Interesting, isn't it?

Money in German means Geld.

(To) geld in English means to castrate.

A gelded horse in German is a Wallach.

A Wallach in English is a gelding.



Therefore: money is a gelding, hm?

Last question for tonight: How do geldings reproduce?

No clue?
Ask your trusted banker.
And to verify your banker's answer, ask your repesentative.

I don't ask for empathy

... either you feel it, or you don't.

What a voice

Am I sad, tonight? Do I feel sentimental?
No.
How could one who'd now and then be considered (ice-)cold, heartless, selfish, feel ... Fado-esque?

Ah, don't wonder, don't ponder.
Just open your ears, listen ... and agree: What a voice.

I don't know the reason why ...

... but I'll (probably) continue blogging.

Hm ... a guitar's music does not mean more to me, than any other woman I have known.

Still, some of the following lyrics (latest when replacing songs by posts) will let sense those of you who know me why I thought this is not an ideal but quite a fitting post after three years blogging.

Sweet Nothings (?)

Why would one not be surprised that Luc Bondy's interpretation of  Arthur Schnitzler's Liebelei in Austria would get this (i.e. "Not more than a sweet Nothing") and that roasting(s).

As a man who is not immune against arrogance, purism, smugness. vanity etc., I am not.
After all, above mentioned traits are part of Omnium, hm? :)*

By the way, Judith Schmitzberger (author of above's this and Sophia Felbermair (author of above's that, are (now) part of Omnium, too. Congratulations, Myladies.

Well, arrogance, purism, smugness. vanity and utter stupidity aside:

I'd (have) like(d) to watch this, either in Northampton, Kingston, Coventry, Vienna, Recklinghausen, Madrid or ... in the Young Vic.

It seems to be a fine, an interesting approach.



* Sorry, Don QuiScottie.

Right Mum, Son

Just so, inspired by Andrew.

A tragedy, a shame

... that I'd distract your attention from today's events.
Who cares about what was up to date many many yesterdays ago, hm?
The more as tomorrow today's another yesterday, hm?
Anyway, as said. Sorry, and by all means: Don't let disturb your peace of mind.
Apart from that we can't solve each tiny problem on this beautiful planet: we just can't afford pondering too much, can we?
Pondering too much makes so bloody depressive, hm?
And life is much too beautiful, too precious to waste it on getting depressive, hm?
The more as us getting depressive, will not change anything, hm?
It's hard enough daily to watch all these (breaking) news while enjoying our most delicious dinner, hm?
Ah! No. Skip watching the vid that I am too lazy to delete.
Enjoy life. It's so fucking short.

The f... err ... the peace of the night.

BP would like to clarify that ...

... contrary to some media reports ...

Thank you so much for clarifying, Big Prother.

Troubleshooters

It's the time
of the year
when at night
listening to the silence
my heart feels so light.

The frogs are croaking.

Tiny question to billionaires

Gosh. No post for a couple of days.

And the stories lying on the street (at least this is what the avarage young would-be journalist will once, twice, thrice etc. been told in the beginning of what he's very probably sure will become a great career.

Three months ago I would not know how to spell shornalist, and today already I am one, eh?

Wow, ... writing German I could go on and on and on ...

Now did I decide to not blogging in German.

Thus, my fault, hm?

Ha ha ha.

Anyway. All this just to tell that there's much to learn about life when - after having rubbed her neck, back and knees with oinments - listening to a woman without teeth.

You're smiling? You don't believe?

Alright. But one example: You can be a billionaire. However, what do your billions help when you can't go on toilette?

The peace of the night.

[...] to be anything but ...

[...] the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day ; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men ; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be anything but an earthworm*."
Thoreau, Walden

* Err, don't know how it could happen. Please replace an earthworm by a machine.

Same sight, different view

Well, for yesterday's post I chose a photo taken in April, around Eastern.
That's why the Osterglocken (Easterbells = daffodils) meanwhile are withered, and thus today it looks a bit different: Narcissi & Co. have taken their place, the hazeltrees have put on their foliacious skirt. Only Forest Bulb remains as it is.

Of warmth, worms and extasy

The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues
And mornings feet are gemmed with early dews
Warm Daffodils about the garden beds
Peep thro their pale slim leaves their golden heads
Sweet earthly suns of spring—the Gosling broods
In coats of sunny green about the road
Waddle in extacy—and in rich moods
The old hen leads her flickering chicks abroad
Oft scuttling neath her wings to see the kite
Hang wavering o'er them in the springs blue light
The sparrows round their new nests chirp with glee
And sweet the Robin springs young luxury shares
Tuteling its song in feathery Gooseberry tree
While watching worms the Gardeners spade unbears

John Clare (1798 - 1864) Home Pictures in May

More poems by John Clare are to be found on this fine site.