The Ode is not yet composed

He's still 20 years younger than John Major, I am still 28 years younger than Maggie Thatcher, only the proportional relation between our ages has changed a bit.

Happy birthday, Jams!

Wishing the best of Omnium which is - as everbody knows - everything!

As Tetrapilotomos hasn't finished his novel In-climbing-two-cats, yet, and McSeanagall is still composing his Ode to the Poor Mouth, and as no Third Policeman was available on you tube, here's to you, with kind regards from Flann himself.







And now, dear readers, head over to Mr. Jams O'Donnell Esq., as herewith I declare the bazaar for congratulations opened.

Welcome in the summertime!

The Impossible Fact (Variation 02)

This morning while in fact busy with proofreading his 1669-pages-work "Pre-assyrian philately in a Nutshell" my closest friend Tetrapilotomos out of the blue declaimed following poem.
Listening I had a déjà vu.

Not only did it sound to me like a variation on a poem by Christian Morgenstern, but this time also as but a tiny variation on a poem by a certain McSeanagall.

Anyway, here it is:

The Impossible Fact

BiffO, used to rule and live in clover,
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 RTE'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 lackeys soon make clear:
Free speech not permitted here!

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

© McSeanagall

Omnium re Cowengate / Picturegate:

The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

Following what some Irish would call picturegate, this afternoon a thought crossed my mind: This could become Usmanov-esque dimensions*.

Could have something to do with physiognomy.

Judge yourself.

Alisher Usmanov

Brian Cowen

Amazing, hm?


* And here's Omnium about the Usmanov saga (in chronological order):

Audiatur et altera pars

The Impossible Fact

Not about Mr. Usmanov

Above Mr. Usmanov's dignity

A diamond of altruism


Omnium about Picturegate:

The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Help yourself

And here's the saga (so far):

The Taoiseach's New Clothes

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

POETF Day*

Oh, how do I admire
that James McIntyre.
And may I require,
I beg you, please!
the entire cheese -
to caress it with
my tender teeth.

[Mc Seanagall]

* Piss off early, tomorrow's Friday

Mirroring fluids/fruits of temptation

Cast a cold Eye
on Fruits & Fluids
Horseman, pass by!

How could I?

The peace of the night!

Brian, Borges & Bioy

To be immortal is commonplace; except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death; what is divine, terrible, incomprehensible, is to know that one is immortal.

I am god, I am hero, I am philosopher, I am demon and I am world, which is a tedious way of saying that I do not exist.

Brian Cowen, Taoiseach, March 25th, 2009

Blimey!!!!!

No.

Sorry.

This was a certain Jorge Luis Borges, quoted by Mr. Chris God-free Morell who, by the way, has nothing to do with a certain Seňor Morel, protagonist in Seňor Adolfo Bioy Casares' novel "La invención de Morel".

Well, yes, Seňor Casares had something to do with Seňor Borges.

No, none of the seňores had anything to do with any Taoiseach.

P.S. Sorry for any inconvenience: First the title, then the story.

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

"But he hasn't got anything on," a little child said.

"Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?" said its father. And one person whispered to another what the child had said, "He hasn't anything on. A child says he hasn't anything on."

"But he hasn't got anything on!" the whole town cried out at last.

The Taoiseach Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This procession has got to go on." So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn't there at all.

Why would I spontaneously come to think of Hans-Christian Andersen's tale The Emperor's New Clothes (a short version to be found here), and why is Andersen rotating with laughter in his dwelling six feet under?

Well, Brian Cowen, Ireland's Taoiseach (Prime Minister) may have shivered like Andersen's Emperor; and so may his entourage when watching this on RTE.



And why not? It's not necessarily great fun to get hit by the shifts of (ribald) satire. Ask Mohammed.
So far it's been a modern adaption of Andersen's tale, varying only in so far as there was no child saying "But he hasn't got anything on!" but a clever (?*) chap gracing the (toilet-) walls of two museums with drawings of a Taoiseach who hasn't got anything on.
*- I'll come back to this point.

But then:



Pardon?!
Pain for the Taoiseach and his family?
Did the Taoiseach get tortured in Guantanamo, in a Chinese, Iranian or Syrian prison? Waterboarding, and so on?
Disrespect of his office?!?!
Mind you, it's honourable to demonstrate or even feel pity with one's boss when he's getting mocked, but: Are there 'tea-shocking' paintings of the Taoiseach's naked entourage, be they with member or without, gracing the walls of Dublin's toilets?
Didn't RTE tell all?

End of the beforegoing.

When telling him the above, my friend Tetrapilotomos, currently busy with finishing his encyclopaedia of pre-assyrian philately, did not even look up, but just murmured: "And there are medical scientists still discussing when a human being is braindead."

As mostly I did not understand. Until I stumbled via the best Egg in the blogosphere upon this:

The Taoiseach's New Clothes
with thanks to Allan Cavanagh

... and this:

126 seconds artwork
with thanks to Fustar

... and Damien Mulley

... and many many others

... and ...

... who knows what will happen when Bock the Robber has finally moved to his new server ...


... to be continued.

The Taoiseach's New Clothes

Recently Jams O'Donnell Esq. exhibited artist Uglow's euphemising painting of an ugly woman (photo above). Would any Bobby have interfered? No. Neither has the painting been confiscated, nor's an investigation into the matter under way. Well, the English police might have other things to do.

Same with the German physicist who would unfortunately give up her job in order to become Chancellor.
Neither has the police confiscated umteen millions of euphemising Barbie-Angelas nor any other more realistic art work.


One might wonder what (other things), but anyway, like the English police the German police seem to have other things to do.

Not so the Irish police. They have - as everybody knows - absolutely nothing to do except of calming down the enthusiasm of the plain Irish people when it comes to celebrate their beloved leaders' altruism and wisdom.
Well, another evidence you might draw from yesterday's post.

Which is why today the BBC could tell the rest of the world that, apparently alarmed by the authorities (sic) of the Royal Hibernian Academy in Dublin* there is an investigation [...] under way, according the provenience of two paintings that for lack of knowing its official title I tend to introduce as The Taoiseach's New Clothes.


Glad to learn the Irish police after all seem to feel they have something worthwhile to do, after clicking the 'publish'-button I shall start to count my Zimbabwian Dollars, as I am determined to buy the 'The Taoiseach's New Clothes' which happened to be found gracing a wall of the toilet inside the National Gallery.

* Interesting, by the way, to have a glimpse at the BBC's url: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/northern_ireland/7960997.stm


Follow-ups:

The Taoiseach's New Clothes II

Brian, Borges & Bioy

Want a T(aoiseach)-Shirt?

Physiognomy of fine gentlemen

The Impossible Fact (Variation)

When authorities have no authority

Within less than seven minutes, in February German TV-vievers this feature of Limerick learnt (a lot), for instance this:

With 1 (in words: one) boat the Irish custom authorities [by the way, an interesting word, authorities] is determined to control 6,000 kilometres coast.

Confiscating cocain amounting to 500 million Euro is thought to be one tenth of the total amount that's being smuggled.

You will see a member of the so-called Dundan Clan (Jimmy Collins), brashly giving an interview, boasting about that 'police can't stop us'.
Obviously, as there happen more murder per capita than in any other town in Europe.

You will see the coffin of Shane Geoghegan who was 'accidently' murdered.
To learn more I commend to read Bock the Robber's posts and their echoes in the comment-section(s).

You will see a lawyer saying "They {the police] don't know who is going to get killed next. The clans are very powerful." The homes of people who would go to police and make an accuse use to be burnt out and their families terrorised. "Its better to keep one's mouth closed than to end up in a grave."

What a shame.


PS: While writing this I hear that the Russian mafia has ousted the German pimps in most German cities, that their bosses f.e. in Berlin are celebrating in Five star SUPERIOR (sic!) hotels with their worldwide 'business partners'; that politicians in Europe and especially in Germany do not underestimate this threat, but just don't have any clue what's going on.

Now, if that's not comforting. The decent people of Limerick don't stand alone.

Good night, and good luck.

Say Paganini

Seems to be a classic night, hm?

Voilà, here's Fazil Say, again. Enjoy.

Modest tribute to Mussorgsky

It's the gentleman's 170th birthday.