Winter is in the Air

"See there! See there, Timotheus,
Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"

15 minutes ago:
Those who in February were harbingers of spring,
while passing Seanhenge singing their "Farewell".

Clandestini

Italian is a beautiful language.

Imagine an Italian speaking ...

f.e., the word clandestini.

Clan - des - ti - ni.

Ah, it's music, isn't it?

Well, the right voice, and il - le - gal(e) sounds sweet as well, hm?

Illegal(e) is just another word for clandestino, clandestina, clandestini.

Völkerwanderung (wandering of the people) is a / the German word for migration.

Ever heard about the migration period?

And:

Do you remember what Deng Xiaoping once offered Jimmy Carter when the US-President insisted on speaking about human rights?
Basically:
How many Chinese do you wish me to let accompany you on your return-flight? Ten millions? Fifty millions? 100 millions?
It is said that Mr Carter immediately changed the topic.

Clandestini - illegals.

A very very difficult topic. And very a complex one.

Too complex for me to put all aspects into a short post.

Yesterday I heard a song, though. The CD's title: Clandestini.

Don't know why, but immediately I thought of some posts by Welshcakes Limoncello.
There have been quite a few about this topic in recent years, but when reading this one from April 14th (The sea has no generosity) and this one from June 17th ( (Il silencio del mare), you will almost know what I think about one aspect.

And, although it is / seems nowadays but a platitude, I like it:
Everyone is illegal - almost everywhere.

In this sense: Here's Manu Chao.

A gem for Joyceans ...

... and those (perhaps / hopefully) to come.
Praised be Chris god-free Morals for sending me the link(s) to following gem(s), taken from a series called "Great Modern Writers".
Enjoy!

Wordy Wednesday VII

Hm. Those who decided to bear me for the past two years will remember.
After a long interval - and lots of drafts ha ha ha ha - I think it's time for a revival of what once I decided to call Wordy Wednesday.

What's different? The blogger being less "wordy". :)

So:

- a bit of poetry for the beginning. Ahh! And by no means let make yourself angry.

- what's to be said about Mr Polanski's supporters?

- in case you did not ever hear about (literally) fucking priests.

- in case you are not sure what's lynching.

- You don't have a Law Breakers Union, yet?

A wonder! A wonder!

02:55 a.m. - burglar enters a house.

02:57 a.m.- police gets an alarm call.

19 minutes later the burglar is caught.

Policeman: You have been identified at 02:56 a.m. burg....

Burglar [interruping]: Impossible.

Policeman: ?

Burglar [showing his watch]: It's 02:16 a.m.

Policeman (if clever): Well, rather I'd say we caught a thief 39 minutes before he committed his crime.

- - -

Clocked back? :)

Have a nice winter-time.

Honoris causa

Trying to not manipulate visitors who are just stumbling upon Omnium, I do - for the beginning - but ask to read this post and the comments, and afterwards let the author, his commenters and me know your thoughts, your opinion.

After having slept thrice, I shall let you know my thoughts.
Until then,
the peace of three nights.

Four days later (October 23rd)

Why would I wait even four days?
Well, once again 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.

* Honestly I am against honor crimes but this time I really don’t feel sorry for her I agree with u Nas ….. allah gave us brain to think and consider our actions ….. but I just don’t understand why the boy friend don’t get the same punishment …. Why it’s always the girl ?

My quest to withstand the tempters seemed almost lost, when fortunately I heard Karl Popper whispering:

To attack a man for talking nonsense
is like finding your mortal enemy
drowning in a swamp and
jumping in after him with a knife.

And although Sir Karl - out of sheer politeness, or did he think a man would for no reason think of stabbing a woman with a knife, let alone with a sword? - did not speak of utterly stupid women talking nonsense, - both snakes cuddled close, coiled up, fell smilingly asleep, and I knew: It's over - for this time.
Well, and apart from this, it was not my intention to write about certain mathematics teachers' wealth of mental poverty. The more as some commenters did it, and ... the mathematics teacher proved she could at least put two and two together and decided to not post a fifth comment.
Still, I ask you to keep above's quotation in your mind.

End of the beforegoing.

Learning his unwed daughter is pregnant, a father takes his sword and kills her and the unborn creature.
It happens every day. Those who know me a little, know what I think and thus would not expect me to post about such a singular case. And right they are. Rather I found interesting that a blogger would focus and repeatedly insist on the victim's stupidity / ignorance.

And as I am part of "anyone else" (#27):

this is not being used to justify anything. my opinion is simple on this matter and it is outlined in comment #5. you dont run in to a burning building without the knowledge that there is a high chance of getting burnt, even if your purpose is a noble one.

What an interesting mindset.
Translating it:
I don't support honour-killings - actually, I really don't like honour-killings, but in this very case the victim should have known better. Thus, it's (also) her fault.

Quite! And cynism is the intellectual cripple's substitute for intelligence.

Following this kind of logic, the Anna Politkovskayas, Hrant Dinks and José Carrascos on this planet ought not to complain in their coffins, hm? They should have known better, hm?

And the barber in Pakistan whose throat has been cut about two years ago was an absolutely silly sod to open a shop in an area where quite a few men consider the shaving of beards a sacrileg, hm?

And those women (gang-)raped in Kongo and elsewhere: If they don't consider sweet and honourable to getting (gang-)raped for their country*,why would they not take a plane and leave the war area, those unpatriotic bitches, hm? They should (have) know(n) both that (gang-)raping is part of war culture, and that it is part of our culture to consider a woman who would allow one, five or twenty heroes to rape her disgustingly befouling the honour of her family and their honourable neighbours, hm?

Do I hear a mother sadly nod and murmur? "Praised be our culture. Imagine I had not circumcised her. She might have wished the pleasure to never end."

End of the beforegoing.

And herewith I am approaching the essential interior inherent essence which - as is well known - is hidden in the roots of the kernel of everything, and thus in this blogpost, too.

1. Murder is murder is murder ...

2. Traditions are not good, per se.

How to overcome traditions which rather than being good are harmful?

[...] fighting honor crimes is to identify why people believe what they do, and those beliefs are inherently attached to locations, origins and local culture. [...]

Hört, hört! Who would have thought this?

1. Honour crimes (would honourable people commit a crime?) are no cultural accomplishment.
2. Neither they belong to those traditions (like f.e. hospitality) which are worth to be conserved, and where (almost) lost worth to be revived.

Ergo: When people claim killing in order to revive (sic!) what they call their honour to be a cultural accomplishment, a tradition, at best it is a harmful cultural accomplishment, a harmful tradition; a tradition that like FGM (Female Genital Mutilation) once upon a time has been conceived by men to demonstrate and assure their superiority.
Literally - and I hope you will not mind the following aprosdoketon - we thus are talking about fucking machos.

Well, how to overcome harmful traditions? À la General Napier?

"You say that it is your custom to burn widows. Very well. We also have a custom: when men burn a woman alive, we tie a rope around their necks and we hang them. Build your funeral pyre; beside it, my carpenters will build gallows. You may follow your custom. And then we will follow ours."

Well, as long as such a threat is not empty, is able to convince.

Rather I'd prefer to positively convince.
It is possible.
I remember Rupert Neudeck telling about a project in Ethiopia. It took years of burning patience. At the end the men decided that from now on (in their tribe) no girl, no woman should get circumcised, anymore.
And there had no gallows been erected to convince them.
It is possible!

So why should not be possible to convince at least the vast majority of those who think it's a matter of honour to kill ones daughter, sister, niece for this and that reason?

As for the rest: They should be given the chance to contemplate - in prison. For a couple of years. And if then they are still convinced it was their legitimate right to kill, well, then they may stay where they are. And I wish them a long life, and both slowly and painfully rotting testicles.

Oh dear, whereto has my taciturnity disappeared?

And who am I to globally criticise certain local cultures? A bloody degenerated Westerner who would let his opinion build by all those liars of the mainstream media?

Oh, yes! It's my own fault. Didn't I know the risk? Didn't I know what might happen when writing such a blogpost? :)

Yes, I know ... but ...

A beautiful rhetorical gem, isn't it? And certainly not a local one. You would find it in any language. Correct me if I am wrong.

I have nothing, absolutely nothing against foreigners, but ...
Nothing against education, but ... it's nothing for women.
Honestly I am against honor crimes but ...
What you say sounds plausible, but ...
I see your point, but ... you are comparing apples with oranges.

Ha ha ha, just coming to think of what my dear Turkish seanachie once wrote - fully aware, by the way, of the risk that he might go to hell when defending the bikini:

why does that preacher think that a bikini is a more serious challange against Allah rather than taking the life of another living creature? why just cant he simply preach that a true muslim should not stare at those women who wear bikini instead of totally trying to curse the bikini.

Such a lovely end, would you agree?

Thus I shall stop - not end - here, smilingly retreat under the rocks of Seanhenge and silently ponder about ... this and that.

But :) a final remark:
Those who feel offended, are meant.

And for connoisseurs an old Chinese saying:
"Those who feel insulted by others confess to their mental / intellectual inferiority."

The peace of the night.

Cecilia senza coltellino

The fundamental evil ...

... of the world arose from the fact
that the good Lord has not created enough money.

Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)

Foil vs. Sabre

[Contemporaries who are not fond of language: Please skip this post.]

Don't we all think we know quite a few contemporaries who have a great deal of sense outside their head?
Do I see you nodding?
And smiling?
Well, most of you will be smiling at the picture this phrase is painting in - not outside :) - their head. Right?
And most of us - yes! Me too. - tend to use rather the sabre than the foil when it comes to praise ... let's say the lack of certain contemporaries' intelligence, or those whose richness of mental poverty is enormous.
The more delighted I was when yesterday reading this very post of my dearest English teacher, Stan (Carey).
If there was any need, it strengthened my conviction that Them bleedin' cuss words are not the non plus ultra of swearing.

I know that Stan when reading this does feel good and at the same time somehow embarrassed, and who would not, but: I do mean it.

I love the idea that those of my readers who love the English language would not only read the blog post commended above but, after reading it, feel the wish to discover the whole blog. It is worthwhile!

Ha ha ha ... and I like thinking of all the big and tiny mistakes Stan will discover while reading this.

Head over then, and one day - perhaps :) - I'll be able to tell what (deep) impact on my way of thinking had books like this ...

... and this

Anything to declare?

Nothing but my genius. Oscar Wilde,*October 16th, 1854

This is just "Adios"

Al Martino, October 7th, 1927 - October 13th, 2009

Riposa in Pace!

Anchors aweigh!

Memento mori*

* and sometimes it would sound like Carpe diem - which is about quite the same.

It's done

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep
Robert Frost, 1914

If - not the song, but ...

About three weeks ago Nevin posted a poem her father had send to her: Rudyard Kipling's "If".

In the comment section Webwisewoman mentioned that once she had heard the poem put in music, but could not remember by whom; whereupon Nevin wrote: "If anyone else does, please let us know..."

Well, Myladies, I tried but did not succeed.

However, I stumbled upon ... the poet's voice.

Enjoy.





With thanks to Jim Clark (poetryanimations).

Alternative to "Busting Bunkers"

Fashionable article

[...] if you wait long enough, fashion comes around again.

Now, ladies and gentlemen.

Where would one stumble upon such an old wisdom?

Think thrice.

Now?

No?

Want a little help?

Well, on a website registrated in the wonderful land of the Peace Nobel Prize Winner 2009.

Still no clue?

Well, take your time.

. . .

Congratulations, anyway, if you guessed the right answer.

And ... the peace of the night.

Happy birthday, Mr Putin ...

... one does not have to wish, hm?
Surely the gentleman enjoys a most happy day with all his dear friends, and everyone will have done his best to make the flawless democrat happy.
I wonder which one was the most special present today.

Three years ago, October 7th, 2006 some admirers intended to surprise (?) their beloved President with a very very special present - and assassinated Anna Politkovskaya.

Well, and here's a List of murdered Russian journalists.

The McGonagalls of Tunes

As everybody knows Omnium, which means all, thus everyone and everything, demand(s) a statue for William Topaz McGonagall, who can rightfully claim to be the world's worst poet ever, only - to a certain degree - challenged by a certain James McIntyre, whose Ode on a Mammon Cheese I warmly commend to read here.

One of the Tayside Tragedian's uncounted masterpieces you will find offered by Jams O'Donnell Esq, the master of The Poor Mouth; and don't miss the poetry slam in the comment section, which partly took place here, too.

End of the beforegoing.

Like Stephen Hawking is trying to find the Theory of Everything (ToE) the esteemed Mr Goatman asks "What is ART?" Precisely: Does there exist a definition? Is it possible to define ART?

I suggest a study trip to Edinburgh, as in McGonagalltown he might find some essential tesserae for his ToA (Theory of Art).

Ah, no more words
See and - above all - listen yourself.

Here's The Really Terrible Orchestra (RTO)

Enjoy.

Another guttural Sláinte, Sir

Same procedure as last year and the year(s) before?

Same procedure as every year!

Well, almost. This time you've to read 69 and 98.


Enough written.

I am off now with my only man to meet the birthday child in 'The Dalkey Archive', wishing him - accompanied by a very guttural Sláinte - the best of Omnium, if you know what I mean.

Gracias, Mercedes Sosa

Mercedes Sosa (9 July 1935 – 4 October 2009)

All these fucking voters

Sometimes when talking about stupidity in general and in particular I'd ( like to) say that
I do not only agree with Bernard Shaw but am convinced not 98 but 99,99 percent of human being should not be allowed to cast a vote.

"Oh my god. And you do, of course, belong to the 0,01 per cent."

"Of course, my dear. However, for something completely different. When in private, please just call me Sean."

Well, that's a 30 and some years old running gag between Mrs. J. and me.

Now would not many people know me as well as Mrs J. does ("One can never be sure whether you are serious, joking or provoking.").

People who do not know me might therefore not get puzzled, but think "What a fucking arrogant cunt of an asshole!"

Mind you!! I am not swearing and thus making one step backwards on my quest to become the politest blogger in this universe and those yet to discover! Just quoting what some people might think I am.

End of the beforegoing.

As I did not tell you cannot know there has not only been a thrilling election campaign in Germany, but even an election.

Apropos election. Congress in Iran. Voting in the 21st Century. A participant from Zimbabwe standing together with one from China, the whole culminating in following dialogue:
- Do you have elections in China, too?
- Elections. Oh yes! Evely molning, evely molning.

Well, back to German politics. May I assure you they (the German politicians) don't cause erections?
Or?
Well, erecting middlefingers, if one does interprete the party which came second correctly - the party of the non-voters (28,2 per cent).

Which is why one - if not the most neutral nonpartisan and unbiased - tabloid said nearly half of Germans polled ahead of the parliamentary elections were in favo(u)r of introducing compulsory voting. Full article here.

Excuse me. Compulsory voting? 100 percent of the 99,99 percent idiots forced to give evidence of their idiocy, so that above mentioned 0,01 percent have to suffer?

Blimey!

Well, I am but a German. Almost none of my readers are. Which is why Germany's foreign minister to come very probably would not be a regular reader of this blog. [Although he could learn a bit English here - by reading the comments of native speakers].

Anyway, let's speak in general. About Ireland, f.e..
Will the majority of the Irish voters have yesterday said "Yes" or "No" during the(ir) second (!) referendum about the so-called Lisbon-Treaty?

To explain the exclamation mark behind second: I wonder, when politicians will start to accept a No.
Got it? Only about one year ago in a referendum the majority of the Irish voted "No"!

Mind you!
Those Irish voters who voted "Yes" - well, at least some of them - would have prefered that No-voters should not have been allowed to vote, due to their utter stupidity.

I do not know the result of today's referendum, but I am pretty sure:
In case the EU-lobby does not need to plan a third referendum in Ireland, those Irish voters who (yesterday) voted "No" - well, at least some of them - would prefer that Yes-voters should not have been allowed to vote, due to their utter stupidity.

Got it?

If not, don't worry. Politics is very very complicated.

Ah! You mean this post is a mess?

Ha ha.

Of course! If I'd be clever I could make at least ten posts of this.

A perfect sentence, by the way. The one above. 14 words. Fucking perfect.One word more (means: the 15th), and most people would not be able to understand it - according to the most intelligent masters of one German news agency.

Calm down. The German news agency does, of course, only think the average German to be too stupid to understand the meaning of a sentence containing more than 14 words.

For reborn US-Americans - just to give an example - 13 or perhaps less words might be too many/much.

Anyway, forget both the stupid Germans and the stupid US-Americans.

This post is not about them.

This post is a) about discussing a political question, about b) them bleedin' cuss words and about c) the question if suffrage should be universal.

. . .

In case you do not wish to follow the given links, do not follow your wish.
While Bock the Robber since September 22nd offers the chance to discuss the pro & contra of a Yes or No to the so-called Lisbon Treaty, one day later Miss Mogg asked - to cut her (provocative) question short - if there should indeed be "one (wo)man one vote".

Well, and the "Egg" - doubtful at his best - is arguing for thinking twice or thrice before f.e. writing a very German philosopher's name phonetically right but de facto wrong.

Ha ha ha ...

I enjoyed this.
And you?
Omg? :)
Ah, may I remind you? OmS would do. :)

Anyway, what's your vote?

Oh! You did not understand the question(s)?

Here they are, again! In less than 14 words.

What do you think about
- one (wo)man one vote, (regardless of any individual stupidity)
- and about swearing in general?

Without bashing an eyelid
wishing
the peace of the night.

(Y)our shadow knows all ...

I was yesterday under the good leaves, sheltering from the rain under a green cloak of birch leaves, waiting like a young fool for Gwen with Helen's brow; when Standing dismally before me face to face, I saw a figure; at which, though it stood mild and harmless, I shuddered, and against some evil Visitation crossed my body with a holy charm.

"Speak! Break your silence! If you are a man, what are you?"

"I! - I am your shadow, strange. For Mary's sake be silent, and not hinder me from telling you ... kindly, I am come here, and stand naked at your side, showing you by enchantment, your own image.

"Why should you, a sheltered shrinking creature, follow me? Are wages paid you, long-legged scarecrow, by Jealousy, that cold and wailing wolf, for watching me?"

"Dear man, I am no spreading ghost, no hideous chimera ..."

"Then what? A giant's offspring? A bald and monstrous spirit? No more of a doddering old man an apparition of bitter yet not even in your shape a man; with the shanks of a hag limping on black crutches; herdsman of a foul pack of ghosts, bogey in a bald monk's form! Like the heron that plucks at the reeds of the bog, or rises on ghostly shanks over the corn, with the face of a palmer and a blockhead rolled in an old rag, your back smeared dark with mud Where were you rolled then? In the muck of the farmyard?"

"Secretly I follow you for ever among the pleasant woods: weak though I am, remarking your deceits and thousand tricks. Your whole day I could describe to you, and this I know ..."


"Which of my faults should you know, more than the whole world knows? You with your pitcher's neck, the devil's dung to you! I've not disowned my country, nor killed a dog, you slanting shadow! Nor killed hens with a hurling-stone, nor frightened little children, nor have I offended against virtue, in interfering with strange women!"

"But if I told these things I know to some who do not know them, then would their rage quickly be loosed and ... faith! You would be crucified!"

"Then draw a knot tight against publishing these things, and on these faults of mine, sew up your lips against the world."

Dafydd ap Gwilym

May the sun flower ...

... and both you and I enjoy a golden October. :)

A hard day's night

Just a daily phenomenon

The last potatoes digged up, the field rakened and green manure sowed, one morello tree shortened by about two metres, peppermint and sage picked and dried;
... that happened end of August. Ah! And the magic of all those flowers ...

Meanwhile almost four weeks have flown by; since, there has happened quite a lot on this planet quite a few of which you might even have come to "know" as it has been covered in (y)our media.
One daily news you will neither have read in your daily newspaper nor heard elsewhere, though, as being published / told day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, decade by decade that yesterday approximately 30 / 40,000 children have been dying of starvation would be bloody depressing ... well, at least damn boring, would you agree?

Life is difficult enough to thoroughly enjoy, isn't it? If only I think of that the other day a bit too much sea-salt in the tomatoe soup spoilt my dinner.

Who in our civilised world would be able to care about how many women have been raped in Congo or elsewhere, while I was kept busy with picking plums, for hours? I mean, it's not my or your business. I can't change anything, can I? And neither can you, hm?

Not that I would not feel pity, whenever I come to think of it for some seconds now and then; but that's life, isn't it?

One is getting raped, a second tortured, a third murdered, while I am busy with watching butterflies and (bumble-)bees enjoying their kind of milk and honey that is flowing in Seanhenge, and while you perhaps are struggling with what outfit to choose for tomorrow's dinner party.

Ah, I should not have started this. Did I write 30,000 children per day?
That means, 750,000 children within 25 days, doesn't it? Phew!

Coming to think of it: Isn't it wonderful, magic well-nigh, that despite of this marginal phenomenon not worth to daily make its way into the news, there are living more than six billion human beings on this wonderful planet, thus about four times more than when I was born, about half a century ago?

Thinking positive - and aren't we told to always think positive?! - we are blessed that day by day 30- / 40,000 children are dying of starvation, aren't we?

Ah, no! Really! See? Such easily a post's content is being manipulated by thoughts about marginal daily phenomenons that are not worth mentioning.

Let alone, that I can be absolutely sure that those who are reading this are able to distinguish cynism from sarcasm, it's a great relief to know that most of those poor? nameless? anyway: unnamed creatures - and I am not talking about those 40,000 children who day by day are leaving this planet to enjoy life in this or that paradise, depending of the god their still somehow surviving parents are made to believe in - are analphabets.

In this sense.
A most joyous weekend to those
able to read.
May your god bless you,
and if it (read: your god) were the head of a dead sardine.

Enjoy
the peace of the night ...

in which - provided you are sleeping eight hours - approximately some more than 10,000 children are dying of starvation.

Not my kind of music, but ...

... who cares? It was not his fault, anyway.

This man was kind of a genius.
Happy birthday, Mr. Robinson. :)

At least for a while ...

Proms & Prospects

Same procedure as every year.
As I just watched this year's 'Last night of the Proms', I thought you might also like a musical bed-time treat.

Enjoy.



And as tonight I did especially enjoy this Haydn piece, voilà!



Well, and as after all today's picking and digging, cutting and planting I am not sure whether I shall tomorrow be able to move my arms and fingers, I do not only wish my esteemed readers
the peace of the night,
but
a joyous Sunday
and already
a smooth start into the coming week.
:)

Neither can a donkey

Ní sheasuigheann rith d'each maith i gcomhnuidhe.

Even a good horse cannot keep running always.

:)

The peace of the night.

Grand Valse

Natural Arts: Priscilla Potato

In front of the stone, where once strawless Berry sat,
pondering about his mission,
smilingly stands Priscilla Potato* - without hat,
but obviously having a lovely vision.

To cut it this time slightly shorter,
it's not about a pint of porter.
No. Obviously following her vision
Priscilla changes the position.

Like a fakir on his bed of nails
she meditates,
and although it may sound corny
comes to the conclusion
that often love is rather thorny
and can end in deep confusion.

Rather then an end like Finn!
And thus she spake:
Don't say Nay.
Eat me, for love's sake.
Which I did. And what delish.
By the way:
With Priscilla I had fish.
And afterwards a drop of Gin.

humbly dedicated to the Topaz of Poetry
by Mc Seanagall

* For some moments I felt tempted to underline the beauty of Priscilla's smiling lips with a touch of fuchsia-red, but then the art would not have been natural, anymore, hm?

Just a question 0001

What do you think when coming to think ...

... about love.


Yes!
Right now (!) I am determined to ask my readers 1,ooo questions.
Please, feel free. Write your thoughts without fltres.

Be aware of that this very first questions might be (one of) the most difficult. :)

September

Who would have thought this?

A little bit of stress goes a long way and can have far-reaching effects. Neuroscientists from the University of Washington have found that a single exposure to uncontrollable stress impairs decision making in rats for several days, making them unable to reliably seek out the larger of two rewards.

Well, who - when reading this - wouldn't come to think of all those stressed bankers & brokers, politicians & other stressed out decision makers.

And right. The article ends:

"Decision making, both large and small, is part of our lives. People are prone to make mistakes under stress. Look at what has been going on with the stock market. People are under huge amounts of stress and we have to question some of the decisions that are being made."
Full Science article here.

Some people might call the following nitpicking, thus just to make sure: This blogger would take up the cudgel on behalf of basic research, whenever politicians would refuse tax-funded (sic!) support, as long as there would not at least the invention of a teflon pan be guaranteed.

Still, sometimes, I am ... well, surprised when coming to learn that certain scientists, i.e. ladies and gentlemen who - to slightly a great degree make a tax-funded living* - after years, sometimes even decades of research would come to a result ...
... and here, esteemed readers, I do once again feel reminded of a certain passage in Thoreau's Walden and particularly its last sentence: [...] which I seriously think a ready wit might write a twelvemonth or twelve years beforehand with sufficient accuracy.


* and may nobody tell me the very scientists whose exorbitant research result even made it into Science were able to acquire third-party funds for their "project". Please!

What man is learning from the past

"The five techniques consisted of hooding, sleep deprivation, white noise, a starvation diet, and standing for hours spreadeagled against a wall, 'leaning on their fingertips like the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle. The only sound that filled the room was a high-pitched throb, which the detainees liken to an air compressor. The noise literally drove them out of the minds.' These techniques were accompanied by continual harrassment, blows, insults, questioning. This treatment usually went on for six or seven days. [...] I spoke to a psychiatrist who had the thankless task of trying to rehabilitate some of the interrogation victims (at the behest of [...]), and he told me that they were 'broken men', most of whom did not survive into their fifties. [...]

After they arrested me, I was thrown into a lorry where I got a kicking. Then I was taken to another barracks where I got another kicking. They took me up in a helicopter and told me they were going to throw me out. I thought we were hundreds of feet up, but were only up a few feet. They sat Alsatians on me. My thigh was all torn, and they made me run in bare feet over broken glass.

H[...] was then subjected to the 'five techniques'. [...] "

*

Passage taken from a report about torture in - Guantanamo? No.
- Abu Ghraib? No.
- Kadyrovs private torture 'apartment'? No.
- Prisons in China, Nigeria, Syria, Russia, Turkey, Vietnam? No.
- Iran? No.
- Argentina (1976-1983)? No.
- Chile (1973-1990)? No.

- No, I am quoting from pages 126/127 of Tim Pat Coogan's The Troubles - Irelands Ordeal 1966-1995 and the Search for Peace, published by Hutchinson, 1995.

Why?

Just to assure that man is able to learn from the past / history - at least what depends doing to others what they would not wish to be done to themselves.

The peace of the night

Death in a wine glass

Life is bloody short.
Thus let's die long, red and dry.
Rest in peace, green fly.

They are - am I ?

(hazel) nuts.

The answer I leave to my esteemed readers, as it is not impossible that I am a bit biased, but anyway: There will lots of nuts to be cracked in Seanhenge this year - either by its two-legged inhabitants and by the squirrels.

A bit too sentimental ...

... that I'd sing such a song for the loveliest of all daughters.
but anyway, here we go:

C'est ...

No poetic shooting star

When the other night
observing the perseids
I had but one wish.

Credit & Copyright: S. Kohle & B. Koch (Astron. I., U. Bonn)

Today 48 years ago

How we [...] kill rats

Most visitors will not have come across the name Marina Abramović [please do not mind me offering this slightly lousy Wikepedia entry].
None of us can know all (great / remarkable) artists, hm?

When watching the following which is but a tiny part of her performance that 1997 brought/earned her a Golden Lion at the Venice Biennale, please let not attract yourself by some comments.
Think of what happened on the Balkan in the mid-90s. Think of Srebrenica. Think of ...

... think of what happened since, happens now and (hopefully not, but) probably will happen elsewhere on this planet ...

Voilà:

Ms Clinton goes Congo

US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton has demanded an end to widespread sexual abuse in war-ravaged eastern DR Congo, during a visit to the country.
Continued here.

Back?
Fine.
And?
Interesting, hm?
And horrible, alone if you imagine ...

Well, and certainly you remember this passage:

The BBC's Will Ross, in Nairobi, says perpetrators go unpunished and that sexual attacks have increased since January, when a government offensive [emphasis mine] was launched against rebels linked to Rwanda's genocide.

What the BBC (-man) does not tell you will find in a Washington Post article under following headline:

Congo's Rape Epidemic Worsens During U.S.-Backed Military Operation

Sic! U.S.-Backed Military Operation.

Or should it rather read:

[...] U.S. Mercenary-backed ...] ?

Or:

[...] Blackwater-Led ...] ?

Anyway, here is Stephanie McCrummen's article, upon which I stumbled after having stumbled upon The Angry Arab.


Related post:
As I see it

Some of the next

Who will be the next? I asked about three weeks ago.

Well, one week after the murder of Natalya Estemirova, the body of Andrei Kulagin was found in Karelia.

Another week later on Spiegel international online one could read (more) about The Triumph of Fear in Russia;

And there might have been some more 'the next', of which we will probably not come to know.

Today, in Dagestan's capital, Makhachkala, another journalist - Malik Akhmedilov - was shot in his car; and in Chechnya's capital, Grozny, one day after they had been kidnapped Zarema Sadulayeva and her husband, Umar Dzhabrailov, have been found in a car's boot - with gunshot wounds to their heads and chests.

Zarema Sadulayeva headed Save the Generation, a group that for several years worked with Unicef and Western [and Russian*] aid organisations to provide prosthetic limbs, surgical operations and counseling for victims of the terror in Chechnya.

Rights groups such as Memorial blame the forces of the Chechen president, Ramzan Kadyrov, for abductions, killings and torture.

So do I, adding but two names: Medvedev and Putin.

And I am tired to ask Who will be the next? ...

The peace of the night.

* somehow, to mention this in most Western media would simply be forgotten ...

Between the Moons

The poetry of earth is never dead:

This does not lack of correctness, Mr Keats.

How cometh?

Poets who took their dwelling six feet under centuries ago, wouldn't write poems, hm?

They have written them. Great poems amongst. Yes. Great poetry.

And, centuries later, generations later still there are people who admire those dead poets' skills, their depth & wisdom, their humour & prudence.

Right so.

And nice. Especially for publishers.
No copyright (owner).
Dead poets wouldn't claim royalties, hm?
All one has to do is to keep them alive - the Novalis, Emerson, Homer, Rumi, Hafis, Dafydd ap Gwilym, Petrarca, Byron, Shelley [did I forget to mention any? ha ha ha].
Great poetry. And cheap, hm?!

Yes.

I confess:

The authors of the vast majority of books in my shelves are dead.

Strange, isn't it? :) Hm ...

The more glad I am that once - about two years ago by clicking a link I stumbled upon or - is it more precise to write? - let myself stumble upon a living poet. :)

My first reaction: Interesting.

With hindsight, interesting too: Reading the comments (Oh, this is absolutely gorgeous; ah, so wonderful; ah ... oh ... uh ) let me think of followers worshipping their guru, and thus it needed another coincidence (?) to visit this very blog again, seven or ten months later.

And - step by step - haiga by taiga this ignoramus got more intrigued.

Yes. :)

Sometimes I'd (even) leave a comment.

And yes:

I'd always leave a comment (since) were I able to perpetually invent new superlatives. :)

[Did I ever mention I do not like superlatives? ... Well, when willfully exaggerating ... ]

Come to your mission! I hear some readers think.

Alright! Here we go.
Those who'd know my sidebar will anyway know.

Know that I can't get enough of her (poetry). :)

In case you did not know Janice Thomson, yet, voilà, form your opinion here and here and here.

And? ... Good, hm?

Now, like the hunchbacked and :) dead genius I could say/write:

If you own two trousers
sell one, and
buy this book.

Nah!
Wait!
Check your wardrobe! Certainly, there are some more trousers (or skirts) you would not miss when being sold.
Sell them all. Order several books. They'll make some exquisite poetic gifts.
Where to order your books? Here.

And then - enjoy.
Afterwards, I am - almost :) - sure, like me you will be looking forward to Volume II by this very vivid poet / painter / photographer.

I see it in your eyes, bee

.... and I wonder what you saw in mine.

click to enlarge

Some dahlias these days

What a silly post, some haply visitors might think. How boring.

Well, that's part of Seanhenge, and thus of Omnium. ... :)

... and a daily pleasure for my eyes.