in the arsehole of diogenes

NEO-HERACLITUS_____________Qweir Notions in the arsehole of Diogenes: weBlog of a septuagenarian Binge-thinker since February 2008.
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Thursday, 12 December 2019

I don't understand

why people (as I read in novels)
need others (or another)
to need them -
because it precludes the necessarily-voluntary in relationships.

Tuesday, 10 December 2019

The problem I have with Literature

is that (like plants)
it is so much more interesting and relaxing
than actual people.

Monday, 9 December 2019

Today's Neologism.

Indigeneity.

Maybe better than Indigenousness and Autochthonicity,
but unfortunate all the same, being so tellingly close to Indignity...

Lateral thinking.

Or do I mean global thinking ?




Sunday, 8 December 2019

Friday, 6 December 2019

The Glory of Western Medecine.

Though we live longer,
we may suffer longer
and more expensively from more.

According to an article in Aeon,
"...approximately a third of adults suffer from multiple chronic conditions,
wreaking untold havoc on healthcare systems and economies across the globe.
In developed countries, it might be closer to three in four older adults
who suffer from multiple conditions.
The proportion of patients with four or more diseases
is expected to almost double between 2015 and 2035 in the UK alone.
Frighteningly, these statistics don’t even account for chronic illnesses in children,
which are likewise on the rise."

Wednesday, 4 December 2019

His best poem.


Prayer Before Birth


I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
  club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
  with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
     on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
  to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
     in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
  when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
     my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
        my life when they murder by means of my
           hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
  old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
     frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
         waves call me to folly and the desert calls
           me to doom and the beggar refuses
              my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
  come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
  humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
     would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
        one face, a thing, and against all those
           who would dissipate my entirety, would
              blow me like thistledown hither and
                 thither or hither and thither
                    like water held in the
                       hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise kill me

Louis MacNeice

.

Tuesday, 3 December 2019

"We all live in a..."

Reality Distortion Field.

I first heard this term in a broadcast discussion
about the President of the United States
and the then Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

But it could describe all seven billion
bubbles of human consciousness.


Monday, 2 December 2019

Sunday, 1 December 2019

Time.



Time was invented by railway companies
to keep trains running on it.