... and by the way ...

... 104 days before Hrant Dink got murdered, on October 7th, 2006 and thus - again: by the way - coinciding with the anniversary of Vladimir Putin's birthday, Anna Politkovskaya was assassinated.

Since, they say, the inquiries are running at full speed.

In memoriam Hrant Dink

Clean your brain, bookseller

Spake Tetrapilotomos:
"Can't understand this. In my bookshelf the Satanic Verses are peacefully embraced by Bible and Koran, and there is no trouble at all. A very touching picture."

Asked I:
And what is it you can't understand?

Spake Tetrapilotomos:
Anyone who would not know that selling books implicates touching books.

Said I:
Sounds paradoxical, indeed.

Spake Tetrapilotomos:
Although it's logic.

Said I:
And the moral of the story?

Spake Tetrapilotomos:
Daily washing doesn't guarantee clean brains.

What a wonderful world

Welcome, welcome!
Did you have a nice day?
Yes? Oh, how lovely. I am delighted.

Me? Ah, thank you very much. A splendid day it was.
The more as a couple of minutes ago I happened to read one abstract of the Progress Report on Human Civilisation.

Okay, they may have chosen another title, but after reading you will agree that my title is surpassing theirs. Just go on, read it.

And as soon as you have finished, let's altogether lean back and enjoy the rest of this wonderful day.

The Peace of the Night.

Do you speak Guernésiais?

While I was enjoying a "postless weekend", Jams O'Donnell has been pretty productive.

All three postings are very interesting, and therefore recommended:

One about a Hadrian expedition in London, the doors to which will be opened in July;

one about attempts to save a language most of us would not even have known it exists;

one poison cabinet story about a considered coup which, for a change, did not happen.


Jams, your host at The Poor Mouth will be glad to welcome you and answer your comments.

Embedded perversion

Today, leafing through one of my Moleskines, following entry - although almost four years old - again let my blood boil:

Self-promoting ad on ABC, March19th, 2003:

AS IT HAPPENS

New
technology
will bring war
to your living
room

"The attack began shortly after 6:00 a.m. on March 20th, 2003"

Gene-rosity? Cui bono?!

Shortly after my visit at (the herewith recommended) Postman Patel where I "stumbled upon" the link to my latest post I "stumbled upon" this.

Oh, well, reading carefully what I portioned into this evening's three posts you will surely find ...
The Peace of the Night. :)

"Pearls" before the swine?

From the Monsanto-pigs to the wheat and soya prices.

May I remind you of we are still on the topic (worldwide) food-monopoly?

Thank you very much. :)

Rather a Dandy than a pig

Well, Brummel, d'Orsay, Baudelaire, Barbey d'Aurevilly, Wilde and des Esseintes (the protagonist in Huysman's À Rebours) kept me busy for a while.
A work about Dandysm in the English and the French literature of the late 19th century.
Work? Rather a pleasure; except for those moments, minutes, hours a chosen word, a phrase, a metapher would not fit, or a smooth transition to the next aspect not be found. At times, no doubt, the master in the devil's kitchen would have demonically smiled about this polite blogger knowing so many wonderful swearwords. :)
By the way, although Dandysm is pronounced dead, when reading this or that detail I'd immediately think of this and that contemporary.

And now - with thanks to the Monty Pythons - for something completely different: Pigs.


to be definitively continued

But one quotation

There is scarcely anything more important in the government of men than the exact - I will even say - the pedantic - observance of the regular forms by which the guilt or innocence of accused persons is determined.

Winston Churchill

Literary afternoon

That he knew human nature well, and that he had adopted the only course which could place him in a prominent light, and would enable him to separate himself from society of ordinary herd of men, whom he held in considerable contempt.

Here I stopped reading out, and asked my friend: "Do you think, this hits the mark?"

Taking his silence was consent, I went on:

There was a heartlessness in his character, a spirit of gay misanthropy, a cynical, depreciating view of society, an absence of high-minded generous sentiment, a treacherous versatility, and deep powers of deceit.

"And? Doesn't it ..." At this moment I realized that Tetrapilotomos was enjoying his afternoon nap in my wing chair.

The more surprised I felt when suddenly I heard the sleeper declamate as if his voice were centuries old:

"I looked for no less, my lord, from your High Magnificence, and I have to tell you that the boon I have asked and your liberality has granted is that you shall dub me knight to-morrow morning, and that to-night I shall watch my arms in the chapel of this your castle; thus tomorrow, as I have said, will be accomplished what I so much desire, enabling me lawfully to roam through all the four quarters of the world seeking adventures on behalf of those in distress, as is the duty of chivalry and of knights-errant like, whose ambition is directed to such deeds."

Not only for a Steppenwolf :)

Like ev'ry flower wilts, like youth is fading
and turns to age, so also one's achieving:
Each virtue and each wisdom needs parading
in one's own time, and must not last forever.
The heart must be, at each new call for leaving,
prepared to part and start without the tragic,
without the grief - with courage to endeavor
a novel bond, a disparate connection:
for each beginning bears a special magic
that nurtures living and bestows protection.

We'll walk from space to space in glad progression
and should not cling to one as homestead for us.
The cosmic spirit will not bind nor bore us;
it lifts and widens us in ev'ry session:
for hardly set in one of life's expanses
we make it home, and apathy commences.
But only he, who travels and takes chances,
can break the habits' paralyzing stances.

It even may be that the last of hours
will make us once again a youthful lover:
The call of life to us forever flowers...
Anon, my heart! Do part and do recover!

Hermann Hesse, Steps

with thanks to the translators

And here in German the original:

Stufen

Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend
Dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,
Blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend
Zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.
Es muß das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe
Bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,
Um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern
In andre, neue Bindungen zu geben.
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft, zu leben.

Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,
An keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,
Der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,
Er will uns Stuf’ um Stufe heben, weiten.
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise
Und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen,
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,
Mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen.

Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde
Uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,
Des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden …
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde!

Little Night Musi ... ng

Goethe:
Mozart is the human incarnation of the devine force of creation.

Mozart:
I write as a sow pisses.

Tetrapilotomos:
A divine sow, then.

The Peace of the Night.