NEO-HERACLITUS_____________Qweir Notionsin the arsehole of Diogenes:weBlog of a septuagenarian Binge-thinker sinceFebruary 2008. ............................................................................................... ........................................................................................................... ........................................................................................... ........................................................................................................................................
is that they are wordless
and have no beginning or end
except for the changeable
and are not static, but phatic,
and, though fading and flaking,
are as timeless as graveyards.
Paintings don't run out of words.
is that it is an expensive and easily-corrupted method
of giving The Vote to far worse people than mere litter-louts,
tax-fraudsters and sugar-refiners. The most sensible solution for Representative Government would be parliamentarians selected by
lot. It would cost almost nothing, there
would be no crap about The Will of The People, and the resulting random
selection would not be worse than what we have got.Parties could then be abolished, too.What bliss ! Perhaps one or two dogs could be
co-opted into parliament for occasional stroking and reality-check.
of European 'Christians'
is contained in this talentless but revealing
(if not revelling) hymn:
The Son of God goes forth to war A kingly crown to gain: His blood-red banner streams afar; Who follows in His train ? Who best can drink His cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears His Cross below He follows in His train.
but himself he cannot save!" Precisely.
Because he knew the human self
is worth no more, no less,
than water in a wave ?
and not without defect
he was like the best of us,
I guess, in that respect.
No mammal is weaker than the human, hence technology. Whereas all other predators prey upon the very young, or very old, or sick: the weak, the modern human prides himself
on preying on the strong - especially impressive males. Man is a freak.
coming and going
rushing and crushing
crammed with stories
that they believe
that they want to believe
that others have made them believe
inside the rinds
of their skulls
until they escape
ever more minds.
999 is the emergency number in the UK and Ireland
and the number of names of holy Astérix,
As the Terrible, Cuddly, Importunate
Rug of the Future
The We of Me
The You of Us
Jack the Ripper
There are just two kinds of religion:
the old and the less-old.
The less-old are religions of belief
while the old are religions of practice
(all others, including Judaism).
This difference has created modern history
through colonialism which has made Jesus
the Antichrist, and Mohamed
[God] just sit up there glorying in being deef, I reckon.
The last thing niggers want to think about they God is that his hair is kinky.
I have never understood why coloured people took and take so enthusiastically to a joyless white (and joyless white men's. tight-lipped white women's) god. Is it 'just' self-oppression ? Or Stockholm Syndrome ? Or both ?
"Man is the most vicious of all animals, and life is a series of battles ending in victory or defeat. You just can't let people make a sucker out of you."
What a pathetic statement!
The first eight words are incontrovertible,
but Mr Trump in his (continuing) naivety
seemed to be unaware of the delightful arts of subterfuge:
blending in with the surroundings, pretending to be "suckers" and hiding in the cracks,
as billions of us do, even the "vicious" tiger -
striped to merge with the forest shadows...
but a lot of good that has done it - because of the most vicious of animals.
I think the obviously-unfulfilled Trump is the sucker!
"I chaste a flokk of guses this mourning.
They flue up in the ayr and honked.
I luvd it.
I chaste a kat.
It wuz grait.
I chaste anuther kat.
Whair doe al the kats kum from ? Thair ar far 2 menny.
Old ladys leeve kruntchees out for strey wuns.
I eet the katz kruntchees.
Mebbe thail dy.
I stoal kreem from the kreemjug.
Ime a grate fello.
Boss luvs me.
the Political Poster Board has to be cleared from the last election.
France is so civilised that the fly-posting of political posters is illegal.
Each commune or village has its board, on which all the candidates are pictured
together with their banal slogan.
There is no (USA, Philippines, India-style) television-advertising, either.
My prediction is that Marine le Pen will win, thus upsetting the smug apple-cart
of Western Liberal Values in Europe, and threatening the fake cohesion
of the European Union - of which, I should say, I am an absurdly-keen supporter.
There is much mention by orientalist new-agers and quasi-mystics
about 'clearing your mind' and 'stopping the inner dialogue' through meditation. It could be argued that the problems of the world are caused by lack of inner dialogue,
encouraged by the narrow single-mindedness (or indeed mindlessness) of politics and education.
Evil comes from deliberate suppression of thought acting through the thoughtless,
and the banality of evil is sheer human reproductiveness.
but whether this is a result of civilisation
or its origin is difficult to judge. It seems to me
that the function of civilisation is to protect
the powerful, "the élites" from randomness
by persuading or forcing, through famine
(which rarely occurs outside civilisation),
the less assertive to be human shields,
and making them believe that their sacrifice
is for the Common Good.
is the inability
to live with our endemic
*** We apologise to our thousands of readers for an absence of blog for the last two days. This was due to circumstances beyond our control, such as old age, innumeracy, the mild weather, a missing calendar, and the inscrutable but incontrovertible plan of the Great God Astérix.
I've decided on
a new hobby Gardening. Me and my owner were very busy last week with clearing
up the rough ground in the orchard, i.e ivy (which had fallen down during storm
'Doris') and digging up a lot of nettle roots etc. Then we were transplanting
some of the plants that were getting waterlogged in the lawn to the newly
created space. I was sniffing out good spots for where to put the plants and
was very busy directing the wheelbarrow to my chosen places. I think we have
done a pretty good job and maybe I'll consider a new career in Canine Gardening (the only thing is all the muck, it makes my paws sooo dirty!) But it is not so exciting as catching a ball or a Frisbee.
My ears stood up too
when I was a puppy. I was very embarrassed when I looked at myself and thought
I will never look like a Border Collie. But then bit by bit they dropped down and I
was very relieved. Your ears are how they should be and are very lovely.
The weather has
been up and down, one day Spring and next day winter. We even had a bit of
sleet this morning. Well, it is the last day of Winter, so hopefully Spring
will be arriving tomorrow.
Hope you two are
well and look after each other -
Hundefreund Rocky and mein Frauchen und Herrchen
Hundefreunde Rokki und Frauchenli + Herrchenli,
Chers ami canin Roqui et ses Parrains (ou parents ?humans should give birth to more dogs)
It seems I
have been speaking the wrong language.I
am told that I am definitely a Mechelse Herder van Vlaanderen en ijk spreke
vlaamse.C’est à dire un chien Berger
Malinois (Malines=Mechelen, a town south of Antwerpen/Anvers).
I was very
impressed by your ears when you were young.They look even better than mine – perhaps.(Thanks for the compliment.I like compliments.Don’t you admire my tail ?Maybe one of your
ancestors came from Belgium or Germany ?Maybe they are Prussian Ears, very straight and upright and pointed J
On Saturday I
went to the Veterinary Clinic about 10 km away and I met a lovely woman called
Huguette.She is Belgian (Walloon) and
she can read books in French, Dutch, German and English, because I saw them on
her bookshelf.She radiates love.My Driver fell in love with her. Apparently everyone is in love with her.She gave me nice tasty meaty-sweeties because
I am such a beautiful and good dog.I
have been limping, and she says I may have Arthritis in my right shoulder. I have been taking Metacam (hidden in lumps of
meat, though I’m not supposed to know that), but I am still limping.I go back tomorrow and may get X-Rayed.I was nearly an hour with Huguette (who
specialises in dogs and pigs – Frau Schweinundhunddoktor ? ; her Dutch partner
specialises in funless cats, and an English man specialises in horses and
donkeys and big creatures like that) while she weighed me (I am 28 kg, almost
half the weight of my Driver and Valet) and examined my gorgeous fur.
My turds are
now firmer and not so wet.I chased a
hen and it died.Its name was Dolly.
I too have
been helping with gardening.My Dogsbody
(Faktotum – this is Latin, you know) and
I dug a hole and he put a plant in it at our Guerrilla Garden just 100 metres
away.I found a dog-turd under one of
the plants. I have met a lot of dogs lately, all of them much quieter than
those at the Shelter.There was a very
nice lady dog I met this morning who fancied me.Perhaps she likes male dogs with Very Small
Testicles.(Eierchen ? Schrumpelklöten
?) (On the other hand I have a nice, large furry willy (Piller, Piepel, Pillermann,
Zipfel, Lümmel, Schniedelwutz - nicht nolens
volens which is Latin, you know –
I am a Highly-Educated Dog and read about Odysseus and Argus and Cerberus and Anubis - amongst others - in my
ample spare time) which all the lady dogs and humans can admire.)Sorry about all the brackets – I hope they
don’t confuse a poor Border Collie with Prussian ancestry.
I have to
confess that I am as Scaredy as you.I
don’t like anything tubular (walking-stick, kitchen-roll core) nor do I like
big plastic bags or frying-pans. I am
also scared of friendly bearded gentlemen if they approach me.I wonder if they are really friendly, and don’t
want to take any risks.Women with big
handbags are dangerous, too.
thought Spring might be arriving.There
are violets everywhere.But today there
was rain, and there will be rain tomorrow. My Dogsbody is pleased because he says there
hasn’t been enough rain this winter.I
believe that some dogs are Scared of rain,
but I don’t mind it.I am a brave
dog.But Thunder is a terrible thing and I have to hide under the table.Life is full of dangers even when One is
Protected by an aged Bearded Factotum – one who does not give me enough food.
(I can’t remember when I last ate anything.His mind is probably away somewhere else hunting kittens or rabbits or
even oliphaunts – but not for me!I am
told that dogs are very good for Old Humans with wandering minds, but I have no
intention of becoming a Faktotum.)
Here is a
picture of me waiting patiently for my dinner…or for a kitten to come and be
multilingual and Very Brave Vlaamse Freund - with Erect Ears,
Some years ago I decided
that if I had not killed myself by the age
of three-score years and ten,
I would do so when
I turned 75.
But now that life has become
so enjoyable, and ever more
surreal and funny
in this horribly mad world wherein I hide
(Caylus is so often sunny!),
I seem to have lost my sane desire for suicide.
there was this rich bitch
thought she was a princess
and she couldn't get to sleep
on the big thick goose-feather
mattress that rich white folks had
in cold olden times. Her beautiful black
maid was set to find out why -
and discovered the bitch's pea-sized conscience
under the great fluffy heap.
Her servant had to swallow it
and turn into a beanstalk
so the bitch could get some sleep.
(who had no name
and was found in the département of the Tarn),
Kaspar Hauser and Peter of Hannover
were all speechless, nameless,
and uninterested in money or sex.
Which statistically-insignificant sample
leads me nevertheless to think that
civilisation might be about money and sex.
(But I am prejudiced.)
The Loneliest Whale in the World.
In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world.
Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:
She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends.
She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale.
It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz.
You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her.
Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored.
And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.
Just imagine that massive mammal, floating alone and singing—too big to connect with any of the beings it passes, feeling paradoxically small in the vast stretches of empty, open ocean.
from tumblr I think there may be too much 'empathy' in the above. How can we judge a whale's emotions when we can't judge each other's ? She may be feeling serene, and her cries may not be 'desperate'... She may be feeling merely confused - like many mammals may be feeling much of the time.
Seneca seems to have been the first to write that Appearances are deceptive.
He also wrote:
Non scholae sed vitae discimus - Education should be for life, not for exams.
Otium sine litteris mors est et hominis vivi sepultura - Leisure without literature (and letter-writing) is a living death.
Perhaps taking after my mother,
who was a meteorologist during World War II,
I love weather-maps and clouds.
This winter, the weather in Caylus
has been extraordinary: most days
being bright and sunny,
and warm in the sunshine,
most nights being cold and often frosty -
since the beginning of December.
Yesterday's West Europe satellite pictures
looked like this:
click to enlarge
Much of France is cloudless except for the Mediterranean coastline
and the Massif Central. Caylus (the blue X) remains sunny
and dry - for there has been no significant rain
since early last summer. I guess lawn-watering will not be allowed
in 2017. The waterfall at Caylus is just a trickle.
Of the British Isles (most of the Balkans, and the Baltic)
only part of Scotland is free of dense cloud.
is how "Orientals" were most often described
by the British. I find everyone
inscrutable. I have only 'vibes'
to go on, and they are not at all reliable.
People, alas, are not as readable as dogs.
People are like cats - inscrutable.
will likely not be worse
than (and maybe not even as bad as) Presidents
Harding, Coolidge, Eisenhower, Reagan,
George W. Bush, and JFK
(who slid the USA and allies
into the Viêt-Nam débâcle)
- so what has all the moaning and groaning been about ? listen to this >
There are no cocktail smells in bars,
and, regrettably, no sumptuous odour of cigars
- just noise. People are so noisy
even when they think that they are being quiet.
They talk of mortgages and diet.
So little of our noise is musical
and much of our music as banal
as the talk in "rest-rooms" or in bars
where no-one is allowed to smoke cigars.
If "conversation" were banned instead
just think how stammerers could get ahead.
In olden days, what people celebrated at Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving, was their survival. For most of the population the feasts of Christmas Eve and the Eve of St Sylvester were the only time of the year that they had meat, the pig - fed on the plentiful acorns of the oak forests - having been killed at the beginning of December, and every part used "except the squeal".
In remote parts of France, where there was no wheat or even rye flour, they baked a whole huge loaf of chestnut-flour at Christmas, and ate it throughout the year, dunked in thin soup or acidic wine. This was their staple, and its communal baking was a special event at a special time. They were surviving. Chestnut bread is much more nourishing than wheat bread (which is nearly as toxic as sugar), but rather hard to digest. The rest of the vitamin intake came from turnips, rutabagas, leeks and wild food such as nettles. Even today, people can be seen scouring the woods for insipid fungi, and the roadsides for edible herbs from bryony to wild asparagus and fennel.
Now, of course,all has changed. The remote parts of France have, like everywhere in the parts of the world run by pinkish-grays, become obscenely rich. The old feasts have become meaningless, retained like the living dead by the necromantic necrophilia of Commerce. All that can now be celebrated is Trade. Adam Smith's "Nation of Shopkeepers" has become the planet of shopkeepers, willing to use any ploy to increase profit. Since we live in luxury unimagined by Roman Emperors, we celebrate in like fashion : jadedly, neurotically or maniacally. And we haven't the cultural wherewithal even to have orgies. Christianity and Islam killed them a long time ago, and the orgiastic in our brains has simply been converted to greed.
What would Jesus have done at Christmas ? He would have begged to be crucified. Or at least smothered by another "towel-head".