Ready for the cold Season

January, February, March, April . . .








"No. No. No!" I said.

Tetrapilotomos' reaction: brows forming a questionmark.

"It has neither to do anything with politics, nor with language and literature."

"It's part of Omnium", said Tetrapilotomos. "Isn't it politics that your 83-years-old mother-in-law is demonstrating to her neighbours - and thus to the world - that she is ready for another season?
And isn't it lovely to make a joke about her "unspeakables", and she would wholehearted laugh about her wicked son-in-law?"

Sometimes, I repeat: sometimes I do like my friend.

To be fair against Mr Akyol

It's not easy to lose twice in row.

Therefore here, to be fair against Mr. Akyol, quasi with open visor an announcement.

But let's first read the final passage of his reply to Mr Bekdil:

This “theory of taqiyya,” which Mr. Bekdil repeatedly refers to, is an “unfalsifiable” idea, to use a term coined by political philosopher Karl Popper. What this means is that the person accused with “taqiyya” can never falsify that. The more he rejects the accusation that he is willing to destroy the secular republic, the more the ultra-secularists become convinced about the imagined conspiracy he supposedly cooks up. It is like believing that all top politicians are freemasons; the fact they deny this would only prove how effectively the secret brotherhood works. It is a pity that such an immature paranoia is shared not only by the superficial demagogues of secular fundamentalism, but also otherwise reasonable and sophisticated minds like Mr. Bekdil. I am sure he can do better than that.

Hope this was green enough, and everybody could read.

Now, there is (almost) no doubt that Mr Akyol is a talented writer. I should like to compare him with my friend Tetrapilotomos, a writer who would not write for reasons that I shall probably never understand.
Anyway, if I did so and came to the conclusion that ... that ... that Mr Akyol were more talented than Tetrapilotomos, (I suppose) according to Mr Akyol (who seems to have read Karl Popper) this would be unfalsifiable.

This said, I promise Mr. Akyol that next time he will raise his sword ... hm ... his feather (what a picture in these times!) to take up the cudgels for praising so-called intelligent design, he will be asked to falsify, that is: to prove or declare false.

The Peace of the Night.

Postscriptum: Apropos "mature paranoia", Mr Akyol. Do you think Mr Bekdil is psychotic? Language, Sir, language!

And be careful with your answer.
As Tetrapilotomos uses to say: I do always mean what I say, but I wouldn't say all I mean.

Mr. Akyol 0 - Mr Bekdil 2

The inevitable happened.
As announced rather than prognosticated three days ago today the first Flann O'Brien Prize Winner, TDN's master equilibrist Burak Bekdil put his pen to paper (ah, what a picture in these times!) , in order to reply to Mr. Akyol's reply on his, Mr Bekdil's, innocent article.

Easy to cut it short, especially as my closest friend Tetrapilotomos is just reflecting about singularity: Again, Mr Bekdil won what TDN's chief editor David Judson would call a "sparring-match".

Game, set and match to Mr. Bekdil.

Reading his reply you will know - all right: at least be able to imagine, why.


Mr Akyol 0 - Mr Bekdil 2.


Postscriptum for all supporters of Mr Akyol: A first Huysman-Wilde-Prize-Winner would not throw in the turban (turban, no headscarf!) ... eh ... hm ... towel, of course.

Let's have a liberating laughter

There has been "Journalist's Day" in ... in ... yes! Exactly! In Iran.
Big parties, of course, in Tehran, Isfahan and Ghom.

Thus, before going on, please celebrate reading more details here.

Back? Fine!

Yes, neither you nor Tetrapilotomos need to tell me that sarcasm has seldom helped solving a problem. For some people, though, irony and sarcasm (not cynism!!) is the shelter to which they flee when feeling close to getting overwhelmed by their sadness, their wrath, their helplessness. Irony, sarcasm for distracting purposes.

Bearing ironic or sarcastical thoughts in the maternity room of one's brain could, by the way, be a nice and most entertaining alternative (that moreover mostly would not produce long-term consquences) whenever feeling there is nothing else to do.

And now back to "Journalist's Day" in Iran.
The scissors in one's head may cut the road on which thoughts are travelling from the brain into the feather. But it would not be able to reach the realm of thinking. The thoughts remain free.

That is why - with a cheerful thanks to Colin at Adelaide's Green Porridge Cafe - I dedicate the following joke first of all to all journalists in Iran, but also to anybody living elsewhere and feeling/being persecuted, harrassed and incarcerated.

Now might a joke about a President absolutely down under be not half as lovely when being told let's say in North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Libya, Syria, England, France, Germany, China, Russia or the U.S. of A., only to give some examples.
But look above. Thoughts are free! Just choose your favourite protagonist, and enjoy at least some seconds of liberating laughter.


Prime Minister John Howard was visiting a primary school and he visited one of the classes. They were in the middle of a discussion related to words and their meanings.

The teacher asked the Prime Minister if he would like to lead the discussion on the word "tragedy". So the illustrious leader asked the class for an example of a "tragedy".

One little boy stood up and offered: "If my best friend, who lives on a farm, is playing in the field and a tractor runs over him and kills him, that would be a 'tragedy'".

No," said Howard, "that would be an accident".

A little girl raised her hand: "If a school bus carrying fifty children drove over a cliff, killing everyone inside, that would be a tragedy."

"I'm afraid not," explained the Prime Minister "That's what we would call a great loss."

The room went silent. No other children volunteered.

John searched the room. "Isn't there someone here who can give me an example of tragedy?"

Finally, at the back of the room, a small boy raised his hand...In a quiet voice he said: "If the aeroplane carrying you and Mrs Howard was struck by a "friendly fire" missile and blown to smithereens, that would be a tragedy.

Fantastic!" exclaimed John Howard. "That's right. And can you tell me why that would be a tragedy?"

Well," says the boy "It has to be a tragedy, because it certainly wouldn't be a great loss and it probably wouldn't be a bloody accident either.

Good night, Turkey, and good luck! III

There may be trouble ahead
But while there is moonlight, and music, and love, and romance
Let's face the music and dance.
Irving Berlin, 1936

He who laughs has not yet heard the bad news.
Bertold Brecht

Ah, if I were to live in Turkey, for sure I could not (easily) sleep tonight.

Therefore, for those visiting me a little more to read, maybe to think about and to reflect, perhaps even to laugh here and there.
Yes, those who have come to know me and my dearest friend - a writer who would not write for reasons I shall probably never understand -, a little better, and whose visits I do appreciate very much, will know that we do rather prefer to look on the bright side of life. And life is bright when we can celebrate our sense for humour, irony and well ... some sarcasm here and there.
Really happy Tetrapilotomos and I however are, when we can lean back.

Today could have become such a day. Burak Bekdil, this year's first Flann O'Brian Prize Winner, and Huysman-Wilde-Prize Winner Mustafa Akyol started a new competition.
The little difference: This time Mr. Bekdil started, Mr. Akyol replied; and, for sure, this time it will be Mr. Bekdil who will give a reply to this reply (if the circumstances will allow).

Allright, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy yourselves first here, then here.


* For those readers who unfortunately happened to miss the first competition it is highly recommended not to miss reading this and this.

Good night, Turkey, and good luck! II

Those self-important fathers of their country
Think they're above the people.
(Euripides, c. 426 B.C.E.)

Hm, I do admit that I was very very close to withold what immediately follows, as I am not sure about its level of wisdom.
But why should a wise man be not wrong at the end?

Here we go, then:

. . . Why they're nothing!
The citizen is infinitely wiser.


Hm, being honest has produced a tiny dilemma: How to get the act together?

You see, the first two lines were thought as a lovely entry for this joke.
For a joke that tells what this blog's name promises: Omnium.
It tells all, about what can easily happen to everybody, if young or old, if white or black, if dark- or blue-eyed, if so-called Kemalists, secularists or Islamists, if followers of this Ism or that ideology, and whatever she or he may believe in, or not.

Having said this, I invite you to read:

With a little money in their pockets, they [two blacks] are walking down the street and run into a shop with a sign hanging on its window, that reads, “We make blacks white, guaranteed. Only $100.” However, one has $110 and the other $90. They make a deal: The owner of the bigger amount will go first and test it out; if he really turns white, he will give the remaining $10 to his friend so he can do the same. The first black man goes into the shop and leaves it after a very short time as a completely white person. His friend waiting outside is flabbergasted and immediately asks for the $10. But the answer he gets is like a slap on the cheek: “Go away, you dirty negro!”


With thanks to M. Nedin Hazar who "told" this joke, which is rather a dark parable getting close to the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of everything.
Read his complete article here.