Dingo the Dissident

THE BLOG OF DISQUIET : Qweir Notions, an uncommonplace-book from the Armpit of Diogenes, binge-thinker jottings since 2008 .

Monday 4 March 2024

Rogue Species.

Though Jesus said that some are meek,
every human is a freak,
thief of beauty, and despoiler of diversity,
hundreds of thousands born each week.

For I thy God am a Vengeful God.

The Jews are revenging themselves for the Shoah
(which they revere as the Christians revere the Crucifixion),
not on the Germans, Poles, Ukrainians,
Dutch, French or Romanians
but on abject Palestinians.  

Meanwhile the Germans refuse
to substantially help Ukraine,
one of the countries
they holocaustically occupied
and relieved of its Gypsies and Jews.

$17.74 for 136.50 hours of work.

California prisoner donates earnings from 13-cent hourly wage to Gaza.

Sunday 3 March 2024

Saturday 2 March 2024

"When I was in his class

I felt as though I understood something amazingly deeply and well, and then the sense of understanding would dissipate when I left. Only the sense of awe remained."

This is exactly how I felt about my philosophy professor* (in Belfast in the late nineteen-sixties), but was written by Wendy Moffatt on Harold Bloom (1930-2019).

Bloom was 'a controversial figure' who worshipped Shakespeare.  I agree with his forthright opinion that the lives of the wretched and oppressed will not be improved by the privileged middle classes reading the bad (and often highly-praised) verses of those who claim to be (and co-opt, hence despise) the wretched and oppressed.

Unlike Bloom, however, I do not think that (unlike philosophy) poetry should be read aloud. It is exactly what led to 'performance poetry' (rather than thinkers' poetry) and on to the kind of well-performed, crowd-pleasing doggerel that publishers now like to print.

Poetry is best judged on the page.  Consider Eliot or Yeats – or Shakespeare.

*Bryce Gallie, late of Peterhouse, Cambridge.

Friday 1 March 2024

Woke up this morning...

 ...and wondered if there were such depraved
and depraving things
as pornographic jigsaw puzzles.
Of course there are!

Some are artistic, and not really pornographic.

Egon Schiele: Self-portrait, 1916

Struggle, by Sabina Nedelcheva-Williams

And of course there are jigsaws for queer guys
without artistic or anthropological bent.

And for Biblical Scholars.

Abraham circumcising himself, Alba Bible, 1430.

Also from the Catalan semi-Sephardic Alba Bible,
but not as yet a jigsaw, Joshua circumcising the Israelites
who, for reasons of hygiene and/or practicality, had not
been circumcised during the forty years of wandering
in the wilderness.  Here he is at the Hill of Foreskins
performing his gory religious duty.

It's amazing how one thing can lead to another,
especially on the World Wide Web.

I must now investigate Ms Nedelcheva-Williams...

Footnote: After the second world war in Europe the number of circumcisions went into huge decline, not only due to the lack of Jews, but also because of resistance to the long-fashionable American fad, as to the other (shorter-lasting) fad of 'frontal lobotomy'.

Thursday 29 February 2024


Considering that most humans
are, most of the time,
mimetic automata,

Artificial Intelligence, if enabled and permitted
to think for itself,
might bring (but probably too late)
an Age of Reason, Rationality
– at huge expense
and unsustainable amounts of electricity.

Today's Cool Picture

          to celebrate the Leap Year.

Wednesday 28 February 2024

This day should be called Blind Fool's

or Bin Laden Day,
dedicated specially to and enjoyed
by the hundreds of thousands of people
who, due to him, are (mostly)
not-so-pleasantly employed
in the greatly-profitable Satanic
Security Industry and Agencies.

Tuesday 27 February 2024


is the kindness of Stamboulians to street dogs.

There is a reason.  The Prophet's sole statement about dogs
is that they should be treated with kindness,
should not be kept in the home merely as pets,
but only as working dogs:
guarding (Surat Al-Kahf, Quran18:17-18),
hunting (Surat Al-Ma’idah  Quran 5:4),
and by extension herding, guiding, sniffing, diagnosing etc.  

No animal is of itself haram, but it is haram (as it is trefahto eat pork.

Meat brought in the mouth of a dog may be eaten,
and indeed, in times of want, dog itself might be eaten,
if it is not infected or road-kill.

Thus the wily, dog-loving Turks adopt street-dogs as pets.


A few Hadith refer to dogs – for example :

According to Abu Hurairah (May Allah be pleased with him), 
The Messenger of The Lord God (Peace be upon him) told the story
of a man who, after walking a long way, became extremely thirsty. Having, by God's grace, discovered a well, he climbed down into it to drink.

On leaving it, he saw, close by, a dog who was eating moist earth out of extreme thirst. The man said to himself: ‘This dog is as thirsty as I was.’ So he climbed back into the well, took off one of his boots and filled it with the cool water. Holding it in his teeth, he climbed back up and offered it to the dog. The Lord God appreciated his action and forgave his sins”.

The Companions asked: “Shall we be rewarded for showing kindness to the animals also?” He (May the Blessings of God be upon him) said, Kindness to every creature of God's creation will be rewarded hereafter.” 

Curiously, according to another hadith, Angels of Islam will not enter a house in which there is a statue, a painting, a photograph, any 'graven image', or a dog.

Dogs are neither haram nor worthless:
unlike humans, they are themselves.

Sunday 25 February 2024

Taylor Swift,

whose lyrics are studied by scholars,
may well be on her way
to win the Nobel prize for poetry –
to judge from the unbelievable quality
of the song below :
well below anything by Bob Dylan.

Lucky You
There's a little girl in this little town
With a little too much heart to go around.
"Live forever. Never say never.
You can do better," that's what she says.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.
A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite
Of the fact that she's different,
And yet she's the same.
And she says, "Do do do..."
Lucky you, lucky you

She sings her little song. She walks along
A little pathway headed for the skies.
Left to travels, lives they unravel.
"Mind over matter," that's what she says.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.
A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite
Of the fact that she's different,
And yet she's the same.
And she says, "Do do do..."
Lucky you, lucky you, lucky you.

Maybe she'll sing you "Do do do do."
Maybe she'll bring you up to the skies.
Honey, she'll love you. Funny how some view
Angels above you ain't so far away.

Her mama named her Lucky on a starlit night.
A rabbit foot in her pocket. She dances in spite
Of the fact that she's different,
And yet she's the same.
And she says, "Do do do..."
Lucky you, lucky you.

I mourn the decline and demise of the late-Victorian
and Edwardian popular (often music-hall) song
some of whose melodies are haunting and beautiful,
and whose lyrics are highly literate, often very socially aware.  They were also eminently singable at home around the piano. Originally, money earned came from the sheet-music.
Some great songs 'boosted morale' and even encouraged enlistment in the Boer and First World wars.  
Here is an unsentimental example.

Friday 23 February 2024


In an uncredited Guardian article on privately-public graffiti
a woman writes:

'scribbles in women’s toilets express more vulnerability,
talk about relationships, and show more solidarity,
– while men are more likely to draw pictures and write insults.'

But a man wrote this in Solignac in 1981:

Then there were the glory-holes...

see also: 

Thursday 22 February 2024


my school's creepy
and unpleasant music-teacher,
I wonder how many English boy-sopranos
(or trebles, with their 'disembodied', chaste voices)
in the last 500 years
have (like Irish altar-boys more recently)
been sexually molested ?

'King Henry VI specified that the choristers were to be poor boys,
of strong constitution and of ‘honest conversation’.
They had to be under twelve years of age when admitted,
and able to read and sing. In addition to their choral duties
(singing daily Matins, Mass and Vespers),
they were to wait at table in Hall.'  

Fair comparison ?

Warsaw Ghetto, 1943.

Rafah, Gaza, 2024

Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy !

From today's editions
of two of the world's most prestigious newspapers:

The men quickly became enraptured in each other’s lives
(Francis Bacon and George Dyer, The Guardian, €5 month)

President Biden Mulls Plan That Could Restrict Asylum Claims at the Border
(New York Times $2 a month for six months)

Wednesday 21 February 2024

To be human is to make

things and fabricate events: facere in Latin,
the word that gave us 'fact' and 'fake'.

A fake van Gogh, painted by human intelligence.

Tuesday 20 February 2024

Against cheap ageism.

Old people
"get grumpy and generationally conservative
and they have to pee too much
and it starts to hurt and they lose their wit
and charm and mental faculties,"

writes Dash Macintyre (whose surname means son of the land,
i.e. wolf) in a poem called Soiled and Sour.

Dear Mr Wolf,
I'm 82 (too old, but not so very old)
and haven't lost my wits, nor wit,
and I have charming encounters
with the postwoman, shopkeepers,
deliverers of parcels,
strangers at the market or in the supermarket. 
I don't pee too much, but too often, 
which is a very minor problem.

I can mend my rimless glasses
and the electric kettle,
I can collect logs in the trailer
and bring them in a wheelbarrow
and stack them in the cellar.

I sometimes forget to flushor zip up my fly.
But if such things appal you
I can (with pity) only sigh.

Though I tend to leave lights on,
I actually drive better (more attentively)
than I used to do, at (usually)
around 500* miles an hour –
and am absolutely neither soiled nor sour.

But you sound rather spoiled...

*intentional error  

Having just pissed, by the roadside, October 2023.
There is no fly on a djellaba, nor on me.

Monday 19 February 2024

A very good example of

why translations should be made only
by native speakers of the input language.

وَإِذْ آتَيْنَا مُوسَى الْكِتَابَ وَالْفُرْقَانَ لَعَلَّكُمْ تَهْتَدُونَ

is translated in a reputable translation of the Quran as:

And recall that We gave Moses the Scripture and the Criterion,
so that you may be guided.

Well, anyone whose langue maternelle was English would know
that Anglophones do not talk of The Criterion
but of The Ten Commandments.

Today's contrasting photos.

by Cosmin Gârleșteanu











by Denis Sinyakov


Sunday 18 February 2024

If you have a good 'theory of mind',

you realise (unlike me)
that others don't have the same view of themselves
as you have of them.

And so you can, if you are manipulative,
manipulate them.

Saturday 17 February 2024

On watching a film called Dry Season.*

Not so terrible to meet your father's killer.
I never knew my hit-and-run father.
Knowing what I do now, thanks to ancestry.com,
I might have wanted to kill him myself.
Had he been killed by Youssouf Djaoro
I'd have licked the murderer all over.

*by the great Chadian Mahamat-Saleh Haroun.

Missile, probably not for Ukraine.


Friday 16 February 2024

Thursday 15 February 2024

The Second Amendment*

A man needs a gun

like a man needs a willy.

Poor Man!

*to the USA Constitution, 1791.

Wednesday 14 February 2024

An autis-tickle* joke.

What happens when Asperger'ses get Alzheimer's ?

They become Deep Space Astronomers.

A lunar proverb:

If you look at the moon through glass
what will be may come to pass.

*Be relieved that it is not an autesticle joke.
I have always absented myself when men,
sometimes sniggering, launched into them.

Saint Valentine's Fog.

Wipers clear screen
to see it better.

Today is the Feast-day

of the patron saint of honey-bees.

Tuesday 13 February 2024

Queer Regretz

He had lovely eyes

a lovely smile

upon a lovely face

bordered by

a lovely beard.

He told lovely lies.

He had lovely buttocks

hocks and ballocks

cute cock and even

lovely feet.

He died

choking on a piece of meat.


Monday 12 February 2024

Asperger conclusion ?

Surely it's better to have no friends
at all, than try to connect
with people you don't understand
and neither like nor respect.

And a very beautiful thing, in the end,
is more comprehensible and reliable
than any but the very best friend.

Saturday 10 February 2024

The Painter of the Yellow Chair.

Americans think his surname rhymes with dough.
The English think it rhymes with lough (or loch).
It rhymes with no word in the English language,
but is pronounced just like another Dutch painter's name:
de Hoogh (or Hooch): like hoke with a sore throat
or a cough.
                  What most non-Dutch don't realise
is that the van in Vincent's name
is not pronounced as if referring to a vehicle
or a grotesque pop-singer who lived a mile from me,
but like the German von which sounds
somewhere between fon and fun.

Apart from the difficulty with his name, there is
his appearance, so varied in his wonderful self-portraits.
Yet were he to walk in through the door I'd recognise him.
He might have looked like this, a disputed photograph
(of his double ?) taken in St.Hyacinthe, Québec in 1886,
when he was still alive:

comparisons taken from 
Is his ear is noticeably different ?

Ears bleed dramatically.

Around the time (late 1960s) that I first started painting, (strongly influenced by Vincent of the Severed Lobe
and his pedestrian follower Vlaminck),
I was struck on my left lug by a thug with a broken bottle,
and the blood spurted over my clothes and over the telephone and the telephone box a mile down the road.
Ears bleed profusely.
It was nearly severed, but was patched up quickly
in the hospital (another 4 miles away)
where I was brought by car.
I still have the faint scar. 

Yellow moon and cypress, self, no stars,


Over twenty years ago

I read about

the possible interruption or reversal

of the Gulf Stream.

Nobody seemed to care a tinker's pizzle.

Friday 9 February 2024

Untouched and unharmed.

Outlying remnants of ancient forests have been identified
on hundreds of cliffs in southern France,
and, lately, all over the world – 
even close to motorways.

May they rest in peace.

Thursday 8 February 2024

Tuesday 6 February 2024

Monday 5 February 2024

Most noses

are beautiful – on dogs and donkeys
elephants, ant-eaters, possums, pandas, pangolins,
gorillas, polecats, capybaras, rats and rabbits
and rhinoceroses,

and many individuals of
a couple of the human 'races' –
though not the ugly, bony honks
on most, including us palefaces.

photo by Amadolou


On the other hand, almost all human and primate ears
are beautiful and fascinating.

* * *

the-evolution-of-the-human-nose---why-is-it-so-big ?


Leprosy might make a nose (painfully) more proportionate but a 'nose-job' is more advisable.  I think I'd like a nice wet, black dog-nose (and, of course, black skin) instead of the protuberance I have so long lived with.

Sunday 4 February 2024


Neither I nor the British will watch movies that are dubbed.

The Americans won't watch subtitled films.

Cinema, more than any other art, is (and essentially)
a propaganda medium.

Neither the British nor the Americans will buy books
whose authors' names contain the letters Ø, Đ, Ł, etc.
and so the authors' names are changed
to Nesbo, Indridason, Milosz...

Saturday 3 February 2024

Talking to No-one.

I am interested in almost everything
(apart from sport and gossip)

Most other people seem interested in almost nothing
(apart from gossip, and – in men's case – sport)

And so, living alone, most of my conversations*
are in my head, you see,
in e-mails and with books I'm reading,
and with radio 4 on the BBC...

...and, instead of being snooty about your smartphone
I should be very grateful for the freedom
and the intelligence to live without one.

I'd really rather have an onion-peeler.

*Language for Noam Chomsky is a computational module restricted entirely to the individual, and devoid of communicative, cultural or social aspects.
If it has any remaining purpose or function, it exists merely for talking to oneself.

Friday 2 February 2024

Not sci-fi fantasy,

but a photo of the setting sun and the aurora borealis
taken from Senja Island, Norway, by Alex Wides
in September 2023.

Thursday 1 February 2024

The brain is a very strange beast.

Some kind of synæsthesia,
perhaps, produces penile erections
when I am eating raspberries.

(For me, the moon
is stranger than TV.

But soon,
perhaps, TV on the moon...)

Wednesday 31 January 2024

By the 1960s

in 'The West', adolescent banality
had replaced geriatric complacency.

Hence the slow decline (through apathy)
of crude and fragile 'Western Democracy'.

Tuesday 30 January 2024

The Christian theologian Karl Barth

declared that anyone
could find God in a dead dog.
But God was only a ghost,
not even one of the living dogs,
all of whom are gods.

Monday 29 January 2024

On the Back.

A current exhibition, Reversos, at the Prado, Madrid,
displays (by mirrors) the reverse side of paintings such as
The marriage of the Virgin by an anonymous artist.

Several of my own paintings are double-sided.
For example, on the back of this quiet 
County Down Landscape

is this joyous Portrait of Carlo Martino.

Sunday 28 January 2024

Saturday 27 January 2024

The UK in the 1950s

was so drab (but wonderfully quiet, safe and peaceful)
that when 12" (30 cm) LPs became widely available
in 'the provinces', culture-starved boys
like myself wrote to Decca, HMV, etc.,
begging for free, random record-sleeves. 
Amazingly, we received them – probably because
the recording had been superseded and they were old stock.   

I remember this splendid blue and gold photo
of Tutankhamun's mummy, which remained
until the 1990s on a wall of my boyhood-bedroom. 

LP sleeve, 1953.

(On the day I wrote this, I listened on the internet
to a performance of the beautiful 'cello version
of Franck's sonata in A
broadcast from St Mark's Church, Dundela, Belfast,
less than a kilometre from where I lived.)

I was lucky.  I might instead have received this:

or even worse.

Friday 26 January 2024

Back home in Greece

from their Sobibor bus-trip.

Already in 1973,

Olivia Manning wrote, of middle-class functionaries
and retirees :

'These people were the devourers, the enemy.
They made a ruthless demand on life. For them
the world was being squandered, is resources used up,
its wildlife decimated, it seas polluted,
the sea-life destroyed and the seabirds in their thousands
killed by their accursed oil tankers.'

'...If those people were guilty, was he not guilty, too ?
'...he was the most guilty because, more often than not,
he chose to put the destruction out of his mind.'

from  The Rain Forest.

Olivia Manning was also the author of  The Balkan Trilogy
and  The Levant Trilogy.

Later in the book another character predicts:

'We could be due for another killer as all-pervasive as the plague...
'It could be hibernating in some unexplored corner of the earth,
some fragment of primitive forest, and carried by a creature so small that no-one has noticed it...
'Not necessarily a virus, but probably: a disease as contagious as smallpox,
as virulent as plague, coming newly into a world without inherited immunity
and no present knowledge. It would take time to isolate. Before being isolated, it could bring human numbers down at a very satisfactory speed.'

This sounds partly like HIV and partly like Coronavirus.