in the arsehole of diogenes

NEO-HERACLITUS_____________Qweir Notions in the arsehole of Diogenes: weBlog of a septuagenarian Binge-thinker since February 2008.

Sunday, 23 February 2020

Technology breeds

and technology to counter
It can only end in tears
and fire, not ice.

Saturday, 22 February 2020

Zoö-pornography - food for disgust.

More than one and a half million
pornographic films of animal sexual abuse
are freely available
and watched
every year in France and the UK... 
Many more in North America.

More than 10,000 human beings
visit online ads for sexual experiences with animals.

from (France)

Friday, 21 February 2020

Shakespeare was wrong.

The world is part-stage,
part-holding camp,
and for most it's
just a place wherein to perish.

Thursday, 20 February 2020

Wonderfully-wacky Word of the Week

Go figure!

Most intellectuals

have little understanding.
Those with understanding
tend not to be intellectual.
On the radio the other day
I heard that hairy men
tend to be intellectuals
(and/or the other way round ?).
My aunt had a sweet little moustache
but was not an intellectual,
and was always forgiving
but rarely understanding.

I did not care for princes or princesses,
but fancied hairy ogres when I was very young.

Wednesday, 19 February 2020

The problem with people

(I find)
is not so much that they are so limited,
but that they are so self-limiting.

Tuesday, 18 February 2020


doesn't just happen.
It has to be permitted.
In The Real World
(which I luxuriously keep at bay
though Consumer Choice)
thought is a complication.

Monday, 17 February 2020


the French word for career
also means quarry.
The English word quarry
also means intended victim.
I have done what Yevtushenko
(whom I have not much read)
recommended in his poem about Galileo*,
and pursued a career (not a quarry)
of not pursuing one.

Kарьера (Career)

Sunday, 16 February 2020

Cool swells.

North Americans (but never British)
used to say that things (or people) were
A male person could be A swell.
Swell swells have gone.
Now they (and some British) say
that people (or things) are funky
or are cool.
But now there seems to be a semantic rule
that neither male nor female is ever called
A funky or A cool.

Saturday, 15 February 2020

" have invented God -

[as] a being capable of understanding."
- Graham Greene, The Quiet American.
...of understanding the cosmic joke
of bird in the hand and pig in a poke.

Friday, 14 February 2020

And lo! The first intelligible

(if not very intelligent) message
to reach Earth from Outer Space was:
We are going to make Wolf 359

*Wolf 359, a Red Dwarf, is not at all bright.
'Two planetary companions are suspected, but as yet no debris discs have been unmasked...'

Thursday, 13 February 2020


Even if we had the faintest idea what they might involve,
Enlightenment, Redemption, Salvation...
Saving the sad Planet from flood and fire
would still be merely
infantile desires for abstractions of desire.

Wednesday, 12 February 2020

The cosmic joke

is a pig in a poke
a bird in the hand
a bridge too far...
and not a nasty existential yoke.

Tuesday, 11 February 2020


I got off the conveyor belt
after refusing to worship
the god of getting on.

Monday, 10 February 2020

Heard on the radio today:

"From the point of view of a photon
the entire universe is perfectly still."

Which means that such a particle of light can get off
and away if it wants to without risking injury.

'You can bet your bottom dollar'

that capitalism will thrive
on strategies
for manufacturing and marketing
value-added, bogus remedies
for climate change.

(Incidentally: as long ago as 1967 Isaac Asimov wrote that we were trashing the planet irreversibly.
 That was just before the oil companies started a big drive to increase the consumption of oil.)

Sunday, 9 February 2020

"Too young to die."

no-one is...

any more than
anyone is
too old to die.

From your pedantic uncle.

With reference to my post of 28th December last
(Homage or insult to Miss S.)
Gertrude Stein's alleged poem, Pigeons on the grass, alas!
has almost-imperceptibly more meaning
if you imagine that the aforementioned birds were close to a notice:

or, since she spent so much time in Paris:

I might be wrong about this,
but she certainly published a recipe for Hashish Fudge in 1954.

Peduncle Wofl

Saturday, 8 February 2020

Truth is a little boy.

And what are little boys made of ?
"Slugs and snails and puppy-dogs tails."
That is what Truth is made of.

Friday, 7 February 2020

Thursday, 6 February 2020

Slick Simile.

I slip into bed
like a frozen chicken
into a microwave.
I have never slipped
a frozen chicken into a microwave.
I have never had a microwave
and for thirty years or more I haven't eaten chicken.

But I slip into my
electro-blanketed bed gratefully
and with abandon.

I snuggle into bed
like I used to snuggle whole chickens
into an earthenware pot
of golden cardamomed, tarragoned
and saffroned onions with segments of three lemons,
before slipping it into the oven
to be served (with fluffy rice) an hour or two later.

Wednesday, 5 February 2020

The Defeat of France

by Prussia in 1870,
and the subsequent decline of French power in Europe,
led directly to "The Race for Africa",
the brutal scrum of colonialism
which has destroyed the world.

Tuesday, 4 February 2020

A Kind of Poem.

Unlike kindness,
love comes in different kinds
like the kinds of water:
stagnant, spring, tap, sea,
puddle, polluted river,
pond, salt-marsh,
weedy canal, cascading,
soft, hard...
Unlike water,
love can be manic,
but no love is oceanic.

Monday, 3 February 2020

Sunday, 2 February 2020

The late John Baldessari,

notorious "conceptual artist" 
(who famously burned his terrible paintings)
declared that he would never make "boring art".
Unfortunately, almost all "conceptual art" is boring,
mind-numbingly, eye-frustratingly boring
at least after the first five seconds.

Saturday, 1 February 2020

Friday, 31 January 2020


(from the Latin corona and the Greek κορώνη meaning crown or halo)

is a word describing:
1.  the projecting part of a classic cornice;
2. the upper portion of a bodily part (such as a tooth, the skull or the penis);
3.  an appendage or series of united appendages on the inner side of the corolla in some flowers (such as the daffodil);
4.  a faint glow adjacent to the surface of an electrical conductor at high voltage;
5.  the gaseous 'atmosphere' of the sun which is even hotter than its surface, typically visible during an eclipse, and which emanates a  'solar wind' to afflict its planets;
6.  a circle of light made by the apparent convergence of the streamers of the aurora borealis;
7.  in medieval Latin, a unit of currency vulgarly known as a crown, krone, krona, koruna, etc.

Now we are hearing a lot about a particular corona-virus  in the subfamily Orthocoronavirinae...
which probably comes from the sun, lives in the aurora borealis, hangs about on cornices & daffodils, and is propagated (upon payment) via faintly-glowing penises of pigs and humans.

Thursday, 30 January 2020

Secrets and Lies

Science tells us continually
how rational and successful we are.

Literature worries continually
at and about our tragic (often ludicrous)

Wednesday, 29 January 2020

Tuesday, 28 January 2020

The ibex,

a very large kind of goat,
is, with the snow leopard, the most revered
of the Asian mountain animals, and used to live
in mountain ranges from Mongolia to Afghanistan.
Like snow leopards, they are almost extinct.

Pickled ibex blood, thick and hard to swallow,
is considered a powerful tonic by the Mongols.

The customs of humans are like footholds
carved into the marble cliffs of inhumanity.

Monday, 27 January 2020

Sunday, 26 January 2020

A walker

was originally a man who trod wool or felt underfoot -
a kind of dancer.
The modern meaning of to walk came later.
Walkers are now just minor curses of the countryside.

Saturday, 25 January 2020

Friday, 24 January 2020

Today's YogArt®

'Fresh' (still wet) in the first photo under artificial light.
'Set' (morning after) in the second, in natural light and with different background.

Retrospective misery

is all the rage.

Thursday, 23 January 2020

Most cooking

is done by women,
and in many Asian countries
they eat separately,
because a woman is considered
to be a service rather than a person.
As for Western cultures -
I wonder how many cooks
(even male ones) consider that the best part
of feasts and dinner-parties
is the cooking ?

Tuesday, 21 January 2020

Today's YogArt

photographed when fresh (yesterday evening)...

and this morning in natural light.

A neglected poet.


There is a natty kind of mind
That slicks its thoughts,
Culls its oughts,
Trims its views,
Prunes its trues,
And never suspects it is a rind.


To those fixed on white,
White is white,
To those fixed on black,
It is the same,
And red is red,
Yellow, yellow-
Surely there are such sights
In the many colored world,
Or in the mind.
The strange thing is that
These people never see themselves
Or you, or me.

Are they not in their minds?
Are we not in the world?
This is a curious blindness
For those that are color blind.
What queer beliefs
That men who believe in sights
Disbelieve in seers.

O people, if you but used
Your other eyes
You would see beings.


African Guardian of Souls,
Drunk with rum,
Feasting on strange cassava,
Yielding to new words and a weak palabra
Of a white-faced sardonic god--
Grins, cries
Shouts hosanna.


Spatial depths of being survive
The birth to death recurrences
Of feet dancing on earth of sand;
Vibrations of the dance survive
The sand; the sand, elect, survives
The dancer. He can find no source
Of magic adequate to bind
The sand upon his feet, his feet
Upon his dance, his dance upon
The diamond body of his being.


A certain man wishes to be a prince
Of this earth; he also wants to be
A saint and master of the being-world.
Conscience cannot exist in the first:
The second cannot exist without conscience.
Therefore he, who has enough conscience
To be disturbed but not enough to be
Compelled, can neither reject the one
Nor follow the other...


Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.


Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads,
Great, hollow, bell-like flowers,
Rumbling in the wind,
Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . .
Full-lipped flowers
Bitten by the sun
Bleeding rain
Dripping rain like golden honey—
And the sweet earth flying from the thunder.

Jean (as in Gene) Toomer, 1894-1967

Monday, 20 January 2020

Sunday, 19 January 2020

Thursday, 16 January 2020


Ship in a Storm,
yogurt on black, shallow, glazed stoneware coupelle (by Michel Perfetti, 2008).

Not for Sale © Dingo/Wofl MMXX