, and Detroit, Val Jubere's Journal), were all written in this time context. In Writer’s Notes the mind of a man who would be writer lies bared as a whore’s cunt: How he thinks, what his ideas are and from where they come. This is written for anyone who wonders about the thought processes of such a person, one who aspires to be a “writer.” Perhaps these notes will remove some of the mystery. Maybe not.--Frank Bond Beaumier.

Posted on Tuesday 18 of May, 2004 [11:54:43 UTC]

For internet download at $6.25; just click on book cover, and follow instructions. Thank you.

Posted on Friday 03 of October, 2003 [21:28:14 UTC]

Tell us now, How didst thou write all these words at his mouth?
I confess.

Confess without consequence
Expunge the demons without fear.
Who say nay, and point the finger
Of outraged fellowship?...deBrome.

The need to confess without consequence, an ablution expunging of demons, is old as man's conscience and continues pervasive. From this need has arisen a leviathan indeterminate profession, issuing from the world's oldest, to the Catholic Church and psychological/social programs and practicians ad infinitum.
Thank or damn Sigmund Freud for expanding the confessional boundaries, by making a form of confession nondenominational and available to all with the means, not just Catholic. For a fee anyone can now talk to various and sundry therapists and relieve the nervous system through the new non-science, as the fathers listened and forgave Catholics from masturbation to mass murder, to enrich the Vatican, or as whores endured for money, services or goods. Listening to the plaintive: "My wife doesn't understand me," had indeed become big business.
In these cynical, guruish times where backlash against established institutions appears increasing, even to decrying Freudian practice, confessional or psychoanalytical release remains popular. This seems to indicate a deeply ingrained need, perhaps for some an aliment that might confound the mystagogue. Even the once common stigmas of society has been breeched, and given way, as with kids having bastards, and crazies in the streets and in every fast food restaurant, to the mores of the day and the reality of living, aided and abetted by federal payout for such actions and practices.
So psychological/social programs, medical and non-medical, as well as the Catholic church continue to serve and profit from forms of confessional magic, even though proven positive long-term results are elusive. What has this intense babbling accomplished is a question often asked, never very satisfactorily answered. In Detroit and other large cities, nuts abound hardy as roaches. Regardless of expenditures, by private. church and governmental agencies on ways and means, old and new systems, to stomp them out, nuts prosper and grow, even advancing the confessional to the open street, rapping the man.
Freud's entrepreneurial turning of an art form into a pseudo-science succeeded beyond his dreams. By moving the confessional from the closet and to the couch, he pioneered the transformation of simple confession into a new medicine of the mind, psychoanalysis. And, as with all new discoveries, real or imagined cures, the copycats, and pill and pablum boys were not far behind. Forms of the business confessional were soon to be backed by a power that rivals the Catholic Church, and in fact, all of religion: The AMA and the Medical Societies of the World.
Psychiatry like the Greeks "has a name for it," a label: irrational, rational, normal, abnormal and still growing multipartite forms unchecked, all backed by the most extensive research. Thus, a person may now pop a pill and act out or reveal his thoughts, nutty or criminal sociocentrically, en toto, with assurance that he or she will fall into a well-defined group, and no longer will be a lone nut singing in the wilderness.
Success in any psychological or religious system is based on, relies on, human fears generated by sexual and creational superstitions. Was it a coincidence that Freud chose to concentrate on the sexually soft underbelly of the church when he usurped an integral part of its doctrine for his new psychoanalysis?
Still, there is ample evidence that confession is good for the soul, or the nervous system. The mind. The mind, the mind, the fragile mind. The pandemoniac mind is relieved, strengthened by confession to priest, psychiatrist, or whore, whomever; where there is faith. The world turns on faith, begins and ends on faith. Schlegel noted,."Every great enterprise begins with and takes its first forward step in faith." But there is also a need for logic to back up faith. A.S.Hodge wrote: "Faith must have evidence else it is mere superstition."
The very mind that proves, disproves. The mind which understands and reveres logic destroys by the same logic. I think because I am; I am because I think; because I think I am; I think, I am; or, I think, therefore I am, cogita ergo sum. And fideism reigns

Posted on Friday 26 of September, 2003 [21:39:09 UTC]

Author's Note: For me there is no literature more compelling than that of the spirit and the flesh, or the Mujähadah theme. It is the first story in the Bible, featuring Adam and Eve, and will likely be subject of the last story told. For several years I wrote and filed these notes, which I developed finally into The Cure of Sexual Obsession, or The Mujahadah Chronicle. Like those brave souls who put together the first atomic bomb, I am not inclined to seek publicity. But I am human as the next person in hoping that you enjoy and perhaps benefit from this chronicle. FB.
___

Posted on Friday 26 of September, 2003 [21:20:27 UTC]

From the Cure of Sexual Obsession and Depression: The Mujähadah Chronicle.
“The writing was composed of an odd mixture of type and handwriting. There were original and copied quotes intermixed with prose and poetry, with crude illustrations at times. I edited, rewrote, worked on logical order, collating and paginating. It was written in first and third person over several years I guessed, a period of time right up to the present year. Most interestingly, to me, it purported to be a method by which one could cure himself of sexually obsessive thoughts which almost always lead to deep depression.
“Later I sought to extract the message and as I did so, eventually and inevitably, I decided to take the cure myself. Certainly, I needed one, after years of depression from various and sundry sexual obsessions.
“This interpretive labor in itself brought me measurable relief from my depression. And my cure self-analysis, within my ability, is true to TL.'s original tone, namely of a man obsessed by sex, obsessed into a stultifying depression~the depression of a sexual deviate, or, in his case, as I was to learn, most likely a world renown professor. That is the way it is presented, with allowances for my own dark tastes.
“ The hand that scrawled those demented pages, and typed that error-filled script was, I deduced, obsessed by youth and by youthful college students, generally white, while the scribe of these pages you now read suffers from sexual obsessions, decidedly black...
“The professor, or doctor, if indeed he was both or either, apparently labored in a youth-fed environment as he drifted into obsession, while I report from an abounding black milieu: environments peculiar to our disadvantage; environments that oil the flames of our obsessions, accent our depressions. Why T.L. left or was forced to leave the scene of his obsession (escaped?), may always remain a mystery, grounds for conjecture. I saw no clue in the writing, other than the fact that part of the cure was a necessity to leave the environment of one’s obsession. And I suppose there comes a time when self preservation becomes greater than obsession. Certainly I face my fate, my black obsession and depression in Detroit and cannot leave by free will, but as it is written in the Method, leave I must for a cure.”

Posted on Friday 26 of September, 2003 [01:21:32 UTC]