Just so

In the last hour of the day that 515 years ago - according to Lichtenberg - "the first American who discovered Columbus made a horrible discovery", and in the last hour I am as old as the year within I was born, I do . . .

. . . not say that this one is going to become my last post.

Probably it would be a wise decision, though.

The Peace of the Night.

Targets for common purpose

In certain situations it is wise not to react spontaneously but rather go to bed and listen to one’s pillow.

I am glad I did so yesterday night. I should have regretted my words.

And this is what my pillow told me.

[A new young dynamic female member of one of those wonderful think tanks abandoned to vice, sitting vis-à-vis Mr Cheney.]

Do you love bloodsport? [sneer]

I love it, sir.
The chase, the sport of kings,
Images of war without guilt. [Clintonian laughter]

[sneer] Any suggestions?

We need a solution for the growing army of homeless people, right?

Rather today than tomorrow.

Well what about following project? Let’s collect all the organic waste and transport it …

. . . invite our homeless fellow countrymen; on behalf of the political correctness (little sneer]

Yes, of course, Vice-president.

- and women … [sneer] ….

- and women … [Clintonian laughter] … er … where did we stop? Ah, best will be I do repeat: Let’s invite our homeless fellow countrymen and –women to settle in a reservation.

Okay. Where?

Montana?

No.

A reservation along the Mexican border?

Excellent. And then? Ah, didn’t we recently speak about that our boys and the Blackwater folks et al. do need exercise conditions in step with actual practise in order to get optimal prepared when going abroad to make this world a better place?

Sir?

Moving targets, and so. [sneer].

Gorgeous. [Clintonian laughter] I fear, though, … er … some do-gooders …

No problem, I let George Doublejooh deliver one of his touching speeches, spiced up with the usual stuff. Only this morning Laura and I had a chat with God about compassion, democracy, patriotism and love, and so on and so on. [sneer]

[Clintonian laughter] And God said: Sometimes you should not ask what the people could do for the state, but what the state could do for the people. In this moment Laura and I decided to initiate a patriot act for our wonderful homeless fellow countrymen. We ordered our National Guard to help those humble people to find a new homeland in …

Okay, okay. How many quick targets do we have?

One million lost their home only last year. And thanks to the housing crisis there might be another two millions this year.

Sounds good. And, anyway, there will always be fresh supply crossing the border to our National Security Homeland. [sneer] Any logistic problems?

No, Sir. It will, of course, be a no-go area. Those who survive a day will get some waste from hotels and super-markets. And fresh targets will be delivered on demand.

Okeydokey, and make sure that at minimum twelve weekends get reserved for special guests and members of the club. Especially the latter will be delighted about such new kind of safari. [sneer[. Err, better you do not mention the safaris. Just write 'for common purpose'.

All right, sir.

Good job. See you tomorrow.

Good bye then, sir.

…

Ah, where to start?

9.000 will do?

[nodding]

Then I do suggest Orlando.

And up I woke. Glad that it had been just a dream. But what a horrible dream. And why? Orlando? Then I remembered what I had read a couple of minutes before I had gone to bed, and decided neither to listen to nor to watch any news nor to read any newspapers ... at least for one day.

Lateral thinkers' thoughts

Do I need to assure that I do like Mr Cheney less than Mr Bush, and Mr Ahmadinejad about as much as Mr Bush and Mr bin Laden?

Having written this I do recommend reading following articles:

What did he say? by Ian Appleby,

and this one by Mark LeVine.

And afterwards, please take your time and ponder these thoughts.

No time? :) Ah, perhaps you just do not want to?

A diamond of altruism

Third time not always is a charm.

I hardly can believe following headline, especially as I found it by exploring crime news: Arsenal tycoon Alisher Usmanov in diamond 'fraud' row.

Very puzzled by reading all these confusing news I asked my clostest friend for his opinion.

And thus spake Tetrapilotomos: Soon you will learn that the altruistic Mr Usmanov whose parents allegedly could not bring up a gangster and racketeer did all he did . . . just for common purpose.

Above Mr Usmanov's dignity

People who happen to be of my generation may remember this song: This world today is a mess.

What would Donna Hightower sing today?

Mr Usmanov who has only recently been quoted saying "It is beneath my dignity to respond to all the allegations. People like my parents could not bring up a gangster and racketeer", reportedly has ordered unstated lawyers "to issue Indymedia UK with a takedown notice [10th of September & 21st of September]. The notice served to Indymedia charged Indymedia with publishing allegedly libellous accusations about Usmanov, one of the richest men in Russia, recently linked to a possible hostile takeover of Arsenal FC."

Read here.

Not about Mister Usmanov

Didn’t I say Alisher Usmanov seems to be a jolly good fellow?

This post is not primarily about Mr Usmanov, though, but about a happy few who would enjoy his generosity.

It’s a post about journalism.

To get prepared for the following I do - with compliments to Bloggerheads, Chicken Yoghurt, Matt Wardman and all those who are doing a great job on this very issue - ask you to read this first.

. . .

Back? And? Water on the mills of your opinion/prejudices?

Well, so let’s go on.

I think it was Robert Edwards, the “father” of Louise Brown, the first test-tube baby, who somewhen in the 90th of the past milennium basically said, though in another context: Ethic has to adapt to the progress of science.

Following this kind of logic, journalist’s have to adapt to the progress of corruption.

Too harsh?

Let me try to explain.

In these times journalists who would courteously insist on paying for even their cup of tea when being (jovially) invited by their interview partner, are being regarded as antediluvian fossils.

Are these fossils pedantic?

Is pedantic who declares a journalist should not be member of any party; in these times when very frequently the membership book in many countries would “decide” who climbs the ladder, and who not?

Once I have been "taught": Journalist’s are whores.

Are they? No. Not “they”. But: Yes, many are.

Others are disillusioned; partly, because they “accepted” what - beginning about 20 years ago - they are being told: Your articles are nothing but “garnishing the ads”; partly because they were "taught" how to use the scissors in their head.

So, why not choose the easy way? Taking the released statement by firm X or ministry Y, and that's it. Or, in case some tiny little scruples managed to survive, changing a subject here, and a predicate there.

And the loveliest are those whose autobiography could start with following sentence: Three months ago I shouldn't know how to write "shornalist", and today I do already happen to be one.

[Those feeling insulted, are those who are meant]

So, what is to say about the journalists who followed the invitation of Mr Usmanov; and what about their newspapers, their TV-station?

PS: And as for Financial Times: You paid all bills? Congratulations. Reading the article, even the last reader could learn: You know how to burn money.

Sláinte, Flannie Boy

Yesterday, October 4th, was the 67th anniversary of his first 'An crúiscín lán' column in The Irish Times.

Today Mr Nolan will celebrate his 96th birthday. I should not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may say those few people still taking it for granted he died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.


In five words: Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag, alter Knabe!

The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?

Myself: Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.

Myself: Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.

Myself. Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.

* * *

And now - although it is most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the birthday boy's complete work: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelf.

Free Burma

http://www.free-burma.org/

http://adelaidegreenporridgecafe.blogspot.com/2007/10/free-burma-oct-4-2007.html

Fortune favours fools

September is ending.

1. All potatoes are digged up.

2. Fortune favours fools, or as a German saying goes, "The most stupid farmer would get the biggest potatoes.

3. Sometimes a saying can be a great comfort.

The Impossible Fact

Tonight my closest friend out of the blue declaimed following poem.

To me it sounds like a variation of a poem by Christian Morgenstern,

But Tetrapilotomos claims it is by "a certain" McSeanagall.


The Impossible Fact

Usmanoff, rich, an aimful rover,
walking in the wrong direction
at a busy intersection
is run over.

"How," he says, his mood restoring
but without his wrath ignoring,
"can an accident like this
ever happen? What's amiss?

"Did the world's administration
fail in free speech's deprivation?
Did police ignore the need
for reducing bloggers' speed?

"Isn't there a prohibition,
barring internet transmission
of a mighty to a wight?
Were the nasty bloggers right?"

Tightly swathed in dampened tissues
he explores the legal issues,
and his shillings soon make clear:
Free speech not permitted here!

And he comes to the conclusion:
His mishap was an illusion,
for, he reasons pointedly,
that which must not, can not be.
[McSeanagall]


The (English version of) the Original (?)

The Impossible Fact

Palmstroem, old, an aimless rover,
walking in the wrong direction
at a busy intersection
is run over.

"How," he says, his life restoring
and with pluck his death ignoring,
"can an accident like this
ever happen? What's amiss?

"Did the state administration
fail in motor transportation?
Did police ignore the need
for reducing driving speed?

"Isn't there a prohibition,
barring motorized transmission
of the living to the dead?
Was the driver right who sped ... ?"

Tightly swathed in dampened tissues
he explores the legal issues,
and it soon is clear as air:
Cars were not permitted there!

And he comes to the conclusion:
His mishap was an illusion,
for, he reasons pointedly,
that which must not, can not be.

Audiatur et altera pars

Yesterday night I had an interesting conversation with my closest friend which I want to share with you.
Confess, I am still a little puzzled. Here we go.

Tetrapilotomos?

Hm.

Busy with pre Aztecan philately?

No. Translating Post Eastern Bloc fairy tales into Latin.

Interesting. Your latest five words, so far?

. . . Cloaca Maxima. Pecunia non olet .

Never?

Try these paltry shillings.

Hm, indeed. Can’t smell anything.

Quod erat demonstrandum.

What is your current fairy tale’s title, and what is the tale about?

The poor prisoner who became a billionaire and . . . or well, to cut it short: It’s about organized crime, its increasing threat and influence on people's daily life, and about that the majority of common people - rather than caring about their freedom - are interested in panem et circenses.

Interesting coincidence. Did you read this?

Yes, and most links; and the links to the links.

And? Alarming, isn’t it?

Yes, according to my informant, her source assures the story is stinking to heaven.

Any details? What would your informant's source tell?

For the beginning, some rhetoric questions. Would Mr Putin closely associate with Mr. Usmanov, if he were not a true democrat?

Hm.

Doesn't speak for his virtues when a humble, innocent ex-prisoner being released, before you could spell bandit becomes a billionaire?

Hm.

Can an art lover be wicked?

Hm.

Would the owner of newspapers promote censorship?

Hm.

Didn't Mr Usmanov become President of the European Fencing Confederation, last not least because in his programm he proposed 'improvement and democratization'?

Hm. To be honest, I did not ask myself any of these questions before.

I thought so. According to my informant, his source moreover assures Mr Usmanov is a lover of the poor.

Of course, otherwise he would not be a billionaire.

No irony, please. And he loves Arse . . .

Bandits would not be his friends?

Not as far as according to my informant her source would tell.

Her source, his source, her source! Is your informant a he or a she?

No comment. Informant protection. Forgotten the good old codex?

Hm. Sorry for interrupting.

You are welcome.

May I humbly add one question?

This is still a free country.

Why would Mr Usmanov wash, eh ... spend his pocket money in England. Why would'nt he try to win the Champion's League with a Club like Gazprom Tashkent?

Interesting question. I shall forward it to my informant who will forward it to her source who ...

. . . will personally ask Mr Usmanov? After all, he seems to be a jolly good fellow who would do no harm to anybody.

Hm.

Tetrapilotomos! What's the matter? Where have your thoughts been?

I was thinking about Mr Usmanov's wife and rhythmic gymnastics, and suddenly . . . or well: And the creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig again, but already . . . and then: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

There would not be many people being able to follow the wondrous paths of your thoughts, Tetrapilotomos. Apropos "diet": Has your informant's source ever met Mr. Usmanov?

According to my informant's information, yes.

Her or his source is absolutely trustworthy, and would never tell a lie?

According to my informant's information: Yes.

What did he or she say about Mr. Usmanov's outside appearance?

A true asketic. Compared to him Twiggy was Miss Piggy.

And I came to the conclusion:
All I read was an illusion,
for to reason pointedly:
what must not, that can not be.

Merci, Monsieur Marceau

In autumn 1986 he gave me about an hour of his life. We talked about Auschwitz and love, about language and absolution, about Chaplin and apartheid, about poetry, Picasso and power, about resistance and reconciliation, about . . .

At one point he said: Shshsh, and now let's five minutes talk without words.

Magic? Eyes talking. No ears needed. Silence. Thoughts flowing, waving. Question and answer dancing. Dreams. Understanding? Yes. It is possible. Magic!

May the one and the other think I am (too) sentimental: Afterwards I felt these had been very special moments in my life. I had personally met a wonderful wise human being.

So, what could I say about this poet who did not need words?

With the implicit understanding that James will take it as what it is thought to be - a compliment for his wonderful idea - I do ask you to visit him at nourishing obscurity:

There you will find all the words which right now don't come easy to me.

. . .

. . .

The importance of being E(a)rnest II

New chapter in the most thrilling case Ernest Chambers vs. God.

In a letter signed "God" the accused invokes immunity from "some earthly laws".

Read more here.

My closest friend says he feels reminded of certain human mass murders who would not accept the International Criminal Court by choosing almost the same reasons.
But he says also that he is sure Mr Chambers will insist on the defendant's appearance in person. "And he will focus on the tiny word some, argue that immunity from some earthly laws implicates that for some earthly laws the defendant does not invoke immunity."

Obviously to be continued.