The scum of America

"Listen," I say. "Isn't that great? The future ex-president of the United States is ordering National Guard units to Washington because he wants to 'take back his beautiful capital city'."  
No reaction.
"He wants to reduce the allegedly enormous crime rate and drive all the homeless people out of his city."
For a while, it seemed as if Tetrapilotamos, who is currently very busy proofreading his 1,669-page masterpiece ‘Pre-Assyrian Philately in a Nutshell,’ wasn't listening to me at all.
But then I hear him mutter: "Fact is, the illiteracy rate in Washington, D.C. is higher than in Cuba. Same goes for the crime rate.
The real scum of America these days is to be found in the White House, though, ... to tell the truth.”

Thistle feast

Most two-legged neighbours don't like thistles in their gardens, unaware that they are in the minority ...

... as the buzzing and humming inhabitants of Seanhenge prove.

They love thistles, especially these globe thistles (Echinops).

Coffee time with Lluís Llach

Les dones de la Principal
*
[There does obviously exist no English version]

Lluís Llach *7 May 1948

Seanhenge these days

 

Just a glimpse.

Balcony djungle.

Apples and prune plums.

Prune plums.

Apples.

Plums
[as an aside: super delicious]

Many people would not be able to imagine
what grows in and beneath this apparent chaos.

Potatoes, for example.

Friday is Skyday

Baboons ... observing Seanhenge ...

Laughing Lhursday*

As in any well-organised household, everything preserved at Seanhenge is labelled and dated.
So I was all the more surprised when I recently opened a tin of homemade tomato puree to prepare a tomato sauce “à la Sean”:

Instead of the usual date, I read: 
“The day before Goethe's 275th birthday”.
Sometimes I even make myself smile.

P.S.: Can any of my kind visitors 
tell me on which day I was in such a playful mood?

* [For first time visitors]:

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

Little dead swallow

Granddaughter sitting in the courtyard, observing three swallow nests and looking around. Suddenly a small cry. ‘Grandpa, oh no! A little bird.’ – On my way to the garage, I return and glance into the drain: ‘Ah, no, it's but a leaf.’

To cut a long story short:
Granddaughter's eagle eyes were right.
So I advised her to find a leaf.

We place the little swallow on it.
When I return from shopping, I hear
the little creature has been given a solemn burial.

On the road

Homeward ...

Just three thoughts

It is interesting to see how a psychopath can dominate the news.

It is interesting to see how journalists allow themselves to be dominated by a psychopath.

The smarter one gives in. ... That is why the stupid rule the world.

Coffeetime "À rebours". ;-)

A rebours.

 Joris-Karl Huysmans (5 February 1848 – 12 May 1907)

Saturday Night Music – Lluís Llach: L'Estaca

 

Lluís Llach *7 May 1948

Lyrics: Original and English translation

Friday is Skyday

On leaving the village.

Blimey! Fourty years!

Phew. Fourty years ago, the last Sunday in July was the 30th. One week after this agnostic had "made" Station Island, fulfilling a promise to myself, I climbed Croagh Patrick on my bare feet. 
At the time I am writing this, I was trying to get some sleep on the carpark at the foot of Croagh Patrick when I got awaken by both monotone and hysteric a voice, again and again shouting "Get out of it! Get out of it!"
Carefully I opened the car door, got out and – became witness of an exorcism.

Later I asked myself: Why would people do this?

He, f.e., kept a promise
he had given to himself.