Surely pure coincidence

Why would a director of a German institute for Turkish studies, Faruk Şen and
Britain's first Muslim Minister, Shahid Malik, within a couple of weeks basically say "The Turks are the new Jews of Germany' respectively "The muslims are the Jews of Britain"?

Pure coincidence?

Iran: Mullahs banned from mosques*

Tehran - Iranian clerics have been banned from appearing in prayer rooms and mosques because they are said to promote a culture of fear and intolerance, according to the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance.

The measure was announced on Monday and reported by Iran's official news agency Irna.

Ali Reza Karimi, director of the ministry's press and disinformation department, said the ban included the use of Iranian clerics with overseas Farsi language satellite networks.

He urged to respect the ruling to safeguard what he calls national dignity.

Ah, sorry, this is the news of another day.

But now:

Tehran, 7 July (AKI) - Iranian artists and athletes have been banned from appearing in commercials because they are said to promote a culture of consumerism, according to the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance.
Continued here.

* Sorry. Just noticed that the check-correct-title- surveillance failed. The responsible person was immediately sentenced to ten seconds of severest swear-boarding.

I by Dafydd ap Gwilym

What a weekend. 39 hours ago I intended to write some light-hearted posts, but then, in the deepest den of my heart suddenly the snakes Irony and Sarcasm woke up - or rather were awaken - and since they were darting, trying to lure my fingers to squirt their venom via keyboard into the blogosphere. And no one and nothing able to becalm these creatures.

My quest to withstand the tempters seemed almost lost, when while I was watching her an Irish seagull whispered* to me: Dafydd ap Gwilym.

And immediately both snakes cuddled close, coiled up, fell smilingly asleep, and I knew: It's over - for this time.

Fair seagull on the tide, of a colour indeed
with the snow or the white moon,
your beauty is clear as a piece of the sun,
or a glove of shining crystal salt!
Lightly over the spreading fertile ocean
swiftly the bird flies fishing.
Sea-lily, together we will go,
hand in hand beyond the horizon:
for you are my only letter to her,
pure white and lying like a nun
in the trough of the waves of the sea.
Go where you see the shape of camp and castle,
where the fame of woman is: there will
your fame, my messenger, be spread. 
Look seagull and see,
a maid of light in shining castle,
give her this summons in my words ...
let her choose me!
Go to her now! Let it be she!
With this bold welcome be cunning
with the gentle creature.
Be my fine messenger and tell her
unless I can have her I shall die:
I am her lover and sad is my condition.
O men! Was there ever such a loving!
Did Merlin feel desire hotter,
Taliesin love a lovelier girl?
Mixed yellow grain falling on copper,
excellence on excellence! O seagull
if you see the loveliest human cheek
in christendom .... I tell you
unless I have some kindly word from her,
this girl will be the ending of me!

* :) Yes, dear readers, there do exist whispering seagulls. All you need is silence. :) Well, and a little fantasy. In case you don't believe me, just ask your children ... 

I might be out tonight

Ladies and gentlemen,
Bayanlar, Baylar,
Signoras e Signori,
Señoras y Señores,
Mesdames et Messieurs, :)
Friends,

just to make sure none of you is going to get worried.
In case there's no (other) post tonight, I'll be sitting in Mr. Morrell's virtual dwelling, enjoying a talk about arts, and thus getting my horizon widened.

Whoever feels fancy to join us, is most welcome.

All others who think they have better things to do, I do wish a pleasant start into the weekend :)

Achtung!

There's an essay to be found at God-Free-Morals.
Read it, and dare you not to have your say.





May I ask for your kind attention, please.

Although my esteemed reader latest on reading the title, will easily have detected this is not my style I want to assure:

Only in order to have some piece and quiet I followed ... hm ... an advice - mind you, not obeyed a command) in the comment section to the previous post.

Is 'Finnegans Wake' a Novel?

- Which was said by whem to whom?

- It wham. But whim I can't whumember.

- Fantasy! funtasy on fantasy, amnaes fintasies! And there is nihil nuder under the clothing moon. When Ota, weewahrwificle of Torquells, bumpsed her dumpsydiddle down in her woolsark she mode our heuteyleutey girlery of peerlesses to set up in all bombossities of feudal fiertey, fanned, flounced and frangipenned, while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the measure, simplex mendaciis, by which our Outis cuts his truth. Arkaway now!

- Yerds and nudes say ayes and noes. Vide! Vide!

- Let Eivin bemember for Gates of Gold for their fadeless suns berayed her. Irise, Osirises! By thy mouth given unto thee! For why do you lack a link ...

More according the link later. :)

The passage above you'd find on page 493 when - as I did - randomly opening the Faber edition from 1975, which I typed to give those amongst you who would not read Finnegans Wake once a week a glimpse of what it's about.

Now being a Joyce expert, what's your answer to the question which is heading this post?

Careful, though.
Of course, for those contemporaries delectating themselves with mocking that poor Joyce would have written like Flann O'Brien had he not been completely ding-dong, the answer is easy.
However, is it? What will be the likely criteria to say or even enthusiastically shout 'Yes, it is!' or after a demonstrative yawn to groan in agony: 'No!' ?

Whatever the answer will be, it is a matter of taste. An excellent taste, of course. :)

And either one says 'Yes' or 'No', (s)he will claim to be in possession of the most exquisite taste.

Now, this could create one of those brainteasing and riddling conundrums, the more as ... what did Oscar say? About taste you can't argue; either you have it, or you have it not.

Who is right, then?

End of the beforegoing.

Let me rather create the above mentioned link.

Chris, philosopher and poet at Godfree-Morals has posted a - to my taste :) - remarkable essay. Indeed, it's an essay that I could not have written, not even if I did not happen to be ding-dong.

In the hope to create a vivid exchange of ideas, both a suggestion and a request: The discussion should take place at Chris' site, so that one can read it in one piece.


PS: For those finding this subject as interesting as the breaking news that there has been a cucumber glass detonation in Caracas: Do as if you had never read this post.
After all, it's a matter of taste, isn't it. :)

All others: Enjoy.

XIII by Dafydd ap Gwilym

Sitting - no, not under a birch - under this hazel, listening to the late afternoon's silence I thought it would be nice to welcome July with another poem by Dafydd ap Gwilym.

I have learned to carry on my nimble love boldly in secret, not in public like a boor: but now is the time to celebrate my secret love with fitting words.

The man who languishes and loves in secret loves best of all: when she and I (vain couple!) walked among crowds we talked so pleasantly together but none guessed our answers. For a long while we embraced and played at being outlaws for a joke, but now we must move with strictest secrecy because of evil tales and a foul tongue that destroys us with such stories, putting a slanderous stain on our innocent names with his words. We were proud of our care in keeping our love hidden, and I believed and worshipped under the young leaves where my golden love was. There was sweet opportunity and a pleasant life for us under the leaves of the young birch-trees.

Pleasant it was to keep our secret, hiding and adoring in the wood; to wander on the shore of the sea, or stay within the boundaries of the wood; to plant birch-trees, or weave the plumage of the wood in patterns; to tell my love to the slim girl or stand with her and look out over solitary meadows.

Going to the woods with her lover is a fine way for a girl to pass the day, there to sit silent or suddenly smiling, laugh lip to lip. So we took our pleasure together in the groves of the wood, avoiding all people, sharing our complaints or drinking mead together, or making love or lying still .... keeping our love hidden. That was a perfect time .... more than "perfect" I can say nothing.

Ah, now I start to understand

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Friendly Philosopher. Where You Lived: Turkey. How You Died: In Childbirth.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

Hat tip to Jams O'Donnell Esq..
While I do have no doubt that once I was a friendly (!) philosopher living in Turkey (!), it is, of course, nonsense to think Jams once was an insane monk.

R.I.P., Sir Veillance

The tombstone of Sir Veillance

The photo I pinched from James who thankfully had pinched it from Ian Grey.
Thanks to both gentlemen.

Gülen top of the brainless

Ha ha ha - continue til paragraph 114.

Deleted 113. Thus paragraph Paragraph 115 de facto is paragraph 2, or vice versa.

Just checked the headlines posted by Erkan 30 minutes ago. Lots to read, indeed!
Gülen tops intellectuals list. Can't stop laughing.

You see, an intellectual per definitionem is an intelligent person without brains.

One for Mister and Miss Pelling

And, please, don't think I want to redicule you or anybody else.

Spreading Mr. O'Donnell's delight

Oh dear.

Just in time I remembered that only yesterday I came to learn that long posts put most people off, and hence one should try to keep it to three or four paragraphs, and thus deleted the 69 paragraphs I had composed in order to give you a brief introduction why I'd spread Mr. O'Donnell's delight.

Alright then: Herewith it's done.



Ah, 'or four'. This offers me the opportunity to wish my esteemed readers a most pleasant weekend. :)

Spreading Mr. Kemal's news

This morning, during breakfast intensively reasoning the international situation Tetrapilotomos said:

Apropos Capita Turciensis, did you read this and this at Internation Musing?

By commenting I even risked a step backwards on my quest trying to become the politest blogger.

That's why I do ask. It was the first comment for quite a while, and by checking the labels Turkey and Turkishness on your blog I found your latest entry on Turkish affairs dates from Valentine's Day. Lost your love for Turkey, Sean?

Love?

Okay, interest.

No. And yes. I am a bit tired of reading always the same news, let alone writing about. Call it my Thoreau syndrom.

Well, anyway, I suppose I've news which will be of interest for you, your readers, for Turkey and the unimportant rest of the world.

I am all ears. [Yawn]

Later, Sean, later. I don't wish to keep you from mowing the lawn.

*

[Hours later, Tetrapilotomos and I sitting on balcony]

Well?

Yes, Sean?

You said you have an interesting news, for a change.

Ah yes. Almost forgot about. ... Well, it's just an exclusive interview with Mustafa Kemal.

The very Mustafa Kemal?

Yes.

You're kidding.

My trustworthy source swears to high heaven her source's source is above any doubt and suspicion, and that the interview has, of course, been presented for authorization, and got Mr. Kemal's imprimatur. Want to read?

Please do it for me. My eyes are a bit tired this afternoon.

Alright then. [T. unfolding a sheet of paper]

Thanks for the audience, Effen - ... err ... Sir.

You are welcome. Tea or Raki?

Raki?

Fortunately liver cirrhosis is unknown in this sphere.

A Raki with the tea then, please. You are still follo...

Let's waste no time. Yes, I am best informed according almost everything which is happening in Turkey.

Thus, end of the preliminaries. What's your appraisement?

There is something rotten in the state of Turkey.

You mean ...

Well, not something. Almost everything.

Are you refering to the recent governing party, or ...

I am refering to all: education, historians, political parties, judiciary, media, government, opposition, clergy, milit...

Sorry, Sir. Opposition? You criticise the defenders of Kemalism?

Kemalism? [laughing] They may call it Kemalism, and pretend being the defenders of my principles, but what they are doing has nothing to do with my person and with my ideas.

?

They do obviously not even know what's the meaning of what they call Kemalism. Since November 1938 they have just been utilizing my name in order to make profit; to fill their pockets and to safeguard their power based privileges. Ah, let's speak about football.

Oh yes! Would you, however, allow me to ask two further questions?

Ask.

Looking back, would you say that all your deeds were in accordance with your principles?

[Smiling] Hm. After the match we all are wiser, would you agree?

I'm all ears.

Some other time. My friend Adnan is waiting for our weekly game of chess. What's about meeting again Thursday afternoon?

Tomorrow's not possible?

No, in the morning I'll have a hack with Turgut, afterwards it's time for archery, and ...

Sorry, archery?

Yes, six arrows daily. Well, and in the afternoon some of my Armenian friends and I shall prepare ourselves for watching the semi final. [Refilling the glasses]

Your Armenian friends?

Yes. We'll together watch the game. Your tip?

I can even already tell you the result of the final, but, of course, I do not wish to spoil the tension ...

Out with it.

Russia 2 - Turkey 5.

Now, you are a very polite interviewer. Thursday we may even talk about what's a great tragedy. Your second question?

Lots of your countrymen and -women are being prosecuted for allegedly insulting you and your principles. What do you th...

Pah. Am I Kemal Kerinçsiz? Nobody would ever be able to insult me.

Sure? Some people argue Turks do love feeling perpetual insulted more than football.

[Laughing] And next year someone will find out it's the seventh arrow of the Kemalistic principles. As for your question: Yes, I am sure.

Why?

First and foremost, because I am as dead as a dodo.

Good argument.

Isn't it? And please, spread the news amongst those who wouldn't yet know.

Promised, Sir. Apropos dodo, there do exist two definitions. By 'I am as dead as a dodo' you were refering to the first, I suppose?

Evet. As for the second definition, we may speak about in case we happen to appreciate f.e. character and intellect of Deniz Baykal.

Hm, Mr. Baykal might not only be not amused but feel badly insulted.

His problem. He can sue me. [smiling, raising his glass] Serefe.

Tiny piece of ornithology

Merhaba. :) You have read the interview with Mr Kemal? And now you are a bit curious about what's a dodo? Welcome then, to a tiny ornithology lecture. Thanks to leo, here we go:

Main Entry: do·do

Pronunciation: \ˈdō-(ˌ)dō\
Function: noun

Inflected Form(s): plural dodoes or dodos

Etymology: Portuguese doudo, from doudo silly, stupid

Date: 1628

1 a: an extinct heavy flightless bird (Raphus cucullatus syn. Didus ineptus of the family Raphidae) of the island of Mauritius that was larger than a turkey and was related to the pigeon b: an extinct flightless bird (Raphus solitarius) of the island of Réunion similar to and closely related to the dodo

2 a: one hopelessly behind the times b: a stupid person .

*

In case you have any further questions, we - i.e. Tetrapilotomos and I - will be pleased and do our best in the hope to be able to widen your horizon. Yakında görüşmek üzere? :)

Capita Turciensis

Recently - I was just reading the last chapter of The Bastard of Istanbul - I heard Tetrapilotomos chuckle, which induced following dialogue:

Yes?

Blimey, no wonder there's a steady increase of population in Turkey.

What are you busy with, Tetrapilotomos?

Merowinger time.

I see. And what does this have to do with the population growth in Turkey?

Do you know what aureum caput regni means?

Golden head of the imperium, or so?

Not bad. And caput orbis?

Head of the world.

Not bad. And what's a colloquial German word for broken?

Kaputt. Spelled with one t less in English it means a) utterly finished, defeated, or destroyed and b) unable to function.

Not bad. And do you know what a condom is being called in Turkish.

No idea.

Kaput.

And thus spake Molly

Listen, watch & enjoyce. :)

Yes, it's for you, Poldy

Novel finished, Sean?

Why?

It's June 16th.

Ah, is it?

Not even a tiny little 10.000 words essay?

Did you ever see a middle finger erecting?

Wouldn't you call anybody impolite were they to answer a question by a question?

Yes.

So let's start again. Novel finished, Sean?

The prudent hen does not cackle, before the egg is laid. Why do you ask?

It's June 16th.

Yes.

And? Any tribute to Henry Flower Esq.?

Yes.

Where?

Here.


Update:
Actually, I thought ...

Come on, Tetrapilotomos. Could any man's words surpass a woman's whispers of love?

Ever noticed that Molly ...

I know what you are going to ask. To answer your counter question, Jove: Yes, but ...

But?

...

I see. Time the hen's laying the egg.

Yes.

Caught bed-handed

Now, could any biped get angry when a tomcat called Schrödinger would snap at the chance to at least once nestle down in a freshly made bed?

Wishing everybody a splendid Sunday. And why not in bed? :)

Just a thought 02

When one's writing is not more worth
than one's not writing,
one should rather not write.

Sudden and unexpected

Tireless and conspiciously, never calling sick, never complaining long hours she'd serve me in two milenniums, reliably and to my full* satisfaction. Only the other day I had told her it would be nice worked she for me until 2066.
Being 113, I'd move then to a dwelling six feet under, and she - having reached the retirement age of 67 could enjoy the evening of her life.
But alas, despite first aid and emergency operation, suddenly and unexpected yesterday night my dear old mouse - I used to call her Whitey - lost her vital functions.



In deep respect I asked her successor to be in black. - I call her Electra.

* not fullest. Fuller than full is not possible, would you agree?

Hiatus interruptus

Ladies and gentlemen,
Bayanlar, Baylar,
Signoras e Signori,
Señoras y Señores,
Mesdames et Messieurs*,
Friends,

worrying what might be the long-term consequences of such a hiatus, I thought it's better to decide in favour of a hiatus interruptus.

May either those forgive me who would have loved this hiatus to never end, and consequently feel deeply dissatified, and those who felt ... well, let's say irritated. :)

I was irritated, myself, as I did not intend to have a break. It just happened, or rather I let it happen. Even more strange: I did not miss blogging (very much).
Why? Don't know. Summing up all possible reasons would probably take too long, and boring you is one of the last things I wish to do.

So let me just thank those of you who left kind comments and / or encouraged me via email.

And now, may this beginning, too, bear a special magic. :)


* to please la curieuse (see comments) who would obviously prefer this to Madames et Monsieurs :)

Death still a master from Germany

Before starting blogging last June, and thinking of the last post to end this 'adventure' the previous entry was in my mind.

And yes! It should have been my last post.

Look at the title above. What's the news? The 'still'. The 'still' - ha ha ha ...

Oh well, while I am trying to find an article from 1988, where one could read which German firms had sold some essentials Saddam Hussein needed to launch the Halabja poison gas attack you may read this and form an opinion, yourself.

Back?
And?
Did you appreciate the terms 'Defense Exporter' and 'military goods'?

Ah, language. Talleyrand is (often) said to have coined the phrase 'Speech / Language was given man to hide / disguise his thoughts'.

Indeed? Let's have a look if there's anybody else who said / wrote this before Monsieur Talleyrand 'coined' this phrase.
Ah, Molière. And Voltaire. So, ...
Oh, Dante, too.
So, Dante was the first.
Uh, what's that? Dionysius ... Cato ... Plutarch ...

This reminds me of that Patrick Kavanagh once being praised as a 'lousy poet' is said to have countered: 'Aren't we all since Homer?'

Which again is a solace for any lousy blogger putting too many thoughts (and too many links) into one posting and thus (deliberately) trying to provoke his readers to make use of their grey matter.

Back to the beginning.

It was Paul Celan who, in his Death Fugue, coined the phrase 'death is a master from Germany'.

And since, German politicans are trying to make the world believe Germans are trustworthy peace brokers.

Still ... [trying to keep contenance] ...

the peace of the night.

Greedy after gossip?

Hardly a man takes a half-hour's nap after dinner, but when he wakes he holds up his head and asks, 'What's the news?' as if the rest of mankind had stood his sentinels. Some give directions to be waked every half-hour, doubtless for no other purpose; and then to pay for it, they tell what they have dreamed. After a night's sleep the news is as indispensable as the breakfast. 'Pray, tell me anything new that has happened to a man anywhere on this globe' - and he reads it over his coffee and rolls, that a man has had his eyes gouged out this morning on the Wachito River; never dreaming the while that he lives in the dark unfathomed mammoth cave of this world, and has but the rudiment of an eye himself.

For my part [...] I am sure that I never read any memorable news in a newspaper. If we read of one man robbed, or murdered, or killed by accident, or one house burned, or one vessel wrecked, or one steam-boat blown up, or one cow ran over the Western Railroad, or one mad dog killed, or one lot of grasshoppers in the winter - we never need read of another. One is enough. If you are acquainted with the principle, what do you care for a myriad instances and applications. To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit and read it are old women over their tea. Yet not a few are greedy after this gossip. There was such a rush, as I hear, the other day at one of the offices to learn the foreign news by the last arrival, that several large squares of plate glass belonging to the establishment were broken by the pressure - news which I seriously think a ready wit might write a twelvemonth or twelve years beforehand with sufficient accuracy.

Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or Life in the Woods, 1854

Dear Mum

Dear Mum, I know you are always there
To help and guide me with all your care,
You nursed and fed me and made me strong
To face the world and all its wrong.

What can I write to you this day
For a line or two would never pay
For care and time you gave to me
Through long hard years unceasingly.

How you found strength I do not know
How you managed I'll never know,
Struggling and striving without a break
Always there and never late.

You prayed for me and loved me more
How could I ask for anymore,
And reared me up to be like you
But I haven't a heart as kind as you.

A guide to me in times of plight,
A princess like a star so bright,
For life would never have been the same
If I hadn't learnt of what small things came.

So forgive me, Mum, just a little more,
For not loving you so much before,
For life and love you gave to me
I give my thanks for eternity.

Bobby Sands (March 9th, 1954 - May 5th, 1981)

Modern Times

It is said we live in modern times,
In the civilised year of 'seventy-nine',
But when I look around, all I see,
Is modern torture, pain, and hypocrisy.

In modern times little children die,
They starve to death, but who dares ask why?
And little girls without attire,
Run screaming, napalmed, through the night afire.

And while fat dictators sit upon their thrones,
Young children bury their parents' bones,
And secret police in the dead of the night,
Electrocute the naked woman out of sight.

In the gutter lies the black man, dead,
And where the oil flows blackest, the street runs red,
And there was He who was born and came to be,
But lived and died without liberty.

As the burocrats, speculators and presidents alike,
Pin on their dirty, stinking, happy smiles tonight,
The lonely prisoner will cry out from within his tomb,
And tomorrow's wretch will leave its mother's womb!

Bobby Sands, died May 5th, 1981

Just a thought

When pain's the hell
the absence of pain
is heaven.


Wishing a heavenly weekend.

'Elephant's' memory

Ah, how interesting to re-read this after 27 years (you may click to enlarge): the Irish Times - and the Irish Press which I was too lazy to scan. Loads of words filling pages.

However, it's the crying 'elephant' - what a metapher! - I'd never forget. It's telling more than millions of words. A few more though: Bobby Sands was 27 when he died. And now was the 27th anniversary of his death.
Mitchel McLaughlin was 35 when Sands died, Gerry Adams 32, Martin McGuinness 30. They are 62 now respectively 59 and 58.

Not that I don't wish these gentlemen well. But I find interesting that - to my knowledge - nobody ever asked why none of this triumvirat well known for talking a lot about solidarity, joined the hunger-strike in 1981.
Ah, well, Ian Paisley did not kill anybody, and so didn't Maggie Thatcher, did they?
And the moral of the story: It's nice to have indians when you are the chieftain.
The peace of the night.

On a Lonely Skylark's Song

Yesterday night I continued re-reading parts of an anthology* of the writings of Bobby Sands. from which I chose the poem for yesterday's post. And, although I did not accept all I read, again I felt deeply moved.

My thoughts? My feelings?
A photo I once took on my various strives through the Bogside in Derry - also known as Londonderry :) - might be able to tell you more than I could in thousand or two thousand words.

Click to enlarge

* Skylark Sing Your Lonely Song, Mercier Press,
ISBN 0-85342-726-7

A burning thread

The seagulls are crying
Swirling up to spray
Upon the ocean of my mind
Blown, by a breeze of yesterday.

Oh! the simple gentle thoughts
The loneliness of the prisoner
To see the golden mermaid of the rock
Yet, to be cut adrift from her.

The mind knows no doors
A burning candle in the night
To seek the green or grey of yesterday
Or the 'if' the 'wish' or 'might'.

In the tomb the darkest depths
The candle flickers dying
Death is slaying life unseen
While the seagulls are crying.

Bobby Sands, died May 5th, 1981

Why would I not forget this day?

It's also the birthday - Happy brithday, James! - of an Irish Dominican I once, in 1974, met in San Clemente, and who happened to become one of the dearest persons in this agnostic's life.
Actually, I am almost sure if it had not been for meeting him, I'd rather probably than perhaps not have come to 'know' Ireland better than my native country.

'to know'? Ah, the more I came to learn the less I felt to know.
Helplessness in the face of a 'terrible beauty' in which children long before their first day at school would know more about hatred than about what day by day is fervingly being preached in the church but not as fervently being practiced: love.

One last sentence for now:
I didn't, don't and (very hopefully) won't ever support violence.
However I am trying to understand its 'sources', its 'mechanisms'.
Nothing more, nothing less.

This just to make sure that I'll not be misunderstood.

Lovely Lecture on Life

No introduction. No comment.

After 76 minutes and 26 seconds you will (hopefully) understand.

The Peace of the Night.

Walpurgis Night

It may sound unbelievable, but I must tell you what happened last night.

After having hacked yesterdays 'post' and having forgotten to wish you The Peace of Walpurgis Night I went to bed. Somehow I couldn´t sleep. So I got up again, put on my clothes, took the car and drove into the night. After some miles I decided to try what I had not done since I was a little boy. In X - my birthplace - I left the car, looked around to make sure nobody watched me, and then ran as fast as I could and ... yes ... took off. And nobody running behind me, trying to reach my legs and pulling me down. How lovely flying over the roofs.
So why not making a little trip?

30 minutes later I could see fire shining on the Brocken. As I have no official flying-license, and to avoid the traffic jam over the top, I landed smoothly at the foot of the Brocken, and started to climb. It was raining now, but I didn´t mind. After one hour I arrived at a small clearing. Crossing it suddenly a fairy appeared in front of me, aside her a Leprechaun.

"What are you doing here, Sean?" the fairy asked.

"Climbing up to the top of the Brocken."

"Could be the shortest way to hell", snorted the Leprechaun. "Any milk in your pockets?"

Oh dear. Of course I had no milk in my pockets. That could become difficult. Leprechauns can get extremely naughty, if one has no milk for them, and if it´s deep in the night inmidst a clearing half way to the top of the Brocken.

Automatically I searched my pockets, and ... felt ... impossible ... something cool ... a bottle of milk.

Whilst reaching it to the Leprechaun my eyes thought to catch a smile from the fairy's lips.

"Thank you, mate", the Leprechaun said without any surprise in his voice, and immediately started to drink.

"Thank you", I thought in direction of the fairy.

"You are welcome", she said. "Have a wish?"

"Eh, you mean ...?"

"Indeed."

"Any rules?"

"He sounds like a damn clever Paddy", the Leprechaun giggled.

"Indeed", said the fairy. "Even fairies couldn´t fulfil the wish of making a peaceful paradise of this planet. Therefore your wish must be a very personal one."

"Hm. ... Allright then: I wish ..."

"Stop!" said the Leprechaun.

"Yes?"

"You must not speak out your wish, otherwise the magic is gone. Just think it."

"Thank you, friend. But why are you so kind?"

The Leprechaun took his pipe between his lips, blew some smoke-rings and said: "Lucky you had milk in your pockets, mate."

So I thought my wish, and just wanted to say bye, when the Leprechaun asked: "Not surprised we know your name?"

"Well, yes. But I have heard the little folk knows quite a lot."

"We have no cameras, though."

"Cameras?"

"Do you remember the rainbow you shot some years ago on Beara Peninsula?"

"Yes, I like this photo very much."

"So do we", laughed the Leprechaun. "You see, your photo helped us find the gold-pot at the end of the rainbow."

"But ... but ... but how and when did you see the photo? The film got developed in Germany."

"Hm, as you said: We do know quite a lot."

"Keep your secret, friends", I said. We shook hands, and I continued to climb upwards.

Somehow everything was easier. Only the din I thought to have heard from the top had calmed down. Nothing to hear. At last I reached the top. Incredible. Wherever I looked sleeping witches. Two or three seemed to have had an accident: Still sitting on their brooms they looked like being sticked against the trees. Slowly moving on I realized there was only one witch still being dancing. Never heard mystic music reached my ear. I moved on. The witch seemed not to have noticed me. She danced. Beautifully. Ten meters and I'd be able to see her face in the shine of the fire. Trying to make no noise I tiptoed.

Suddenly there was a big noise, as if a giant blew his breath. From one second to the other the fire went out. When my eyes got used to the darkness, I realized a last glowing, in front of where I had seen the witch dancing. At least the full moon sent his silvery shine to the clearing. I hesitated. Carefully I walked on, stumbled over a dead branch. At least I thought so. In the next moment my bottom got a hit, and it was as if a voice hissed: „Idiot." I turned round, bent forward and - it was a broom.

„Was it you who called me idiot?" I whispered.

„At least your ears are intact."

„Why at least?"

„Well, if your eyes were better, you wouldn´t have stumbled over me and disturbed my Peace of the Night."

„Excuse me, but that´s ..."

„Schscht. Not so loud. You could get in damn trouble, if you woke up the ladies. - So now, calm down, sir.: What did you want to ask?"

„Better not to ask anything. I thought it only surprising that you chose ... almost I had said : my phrase."

„Never mind. If you want to stay stupid, don´t ask."

„Well ... then ... How did you come to use it?"

„My boss once - about five years ago - began to wish me the Peace of the Night."

„Your boss?!"

„Well, correctly spoken: my Queen."

„Your Queen? What´s her name?"

„Can´t tell you. Not fancy to get a bloody nose."

„Please."

„No, but you can ask herself."

... and the broom turned around and lay as if sound asleep.

Asking herself? Oh dear! Heart bumping. Blood rushing. Slowly I turned round. There she was. Behind the glooming fire she had stopped dancing. Now she slowly moved in my direction. Passing the gloom I got a glimpse of her face. Unlike the other witches I had seen before, she had no long hair. I got excited. She came closer. Should I flee? No, I decided to stay. Decided? Anyway, soon I'd see her face. 13 meters, twelve, eleven, ten, nine ... three steps more and she would appear in the moon´s cone. ... One ... black brown hair ... two ... my heart jumped ... three ... I saw nothing. I turned round. Where there had been the moon now was a big dark cloud. My knees felt like pudding. My nose smelled a parfume it had never smelled before. What would happen in the next moment? Ah, at least I'd have asked. But only I had opened my mouth I heard her voice very very close to my ear: She said: ...

Z...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz .................

In the next moment I woke up. In front of our house the musicians of the local fire-brigade had intonated „The May has arrived." Later on I saw the car where it is usually parked. But for hours I had eight words echoeing in my head: „I told you, it´s not fate, ... it´s magic!"

That´s my story. And I wonder what will happen next.

Hope you had a lovely dance into the May, and that you didn´t feel too exhausted today.

The motto these days

Holding my tongue
without blowing my top.

Pope converts to Moneytheism

A row has broken out in Rome about whether the speeches and writings of Pope Benedict should be freely available to everyone or subject to copyright.

The dispute was prompted by revelations that a publishing house in Milan had to pay £10,000 to reprint 30 lines from the first speech by the Pope following his election in April, after the Vatican transferred copyright on papal texts to its own publishing house, Libreria Editrice Vaticana. The Vatican also plans to charge rights on any papal texts of the past 50 years.
Full story here.

Hear hear! Even His Oddity seems to have come to the conclusion that it's moneytheism which keeps the world together in its innermost.

No applause from the wrong side, please. Anybody calling his religion, his worldview the 'one and only' is - with all respect - an idiot.

Yes, yes. There's a difference.

Thus, all idiots in the classical sense, come on and sue me!

Does it help (me) that I am laughing at them? That I am fed up? So damn fed up. With all those opportunists, who'd call themselves pragmatists.

Whatever politician/bishop I asked 'what's the difference between opportunism and pragmatism' smiled, raised his/her brows, but would not (try an) answer. In 30 years!

Back to 'Moneytheism':

I am exaggerating? What's about this?

SAN GIOVANNI ROTONDO, Italy - The exhumed body of Padre Pio, a saint considered a miracle worker by his devotees, attracted thousands of pilgrims on Thursday when it went on display 40 years after his death.
Full article here.

Ah, the older I get, the less time I do have to be diplomatic. No one needs to believe in a god. It's just enough to be good*. To be kind to your neighbours, to the 'strangers/foreigners you meet and to those you love. That's all**.

* Sometimes it is difficult to be good.

** I repeat: That's all.

Poison of democracy

The Russian tabloid newspaper that reported President Vladimir Putin was planning to marry an Olympic gold medal-winning gymnast has been shut down.
Continue here.

Mind you, I am not focusing on Mr. Putin copulating with Angela Merkel, Alina Kabaeva or whomsoever, but on the shutting down of newspapers.

Mind you, I do scorn on hack writers and paparazzi who'd do all to get a photo showing f.e. a sweet tiny ministrant serving the pope.
As long as people would buy such so-called tabloids there is a market, isn't there?

And here we are: As soon as people would not buy them, there would not be any market for tabloids.

Meanwhile: By surpressing freedom of speech Mr. Putin does deserve to be wholeheartedly
swearboarded.

Mind you, if I were Mr. Putin I'd not know how to cope with all the / his problems.

P.S. I am glad that Mr. Putin is (not yet) able to shut down this blog. Being one of his poor countrymen, I'd very probably not be as brave a Anna Politkovskaja, but rather singing a song of praise to honour this crooked and dishonest man.

P.P.S. I am not Martin Luther King. But I do have a dream: Mr Putin may fuck whoever erroneosly thinks he is attractive, but not the people of Russia or any other country. Same goes for all Bushs, Cheneys and Khomeinis of this world.

Hypocritical cant

To start with the beginning: For the past 20 years I have been fully aware that when researching 'hot topics' there would be third listeners - at least now and then. That's why I use to greet those listeners and wish them a nice day. Hm, well, sometimes I'd be a tiny bit mocking.

No need to say what I think about the fact per se.
However, I am surprised that 'everybody' - politicians and media - by their reaction would try to make people think wiretapping of / spying on politicians and journalists would not be the norm.
What hypocritical cants. Otherwise secret services* would have nothing to do, would they?

The Afghan government is clearly upset by revelations that Germany's foreign intelligence service (BND) had been spying on the country's trade and industry minister. It says it will approach Berlin in the next few days.
News broke at the weekend that the BND had read e-mail correspondence between Der Spiegel reporter Susanne Koelbl and an Afghan politician between June and November 2006, sparking outrage because of the breach of press freedom.
It only emerged on Thursday (Apr. 24) that Trade and Industry Minister Amin Farhang was the actual target of the operation. No explanation has been given for why he was under scrutiny.
Farhang, who lived in Germany for a number of years, has told the German newspaper Neue Osnabruecker Zeitung that his life was now at risk because the measure implied that he was co-operating with hostile forces.
"Because of this absurd lie that I'm some kind of double agent, my life and the lives of my family are in great danger," he said. "I could be shot on the street tomorrow," he added.
Full article here.

As said, I am not surprised about the fact itself. Just one question, though.

Given I do understand Mr. Farhang correctly, he says his life is at risk because corresponding with a German journalist implies he was co-operating with hostile forces.

So, why are there still hostile German soldiers in Afghanistan?

Would be nice if the answer would not be 'Germany is also defended at the Hindu Kush', for a change.

* not: intelligence services

Literary Wednesday

On Shakespeare's 444th birthday and
the 392nd anniversary of either his death
and the death of Cervantes
just to wish a very special literary Wednesday.

It's also the (International) Day of the book?

Well, yes. But isn't every day a day of the book?
At least it should be.

Anyway,
instead of writing or weeding,
now I go on reading ...

The Dilemmas of an Upright Man: Max Planck* and the Fortunes of German Science

* today is his 150th birthday

Just a thought on relativity

If China - in order to help all their friends - sent one million soldiers, respectively, to protect human rights in each member country of the 'United' Nations, i.e. 196 million soldiers, there would still remain about 1,2 billion Chinese to enjoy human rights in China.

If the U.S.A. did the same today, there would remain about 107 million people in the country.
Well, plus one million Chinese protectors.

If England, France and Germany tried to do so in a concerted action, there would remain three million Chinese protectors of human rights, one million in each country.

Holiday in Zimbabwe

Reading following news I felt reminded of Jimmy Carter meeting Deng Xiaoping in 1979, when the U.S.-President demanded China should respect the human rights.
Here's the gist of what Deng Xiaoping replied: According the human rights we are of different an opinion. But to make you happy: How many Chinese do you wish to take with you to the U.S.A.? 50 millions? 100 millions?

Chinese troops have been seen on the streets of Zimbabwe's third largest city, Mutare, according to local witnesses. They were seen patrolling with Zimbabwean soldiers before and during Tuesday's ill-fated general strike called by the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC).
Earlier, 10 Chinese soldiers armed with pistols checked in at the city's Holiday Inn along with 70 Zimbabwean troops.
Full article here.

Well, 10 (in words: ten) Chinese soldiers. I suppose, they are the flame guards who did a great job guarding the Olympic torch in London, Paris & San Francisco, and now got their well deserved reward: holiday in tourist's paradise: Zimbabwe.

A real friend

In case anybody is still wondering why Robert Mugabe & accomplices refuse to release the results of the election: They are waiting for a (just in time) delivery.

South Africa confirmed that it will not intervene to stop a shipment of Chinese-made weapons from reaching Zimbabwe, despite fears of a violent crackdown in the country.

A Chinese ship docked in Durban harbour late on Wednesday carrying three million rounds of ammunition for small arms, 3,500 mortar bombs and mortar tubes, as well as 1,500 rocket-propelled grenades, according to local media.
Full article here.

Ah, I start feeling the Olympic spirit of international understanding, and to understand what E. W. Howe meant when he wrote in his Country Town Sayings:

When a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by asking if there is anything you can do. Think up something appropriate and do it.

Wordy Wednesday V

To start at the end. You will not only enjoy a good laughter; you might even be able to imagine why I'd call Wordy Wednesday what others f.e. call blogfocus.

And now for something completely different: The beginning.

Thanks a lot to all of you who are visiting me and leaving comments these days, despite of that I am 'lazier' than ever, myself. I do appreciate your patience and kindness very much.

Oh it is a difficult thing to do indeed...knowing what the right way to respond to a problem. For first there has to be a problem...and just how the heck does one define a problem or even decide what the problem of the problem is? And then there is the ball of wax that comes from fixing the problem and making a new problem.

As if the lady had written this sentence just for me. :)
I haven't read many of her meanderings and blatherings, yet, but after this I am quite sure I will.

Surely it will happen to you, too: Someone, by painting with letters, creates a picture that from now on will be exhibited in the gallery of your mind - and from time to time you can't but must enter this room and contemplate this very picture.
The wonderful jmb - It will be fine! It will be fine! It will be fine! :) - in March 'painted' one of these pictures in my mind-gallery:

[...] He is still a good looking old fellow, with a full head of the most wonderful grey hair, now below his ears and curling a little at the ends. When I spoke to him his face lit up, although he has no idea who I am and he really can't speak now, just makes noises. He has the attention span of a flea, so after a moment he wheeled off leaving me standing there. I watched him go, thinking about the university professor of Pharmacy that he once had been and whom I met at the Faculty 46 years ago. Luckily he has never lost his wonderful disposition, as so many do with this terrible disease, and for that I am very grateful because the caregivers all like him and he is relatively easy to take care of. [...]

And now let me introduce two bloggers to you who recently gave me their placet to add them to my seldom borings. :)

What to choose from Gracchi at Westminster Wisdom? One of his film- or book-reviews?
No, I'd rather commend one of his recent posts where you will find what I do like about Gracchi's style: He's moderate in tone, and at the same time often thought-provoking, as when f.e. asking

Why Tibet? Why Palestine? The Rational Choices of Protest

And now, what shall I say ... err ... write in order to properly explain what I do appreciate about Mr. Deogolwulf? His up till now 236 'fewtrils'? His widening my horizon? Oh well, is it enough when I tell you that I intend to discover him / his blog by reading his postings chronological, from the very first in May 2005? - Ah, end of the eulogy! :)

Enjoy The Joy of Curmudgeonry.

Hm, and herewith we are back at the beginning where I promised you a good laughter at the end of this Wordy Wednesday.

Originally I intended to quote the essential passages, but now I am hesitating, as I fear I might divulge too much.
In order to increase your suspense let me just say: James claims it is his 'best post yet'.

Time for me to put my head on the pillow
and listen to the silence.

The Peace of the Night. :)

Forza Italia!

The majority of Italian voters, i.e. of those Italians who cast their vote, obviously thought they deserve to again being ruled by Silvio Berlusconi & Co..

Well, already Seneca knew: Successful and fortunate crime is called virtue.

Time for some special drops of vino then. You'll find them in any well-assorted Italian shop.

Forza, Italia!

Impression, soleil levant

This work painted by Claude Monet in 1872, or rather the first word of its title - Impression, soleil levant / Impression, sunrise -, arrogance demonstrated by the French Academy of Arts, the decison of artists such as Cézanne, Degas, Monet, Pissaro and Renoir to exhibit their works in a Paris salon on April 15th, 1874 plus a mocking critic - and born was the Impressionism.

Great art ... is preeminently and finally
the expression of the spirits of great men.
[Martha Graham]

... and may I add: women. :)

Waiting for Sam

People are bloody ignorant apes.

Pah.

Charming spot. - Inspiring prospects. - Let's go.

We can't.

Why not?

We're waiting for Sam.

Ah. You're sure it was here?

What?

That we were to wait.

He said by the grave. Do you see any others?

He must be dead.

No more weeping.

We are always finding something, eh, Sean, to give us the impression we exist?

Yes, yes, we're magicians.

Happy birthday then, Sam! :)

As for Nietzsche's skeleton

Friedrich Nietzsche declared famously that “God is dead!” so it is probably safe to assume that he did not much care what happened to his skeleton.

Thus Mr. Boyes decided to start his article, published March 26th.

Good news for the gentleman:

Nietzsche's birthplace, baptistry and grave will persist.

Bad news for the gentleman: His inference (above) does not lack of illogicality.

Advice: It's probably (sic! - not: perhaps) safer to think before mauling the keyboard.

The advisor knows this from own experience. :)

37 laughable Popes

With the attack of Fort Sumpter, today 147 years ago the American Civil War began.

Exactly 100 years later, thus 47 years ago , Juri Gagarin happened to be the first human earthling in the orbit.

Well, and 375 years ago was the first day of the process Pope(s) versus Galileo Galileo.

And only 37 Popes or 359 years later, 23 years after Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon, the damned heliocentrist, got rehabilitated, which makes me still laughing. Ha. Ha. Ha.


Ah, anybody feeling offended?

So ... err ... No sorry. You see, I am agnostic. Thanks god? :) Oh well, anyway, I am.


... Well, yes :) Science by itself, cannot supply us with an ethic. [Bertrand Russell, 1950]

Good for bilateral relations

Berlin police have found a body that is probably* that of a missing Russian artist who had been condemned by the Orthodox Church for an exhibit in her homeland. The death was an apparent suicide, police said Friday.

Anna Mikhalchuk, [unfortunately not English entry, yet - sj] who moved to Berlin in November, has been missing for three weeks. She created a stir in Russia with an 2003 exhibition that the church considered blasphemous, and was tried and acquitted by a Moscow court on charges of inciting religious hatred.
To be continued here.

Apparently!! I see.

In German - although most Germans would not know :) - there is a big difference between scheinbar (only looks like being true/a fact) and anscheinend (it looks very much like; thus seems quite probable).

This allows the conclusion: Apparently Anna Politkovskaja committed suicide by shooting herself into her back.

Thanks for having me.

* Meanwhile according to Spiegel online (German edition), Anna Mikhalchuk has been identified by her husband, the Russian philosopher and author, Mikhail Ryklin.

O tempora, o mores!

Today German lawmakers agreed to allow broader embryonic stem cell use. But they signaled their ambivalence by refusing to completely do away with restrictions.

Germany's science minister, Annette Schavan, said reforming the law was key to fostering research in Germany.

“This is a good day for both protecting life and also for research in Germany,“ Schavan, of the Christian Democratic Union, said after the vote Friday. *

Hear hear!

And may I add it is a good day for Mrs. Schavan et al.: Here questions like this one will not be asked.

There was, however, a German philosopher whose name is being pronounced like one of the words you could read in the devil's title: Kant.
And I am quite sure Kant would agree: What a bunch of hypocrites, per se!

Having followed the discussion about stem cell research from its beginning in the past milennium, I am not surprised, though.

To give you at least a glimpse, of what made me come to call hypocrites hypocrites, I commend reading this article.




* Full article here.

Wordy Wednesday IV

'Oh Sean - your Wordy Wednesday is now an institution.'

Of course, I could imagine one of his eyes twinkling when reading my dear friend James' (*) comment on last week's 'Wordy Wednesday'.

* Is it too much to call 'a' blogger your friend? - This, readers, is worth a post of itself, would you agree? :)
As this *idea* came - as most of my ideas - spontaneously - it would not be suprising, had you to remind me of this; in case you are interested in my thoughts/convictions. :)

Anyway, here's Wordy Wednesday IV. And again I do hope you will enjoy; and again I do ask you to leave comments on those posts you like (or dislike), 'cause (your) comments are the salt in the soup of any post. :)

Prodicus can be sure that I shall pinch this very post, but before doing so it's my pleasure linking to his site.
No, I do not agree to every detail he is posting about, but he's what I do call 'unique'.
In order to preparing you for what you are going to read:

I read the first part to Mrs. J, then stopped as if it were the end.
Her one word-comment: 'Impressive.'
Then I added the rest.
Mrs J: 'Sean, it's good to know you have an alibi. This would have been very embarrassing for me and the whole family.'
I, myself: Laughing and laughing and laughing.

Now you know a little more about my sense of humour, let's get a bit serious:
The Old Brit about a man I once (around 1990) tended to 'admire', until I started to learn that he has his personal Blairney stone (not to mix up with the Blarney Stone): Tony Blair.

Call me lazy: But here is another one by the Old Brit.

Ah, Ben Hur, ah Soylent Green; and despite I could go on praising the actor: here is the title I call the best of this week, made by Colin Campbell your host at the Adelaide Green Porridge Cafe. :)

No poem today? No. But a painting - by Fabian Perez**. Which one? Ah, difficult to decide. Actually, I should like to show you four. But as a copy of Dali's 'Girl in the window' (the fifth painting when you are scrolling) is hanging in our front building - I chose this one:

** Hat tip Sandra Singh at Internation Musings.

Remains a question to myself, tonight: Am I playing with Death, or is Death playing with me?

The Peace of the Night.

If the Games fail ...

"International companies are ignoring basic human rights in return for business opportunity, while the Communist party is offering profits in return for continued control of the internet and the ability to intimidate dissidents."

"The collusion of these two kinds of ugliness means that there is no way for western investment to promote freedom of speech in China, and that in fact it greatly increases the ability of the Communist party to blockade and control the internet.”

“You are helping the Communist party maintain an evil system of control over freedom of information and speech."

Three core statements from an open letter to yahoo co-founder Jerry Yang quoted by the Financial Times - almost 30 months ago, October 18th, 2005.
Its writer: Liu Xiaobo, Chinese intellectual human rights activist who accuses Yahoo of betraying its customers and supporting dictatorship by providing information on journalist Shi Tao to Chinese authorities.
Full article here.

Of course, Mr. Liu who had the pleasure of several years being spoilt by 'his' leaders' unlimited love - in prison - would be delighted by the increasement of voices demanding a boycott of the Olympic Games in Beijing, wouldn't he?

Hm, and that's what he said according to a yesterday published Spiegel-interview:

"That wouldn't be a good way to punish China. If the Games fail, human rights will suffer. The government would stop paying any attention to the rest of the world. I personally think: We want the Games and we want human rights to be respected."

And what do you think?

Prisoners in Freedom City

'For five articles they sentence him to 3,5 years in prison. Our daughter will be four years before she will see her father again.' Two sentences spoken by Zeng Jinyan that I do remember from the interview she gave two days ago, after her husband, Hu Jia, had been sentenced.

At the end of the interview Zeng Jinyan is waving back towards the camera.

She has entered that part of Beijing where the Hu's have a flat: Freedom City.

Lovely name, isn't it? Almost as lovely as The Place of Heavenly Peace.

But who am I but a 'misinformed malicious Western blogger'?

Let's watch some videos, documenting how intensively Mr. Hu the leader of the leaders and thus General Secretary of the CPC Central Comitee lets care his best men for the safety and freedom of an unemployed father aged 34 and his family, never giving up the hope these black sheep may find back on the left path.

Here we go:

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 1 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 2 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 3 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 4 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 5 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 6 / 7)

Prisoners in Freedom City (part 7 / 7)


In this sense: The peace of the night.