Friday is Skyday

17:42

17:47

18:10

Laughing Lhursday*

Congress on the subject of ‘Time Management’ in Vienna. A German and a Japanese on their way to the underground. The German says: "If we hurry, we'll catch the next train." Both start running.
On the train, they both sink into their seats, panting. The German wipes the sweat from his forehead and gasps: "Ten minutes saved!"
Asks the Japanese: "And what are we now going to do with the ten minutes?"

* [For first time visitors]:

Typo in the title?
Nah. It's just that I would not
let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

 

 

Beers & Books (400) – Fitzgerald: Master Stories

Master Stories

F. Scott Fitzgerald (24 September 1896 – 21 December 1940)

Beers & Books (399): Im Dezember der Wind

December Breeze / En diciembre llegan las brisas

Marvel Moreno (23 September 1939 – 5 June 1995)

The Morning after the Deluge

Light and Colour (Goethe's Theory)
The Morning after the Deluge
Moses Writing the Book of Genesis
- William Turner -

a Relats conjunts

Moses? Writing the Book of Genesis? The Morning after the deluge?
Ha!
Turner 181 years ago but anticipated a humble villager sitting in a world full of war & terror, severely emptied of love and empathy; a world of hatred, extreme stupidity, selfishness and I! I! I!
Knowing that he would not be able to change everything this humble villager would not write the Book of any Genesis but just write down a tiny dream:
All machos of planet Earth, including all Taliban and the King of Saudi Arabia, his complete entourage including judges and clergy being sent from the desert into devils' kitchen where they are getting preferential treatment: Heaviest swearboarding which would not end before these ... hm ... these "gentlemen" would promise with immediate effect to veil their faces up til infinity and silently walk four steps behind their wives whilst lugging the shopping bags.

Friday is Skyday

...

Beers & Books (398) – Fermat's Last Theorem

Fermat's Last Theorem

Simon Singh *19 September 1964 

Pierre de Fermat (1607 – 12 January 1664)

Monochrome Monday

...

 

Friday is Skyday

10:34 on Wednesday

13:15 on Monday

19:44 on Sunday

Ménage à trois

Ménage à trois
or

Binge of three

Monochrome Monday

. . .

A nice view

The vetches are a nice view these days
when looking up while turning a page. ;-)

Friday is Skyday

. . .

 

Beers & Books (397) – Caspar David Friedrich

Art as the centre of the world
Selected letters and writings

Caspar David Friedrich (5 September 1774 – 7 May 1840)

Relats conjunts – Goethe, Shakespeare, Barbolaire

A photograph by Miquel Àngel Vich alias Barbolaire

– Smoke hidden ghoulish faces, eyes, grimaces, torso of a female figure. Positive became negative. Smoke without sound.

– Words are mere sound and smoke, dimming the heavenly light.

– Says who?

– Goethe, Faust I.

– Lousy translation. Faust says, verse 3457: Name ist Schall und Rauch. Name is sound and smoke. Not words. May I ask who created this photographic artwork?

– Didn't you just say names are sound and smoke?

– Thanks a lot. But that was Goethe.

– Nitpicker. Let's turn the whole thing on its head for fun. What do you see now?

– The female figure now on the left side of the picture. ... Actually, the whole picture looks even more feminine. And the little astronaut in his bubble capsule looks much more determined and optimistic.

– See? There are more things in heaven and earth, Sean, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

– Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5.

– Yes, yes. Smart arse. But now: What is the name of the poetic photo artist?

– The name is at the top under the photo. ;-)

Metamorphosis Kafkaesque a

This morning, as I was waking up
from sweet dreams,
I discovered that in my bed
I had been changed into a tiny insect
and now was sitting on my glasses
reading Kafka's Verwandlung:

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up
from anxious dreams, he discovered
that in his bed he had been changed
into a monstrous verminous bug.
He lay on his armour-hard back and saw,
as he lifted his head up a little,
his brown, arched abdomen divided up
into rigid bow-like sections.
From this height the blanket, just about ready
to slide off completely, could hardly stay in place.
His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison
to the rest of his circumference,
flickered helplessly before his eyes.
“What’s happened to me,” he thought.
It was no dream.

Monochrome Monday

Not Kafkaesque.

 

Swarming stupidity

Typing swarm intelligence after 0,13 seconds I got told there are 1,570.000 entries.

Afterwards, I hesitated to type swarm idiocy.

The peace of the night.